Like
chocolate ice cream, space opera is a flavor of science fiction that seems will
always be. Churned out in endlessly
formulaic fashion, there is no end to the “new” titles appearing. Barry Malzberg deconstructed space opera in
1974with his superb Galaxies. But more a work of meta-fiction, one might
say he cheated by depending heavily on means beyond pure fiction. With M. John Harrison’s Light (2002), however, no such complaint is available. Creator of The Centauri Device and the Viriconium
sequence, what better a writer to use the tools of the sub-genre to expose
underlying realities in superb story?
Split
into three strands (united in strange fashion at the denouement), Light is told across light years
(literally and figuratively) of time and the universe. The opening story is present day London and
tells of Micheal Kearney, a brilliant scientist in public and psychotic in
private. Caught in a troubled
relationship and burdened with visions of a demonic thing he calls the
Shrander, murder and his bone dice seem his only comforts. Seria Mau is a K-boat captain. Giving up her humanity to be able to pilot
the esoteric piece of Kefahuchi alien tech, her physical form resides in a tank
connected virtually to the real world via wires and cables. Almost a perfect place to hide, she is on the
run from several Galactic entities, but perhaps mostly herself. And lastly is Ed Chianese. Once a daredevil space pilot, he now lives
his days in virtual reality tanks—and over his ears in debt because of it. When people come knocking to collect,
something’s gotta give.
Light is a novel that feels years in the
making. Firstly there are numerous
references to science fiction of yesteryear, from the yellow rubber duckies of
PKD to the characters of Samuel Delaney, the indecipherable alien tech of the
Strugatsky brothers’ Roadside Picnic
to a general cyberpunk feel of Gibson, Cadigan, and others in certain
scenes. Secondly is the understanding of
not only the space opera aesthetic, but the evolution of it, specifically to
create something at the very peak of the sub-genre’s uniqueness. (Only Iain Banks’ Culture series is
comparable.) And lastly, the prose is
honed down to a bone shine, the wording masterful.
Interestingly,
Light was winner of the 2002 James
Tiptree Jr. Memorial Award. The reasons
not obvious at first blush, delving deeper, however, particularly into the
story parallels between Sheldon/Tiptree Jr.’s work and the Harrison’s, and
similarities begin to appear. Kearney’s
menace toward women and outright murder of them has echoes of “The Screwfly Solution,” particularly the Cult of Adam.
Seria Mau’s story, about a young woman sexually abused as a child and
now a paranoid recluse running from everything and everybody, has more than a
few twinges of “The Girl Who Was Plugged In.”
I probably never would have made the connection between Light and Tiptree Jr., but once the
award was given, the echoes of Tiptree Jr.’s work are apparent. An interesting potential difference, however,
is that the underlying paranoia which appears part of Tiptree Jr.’s own personality
appears only as part of Harrison’s characters, the underlying narrative
oriented differently.
In
the end, Light is a superb novel that
both deconstructs and embraces the concept of space opera, or, as as Jeff
VanderMeer states in his brilliant
review of Light, “I cannot think of a SF novel in recent
memory that has both mocked the stereotypical ‘sense of wonder’ and yet
simultaneously created a sense of wonder.”
(Dear reader, my apologies for linking to VanderMeer’s review at the
end of my review rather than the beginning. Do go read it now, as it is miles
better.) Generally not belying the title (though the ending does justify it), Light is a dark novel that lurks in
oft-unexplored shadows and recesses of the human psyche, all through a space
opera aesthetic that is bar none. The
prose perfect word after word, Harrison’s sensawunda is as sharp as his
observations on humanity.
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