Review of Too Like the Lightning by Ada Palmer

M. John Harrison has said (in a now deleted blog post) that the writing itself should trump the world in which a story takes place. (I paraphrase, but that is the sentiment.) He singled out the genres which make the most ado of their worlds, fantasy and science fiction, for too often failing the reader in this regard, i.e. being exercises in imagination with limited relevancy. He did not come out and say it, but I assume by using the word “writing”, rather than “theme”, “plot”, “character”, etc. that a world could in fact be the centerpiece as long as the technique sustains the vision and gives readers reasons to relate. And that's the rub of Ada Palmer's Too Like the Lightning (2016). First in a science fiction quartet foregrounding a semi-utopian, future Earth, it puts Harrison's statement to the ultimate test.

Too Like the Lightning is set a couple hundred years in Earth's future. A utopian degree of civil development has been achieved, i.e. human rights flourish and humanity has sustained a significant period of time without major, world-disrupting wars. Crime does occur but at low frequency and quality of life has been roughly equalized across the globe. There are no gaps similar to what we see today, for example, between Europe and most of Africa.

Another key difference from our world and that of Too Like the Lightning is demographics. National boundaries and cultures do exist but have become secondary in nature—like the local sports team you cheer for. The primary identifier of people has become the seven global Hives. Akin to political parties or global brands, the Hives are banners which people rally around by choice. A person can switch Hives at any time, or not join any. Similarly, Hive leaders bump and jostle for power on their Hive's behalf through diplomatic, positional, and social means rather than armed conflict or territorial takeover. The Hives are broken down into bashs, social groups that function like tribes in how children are raised, social norms are perpetuated, fashion propagates, etc. Organized religion is outlawed across all Hives but people can practice privately. And travel to any point on the globe is easy, the two furthest points only an hour apart.

At the social level, Too Like the Lightning is a contemporary woke fantasy. Gender is ignored, pronouns are fluid, and relationships of all dynamics are the norm. Readers looking to check that “social justice” box on the novel should be wary, however. It's unclear whether this vision is Palmer's end point. Wokeness permeates the novel, but is the characters' state of social affairs truly utopian? This question is for future volumes of the series to answer.

But a bigger question hovers: What makes this world engaging on a line by line basis? What keeps the pages turning? The truth is, little—at least for readers looking for the standard ingredients of writing. Characters, as will be discussed in a moment, are predominantly 1D. The setting is described according to the parameters outlined above, but its physical details are few and far between. Readers will get only limited visions of what a semi-utopian Earth looks and smells like, for example. An argument could be made that plot is the engine turning the pages, but it could never be described as 'gripping' let alone 'omnipresent'. (A secret document from the top level of one of the world's Hives has been stolen and mysteriously turned up in a most inopportune place. Getting to the bottom of 'why' is strung spottily throughout the worldbuilding.)

Going deeper into the characters, there is a massive list of dramatis personae. Little effort is made to distinguish them, however, beyond tags (Hive, ethnicity, social position, etc.). It's what a character represents rather than who they are which matters in Too Like the Lightning--identity, not personality. Talking heads, the characters spend more time explaining the setting (sometimes subtly, sometimes not) than interacting with one another as real humans do. So wooden, in fact, there was a question in the back of my head throughout the novel: are these androids? (More physical details would have stymied this.) If we accept they are human, however, it's appropriate that Palmer utilizes character identity to supplement and support the main thrust, the world.

I have read a couple of reviews which praise the quality of Palmer's writing. I would be hesitant to agree. There are well written passages in the novel, and Palmer does her best to show not tell (pushing the telling to dialogue rather than leaving it as exposed as exposition, for example). But style is overall quite static, most often deadpan. Similes are noticeably vanilla—hard as a stone, smooth as ice, and the like. (Read a Neal Stephenson novel if you want to appreciate similes.) Some explanations of religious and philosophical principles are so overt as to be painful. And there just aren't any prosaic whips periodically snapping at reader engagement. The overarching feel is academic. (Were they androids after all?!?!)

It should be noted Palmer invests a large amount of history and philosophy in Too Like the Lightning. At times it can feel like a vehicle for featuring the ideas and conceptualizations of some of the smartest people of yesteryear—Voltaire, Diderot, and the like. But for as neo-Renaissance as the novel presents itself, it ultimately hinges on a good ol' bit of American utilitarianism. As Bormgans rightfully points out, it's the trolley problem—a paper exercise if ever there were. People can argue endlessly about the “right answer”, but it all amounts to the sound of one hand clapping given the novel's moral dilemma is as hypothetical as the trolley problem itself.

I have been critical thus far, which is not entirely fair. So, I will close by saying: Too Like the Lightning is coconut: once you have your first taste you will either keep chewing or spit it out. The response to M. John Harrison's challenge will depend on reader. More specifically, if you're looking for relatable characters with realistic inner worlds of emotion and thought, you will likely spit. If you're looking for a thrilling plot that grabs you by the unnameables and won't let go, find a napkin or trash bin. And this is where things get interesting. If you're looking for a novel that looks at human demographics in a fresh light and dares to present a semi-utopian scenario for the masses to discuss, you may end up chewing. Yes, the novel is highly abstract. Yes, it is dry reading. But as a concept, it's truly engaging. It takes many of the most important seeds of human existence—politics, religion, and society—and adjusts the focus such that something new appears at a level of detail unlike anything sf readers have encountered before. And that is truly saying something.

On to book #2, Seven Surrenders? I need to take a deep breath before making that decision...