Russell Hoban’s novel, Riddley Walker, demonstrates “what happens with peopl on the way down from what they ben” (17). Telling the story of Riddley Walker, a young man caught in the political struggles of his time, the novel takes place on the island of Inland (England) perhaps two thousand years after a nuclear apocalypse has destroyed much of what humanity had accomplished — “…there come a flash of lite then bigger nor the woal worl and it ternt the nite to day. Then every thing gone black. Nothing only nite for years on end” (19). The question before us is not whether Hoban succeeds in creating a plausible world, for that question can only be answered affirmatively; but rather, how does Hoban use the techniques of his craft to realize such a masterful vision?

Any discussion of Riddley Walker must begin with its language. Hoban writes the entire novel in a decayed version of English, with Riddley Walker as the narrator. Hoban’s “Riddleyspeak” (225) replaces the spelling and pronunciation of certain words in accordance with a logical linguistic (d)evolution — “ben” for “been”; “ternt” for “turned”; “dint” for “didn’t”; “girzel” for “drizzle”; “follering” for “following”; “woal” for “whole”; etc. — but it also allows contemporary meanings to blend into new ones; for example, Hoban replaces the word “yesterday” with the phrase “wester day,” and while the general definition of the word remains the same, the formation of it as “wester day” delivers a more physical understanding of the abstract concept in that it pays homage to the setting sun.

Hoban’s decision to write the book in Riddleyspeak must be appreciated as more than “clevverness,” for as he writes in the Afterword, the language “works well with the story because it slows the reader down to Riddley’s rate of comprehension” (225); but there is more to it than that: after a few pages, the language of Riddleyspeak gets inside its readers; it begins to influence not only the way they engage the novel, but the way they engage the “woal worl.”

While Riddleyspeak makes the strongest contribution to the realization of Hoban’s world, the language is just the beginning. There are also the shared stories that define the cultural identity of all who live in Inland, from the “chard coal berners” to “Pry Mincer,” and it is in these shared stories, these folk tales of the highest order, that Hoban’s gift for creation really shines.

These stories, five of which Riddley shares, provide a folk version of history, folk explanations of why humanity has become what it has become; but more importantly, they provide a clear window into the moral codes of the Inland culture. By using the genre of the folk tale, a genre that depends on brevity for much of its function, Hoban chooses one of the most efficient methods for sharing vital information; furthermore, he takes great advantage of the natural setting for sharing folk tales (i.e., around a campfire) to maintain the relaxed mood of the novel.

While creating a decayed language and sharing fictional folk tales are wonderful devices for realizing a post-apocalyptic world, the decision to use them seems almost mandatory (at least in hindsight). Hoban’s employment of them in Riddley Walker reveals not only the “cleverness” of the technique, but more importantly, the truth of it. In Riddley Walker, Hoban sets the standard by which future stories should be judged. At the same time, the suggestion that Hoban’s vision is realized solely through his understanding of cultural and linguistic evolution is inaccurate. There is one more element that sets it apart from any other story, and that is Hoban’s decision to communicate much of the tale through the form of the puppet show. This is a masterful stroke, and one that cannot (or at least should not) be mimicked by future writers. It is like a fingerprint, a singular element that identifies Riddley Walker as a unique creation. It is this decision that turns the book from being just a well-conceived post-apocalyptic novel into a certifiable work of art.

Of course, Riddley Walker isn’t about the decay of language, or made-up folk tales, or puppet shows. As to what it’s really about: “I don’t know nothing about that…only its about some thing else. Which every thing is innit. Every thing is about every thing. And what evers in 2wl be come 1” (141).