Review of Tau Zero by Poul Anderson

Poul Anderson is, and mayhaps always will be, the speculative fiction writer who most integrates myth and legend into fantasy and science fiction.  The former relatively easy given myth and legend are typically already half fantasy, the latter is the more difficult given one of the aims of science fiction is believable futuristic extrapolation.  Failing spectacularly with The High Crusade (a novel that sees Medieval knights take a space ship to another planet to fight blue-skinned aliens), his 1970 Tau Zero is a more subtle mix.  While lacking in fully humanized characters, it nevertheless captures the ideal of a mythological journey in hard sf form.

Tau Zero is the story of a group of fifty astronauts on a mission to a distant star system.  The journey planned to take five years subjective time, thirty-three years actual time, the group know they are leaving their loved ones behind for good; the Earth they will return to in sixty-six years will be in differing circumstances.  Their ship, the Leonora Christine, the most sophisticated, technologically advanced space craft ever assembled by humanity, is capable of accelerating the vessel to near light speed with its massive Brussard ramjet.  Blast off going off without a hitch, when the ship flies through a nebula, however, a wrench is thrown in the works.  The gas pedal essentially stuck to the floor, the astronauts must find a way to remove the figurative wrench as they inch closer to light speed and further from the reality they are most familiar with.

Review of The Fountains of Paradise by Arthur C. Clarke

It’s tempting to call The Fountains of Paradise Arthur C. Clarke’s magnum opus.  Containing bits and pieces of nearly everything the author was involved with, personally and fictionally.  The book has it all, from his beloved Sri Lanka to the immense possibilities of science, alien phenomena to his belief humanity will improve itself, the realistic presentation of science to “knowledge” as the hero, not to mention being produced in the latter stages of his career.  Part historical overview, part thriller, and all hard sci-fi, whether or not The Fountains of Paradise is the best of Clarke’s oeuvre is up to the reader to decide.   That the novel is at its heart is undeniable.

The Fountains of Paradise is the story of the Vannevar Morgan.  Fresh off the successful construction of the three-kilometer high Gibraltar Bridge, the engineer is ready to start on his next vision: to design and build an orbital tower—an elevator to space.  The time late 21 st century, mankind has begun inhabiting the nearer planets in the solar system.  Development ongoing apace, many needed resources must still be brought from Earth, something an orbital tower, with its capacity to deliver vast payloads into the atmosphere without the need to launch fuel-guzzling, noisesome rockets, would greatly improve.  Morgan past middle age and having a heart problem, the time needed for the project’s conception and implementation, however, may just exceed the number of years he has remaining.

Review of "Permutation City" by Greg Egan

William Gibson’s Mona Lisa Overdrive, the concluding volume to his influential Sprawl series, saw several of the main characters living within an aleph. The idea borrowed from Jorge Luis Borges, an aleph is an object that contains a virtually infinite amount of knowledge. Operating as a permanent virtual reality, the surface of the idea was only touched upon by Gibson, begging another writer to fully detail the idea. Greg Egan’s 1994 Permutation City does just that. 

The world of 2050 Egan imagines is not so far removed from our own, and like Gibson’s, is scarily plausible.  Technology advanced to the point personalities are uploadable, the rich are able to afford the computing power necessary to maintain a virtual copy of themselves in VR while the less well-to-do save in the hopes of having immortality upon death—or at least until their finances dissipate.  The technology capable but not ubiquitous, it requires huge quantities of computing power to keep the system running, making competition for technical resources fierce.  Public services (not unlike the “cloud” service companies are currently driving at) are rented and used as needed, home networks prohibitively expensive to operate.

Review of "The Gods Themselves" by Isaac Asimov

After what might be understated as active output in the 1950s, Isaac Asimov took a bit of a breather, waiting more than a decade to publish his next novel, The Gods Themselves.  Serialized in 1972, it sees Asimov taking his criticisms to heart (e.g. no aliens, no women, scientists as altruistic gods, etc.) and challenging himself to write a story which defied his storytelling to date, as well as experimenting with format.  That he dedicates the book to “mankind” only heightens the ambition. Though revealing a certain timidity working outside his zone of comfort, Asimov’s effort is admirable, the novel he produced deserving of the genre categorization if ever there were one.

The Gods Themselves is a difficult book to summarize from a story point of view.  Actually three novellas, the first Against stupidity… tells of a proud and demanding physicist’s accidental discovery that beings from a parallel universe are siphoning energy from Earth.  Like a circuit, energy is likewise transferred back to Earth, albeit in a different form.  The debate whether this exchange is safe for the planet, one ideology versus another, is something that can only have been taken from Asimov’s real world experience in the laboratory encountering scientists with conflicting agendas.  (The “scientists as altruistic gods” demon, slain.)

Review of "Forever Free" by Joe Haldeman

Joe Haldeman’s 1974 The Forever War and 1997 Forever Peace were huge successes for the author, winning many of science fiction’s most prestigious awards, not to mention garnering him a solid fan base in the process.  Though they share similar sounding titles and a military motif, little else between the two novels resembles the other.  When it was announced in 1999 that Haldeman would be publishing a true sequel to The Forever War entitled Forever Free, the sci-fi community was abuzz: William Mandella was returning.  Opinion in the aftermath could not be more divided.

Forever Free does indeed pick up the life of William Mandella, his wife Marygay, and the two children they've conceived since.  Living on a cold, dreary planet called Middle Finger (a none-too-subtle touch of symbolism by Haldeman), the Mandellas, amidst a larger group of veterans and Taurans, serve as untainted gene pools, kept in isolation for “protective purposes”.  Governed by a genetically perfect version of humanity called the Man, a posthuman group-mind, the Mandellas and others spend their days in bland, domestic rote on Middle Finger, life far from idyllic.  The monotony of the situation drives the Mandellas to plot a daring escape involving a space ship, 10 years subjective time/40,000 years time dilation, and a grand tour of the universe.  Their plans kicking off without a hitch, very soon, however, things start to go awry in ways that seem to defy reality, and getting at the heart of the issue may change the definition of “universe” for all.  

