2004, paperback, ibooks.inc.
The author has created a story where the problem of human overpopulation has been solved. In the land of clarges, a great walled community, that keeps the nomads out, you have a chance for eternal life.
When Gavin Waylock, the protagonist, quits working at carnevalle, goes to work at a palliatory. Palliatories are where citizens go who have turned catatonic / manic. The society of clarges is so stressful when you are striving, that many break down, going catatonic, and occasionally breaking into mania, where they go on a frenzied rampage. those who register at the actuarian for a chance at eternal life, have to work hard to move from one phyle to the next. Glarks remain unregistered, and live out a normal lifespan. But those who register with the actuarian, have a chance at eternal life. You must serve mankind's society for the betterment of it in some way: in the arts, in politics, in academics, there are many ways in which, by creating something new or bettering some system, you can move up into the next phyle. When you move high enough, you can break into the amaranth, and eternal life is yours.
But each person who breaks into amaranth, causes 2000 of the lowest order phyle to be terminated. Assassins are dispatched, and they are euthanized.
Basil, who is a psychologist, and is responsible for getting Waylock his job, is experimenting on on a way to stop the cat/mans from going manic. He selects the cat/man who is the strongest, most dangerous, when he breaks into his manic stage. With the man laying before him in his catatonic stage, he has Waylock stand by to inject him with "anti-heptant," a drug that erases the thoughts in your mind at that moment. Thus, Basil figures, if he invited the patient--Hertzog-- into his manic phase and then injects him with anti-heptant, he can get rid of the infuriating thoughts inflicting him, and lead to a possible cure.
P.98
" 'hertzog,' said basil in a low urgent voice, 'you are a failure. You won't make third -- anti-heptant, Gavin -- hertzog, you tried hard, but you made mistakes. You have only yourself to blame. You've thrown away life, hertzog.'
A low sound like a rising wind came from herzog's throat. Basil beckoned for anti-heptant. 'Maximilian hertzog,' he said in a hurried voice, 'you are inferior. Other people can make third [third phyle] -- but not you. You have failed. You wasted your time. You studied the wrong techniques.'
Veins appeared on hertzog's forehead. The sound rasped loud in his throat. " Anti-heptant, gavin, anti-heptant.
Waylock tapped the button, the light glowed yellow [Yellow represents a stable mood]. Basil returned to the quivering form. 'Hertzog -- remember how you threw life away? Remember the chances you missed? The people who are no wiser than you but who are third and verge [next up from Third]? And you have nothing before you except a ride in the high black car [alluding to the ride to euthansia with an assassin]!'
Maximilian hertzog slowly sat up on the pallet. He looked at basil, he turned his head and fixed his stare on waylock.
No one spoke. Basil crouched; waylock was unable to move or shift his stance. The light on the screen was once more red[indicating mania].
Waylock finally asked, 'more anti-heptant?'
'no,' said basil in a nervous voice, 'not just yet... We don't want to blot out too much.
'Blot out too much what?' asked Maximilian hertzog. He reached to his head, felt the caliper contacts, the dangling tube stuck into his neck. 'What is all this?' "

Wayloxk, who 7 years before the opening of the story had killed a man in self-defense, had been charged guilty of the crime, and has had to hide out from assassins, has managed to live successfully in carnevalle. When he kills The Jacynth Martin, to keep her from outing his former identity, her replacement (all Amaranths have 7 replacements, to replace them in case of accidental death) wants to have him mind-searched, because she suspect he is guilty. Waylock gets the idea to use Basil's anti-heptant on himself to erase the parts in his mind that will out the truth about The Jacynth Martin's death.
P.110-11:
"He raised the hypospray, and placed the nozzle to his neck. Then he hesitated, put down the hypospray, and wrote a note which he laid on the desk. Once again he took up the hypospray, set it in position, and pressed the trigger.
He waited, concentrating on the task. Keep mind blank. Every thought, every idea must be erased. Think of nothing. Think of nothing. His brain was like a bruise, sensitive as sunburn.... My name is Gavin waylock...
He only thought it once; after that he knew nothing of his name. Exuding tiny beads of sweat, he blanked his consciousness. Nothing, nothing, nothing. The recorder began to speak. He heard his voice describing the death of The Jacynth martin, and the preceding events.
The recording ended. Waylock closed his eyes, lay back, warm, lethargic, relaxed. The anti-heptant dissipated itself. Waylock's brain began to function; thoughts moved and wavered, indistinct, like shapes in heavy fog... He sat up in the chair. The note he had written caught his eye. He picked it up and read.
I have just removed the memory of an experience from my mind. Perhaps I have forgotten other things. My name is Gavin waylock. I am the relict of the graven warlock, if anyone should ask. My address is 414 Phariot way, apartment 820.
There was other information and memoranda, ending with:
...other lapses in memory to be expected. Do not wonder about subject erased. It is possible that the special squad May call; there may be a mind-search and connection with the violent passing of The Jacynth Martin, of which I know nothing.
Note: erase the final 15 minutes on the recorder. Do not listen to it, as this will defeat purpose of memory-blotting. Be sure to erase recorder."

