Review of Cosmonaut Keep by Ken Macleod

Ken Macleod’s The Star Fraction, despite the throwback genre name, was a politically variegated take on near-future science fiction with a view to the solar system and humanity’s evolution at large.  The three books in the Fall Revolution series which followed, linked fractally at best, expanded the novel’s ideas into the far-future—wormholes, A.I., post-humans, colonies on other planets, and ultimately into a The City and the Stars statement.  Located more toward the sophisticated end of the science fiction spectrum, they are something unique for their detailed politics and technical and social concepts which accompany.  Not trusting their audience, when Tor rolled out the series in the US they chose the most accessible, identifiable work among the four books as the first offering.  Thus, when completing the Fall Revolution series and looking for a new direction, Macleod opted to take the same route as American publishers.

Cosmonaut Keep (2000), opening volume in the three-book Engines of Light series, continues to mix politics into its storyline and work with near-future to far-future settings, but does so with a retro-sf sensibility.  One storyline cyberpunk-ish in its initial outlay but developing into a classic conspiracy theory on a space station, the second is even more recognizable for its love triangle, aliens, and setting on a world far, far away but with corporations, castles, aristocrats, etc.  Macleod lowering the denominator from the Fall Revolution series, the result is a novel (and series) of broader aim and appeal that jettisons sophistication in favor of accessibility: Cosmonaut Keep, and the Engines of Light trilogy, is space opera—Ken Macleod space opera, but space opera.

Review of Pelquin's Comet by Ian Whates

One of the significant differences between science fiction and realist fiction is the sense that the possibilities of sf are so much grander.  Genre writers taking advantage of the four dimensions as a playground for fiction in a variety of ways, from the temporal extents of Olaf Stapledon’s works to the microworlds of Madeline D’Engle, no sub-genre, however, may utilize the possibilities more than space opera.  Arguably the core of science fiction, it’s been in existence almost since the beginning, and there are no signs of its disappearance anytime soon.  Carrying the torch in the 21 st century is Ian Whates’ Pelquin’s Comet (2015, NewCon Press).

Knowing that a major stash of alien artifacts lies unclaimed, Pelquin, Captain of the freebooter Pelquin’s Comet, heads to the major financial center of New Sparta to find a sponsor in order to make a run at the loot.  An Elder artifact in hand, he succeeds in convincing one of the credit officers to extend a line of cash his way, but not without a compromise.  Forced to take on a representative of the bank (the mysterious alien toting Drake), Pelquin reluctantly agrees to the terms and sets his small crew to gearing up the ship for the trip.  Exiting New Sparta, however, a surprise attack occurs.  With projectiles flying the Comet gets off the ground, but not without its chief mechanic Monkey getting badly injured.  And he’s needed.  The jump into RzSpace going smoothly, once inside the other dimension, however, a problem occurs with the motors, an emergency landing needed.  Babylon the closest planet, it’s there the Comet heads and the Captain’s plans for an easy loot grab really start to spiral out of control.

Review of Old Man's War by John Scalzi

I had the misfortune of seeing Paul Verhoeven’s film adaptation before reading Robert Heinlein’s Starship Troopers.  I say misfortune as, in the context of the novel Verhoeven’s perspective adds layers of meaning beyond the mere senseless violence it appears as on the screen.  A critique of blindly following government command and the visceral aspects of war Heinlein conspicuously skipped over, it’s impossible to fully appreciate the film without having read the novel.  But such is not the case with John Scalzi’ Old Man’s War (2006).  Though Scalzi likewise uses Starship Troopers as as a mold, the story he produces is an ideological fence-sitter that adds little in the way of political commentary, and thus is best appreciated at the screen level.  Humor and the values of friendship and marriage the ideas shining faintly through the stereotypes of science fiction, the novel gets in a few passing shots at war, but at the same time peace, resulting in an mainstream genre offering that’s easy on the eyes but lets Heinlein off easy. 

It’s the future and mankind has populated the stars.  Earthlings not the only sentient beings inhabiting the universe, they gain and lose interstellar ground as much as the next species in an eternal fight for resources, fertile colonies, and lebensraum.  Soldiers continually needed to replace those lost on the front lines protecting humanity’s interests, the elderly on Earth, once they reach 75, have the option to live on until death or to be recruited with the promise of new bodies and new youth.  But a chance at a second life has a caveat: they must be willing to sign away all rights to themselves and their former existence, and understand that life on the front lines might bring their existence to an end faster than old age might.