Review of "Red Mars" by Kim Stanley Robinson

Mars has been a subject of science fiction since before the genre became a fixture:  Ray Bradbury’s The Martian Chronicles, Philip K. Dick’s The Martian Time-slip, Edgar Rice Burrough’s The Princess of Mars series, Arthur C. Clarke’s The Sands of Mars, C.S. Lewis’s Space trilogy, Ben Bova's Mars, and many others have in one way or another imagined what life might be like on our neighboring globe.  Representing more than a decade of research and reading on the subject, Kim Stanley Robinson's 1994 Red Mars is an elaborate work that just may set the bar Mars colonization novels.

As is to be expected, Red Mars begins with the planet as a wasteland and moves toward colonization—a very human version, at that.  The main characters are introduced on the nine-month space flight from Earth, inter-group tensions set, and then turned loose on the cold, arid desert. The book divided into eight sections, a main character is the focus of each, making the novel a surprisingly character-centered work despite the large amount of technical and scientific information included and developed.  John Boone is an experienced astronaut—the first to land on Mars, in fact—and is the expedition’s leader.  Frank Howard is the second in command and secretly harbors feelings of jealousy regarding not only John’s position of power, but also his charisma and people skills.  Nadia is a tough female engineer, doing her best with the tools at her disposal to build the infrastructure and facilities they need to live.  Hiroko is an intelligent but unique-minded biologist with ideas of her own (to say the least) regarding how society should function socially.  Not the only rebel, Arkady is an architect and planner with ideas even more radical regarding the structure and interaction of people, science, and government on the planet.  Through these and a handful of other main characters Robinson weaves his highly scientific yet intriguingly human tale.

Review of "Earthlight" by Arthur C. Clarke

Arthur C. Clarke is one of the most influential writers of science fiction.  His quiet optimism, faith in science, and ability to tell straightforward but intriguing tales endeared him to a generation of fans that continues to this day.  Earthlight, his sixth published novel, follows directly on the heels of his successful Childhood’s End, and though rather simplistic in presentation, adheres to the author’s style in perfect fashion. 

Earthlight is the story of Bertram Sadler, an undercover agent for the CIA sent to the moon to ferret out a suspected spy.  Though dependent on Earth for all of their metals, several of the solar system’s planets have been inhabited and are united under the banner of The Federation.  Tungsten, uranium, and the like all in short supply, prices on Earth determine much of the solar system’s economics.  A rebellion fomenting in the face of price hikes on Earth, the CIA believes a Federation agent is at the moon’s observatory leaking information.  It is up to Sadler to discover who and stop them before war breaks out.

Told simply but subtly, Earthlight is not complex space opera.  Set entirely on the moon, the book is largely a vehicle for Clarke to describe what inhabited life might be like on our orbiting globe.  Featuring monorails, sports in light gravity, underground mining operations, and a telescope larger than any on Earth, the imagery is vintage Clarke.  So too are the characters.  The starched collar and thin tie wearing scientist filling most of the main roles, the story is rooted as much in ideas as it is visuals, a current of hard science flowing through everything.

Showing his usual insight into humanity’s vices, Clarke likewise seeks to promote its virtues. Fights for resources an unquestionable aspect of real life, it remains so in Earthlight.  The climactic scene revolving around this is spectacularly depicted and will have sci-fi junkies drooling.  This scene occurring about 80% of the way through the book, soft science fiction fans will likewise find something to enjoy about the remaining 20%.  Clarke betting on mankind’s empathy, the manner in which the Earth and the Federation’s interests are resolved nicely balance the fireworks of the climax.  Whether it’s believable or not, is up to the reader.

Problems with the novel?  Well, there are no technical issues, per se. Clarke’s writing is smooth, but not complex.  The super nova a nice literary touch, characters and scenes are related in efficient aplomb.  And it is a short story.  The book only 150 pages, scope is kept tight, the Federation and Earth’s war related in news bites rather than first hand action.  In other words, those looking for whopping space opera should look elsewhere.  Likewise, those looking for intense, never-ending scenes of action should look elsewhere.  Earthlight does have a jaw dropping climax, but this is a bright light in a story of earthlight, i.e., the indirect variety.

In the end, Earthlight is not the greatest sci-fi novel ever written, but it doesn't have any flaws; simplicity is its only potential drawback.  Readers who approach the short book with expectations for a story highlighting mankind’s need for resources, imaginative descriptions of life on the moon, and a typical Clarke denouement (i.e. optimistic) will walk away satisfied.  Those looking for dark and gritty sci-fi with complex amounts of characters, settings, and scenes had best look elsewhere.  It wouldn't hurt this type of writer today, however, to borrow a page from Clarke’s book and first master the straightforward before tackling the over-complex… 

Review of "Startide Rising" by David Brin

I had never read a David Brin book.  Hearing his background was in math, physics, astronomy, etc., I went about buying one of his books with trepidation.  Isaac Asimov, Vernor Vinge, Alastair Reynolds, and other popular sci-fi authors may be good scientists, but they lack the touch and feel of an inborn writer, the style of their novels suffering for it.  Not written in glorious prose, Startide Rising was nevertheless a pleasant surprise.