When the mind search doesn't work on waylock, because he erased that part from his brain, The Jacynth Martin suspects that this is exactly what happened. She has him followed.
P.134-5:
"Waylock wanted to avoid observation entirely, in order to maintain the worth of his disguise. The critical area lay in the hall, immediately outside his apartment. He slid the door open a crack, examined the vicinity as carefully as possible. He saw nothing, but a spy cell at the far end of the corridor would be invisible.
Waylock returned within, removed his alter-ego and his jacket, made a neat bundle, and carrying it under his arm, left the apartment.
He walked down Phariot way to the Allemand avenue station, dropped to the tube depot, and making sure that no one jostled him or approached closely enough to apply a tracer to his person, entered the capsule and switched himself to a random destination: garstang. The capsule slid away, and waylock once more invested himself with the identity of his alter-ego. He diverted the capsule to floriander deck and arrived feeling secure that he had frustrated any pursuit.
At a kiosk he bought a tube of assorted Stimmos*, and after a moment's reflection, swallowed the yellow, the green and the purple.
*stimmos: pills which worked upon the brain to build synthetic moods. Orange stimmos brought cheer and gaiety; red, amativeness; green, concentration and heightened imagination; yellow, courage and resolution; purple, wit and social ease. Dark blue stimmos ('weepers') predisposed to sentimentality and intensity of emotion; light blue stimmos firmed the muscular reflexes and were useful to precision workers, operators of calculating machines, musical instruments and the like. Blacks stimmos ('dreamers') encouraged weird visual fantasy; White stimmos ('non-sobs') minimized emotional response. It was possible to take combinations of up to three pills with a vast number of compound effects. A dosage of more than three stimmos or too frequent use diminished the effect."

P.152:
" 'even if I were guilty -- which I will never admit -- where is the heinousness of the crime? Neither and you nor The Abel suffered more than inconvenience.'
'the crime,' said The Jacynth softly, 'is abstract and fundamental: the innate depravity of extinguishing life.'
Waylock looked uncomfortably around the room. Men and women talked, strolled beside the aquefacts, postured, gestured, laughed. His conversation with The Jacynth seemed unreal. 'Now is hardly the time to argue this matter,' he said. 'However, I may point out that if extinguishing life is a crime, it is a crime everyone except the glarks are guilty of.'
The Jacynth whispered in mock horror, 'you apall me! Describe my crime -- supply the grizzly details.'
Waylock nodded. 'One amaranth per 2000 population is the allowed ratio. When you were received into the amaranth society, an element of information entered the actuarian. 2000 black wagons went forth on their missions; 2000 doors opened; 2000 despairing creatures left their homes, climbed the three steps; 2000 times --'
The Jacynth's voice was harsh as the rasp of an untuned violin. 'This is no guilt of mine; everyone strives alike.'
'It is simple dog-eat-dog,' said waylock. 'It's basic battle for survival, fiercer and more brutal than ever before in the history of man. You have blinded yourself; you subscribe to false theory; you are permeated with your obsession -- not only you but all of us. If we faced the facts of existence, our palliatories would be less crowded.' "

The Whitherers:
P.164:
"Pladge performed one of her more extravagant gestures. 'If we were agreed, the rest of it would be simple. Present conditions are intolerable; we all want to change - all, that is, except Roger Buisley.'
Buisly smiled complacently. 'This is an imperfect world. I believe that our present system is as good as can be hoped for. It holds up a standard, offers a goal, fulfills the dearest hopes of the human race; and it can be tempered with only to our great disadvantage.'
Pladge grimaced wryley. 'You can see how conservative our Roger becomes.'
Waylock considered Buisly. 'Why is he a witherer then?'
Buisly answered. 'Why not? I am a witherer of witherers. They demand of each other, "whither the world?" I expand the question to quote: wither the world, if these crackpots have their way?'
'he has nothing constructive to offer,' pladge told waylock. 'He obstructs and carps.'
buisly protested. 'Not at all! I have a sound position; it is so simple that pladge and her obstruse friends are oppressed. I reason in three stages. Step one: everyone wants eternal life. Step 2: we can't permit it to everyone, or we have another age of chaos. Step 3: the obvious answer is -- give life to those who have earned it. This is our present system.'
'But what of the human cost?' said pladge. 'What of the strain, the grief, the terror, the turmoil? What of the poor devils crowding the palliatories? 25% of all those participating!' "