Review of Revelation Space by Alastair Reynolds

Movements within science fiction have come and gone—New Wave, cyberpunk, the Silver Age, etc.  But one which has been there nearly since the beginning is space opera.  No matter whether one cites E.E. Doc Smith’s Skylark series or Dan Simmons’ Hyperion Cantos, its popularity has ebbed and flowed, but always the sub-genre has had its foot in the field.  The canvas writ large, prose barely competent (Simmons and a few others are exceptions), complex plots, and semblances of character—all zig and zag across the galaxy to save something (anything!), discover the mysteries abound, and prevent the worst cataclysms from being unleashed on the universe.  Alastair Reynolds Revelation Space series, opened by the eponymous novel in 2000, is no exception—in any way.

Starting as three separate strands that eventually intertwine, Revelation Space opens with the archeologist Dan Sylveste and the dig he is participating in on the remote planet Resurgam.  A mysterious obelisque revealed in the layers of dust from a long lost civilization of bird-like humanoids, Sylveste, along with the beta-level construct of his conniving father, attempt to interpret the mysterious runes on its sides.  Traveling near light speed in a massive Conjoiner space ship is Ilia Volyova.  On a mission to save her captain who is dying in cryo-sleep of a strange plague, she will stop at nothing to find a cure—including kidnapping and murder.  And lastly is the assassin Khouri. Legally working the bizarre architectural construct that is Chasm City, after one of her kills she is approached by a mysterious entity called the Madamoiselle and given an offer that goes against her oath as a legal assassin.  The bait too good, too personal to decline, it isn’t long before she is undercover, looking for a ride to Resurgam.  The three’s stories conflating in smooth fashion, the they find themselves chasing and facing a mystery that could mean everything to not only them, but all sentient species.

Review of God Emperor of Dune by Frank Herbert

Given the coarse, operatic nature of Dune’s two sequels, I was reluctant to continue the series.  I thought Leto II’s rise to power was an appropriate place to leave off in the cycle despite the three sequels Herbert penned. After posting my reviews of Dune Messiah and Children of Dune, however, one comment was left stating the first three novels were in fact just stage-setting for the fourth, God Emperor of Dune, and if I was to truly appreciate the series I needed to continue.  Continue I did, and though I still think Dune is slightly better, the fourth book is certainly a step above those between and does indeed seem a thematic pinnacle the first books were aiming at.

God Emperor of Dune is set roughly 3,500 years after the conclusion of events in Children of Dune.  Leto II, now with arms and legs useless appendages on a huge worm body, uses his prescience and hyper-senses to maintain supreme power over the known universe, not to mention his inhuman appearance.  Ruling from Arrakis where terraforming has nearly completed the change from inhospitable desert to verdant inhabited land, Leto’s Fish Speakers (an army of unfailingly loyal female soldiers) enforce his dominion: no technology, no interstellar travel, and complete obeisance to his rule, including its limited dispersal of the all-valuable spice.  Proclaiming himself god and starting his own religion, Leto maintains his dominion through belief and fear in holding to the Golden Path.

Review of the Hand of Thrawn Duology by Timothy Zahn

Based on the success of Timothy Zahn’s Thrawn trilogy, Bantam and Lucas Arts offered several contracts for additional books in the Star Wars expanded universe.  Various works starting to appear toward the end of the 20th century, all dealt with different aspects of the fictional world.  Some told X-Wing stories, others tales from the Mos Eisley cantina, Jabba’s lair was expanded, and some picked up Zahn’s story where he’d left it at the end of The Last Command.  The universe had not heard the last of Zahn, however, and four years after the completion of the Thrawn trilogy, a new duology of books appeared that continued the main Star Wars storyline, picking up where other writers left off.  

Called the Hand of Thrawn duology, Zahn adds little new to the Star Wars universe, rather ties up a couple of important loose ends.  Working with the story infrastructure handed him by Lucas and that which he created in the original Thrawn trilogy, the books bring together two key characters in matrimony, as well cements the New Republic’s position in the universe.  The story divided between Specter of the Past and Vision of the Future, the writing is in the same solid style that Zahn previously displayed and generally continues to show a respect and understanding for all things Star Wars. There are, however, a few new items which show authorial license.  More importantly, the overall story is beginning to show its limits.