A fun mix of hard sci-fi and space opera, Startide Rising is a unique story that sets itself apart from derivative sci-fi for its premise.  The story of a dolphin and human crew hiding on a water planet, they are holed up in an attempt to escape a galaxy of species that want the relic tucked away in the hold of their damaged ship.  While the various aliens war in space above, the crew spend their time trying to extrapolate metals and materials from the sea and land to repair their ship.  The mysteries they uncover on the uncharted planet and the relationship problems that result from the cabin fever only make their escape all the more unlikely.

Dolphins in space? the average person blinks.  Yes, it’s true.  “Uplifted” from their primeval state to one on par with human sentience thanks to advances in technology, the majority of the story is told through human-dolphin and dolphin-dolphin interaction.  If this idea seems implausible to the point of annoyance, don’t read the book.  Readers with an open mind will quickly discover that Brin takes the concept seriously and does not cartoon-ify the water mammals like Vinge’s canines in A Fire Upon the Deep.  Each an individual, on one hand Brin portrays the dolphins having a mindset not altogether different than humanity’s.  The dolphins experience many of the same emotions and thoughts, anger, greed, pride, honor, etc.  On the other hand, however, is speculation on what effect being raised in a water environment and communicating via sonar, squeaks, and whistles would have on culture, habits, and beliefs.  Star Trek aliens often having more in common with humanity than Brin’s dolphins, thinking of the finned creatures as sentient creatures requires little stretching of the imagination under his guidance.

The hard science aspects of Startide Rising are numerous.  As mentioned, Brin takes the dolphin idea seriously and step by step imagines what a shared human-dolphin environment would require from a practical perspective.  The accoutrements for each are well detailed, from airdomes and cyber-harnesses with manipulator arms for dolphins to underwater sleds and breathing apparati for humans.  Their space ship is designed for each to live in their natural environment, not to mention that its inter-galactic characteristics, hull design, gravity inducers, etc. show a basic understanding of astrophysics.  Topping things off is the knowledge of planetary geology and biology Brin uses to motivate the plot. The physical and chemical properties of waters, metals, land masses, and all else the crew discover are taken into consideration, often creating difficulties the crew must overcome. 

That being said, there are several unrealistic aspects of the story.  Though occurring infrequently, the space opera elements of Startide Rising nevertheless have a major effect on plot, particularly the denouement.  Certain moments fly in the face of common sense, while at other times the narrative wholly contradicts itself in order to develop tension in the moment.  For example, the incredible racket the crew make while supposedly in hiding (bombs, land mass drilling, etc.) would seem to trigger any monitoring or tracking devices the aliens overhead would have in place.  Yet, no consequences incur, the plot moving smoothly forward for it.  

It would be remiss not to mention the anthropological side of Startide Rising.  Along with the dolphins, Brin’s portrayal of the encounters with other species is not one divided by a line of good and evil.  The cultural elements, particularly a few scenes where the humans interact with aliens, are dealt with in realistic rather than shoot-em dead fashion.  Likewise, the linguistics of the novel show a considerable amount of preparatory work, human-dolphin interaction using more than one language.  Thus, the backdrop of the story may be grand, but Brin does a good job of keeping things relatively realistic from a cultural perspective.  

In the end, Startide Rising is unique amongst hard sci-fi/space opera novels for its dolphin premise.  Though not prosaic, the writing style never interrupts the story. Characterization black to white to gray and the science detailed to the point of plausibility, Brin insults his readers’ intelligence only with the space opera moments.  The background story revealed enticingly slowly (he builds to the climax well) and character interaction for the most part realistic, the novel also shows that Brin is more than just a scientist, the basic skills of a storyteller working in parallel.  Seeming a combination of Brian Aldiss (the hard and soft science aspects) and Alastair Reynolds (the grand scale and space opera elements), fans of either author will want to check out the book.  Those intrigued by Gibson’s inclusion of a sentient dolphin in “Johnny Mnemonic” will love the manner in which Brin has fleshed the idea into a complete novel.  

(This review has also been posted at www.fantasyliterature.com)

Review of "A Fall of Moondust" by Arthur C. Clarke

Standing at night, looking up at the glowing white face of the moon, we might ask: what is it comprised of?  We’ve all seen the lunar landing videos, the dusty, desiccated soil that holds the impression of boots and tires so well, but what does it feel like?  How does the stuff behave?  Like sand?  Talcum powder?  Is it powdery like sugar, or fluid like in an hourglass?  In 1961 when mankind had yet to set foot on the moon, those impressions were left in a substance that existed in the imagination, only.  Writing A Fall of Moondust that year, Arthur C. Clarke speculated just what that surface might be like, and in the process wrote a sci-fi thriller rooted in scientific ideology.  Not earthshaking, the novel is nonetheless a solid read for fans of the genre.

In keeping with Clarke’s preference for stories that highlight humanity’s diminutive size compared to the exigencies of the universe, A Fall of Moondust is novel about a group needing rescue after becoming trapped in a sea of moon dust.  Using the tropes of science-fiction – with strong emphasis on “science” – the book tells of the hovercraft Selene and one of its moon cruises that doesn’t go according to plan.  Not exceptionally technical in its discourse, Clarke’s everyday-Joe heroes nevertheless uphold scientific virtue in extricating the trapped people, simultaneously rationalizing and promulgating the suspense.

No space monsters or barrage of mutant asteroids, A Fall of Moondust is simply man vs. the elements.  The team of protagonists set about overcoming the unique limitations imposed by the lunar environment in systematic fashion.  Theoretical knowledge of utmost value if the trapped group is to be rescued, most methods and tools that work on earth are unthinkable on the moon, its gravity and atmosphere posing unnatural obstacles for the engineering mind to circumvent.  And so while Clarke is able to keep plot lines taught, it is the methodology to the rescue which proves the book’s main draw. 