Waylock possesses some damning knowledge about an employee in the actuarian. He tells the employee that he needs information about the amaranths. This information is filed on film known as "flakes", and he finds a way to substitute blank film for the film containing the files. On the day that he has transferred waylock's request to his pocket, the commissioner is getting a guided tour of the actuarian. In an accident, the employee slips the flakes into the cuffs of the commissioner's jacket. When he lets waylock know what happens, waylock goes to the commissioner's mansion.
P.207-8:
"Waylock hesitated only an instant, then entered the wardrobe. He stood among racks, forms, cases, cabinets and shelves. About him were cloaks, robes, tunics, baldrics, and mantles, breeches and trousers. Shelves held a 100 sets of shoes, pumps, boots and sandals. There were uniforms of 20 different orders. Carnevalle costumes; sports outfits... Waylock's eyes roved back and forth, seeking the blot of Scarlet which would Mark the embroidered jacket of yesterday.
He moved along the aisle, touching, examining, peering... On the second rack he found the jacket. He pulled it forth -- and stopped short. At the far end of the aisle stood Rolf aversham. He came forward slowly, eyes gleaming.
'I could not understand your interest in the Chancellor's wardrobe until -- he nodded at the jacket '-- I saw what you were after.'
'Apparently,' said waylock, 'you understand my purpose here.'
'I understand only that you are the holding the jacket in which Chancellor imish visited the actuarian. May I have it?'
'Why, may I ask, do you want it?'
'curiosity.'
Waylock stepped around the end of the rack and reached to remove the flakes. He felt them but could not dislodge them. aversham's steps sounded behind him; aversham's hand reached forward, jerked at the jacket. Waylock gave a Savage twist, but Aversham lunged forward and took a firm hold. Waylock struck at aversham's face; Aversham kicked at Waylock's groin. Waylock seized the leg, hauled it up with tremendous force; Aversham went hopping, reeling back toward the windows. Clutching at the shunar silk, he gave a horse shout and fell backwards out into space. Waylock stared in shock at the empty rectangle of night. From below came a jangle, another terrible call, a peculiar rattling sound.
Waylock ran forward, peered down upon the body of Rolf Aversham, who in falling had impaled himself upon the lances of an iron fence. His legs, thrashing and kicking, rattled the loose iron, a sound which presently ceased.
Waylock came back into the room, feverishly tore ar the jacket, extracted the flakes, then returned the garment to its rack.
A moment later he burst into the study. Chancellor imish hastily flicked off a screen upon which nude men and women cavorted in grotesque comedy. 'What's wrong?'
'I was right,' gasped waylock. 'Aversham came into the wardrobe and attacked me! He spied on us while we talked!'
'But -- but --' imish rose in his seat. 'Where is he?' waylock told him."

P.258:
"The events which brought the desperate surge to the streets of clarges represented a culmination to the industrial revolution, to the defeat of disease in the 20th century, to the malthusian chaos, to the Reach of Clarges itself. They were a product of civilization, and in this sense foreordained. But the immediate source of the trouble was the expansion of the amaranth society by 1762 new members.
The information reached the actuarian, was coded and integrated. Even those who strove at the actuarian were startled by the effect. The ratio between the various phyle was fixed, by a formula which maintained the aggregate years of life per thousand population at a constant value. For the purposes of this formula amaranth's life was arbitrarily reckoned at 3,000 years, and the phyle ratio worked out roughly as 1:40:200:600:1200.
The accession of 1762 new amaranth destroyed the established balance, subtracting life expectancy from the Brood by something over 4 months, and the other phyle accordingly.
The first effect was a spate of instructions to the assassins, ordering ( )

Jack Vance is known for the inventive settings he places his stories in: Dying Earth, the Alastor novels, Planet of Adventure, and of course the Magnus Ridolph stories each contain throwaway societies and cultures that a less imaginitive writer might base an entire career on.

To Live Forever has a unique setting, to be sure, but like Emphyrio it is more of a thought experiment, and the society in which the action takes place is an integral part of the plot. What is more interesting is the many themes Vance covers in this brief novel: overpopulation, elitism, ambition, justifiable homicide, overwork, deviants and dropouts, the court of public opinion ... the list could go on and on.

The moral ambiguity of the protagonist keeps things interesting. As events progress, The Monster, as he is called, turns out to be no more amoral or violent than his peers: he is simply more effective, having, as he puts it, a "ruthlessness beyond your understanding". ( )

Just reread for first time since 1980s. Slightly aged. Concept is strong and Vance is an early explorer of the consequences for society of everlasting life within a meritocracy. ( )

This is a pretty good sci-fi story from a 1940s-1950s master of sci fi. There are some really interesting themes and questions but the characters and plot weren't the best.

Vance describes a meritocratic world, where life extension is available only to those who measure up in contributing to society. There are 5 tiers, and progression extends life -- 10 years for routine "good behavior", all the way to essentially godhood for extreme achievement.

Three interesting consequences are described. First, that overall society works well due to concrete motivation for achievement. The scoring for achievement is explicit and conducted by a powerful computer, and the consequences of failing to measure up are a visit from broadly-socially-accepted assassins. Second, that this pressure to achieve leads to some percentage of the population becoming neurotic. Third, the complexity of succession when cloning and other forms of identity-linking are possible, specifically how the artificial scarcity of top-tier immortal status is allocated. ( )

Wat een verspilling van tijd was dit boek. Het sleept zich maar door en door.

Geen eeuwig leven voor dit boek wat mij betreft..

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