Today, in "Yeah, sure, Keanu, we'll read your book" news: Keanu Reeves has co-written a new 352-page science fiction novel about the existential struggle of an immortal man who does black-ops work for the U.S. government, while also being pursued across time by a magical deer-pig. (Don't look at us like that, we took that nigh-verbatim from The New York Times.) Reeves co-wrote the novel with acclaimed sci-fi author China Miéville, because, guess what, when you're Keanu Reeves, you can just call up the Perdido Street Station guy and say, "Hey, let's turn my comic book into a novel."(Indeed, the new novel, The Book Of Elsewhere, is set in the universe of Reeves' BRZRKR comic book series, which he created with writer Matt Kindt. It all apparently grew out of ideas Reeves had about an "immortal warrior" around about when he was filming John Wick: Chapter 2, because god knows why that franchise would put a man in mind of a functionally unkillable superman. Published by Boom! Studios after a very successful Kickstarter, the comic actually reviewed pretty well and sold crazy numbers, leading to a bunch of plans for animes and films.)All of which brings us back to Book Of Elsewhere, which comes out next week, and is set in an "alternate universe" of the main BRZRKR universe. And which apparently features interludes with its main character, B, hanging out with Karl Marx, Sigmund Freud, and Samuel Beckett when he's not brooding and kicking ass in the modern day. (Or contending with his magical deer-pig, as one does.) The book itself has gotten mixed reviews, but really, that feels beside the point: If Keanu Reeves is not on this Earth, at this point, to co-write (i.e., supply ideas and notes while Miéville does the actual typing) a book about a character he only vaguely perceives as Keanu Reeves-like (actual Keanu-ism: "Why is death so strong and love so frail, and yet it’s the strongest force on the planet? So, I like to think about those things, and I thought maybe I found that they could come out in a comic book") who both broods about existence and kicks enormous amounts of ass, then what is he here for? At one point in the New York Times interview, Reeves apparently giggles gleefully and throws up the horns when Miéville starts talking about dinosaurs, before waxing poetic some more on the meaning of love. He is himself, in ways we can only aspire to be. Who are we to question any of it?