Average build, clean shaven, plaid shirts, and an unfailing belief in the scientific method characterize Clarke’s “heroes” in A Fall of Moondust.  Lawrence is an engineer with an unfailing eye for weeding out solutions relying too heavily on impracticalities.  Lawson, a young astronomer fueled by his belief in scientific observations, challenges the status quo when presenting his objective evidence to the world.  And lastly Pat, the captain of the Selene, is a phlegmatic but resourceful man, not given to losing his cool in moments of fear because of his trust in the material workings of his craft.  Though these characters are obviously conjured to suit the plot, Clarke blunts the edge enough to pass them off as real humans.  Dialogue not so wooden as to make the story unreadable, there is even time for a touch of romance and detective work.

In the end, A Fall of Moondust is a competently written, consistently plotted thriller rooted in physical reality despite having the moon as its setting.  Like other 'mission impossible' type stories, Clarke sets an interesting challenge for himself and his protagonists with the trapped ship, proving it’s the journey not the destination that’s worthwhile.  A paean to science, readers can also expect the glories of objective inquiry and theoretical knowledge regarding chemistry, physics, and astronomy to appear and reappear.  Written at a time when scientific ideology was not yet taken for granted by society, none of the darker, grittier sides of humanity surface.  Unlike the works of later writers, such as Gibson, McDonald, or Banks, Clarke presents the cleaner, more traditional side of sci-fi (read: idyllic), science shining golden to solve all society’s problems.  And so, while the premise of A Fall of Moondust may seem dated due to the knowledge we later acquired of the moon, the story itself remains a compact and easy read.  Not Clarke’s best, it’s at least short, sweet, and interesting to those curious to see physics at work on the moon.

Review of "Galactic North" by Alastair Reynolds

The front cover of Alastair Reynolds 2006 Galactic North boldly declares the author to be “A master singer of the space opera.”  Cracking it open and discovering ships battling in the black of space, futuristic technology and weaponry, and intercultural politics and prejudices progressing in good and evil fashion, the book does indeed seem to personify the sub-genre.  Galactic North is a collection of short stories, many of which fill gaps in the Revelation Space mythos.  Like many short story collections, however, quality is uneven.  Also, despite that several of the stories do stand alone, the collection is best appreciated with a familiarity of Reynold’s created universe.

“Great Wall of Mars” – Revealing the origins of a certain story in Revelation Space, Clavain’s diplomatic mission to Mars does not turn out as planned.  Metallic versions of Herbert’s sandworms, terraforming, and brotherly enmity appear to disjoint his hopes.  For those who haven’t read the RS series, the story reads in forced fashion, one event clamoring over another just to fill gaps.

“Glacial” – Another Revelation Space story, this one, however, can stand alone.  Unfortunately, it’s legs are weak.  Clavain and crew encounter an abandoned base on one of Jupiter’s moons where all the personnel are murdered, except one.  In explaining why only one survived, Reynolds attempts to build a profound morale dilemma.  But by resolving it simplistically - in consequentialist (pragmatist) vs. inconsequentialist (relativist) fashion - expect not to be enlightened.

“A Spy in Europa” – Perhaps the weakest in the collection, this story could have been lifted from the pulp magazines of the 50s and 60s with none the wiser.  Part undercover ops, part alien thriller, none of the plot milestones develop realistically.  Clashing with the previous story’s moralizing, death in this story takes on no meaning.  Magazine pulp, no more, no less.

“Weather” – Moving from the worst to perhaps the best of the collection, this story sees Reynolds finding form.  The characters act like real people, the conflicts are human – or at least as human as they can be with a Conjoiner involved – and theme is well developed.  The story has impact and proves that sci-fi is one of the best genres for discussions on cultural prejudice.  Though set in Revelation Space, this story works independently and can be enjoyed as such.

“Dilation Sleep” – A non-Revelation Space story (and one of the first Reynolds ever had published), this and the previous story vie for best of the collection.  “Dilation Sleep” tells of a man woken from cryogenic sleep and the weird, dreamlike experience that results.  Featuring great descriptions of biotechnology in a human environment, this story is highly reminiscent of Dick and Gibson.

“Grafenwalder’s Bestiary” – As the title implies, the main character is a creature collector, the more exotic the better.  A commentary on animal rights and respecting the rights of all living things, Reynolds leaves nothing to the imagination, literally and figuratively, in driving home his point.  (Not directly a Revelation Space story.)

“Nightingale” - The story’s name is derived from the hospital ship a handpicked crew of ex-soldiers are contracted to extract a wanted man from.  Weirder things happening with each step deeper into the abandoned ship, the slosh of cloned organs and tissue samples they encounter along the way are peanuts compared to what awaits them in the last room.  Highly reminiscent of Neal Asher’s works, this story can be read independently.

“Galactic North” – Abandoning the linear, straightforward style used to this point, the eponymous story attempts to create a time-lapsed mythology of Irravel and Markarian, as well as establish the origins of Remontoire.  Unable to be enjoyed without a knowledge of Revelation Space, this story is uneven and feels like filler otherwise.

Reynolds’ weaknesses continue to play themselves out in Galactic North.  Problems include: overhanded moralizing, readers being lead by the hand through the plot one baby step at a time, dialogue serving plot only, moral buttons being fat and obvious (sadism, justifiable revenge, irrevocably evil bad guys, etc.), plot developments being telegraphed, and political alliances that are black or white.  However, like a tech-ier version of Star Wars, there are some great pieces of imagination tucked away in this collection, as well as in Revelation Space as a whole.  Reynolds’ literary aspirations may not climb high, but he certainly delivers when it comes to pulp storytelling, wonderful gadgetry, and the possibilities of space and technology.  Further commendation should be given him for his inclusion of environmental, social, biological, and other scientific issues as background elements.  Fans of Peter Hamilton, Richard Morgan, Iain M. Banks, and Neal Asher will absolutely enjoy Reynolds’ work, but I would recommend Galactic North only to those up to speed on their Revelation Space storylines.

