BOOK REVIEW: A Song for a New Day by Sarah Pinsker

Cover, Song for a New Day. Review by Markus McDowell

Sarah Pinsker. A Song for a New Day. Berkley, September 2019. 384pp.

Winner of the Nebula Award
After a global pandemic makes public gatherings illegal and concerts impossible, except for those willing to break the law for the love of music — and for one chance at human connection.
In the Before, when the government didn’t prohibit large public gatherings, Luce Cannon was on top of the world. One of her songs had just taken off, and she was on her way to becoming a star. Now, in the After, terror attacks and deadly viruses have led the government to ban concerts, and Luce’s connection to the world — her music, her purpose — is closed off forever. She does what she has to do: She performs in illegal concerts to a small but passionate community, always evading the law.
Rosemary Laws barely remembers the Before times. She spends her days in Hoodspace, helping customers order all of their goods online for drone delivery — no physical contact with humans needed. By lucky chance, she finds a new job and a new calling: discover amazing musicians and bring their concerts to everyone via virtual reality. The only catch is that she’ll have to do something she’s never done before and go out in public. Find the illegal concerts and bring musicians into the limelight they deserve. But when she sees how the world could actually be, that won’t be enough.
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Some might find it a bit stunning that this book was published the year before the COVID-19 pandemic because it deals with a society in the aftermath of a pandemic. I can just imagine Pinsker, in March or April of 2021, thinking “Damn, what did I write?” She obviously had done research on what a post-pandemic world might look like in the modern era (though she missed the ubiquitous mask mandates).

The protagonist, Rosemary Laws, is hired to find musicians and sign them up as artists for what the live music industry has become—virtual. As she works through her fear of being in crowds (because of the shutdowns and restrictions of the past pandemic), she begins to discover that virtual concerts are lacking, and the corporate music industry cares nothing for the common musician. Her off-and-on connection with the formerly famous (pre-pandemic) Luce Cannon is a struggle for her, but one that leads to new ways of thinking about life, society, relationships, and art.

Pinsker is obviously a musician as well as a writer (so am I), and her understanding of music, bands, gigs, and the surrounding milieu is on point. It adds authenticity to the story, and rings true—many of my professional gigging musician friends suffered during the lockdowns imposed by governments. Yet, just like in the story, there were underground “speakeasies” where they played live for the bolder among us.

This is not only abut artists struggling to find a way to get their art our to the public in a world that forbids free assembly, but also about government overreach under the guise of protection. Pinsker is not heavy-handed about this theme; it merely is part of the story, allowing readers to experience their own reactions and assessments. But the real theme of the story is that meaning in human life is largely found in personal connections among regular people. Authority figures, government officials, and corporations are not what make life worthwhile—it is the ordinary people, in the variety and differing experiences, that bring lessons, love, and life.

This novel is no Pollyanna, but it does contain a hopeful message in a world that seems bent on dividing us all—with music as a conduit.