I’m
speechless. I’ve not had so much true
enjoyment reading a story in some time: aliens come to Earth to eradicate
non-rationalist thinking, and space rangers save the day—all presented to the
reader in intelligent fashion. I don’t
know if I’ve ever said such a thing about a story…
James
Morrow’s 2014 The Madonna and the
Starship is simply one of the most intellectually fun pieces of science
fiction I think I’ve ever read. Humor a
fickle thing, of course, Morrow’s erudite mix of situational comedy, cultural
irreverence, and pulp parody is apparently right up my alley. Somehow able to mash the ideas of
Christianity and Buck Rogers into a weighty yet amusing tale with humanity’s
future (figuratively) at stake, it’s a feat I only a few writers with such scalpel-sharp
style and wit could pull off.
Kurt
Jastrow, despite being known to millions of children for his science
experiments as Uncle Wonder on Saturday morning tv, earns a living writing tv
scripts for Brock Barton and his Rocket
Rangers. Aliens contacting him one
night, they alert Jastrow to their impending arrival on Earth. Atheist rationalist logical positivists
(yes!), the aliens find Uncle Wonder’s use of science appealing. They want to see more, and so schedule a date
with him. Trouble starts, however, when
the aliens catch an episode of By Bread
Alone, a conservative Christian show run by Jastrow’s network. The aliens putting into action a tv death ray
that will exterminate every viewer of the following week’s episode, it’s up to
Jastrow and his limited talents to somehow put aside his own atheist leanings
and save humanity—at least the 2 million watching on Sunday morning when they
should be in church.
My
plot summary falls quite flat compared to the vigor Morrow brings to the table
in The Madonna and the Starship. In the Acknowledgments he describes the
novel’s impetus as: “At one point it
occurred to me that, by steering a path between the nihilistic and the
numinous—those dubious worldviews Western civilization so relentlessly
recommends to its adherents—even the grottiest pulp SF performs a salutary
cultural function.” And grotty, so
grottily sweet, it is. Complete with
Crunchy-Pop ads and fanged alien puppets, Morrow fulfills his mission: to
strike middle ground between religious fundamentalists and the most die-hard of
atheists. The pulp aspect allowing him
to go beyond maudlin sentiment (“Why can’t we all just get along?”), he arrives
at a spot of 50s Americana that utilizes both Christianity and corny space
adventure to speak a truth—a colorful, wise truth.
Like
seemingly all of Morrow’s work (that I’ve read), there is not one word out of
place in The Madonna and the Starship. As precise as precise can be, it gives the
humor the sharpest of edges and the religious, social, and personal commentary
the deepest cut. Wisdom is sometimes
captured in humor, and Morrow’s interweaving of aliens and Christianity proves
it. Smashing good fun—no, smashing good intelligent
fun—no, smashing good atheist rationalist logical positivists fun, yes…
No comments:
Post a Comment