Review of "Starburst" by Frederik Pohl

Wow.  I’m stumped.  At its most fundamental, Frederik Pohl’s 1982 Starburst is like a cluster... bomb exploding, pieces scattering in all directions.  So many potential points of comment, such a variety of literary angles to run with, but where to begin?  Is the book satire or hard science fiction, social commentary or merely a thought experiment gone wild?  Without any basic literary indicators to shine the way, it is possible to even formulate a review?  Situation check. There are pages; the words printed on one differ from another; there’s a picture on the cover.  It’s a book, and therefore must offer some morsel for comment.  Here goes, starting with only the certainties possible.

The basic premise of Starburst is that American scientists have discovered a habitable planet orbiting Alpha Centauri and send the cream of the human crop - four hand-picked couples – on a ten year spaceflight to inhabit it.  Away they go.  The problem is, the planet doesn’t exist.  Dr. Knefhausen, the project’s mastermind, knew from the beginning the futility of the expedition.  His hopes were that the isolation of space would promote intellectual activity to the degree mankind’s most challenging scientific problems would be solved.  Revealed in the first couple of chapters, this may seem like a spoiler, but it’s not, as beyond this, things really get out of control.

The idea of eight humans locked in space ship for ten years seems a great premise.  The potential for individual and social interaction is abound, along with the opportunity for commentary on the fundamental nature of humanity.  Pohl at no time, however, delves any deeper into the mindset of the characters than a couple of paragraphs, and instead Knefhausen’s wish comes true.  This, however, is not in any fashion the reader might foresee.  Given the current state of knowledge regarding social psychology and mankind’s leanings toward overt egoism in deprived environments - such as the interior of a cramped generation star ship - the group’s accomplishments do not evolve in a realistic fashion.  The book simply spirals into the surreal.  But what to make of this?  The only natural conclusions are that the story is either overly optimistic or an attempt at humor.  Given the tone and how quickly the plot devolves, the book shows strong hints of being satire.  But that is only a guess.  No matter the intent, half-hearted scientific speculation on the details of living in space combined with commentary on the social mores of the early 80s make for strange bedfellows.

Pohl’s earlier novel Gateway is one of sci-fi’s highly recommended.  He struck upon an excellent idea, mined it, and built a pillar of a story around it, brick by social brick.  Starburst is scattered across a wealth of human knowledge, often to the point one thinks Pohl’s tongue is in cheek.  Hydroponic babies, chakra meditation, plasma fusion, and talking ghosts are only the tip of Starburst’s idea iceberg, and none are fleshed out in any detail.  A hodgepodge that slips and slides out of focus, Pohl does not regulate points of view.  Some characters remain on-stage for a few chapters, others a paragraph, and none seem to have a story which flows toward a central theme other than the larger evolution of history and politics.  As such, magic realism seems a better label than the hard science fiction many others have placed on it.

In the end, Starburst is a jumbled mess that slowly takes itself beyond the realm of believability one page at a time – and there are only 200.  Such a mix of tangible and intangible ideas presented indifferently, one must give Pohl the benefit of the doubt that chaos was his intention rather than accidental creation.  Based on the mixed signals, the serious and seemingly sarcastic alike, it remains tough for any reader to know the book’s aim for certain.  It could be a satire on the post hippy generation, an optimistic look at the possibilities of space, a thought experiment on ennui, or just a one-off to satisfy a publishing contract.  Anywhere from the sci-fi version of William Golding’s Lord of the Flies to the latest from Adam Roberts (Burst of Stars!), Starbust is an unsyncopated offering from a writer who seems to know what he was doing, just not sure anyone else does. 

As a side note, about the only thing that rings loud and clear in the book is the unbelievably prophetic nature in which Pohl depicts the US presidency.  An uneducated country boy whose only desire is to maintain authority with lethal force, images of GW and Iraq will dance before the reader’s eyes reading of the unintentional chaos unleashed when leadership meddles with powers beyond its control.

Review of "Neuromancer" by William Gibson

There are specific moments in literary history that define future generations.  Neuromancer is one. As The Lord of the Rings was a watershed event that shaped the decades of epic fantasy to come, so too has William Gibson’s novel of a console cowboy riding through cyberspace shaped and influenced a myriad of science fiction since the 80s.  Richard Morgan’s Takeshi Kovac's novels, Ian McDonald’s River of Gods, the Wachowski brothers’ The Matrix, Dan Simmons’ Hyperion Cantos, Neal Stephenson’s Snow Crash, Masumune Shirow’s Ghost in the Shell, Iain Banks’ Culture novels – just to name a few - all owe varying degrees of recognition to the seminal influence that is Neuromancer.

An underground success when it was released in 1984, building to a huge readership in the years that followed, Neuromancer is no worse for the wear.  Gibson’s vision remains as penetrating into technology and society then as today.  In direct opposition to the squeaky clean laboratory visions of the future presented by Arthur C. Clarke, Isaac Asimov, and Gene Rodenberry, the novel is set in a bleak, grittier version of a future earth.  Corporations rule and the consumption of commodities – legal and illegal - have overtaken quotidian life.  A virtual world of data superimposes and permeates the fabric of society.  In fact, the saturation of technology and commercialism so replete, few hints of nature remain.  Life is instead channeled through electrodes, simulators, and designer drugs – existence carried on in rundown urban conglomerations and jacked into the matrix.  In true Philip K. Dick style, this line between reality and virtual reality blurs to the point the reader themselves at times does not trust their senses.