Review of the Thrawn trilogy by Timothy Zahn

In 1991, before George Lucas had released Episode I, II, and III in the Star Wars saga, and before the flood of franchised books in the Expanded Universe that followed, he offered contracts to a few, lesser-known writers to create spin-off stories.  A handful of books appearing, they were well received.  Working from the success, Lucas then allowed Timothy Zahn to pen Episode VII, VIII, and IX—the events following Return of the Jedi.  Lucas’ instincts sound, Zahn produced a trilogy of books that live up to expectation, and from some angles, exceed the quality of the films.

Heir to the Empire, Dark Force Rising, and The Last Command, known as The Thrawn Trilogy (1991-1993), is a solid series that utilizes book format to expand the Star Wars universe after the fall of Darth Vadar, the Emperor, and the Empire.  Set five years following the conclusion of Return of the Jedi, Luke, Leia, Han, Chewbacca, R2D2, C3PO and all the fan favorites remain the focal characters.  Though now in middle age, they are characterized exactly as seen in the films.  (Zahn should be commended for this.)  General Thrawn is the new villain, a ruthless but shrewd one, and fits into the natural evolution of the story if the Empire is to have any hope of getting back into the picture after the Rebellion’s victory.  In fact a deeper character than any evil presented on screen thus far, Thrawn’s role has a complexity and ingenuity to it that makes reading his scenes interesting.  Intelligence his weapon of choice, the recently formed New Republic finds itself in a fight for its life if it is to survive its own birth pains, not to mention Thrawn’s quest to bring the Empire back to power.

Review of "Children of Dune" by Frank Herbert

Based on the polar nature of the first two books in the Dune series, Paul’s ascension in Dune and his descent in Dune Messiah, not much would seem left to be told in the House Atreides saga.  Publishing Children of Dune in 1976, ten years after Dune, Frank Herbert proved there was still more to tell, telling a solid, not spectacular tale that has some big shoes to fill if it is to live up to the success of Dune.  

With Paul having been cast blind into the desert at the conclusion of Dune Messiah, Children of Dune opens roughly a decade later with Alia on the throne and caring for Paul and Chani’s twins, Leto II and Ghanima.  Fearing she is an abomination due to the ghost of Baron Harkonnen living inside of her, Alia’s psychological stability takes blow after blow, a fact not helped by the re-emergence of Paul’s mother, the Benne-Gesserit Lady Jessica, at court.  Arrakis terraforming continuing apace, the desert is being reclaimed, the planet greener by the day.  Leto, realizing the threat this represents to the sandworms, goes into the desert in an attempt to save the spice producing beasts, leaving his family behind in the process. Topping all of this, House Corinno once again plots to retake the throne, nobody knowing how the chaos in the works will turn out in the end.

Review of "Dune Messiah" by Frank Herbert

Frank Herbert’s 1965 Dune was an overwhelming success.  Winning awards and selling millions of copies, little did readers know, however, it was only the beginning of the Family Atreides saga.  Picking up events roughly a decade after Paul’s ascension to Emperor, Dune Messiah is the story of his descent from power.  Knocking the hero he created off his pedestal, readers should be prepared for a large number of changes in the story—and not all are for the better.

Dune Messiah continues the saga of the Atreides family in epic, soap-operatic fashion.  Paul, having expanded his power to over much of the known universe since becoming Emperor in Dune, is nevertheless helpless to prevent the religious fanaticism and destruction caused by his Fremen followers, drawing the hatred and ire of the opposition in the process.  Chani, now his concubine, is unable to conceive due to contraceptives the consort Irulan is secretly slipping her.  Paul is aware of the fact, but his visions have shown him that Chani dies in childbirth, and thus does nothing to stop Irulan.  New cabals have arisen, also.  The Benne-Gesserits, Spacing Guild, and a newly introduced species of shapeshifters called the Tleilaxu plot together to dethrone Paul.  Everyone’s fate once again uncertain, major changes on Arrakis are in the works.

