Jostein Gaarder hit bestseller lists from Berlin to Brisbane in the early 1990s with Sophie’s World (1991) – essentially a primer on philosophy wrapped in a novel.

Gaarder, a former philosophy lecturer in Bergen, Norway, wrote Sophie’s World as a way to introduce philosophy to Norwegian teenagers. He says he was taken aback by the novel’s worldwide success. But this has only served to spur him to write more focused works addressing the ‘big questions’: where do we come from? Why are we here?

In Vita Brevis (1996) he used a ‘translation’ of a letter from St Augustine’s former lover to critique the Bishop of Hippo’s Confessions. The fiction of the translation was highlighted in a prologue and epilogue. In Maya he uses a similar conceit, but this time turns his sights on scientific reductionism.

It is nearly the third millennium. The world’s attention is turning towards the Fijian island of Taveuni on the International Date Line – the only place on the Date Line where you don’t need snow shoes to walk into the new millennium. Little wonder that an eclectic group of Westerners - documentary makers, journalists and scientists – are in a reflective mood about the place of human beings in the universe.

On this island two grieving men meet. John Spooke, an English author who has been unable to write since his wife’s death, and Frank Andersen, a Norwegian evolutionary biologist, whose four year old daughter died in a recent car accident. Both become obsessed with a beautiful Spanish couple who sprout enigmatic aphorisms to each other which seem to touch on the meaning of life.

Ideas are the strength of this novel. There are no lush, poetic flourishes of description. Apart from the Spaniard’s aphorisms the language is sparse – pared back to reflect the reductionist world-view of Frank, the evolutionary biologist.

In contrast, the aphorisms themselves use the jargon of biology to poetic effect –

‘The breakthrough comes in the tetrapod’s cerebral circus ring’, ‘From fish and reptiles and small, sugar-sweet shrews, the chic primate has inherited a pair of becoming eyes with binocular vision’, ‘He sees how the earth continues to expand its elaborate DNA sculptures following, micro-inspired measurements.’

The loaded intensity of meaning may give the impression of poetry, but their intention is to distill a philosophic idea.

The novel also contains a series of literary games, which prod the reader to question the nature of reality. At times Gaarder uses ‘magical realism’ to highlight those things which distort the objectivity of the ‘real’ world: fiction, myth, history, insanity and intoxication. One such example - having Frank talk about the implications of evolutionary theory with a lizard – is particularly witty.

Another series of games are built around a play on words: the central being the Spanish woman’s remarkable resemblance to Goya’s 18th century Maja paintings.

At heart, the novel is a dialogue between a ‘modernist’ world-view and a ‘post-modernist’ view.

A central scene involves a ‘tropical summit’ involving the guests at the Fijian resort. Here, evidence is presented which suggests a purpose behind creation. Maya is revealed as a Hindu concept – that the external world is an illusion which disappears once we realise we are part of the universal soul.

This makes Frank realise that he is destined to become a ‘huge oil lake’ like the dinosaurs unless he comes to his senses ‘and see things in a different way’.

For the Christian reader this debate is somewhat like overhearing an argument between others.

Here is Gaarder’s major weakness. At points his characters are simply mouthpieces through which he tosses around ideas. The reader is given little emotional insight into them apart from the grief of John Spooke and Frank Andersen. Nor are the characters - on the whole - fully developed.

The beliefs of the Christian characters are not explored seriously. They are either treated superficially – Evelyn, the American honeymooner, is simply described as having ‘an unshakeable faith in Jesus as the saviour of mankind and the universe’. Or, in the case of the Roman Catholic sailor Mario, they are co-opted to critique the modernist assumptions of the evolutionary biologist.

“You’ve all sat there talking so blithely about all you can see, when in reality you are blind in both eyes. You say you see all the stars and galaxies, you see the evolution on earth, and you say you can see genetic material itself. You see order rising out of chaos, and you even brag about being able to see right back to the moment of creation. And then you end up by announcing you have disproved the existence of God! Bravo!… No God was waiting for us up Mount Everest. No table was prepared for us on the surface of the moon. We haven’t even made radio contact with the Holy Ghost. But if we play hide-and-seek, hide-and-seek is what we get. What I’m saying is: who has the most naïve world philosophy? The theologians? Or the reductionists?”

Busting the arrogant assumptions that underpin scientific reductionism is a worthy pursuit. Life is certainly a miracle. Yet a book is a journey, and travelling with two ‘grieving primates’ who are confronting eternal annihilation is a torturous experience. This book raises many complex and fascinating questions but offers little hope.