The novel’s plot centers on the cyber cowboy Case and his struggles in his chosen profession of data thief.  An outright drug addict, Case lives with one eye over his shoulder, the other looking to stay ahead of the dangers that trail his under-the-table, high risk dealings.  Encountering an offer to sweet to turn down, the uncertainties fade in the neon hope of achieving a long-dreamed of escape from life on the run.  But the deal isn’t what he expected.  Case’s advanced cyberspace skills take him places out of the atmosphere and deep into his dreams.  And his nightmares.  Bombarded with holograms, fake memories, and constant switches between realities – virtual, simulated, and otherwise - he begins losing touch.  But when AIs enter the picture, the game is taken to another plane.  Based on the psychological, sociological, and technological dimensions Gibson stretches the story across, literature has never had such equivocal view of life.  

Though the latter two books in the Sprawl series, Count Zero and Mona Lisa Overdrive, offer tighter, more polished prose, Neuromancer is no slouch.  Gibson’s first novel is a mature offering and better than the majority of sci-fi published by established writers today.  It offers a powerful, highly-unique style, lingual innovation the neon burning through the light.  A simple look at the terms coined - “jacked in”, “matrix”, “cyberpunk”, etc. – indicate the integral role the text has played not only amongst sci-fi geeks, but everyday society and the language it uses to describe techno reality.  Few today in the Western world are unaware of the term “cyberspace”, yet most probably do not know of its root in Neuromancer.  

In the end, nobody calling themselves a fan of science fiction in the 21st century can go without reading this novel.  A quick look at the titles it has influenced in the opening paragraph (no slouches, themselves) and the book’s significance becomes readily apparent.  Picking up the mantle PKD left with his untimely death in 1982, Gibson, though less prolific, has evolved the genre for a new generation - it’s stimuli possessing the same innovative bite but in higher literary form.  Beyond entertainment, Neuromancer is an artistic statement with vision into the reality of technology’s integration with humanity.  It is a book that will endure for generations.

(If you have read the whole Sprawl trilogy and are interested in reading more, you may like to read my essay entitled The Uncertainty of Reality: William Gibson's Sprawl Series.)

Review of "Quicksilver" by Neal Stephenson

The ideas of numerology, encryption, and early computer infrastructure came to life in Stephenson’s 2001 Cryptonomicon.  Quicksilver – and the entire Baroque Cycle, for that matter – find the author digging even deeper into these histories to strike at the root of modern economy, commerce, and primitive computing.   Tipping the scales at more than 900 pages, the volume is divided into three parts: the eponymous Quicksilver, King of the Vagabonds, and Odalisque.

Centuries in the past rather than decades, the scene is the late 17th century, Britain's Reformation in full swing.  While Protestants and Catholics war in politics and on the streets, a growing number of scientists appear, bent on defining the phenomena of life in less fantastic terms.  Funded and ennobled from on high, a group of these aristocratic nerds form London’s Royal Society for Natural Philosophy and carry out a wide variety of experiments on anything they can lay their hands on, live dogs, menstrual blood, and kidney stones turning no stomachs.  Newton hangs on the fringes, and his, along with Leibniz’s mathematical discoveries, move Europe toward the values of empirical science.

Into this accurate historical setting (which includes many characters who truly lived and breathed), Stephenson weaves a handful of fictional characters.  Foremost is Dr. Daniel Waterhouse, who acts both as witness and participant in the wide variety of social, political, religious, and scientific happenings of the day.  Action occurs elsewhere, as well.  The characters Jack Shaftoe and Eliza de Zeur traipse about mainland Europe (predominantly Germany, the Netherlands, and France), getting into adventures more swashbuckling than Waterhouse’s ecclesiastical circumstances allow for.  Each a window in time, it is through these character’s eyes that the history of the era unfolds as only Stephenson’s wit could allow.

Quicksilver certainly more historical than fictional, the author allows the movements of textbooks to direct the story.  Waterhouse’s perspective is chock full of the political movements and court intrigue of the time, as well as the philosophic and religious disputes that marked the early stages of the modern scientific revolution.  The second and third books, King of the Vagabonds and Odalisque, respectively, contain more action, however.  Jack and Eliza’s turns through silver mines of Bohemia, stock markets of Amsterdam, and squalorous streets of Paris, ratchet the excitement level a little higher and keep the pages turning.  

In the end, Stephenson has done his research.  The pages of Quicksilver are bursting with esoteric cultural and historical facts that most modern day people are unaware of.  The origins of words, place names, and former political allegiances will surprise the reader and have them checking up on Stephenson’s facts in a more trusted source.  The fictional characters thrown into the mix liven what would otherwise be dry reading.  Further jazzing up the 900 pages, Stephenson breaks narrative form on several occasions to introduce alternative formats.  Socratic dialogue, letters, theater, and info dumps all bump and jostle the story along.  At times seeming more educational than entertainment, the book is true nerd-dom. Thus, readers who prefer linear, action filled narratives should look elsewhere.  Quicksilver is infotainment with a heavy focus on the history of money, mathematics, and the daily life of 17th century Europe.

Review of "Spin" by Robert Charles Wilson

(This review has also been posted at www.fantasyliterature.com.)

A sturdy home in the burbs seems the best metaphor describing Robert Charles Wilson’s 2005 Spin.  The novel does everything correctly.  It builds mystery in a curiosity evoking fashion.  The characters have all the right traits to color a story.  The prose moves the plot steadily forward, at times even gaining artistic heights.  And lastly, sci-fi elements support the evolving premise of the book as well as any fan of Heinlein, Wells, or Asimov could hope.  That being said, it is the mapped nature of the novel which undermines its overall quality, and ultimately leaves what is a solid domicile for some, lacking character for others.    