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 "The Rise of Endymion" by Dan Simmons

After busting through the door with a whole new Hyperion story in Endymion, Simmons returns with The Rise of Endymion to close it.  Answering all of the questions and satisfying all the plot build up of the first half, Rise concludes the story in grand fashion, living up to the expectation created.  It does, however, leave a little wanting thematically. But to the review!

The Rise of Endymion opens where Endymion left off.  Aenea, Endymion, and the others are in the American West recovering from the attack by the church and learning architecture from a cybrid of Frank Lloyd Wright.  They are quickly separated, however, and Endymion goes on a perilous mission of which he knows not the end.  Simmons upping the ante imaginatively, the dangerous and exotic events of Endymion’s life prepare him in every way for the life he finds at the end, including how he ends up in the Schroedinger’s Box.

Review of "Endymion" by Dan Simmons

The original Hyperion duology was a great success for Dan Simmons.  It won him numerous awards and accolades, not to mention rave reviews and huge sales figures.  The setting so fertile, Simmons indulged further, producing additional books typically called the Endymion duology.  No less imaginative and visual, the pair, Endymion and The Rise of Endymion, nevertheless take Simmons’ universe in a new direction: where Hyperion focused on mythological quests for power from a base of Keats' poetry, Endymion is honed to spirituality from a personal view.  The following review is for the first half of the duology.

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 "Barrayar" by Lois McMaster Bujold

Having read and enjoyed Lois McMaster Bujold’s The Curse of Chalion for its quality prose and strong if not traditional storytelling, I thought to delve into her (arguably) more famous sci-fi work, specifically her ongoing Vorkosigan series.  I read Barrayar, her Hugo and Locus Award winning novel from 1991.  Though an attempt was made to include tropes less commonly used in sci-fi, the overall pedestrian nature of the storytelling and ho-hum prose left more to be desired.  Comparing the novel to Hyperion, the previous non-Bujold winner of the Hugo, an immense gap can be seen in quality.

Seemingly written by a different author, the only element The Curse of Chalion and Barrayar have common is their fairy tale undertones; rainbows and flowers for all at the end.  Otherwise, the flowing, relaxed prose that buoyed Curse is nowhere to be found in Barrayar.  Events, emotions, and thoughts related fast and terse, scenes move quickly with little attention paid to connecting background elements of the story’s reality.  Likewise, there is not the same quality of storytelling.  Though fairy tale through and through, Curse had an original plot device which Bujold slowly unpacked to the novel’s benefit.  Evil lords, altruistic heroes, royal kidnappings, blaster fights, space ship crashes, daring escape plans—all related in less than subtle fashion, Barrayar instead reads like a technical manual of DIY sci-fi.

Points should be awarded for intent, however.  Bujold does try to include themes less typical of the genre, including inequality of gender, sexual abuse of minors, pollution, sexual taboos, handicap discrimination, military brainwashing, abortion, capital punishment, and perhaps most of all, the inhumanity of biological warfare.  Book after book has been written on the ethics of these subjects, but Bujold donates only a paragraph or two to each amidst action and plot development.  One of the themes may culminate the story, but overall each attempt at literary dignity receives such light treatment that it’s difficult to think of Barrayar as being a thematically charged, and therefore serious work.  Random and digressive stabs at theme do not automatically make a work poignant, the attempt failed.

Character orientation as overt as can be, suffice say there’s not a spot of gray amongst the people populating Barrayar.  Darth Vadar re-clothed takes on the role of villain in less than spectacular form while the hero Cordelia simultaneously knows the latest fashions and how to kick ass, a super rigid stick of morality driven straight up her… all the while.  The pity card played and played hard, several important characters beg for sympathy based on their various predicaments and physical problems.  The forced, less-than-natural feel Bujold imbues their situations with serves to pull the emotional punch rather than allow the reader feel any strong sense of empathy, however.  Making all of this worse is that the dozen main players are introduced at breakneck speed in the first twenty pages, a paragraph each of description, not a moment existing for the reader to catch their breath and let events and dialogue cement an image of them individually. 