The fundamental concept underpinning Spin is that the earth is one day suddenly encapsulated in a time bubble by an unknown group dubbed the Hypotheticals.  While a minute remains minute and a second a second on earth, time in the universe beyond moves exponentially faster.  Wilson plays the idea in two directions for society.  The first are those who react positively to the notion only 50 years remain before the sun fizzles out.  They seek to profit from the knowledge available to experimentation having  millennia as a timeframe.  The second part of society, however, is in despair of the looming fate, effectively giving up on moral codes and civilized behavior. This dichotomy and the ground between are portrayed by the three protagonists: the twins Jason and Diane, and the main character Tyler, respectively.  Style smooth and literary, Wilson chronicles forty years of the lives of the three as they deal with the knowledge the sun will burn out in their lifetime.    

With the impending apocalypse at times less than convincing, character reaction is not the only divisive aspect of the novel.  Story content can likewise be split along two lines, scientific speculation and the relationship among the three main characters.  Thus, while astronomy and biology nerds delight on one hand, the eyes of romantics sparkle on the other.  Wilson fails to intertwine these two aspects, however.  Despite that the obvious intent was to impress upon readers the effect of catastrophic world events, it is rare that any of the characters are emotionally affected by the crime sprees, depression, and general chaos.  They live their “normal” lives carrying out their adolescent love drama, the chaos pushed to the background for the character development scenes.  In trying to drive home the human aspects of the desperation of the scenario, one would expect stronger ties between the two.  Pohl’s Gateway, for example, does a much better job of portraying a human at end, not to mention McCarthy’s masterpiece The Road.  As a result, Spin could have been split into two books: one in the hard sci-fi genre, the other in romance.  As so much sci-fi contains wooden characterization, however, Wilson shouldn’t be denounced too heavily for introducing plausible characters to a genre story, and in the end it is just the disconnection between the two which undermines the overall intent.

Another problem arising from the textbook nature of the novel is how contrived many of the scenes feel.  One can almost see the points in Wilson’s outline being ticked off one by one as the pages turn.  Main character is questioned by insignificant third-party to reveal inner personal secrets to reader. Check.  Main character “accidentally” runs into old flame and is forced to update life.  Check.  Scientist appears stage left for info dump on state of world after major event.  Check.  Create implausible distraction so that two characters can be alone.  Check.  And so on.  Suffice to say, some writers do a better job of disguising movements in timeframes and dispersal of necessary story info.

But there remain several positive points to the novel.  Wilson incorporates a large amount of research into the book.  Medicine, terraforming, rocketry, astronomy, the potential for life on Mars, planet seeding, etc. all fall under discussion, and at times, actively propel the plot.  For the hard science fans out there, this will certainly appeal.  As was mentioned, the strong prose coupled with the escalating feeling of suspense, though starting to peter toward the climax, nonetheless does an effective job of making the reader want to turn the page.  Hints and clues constantly left dangling, Wilson knows how to keep readers wanting to know the “real truth”.

Those who choose to pick up Spin will be left oscillating rather than spinning.  The two sided coin that is the novel – combination speculative science vs. love story – will enthrall or put off.  But in the end, the quality prose, interesting premise, and fully developed storyline will be enough for most readers to at least say it’s a sturdy effort by a competent writer and that their time hasn’t been wasted.  The house in the burbs, despite a few undesirables, has been good to them. 

Review of "The Algebraist" by Iain M. Banks

Over the top villain. Check.  Strange and funny alien races.  Check.  Quest for singular object that leads through space.  Check.  Multitudes of battlecruisers, space wings, and dreadnaughts converging at a single point.  Check.  Boxes ticked, Iain M. Banks makes no bones about it: The Algebraist is unabashed space opera, for better and worse.

The Algebraist, the 20th novel and 8th sci-fi offering in Bank’s oeuvre, tells the story of Fassin Taak, a scholar who spends his time in the atmosphere of a gas giant interacting with the native species called Dwellers.  A smaller version of the blimp-like floaters Banks created in Look to Windward, the Dwellers live for millions and billions of years, accumulating knowledge, enjoying life, and remaining aloof of the cyclical rise and fall of power humanity and other species experience.  When word gets out that the Dwellers may be owners of a secret document containing the coordinates of wormholes which would interconnect the whole universe, multiple groups and species head to the gas giant, Nasqueron, to get their hands on it – by coercion of violence.  Among them are the ever-evil Luseferous (complete with diamond teeth) and his Empire-esque rebel horde who hope the document will pave the way for their rise to dominance.  Ordered by the “good” guys to be the first to lay hands on the document, Fassin’s adventures begin when his affinity for the Dwellers comes at odds with his mission, Luseferous and crew closing in fast.

The narrative at times so loose and free, it appears Banks set no limits for his pen describing the universe of ‘The Algebraist’.  A leaf falling free, the language, thought, and descriptions roll off the page real-time.  Less planned and therefore less thematically honed than the Culture novels, the novel comes across as exceptionally detailed entertainment with little commentary.  A secondary result of this tactic, or lack thereof, is that the story often lacks focus.  There are more than a few random plot digressions.  Moments of poignancy that stylishly carry the storyline oscillate with improvised, rambling thoughts which do nothing except highlight Bank’s self-indulgence.  Certainly some readers will revel in the worldbuilding for worldbuilding’s sake, others may find it tedious and ignorable.  

As is the norm with Banks, The Algebraist is filled with gorgeous set pieces - the main strength of the novel.  The gas giant Nasqueron, where most of the story occurs, comes to sulfurous, swirling life.  The time/space feel of space travel is also presented well, particularly how a human would have to adapt to survive the relative effects and forces of a gas environment.  Fully at home in this setting riding in his gel-filled gas-craft, Fassin and his plight take center stage for the majority of the novel, his character more developed for it.  What lack development, however, are the secondary characters.  The antagonist Luseferous is just evil for evil’s sake and comes across as more of a Superman style villain than the more serious, mature events that Fassin experiences would seem to allow for.  Furthermore, the Dwellers, while often stated as an intelligent species, are nevertheless portrayed as Dionysian clowns, wholly detracting from the strong effort at world-building and content.  The tweedle-dee tweedle-dum twin Dweller which appears does not help matters.  Worse yet, the sub-stories of Fassin’s friends, especially his fiancé, are so poorly fleshed out they do not deserve mention.  Banks would have been better to stick with his hero in linear fashion, concentrating on space opera for space opera’s sake, rather than foul the airwaves with his indecisive attempts at adding story depth and seriousness through additional characters and forced outcomes.

In the end, fans of Banks’ other science-fiction will at a minimum not regret reading The Algebraist.  Likewise, fans of Simmons’ Hyperion Cantos, Peter Hamilton’s universe, James Corey’s Leviathan Wakes, or Lucas’ Star Wars may be interested.  But if worldbuilding and space battles are your thing, by all means have a go.  Be warned, however, Banks’ earlier Culture novels have more much focus to their plots and emphasis on balanced characterization.  If you’ve never read Banks, I would recommend Consider Phlebas, Use of Weapons, or Look to Windward first. Though it has been seven years since the book’s publishing, I should also note that there are strong indications The Algebraist appears to be the first in a series; not all the plot threads are resolved.  That being said, though I do not regret reading the book, due to its digressive nature and ineffective characterization, I will probably wait until the series as a whole is published – if ever – to read more…  

(This review has also been posted at fantasyliterature.com)

Review of "Little Brother" by Cory Doctorow

I’m willing to bear with a writer when their style is less than polished if they have – or seem to have – good ideas.  I’m willing to set aside wooden characterization if it serves a larger purpose.  I’ll accept a little glossing over if the intentions are good.   I’m even willing to ignore large holes in ideology if the story is good.  Unfortunately for Little Brother, the combination is too heavy.  With all of these issues  glaringly apparent, the novel is nothing more than inconsistent, juvenile fiction which complains about society’s problems in conspiracy theory fashion rather than offering imaginative, plausible solutions.  When raising the red flag, it’s best to have your ideas formed before making the effort.

Little Brother is the story of the highschooler Cory Doc—I mean, Marcus Yallow—and his super-ideological, super technical battle with the Department of Homeland Security (Jefferson and Washington applauding on the wings).  The story goes that in the wake of another major terrorist attack, this time in San Francisco, the US government passes what is essentially Patriot Act II.  As a result, the city is inundated with Orwellian security having the legal right to track and interrogate people as they see fit.  Our hero, literally quoting from the Constitution, sets about undermining their attempts at complete control through the creation of his own underground intranet, the Xnet.  So candy-sweet perfect it makes your teeth hurt, Yallow wages his ideological struggle while living a dual life: one half teenage Che Guevara, the other a mild mannered wonder boy who does no wrong and is super-intelligent beyond his 16 years.  And did I mention the girls which dig his anarchist ways?  There are more than one.  Yes, it seems Yallow can do no wrong and lives every juvenile fantasy as a result: women tearing their clothes off on one hand, homemade computer in the other.  

All of this would be no bother if Doctorow weren’t at the same time trying to hammer home his version of freedom.  I emphasize his version as it seems he hasn’t quite settled on the details himself.  At one point in the novel he interprets the First Amendment as having limits, the example being that you cannot run into a crowded building and shout “Fire!” However, when closing in on the novel’s climax, our hero Corey – dammit! – Yallow stands up for his freedoms by convincing his loyal Xnetters to flash mob and play dead, which of course causes a similar situation to - you guessed it - shouting “Fire!” in a theater.  Panic ensues and the regal, stable society of Doctorow’s vision comes crashing down in one grand contradiction.  Sorry, the actions don’t match the words.  Game over.  Please, think again.

The second major ideological issue of the novel is Yallow’s relationship with his family.  All throughout we are shown how much they love and care for each other.  The support Yallow’s family gives him is unfailing throughout the problems that arise from his secret double life.  But again, as the novel nears its conclusion, an ugly contradiction raises its head.  At the drop of a hat, Yallow packs his things and leaves, abandons his family without a thought, and remains aloof of the harm that might befall them in the chaos he intends to unleash.  Now that’s consistent love for the family!!  

In the end, this book should be labeled “YA.”  The manner in which Doctorow sets about educating the reader with regards to web infrastructure, coding, and cryptology are like a parent to child.  There is no subtlety.  Secondly, the self-aggrandizing manner in which the main character is so obviously a teenage fantasy of the author’s visions of himself in high school – too cool for the others – is stomach turning.  (After all, what high school boy wouldn’t want to lose his virginity, win a techno war with the government via his XBox, as well as see his vision of a perfect society emplaced?)  Sorry, but deconstructing an inflicted system with contradictory ideologies without a solution to clean up the mess only makes the problem worse.  Fighting chaos with chaos only gains you more… you guessed it, chaos.  Doctorow’s over-handed proselytizing of this point is just too much for me to recommend this book.  If that isn’t enough, the implausible manner in which our hero escapes in the climax… But I desist.  Little Brother is techno-anarchy for juveniles.  If you want a good book, read the Big Brother.