In the end, Barrayar is run of the mill genre fiction with an attempt at moral profundity.  The storytelling feels a result of a do-it-yourself sci-fi kit, all subtle emotion drained in the process—despite the intent obviously being the opposite.  In fact, replacing the main characters’ names with Luke, Leia, and Han Solo and the book very easily could have been a Star Wars spin-off.  With its kings and regents, coups and regal assignation attempts, evil lords and lightships, space opera needs no better example.  Suffice to say, anytime the reader encounters a character “replying tartly”, they should be wary…

Review of "Dune" by Frank Herbert

Published in 1965, Frank Herbert’s Dune is considered not only a grandfather, but by many the greatest sci-fi novel of all time.  A fully realized world that fascinates for the imaginative creatures and civilizations that inhabit it, the novel’s greatest appeal remains the base social circumstances motivating the plot’s quest for political power.  Space opera of the xth degree, this formula inspired generations of books and films to come, including George Lucas and Star Wars, not to mention myriad sequels and prequels in the Dune universe. (The latest number of books stands at seventeen and counting.) The original, however, remains the best.  

In the Duniverse (sorry, couldn’t resist), Arrakis occupies a unique position.  The substance ‘spice’ is found and mined on the planet’s endless deserts, unavailable anywhere else in the galaxy.  Spice enhancing the powers of the mind as well as the length of one’s life, he who controls Arrakis controls the universe.  The politics of power playing out against this interstellar premise, Dune tells the story of the Atreides family and their struggles for position amidst realpolitik.  Coups, assassination attempts, and outright military attacks are par for the course in the planet’s capital.  Trained in the arts of physical combat as well as mind reading, the son of House Atreides, Paul, soon finds himself embroiled in the fight for planetary power in ways he can never imagine, the inhospitable desert calling his name as events escalate.  

The imagination invested in Dune is its strongest aspect.  The Arab-esque cultures vibrating on the streets, the intrigue of court life in the palace, the technology skimming the deserts and mining spice, the stillsuits the people of Arrakis’ deserts live in daily, the constant threat of sand worms just below the surface—in all of these ideas Herbert displays no shortage of imagination detailing the world he envisions.  Everything fresh and original, the only derivative aspect of the novel’s setting and motifs is the Middle Eastern feel of naming and religion.

Likewise suitable to such a desert setting, the theme of environmentalism finds a prominent position in the novel.  The Fremen who inhabit the desert live in rhythm with nature as opposed to those living more technologically advanced lives in the scattered cities of the desiccated world.  Herbert’s emphasis on the sacrifices these people make in order to survive has real meaning in our world today.  The Middle East of the 21st century, particularly the water soaked oases being developed in the middle of deserts, should take note of the restraint and wisdom the Fremen exhibit facing their environmental circumstances.

Possibly pinched from a daytime series, the storyline of Dune is not unique, however.  Melodrama off the charts, Herbert will not win any awards for originality in plot.  Though effectively drawn, Dune’s characters serve the story, i.e. pawns to be moved rather than personalities to be sympathized with.  As Darth Vader would later become, the story contains some evilly evil bad guys who exist for none other than evil reasons.  Events and plot outcomes sensational as result, space opera is a more than suitable tag for the book.  

Dune’s writing is also problematic at times. Its rough edges, while carrying the story, must be handled with patience.  Herbert’s agenda for discussion, primarily the politics of power, has a harshness over-emphasized by occasionally digressive philosophizing.  An aspect that becomes exponentially worse in the sequels, it rears its ugly head on few enough occasions in Dune that it can be glossed over, however.  Neither beautiful nor prosaic, Herbert’s tale remains intriguing for the aforementioned reasons.

In the end, Dune’s reputation as one of science fiction’s greatest books is grounded.  Combining uniquely fantastic and futuristic ideas with mainstream plotting, its readership grows while continuing to inspire generation after generation of space opera.  Writers like Dan Simmons, Alastair Reynolds, or Iain M. Banks would not have such an easy time in the business, perhaps not even an impetus for their ideas, were it not for Herbert’s universe.  While lacking consistent style and smooth characterization, Dune remains great entertainment that scratches at the surface of something deeper.

Review of "Hyperion" by Dan Simmons

There is space opera, and then there is Space Opera.  Dan Simmon’s 1989 Hyperion is S.P.A.C.E. O.P.E.R.A.  From grand schemes to the most minute of details, vivid character portrayal to imaginative and original future technology, gorgeous scenery to a multi-dimensional, motivated plot, everything works.  Weaving his tale, Simmons proves a master storyteller, each of the seven tableaus presented begging to be devoured.  As a result, it is virtually impossible to read Hyperion and not want to follow up with the sequel, The Fall of Hyperion.  Thus, potential buyers be warned: this is only the first half of a highly engaging story.

Hyperion’s success begins with world building.  Simmons put hours and hours of thought and planning into the background details of his universe and how these elements work together.  Fully functioning political, technological, and social systems, none of the superb far-future government structures, technologies, or sentients clash with one another—in a logical sense; there are wars and tension galore.  The tech not functioning cart blanche, Simmons took the time to think of how the various futuristic elements affect and offset one another, the result being a world portrayed more realistically.  Secondly, all of the created technologies serve a purpose.  There are no one-offs thrown in to impress the reader or because it felt good that moment tapping away on the keyboard.  Thirdly, and most impressive, is that Simmons is able to infuse the description and importance of all the futuristic motifs into dialogue and plot.  There are no blatant info-dumps—a plague of sci-fi.  Every element is revealed naturally in the flow of story.  From the post-human humans to inter-planetary communication, space travel to AI—especially the AI, Simmons worked out all of the details before setting out along storytelling road and the book does nothing but benefit for it.

If world building is the foundation of Hyperion, then storytelling is the palace atop it.  Other writers, including Iain Banks, Richard Morgan, and Alastair Reynolds, have stated their dreams of producing such an imaginatively singular yet archetypal story—their imaginations alone nothing to frown at.  Borrowing the structure of Chaucer’s Canterbury Tales, Hyperion is a frame story broken into seven basic pieces: one for each of the pilgrims traveling to Shrike temple on the titular planet.  One by one, each pilgrim tells the story of how they came to the pilgrimage and their reasons for undertaking the potentially deadly journey.  Simmons uses the interstitial space of the individual narratives to describe segments of their collective journey to the temple.  Needing to be read to be believed, the ex-army general, poet, priest, detective, teacher, forest guardian, and diplomat all have the most amazing tales to tell.

And there’s a story for all interests.  Readers who enjoy the action/tech side of sci-fi will revel in the ex-general’s account, the space fights jaw-dropping.  Neuromancer fans will thoroughly love the cyberpunk homage Simmons pays to Gibson in the detective’s tale, complete with cyberspace and console cowboys.  Dick fans will nod their heads in appreciation of the priest and poet whose happenings are most spiritual and also most surreal, while fans of Le Guin or Aldiss will be satisfied by the sensitive yet alluring histories of the diplomat and teacher.  Save the detective’s tale—an acknowledged homage—the voice is Simmons’ own.  The stories, particularly the meta-story tying the characters’ lives together, are anything but derivative and prove sci-fi a powerful medium for storytelling.  

And what of the enigmatic Shrike temple where the pilgrims are headed?  The name taken from a real-life desert bird that impales insects on cacti spines prior to dining on them, the impossible-to-describe temple guardian named simply the Shrike is the most mysterious and fascinating idea Simmons has carefully laid into his story.  Appearing and re-appearing randomly, groups who visit the temple take their lives into their hands; only one member lives to tell about the visit, the remainder never to be seen again.  Killing at will, the Shrike is simply one of sci-fi’s greatest creations, its black, spiky visage haunting readers long after they’ve finished the novel. 

If the depth of imagination and storytelling or borrowing of Chaucer's framing device are not enough, then Simmons’ thematic grounding of the tale in the poetry of Keats will satisfy those looking for literary qualities.  Not a lengthy testament to the British poet, Simmons instead uses the eponymous poem by Keats as an allegory for the tension between sentient species and artificial intelligences.  Not blatantly a Star Wars, good vs. evil, situation, the scene set pits uber-intelligent AI constructs against the technically advanced beings inhabiting the universe, each fighting for autonomy.  Like the Greek gods warring with the Titans, this aspect of the novel puts the “opera” after “space”.

In the end, Hyperion is one of the best science-fiction books ever written, a real treat for the imagination.  The imagery, characters, underlying themes, narrative structure, storytelling, and flat out entertainment value leave 99% of sci-fi in the dust. The only fault is that readers must wait until the second half, The Fall of Hyperion, to discover the fate of the pilgrims.  A wholly unique creation, it’s difficult to compare Hyperion to any other author’s works, save the rough comparison of the individual pilgrims’ tales themselves.  Hyperion.  Read it.  The book will be remembered.