Review of Calypso by Oliver Langmead

Oliver Langmead's 2015 Dark Star was a breath of glittering cyberpunk air. Story was edgy and visual, its elements flowing nicely in and out of one another toward a dramatic, personal climax. But the fact the book was written in epic verse is what truly set it apart. Langmead has gone on to write several other novels—all in prose, however. That is, until 2024. With Calypso, Langmead returns to the epic verse of Dark Star, but puts aside cyberpunk in favor of colonizing the stars for substance.

Calypso is both the name of the book and the name of the generation starship at its heart. When the ship arrives at its destination planet, a woman named Rochelle awakes from cryostasis to take on her role as leader once again. But everything is not as it was when the ship departed. In her absence, a war was fought onboard the ship between two factions: the engineers and the botanists (Sterling's Shapers and Mechanists?). It becomes Rochelle's job to choose sides and settle the dispute.

But Calypso is not to be taken only for plot or character. Calypso is a book for which the style has a massive impact. It is gushing, semi-free form verse loosely akin to Walt Whitman—I sing the body electric. If the following spot of writing is not to your liking, I would look for reading material elsewhere:

And the Calypso shifts, altering course.

Benson’s pebble trembles, and so do I;

The food in my stomach a sickly weight.

With the flourish of the baton, the crew

Synchronise – or harmonise – their movements,

And by the sound of heavenly trumpets

The Calypso emits spirals of mist.

The mist coils behind her like a vast tail

In addition to this type of verse, there are likewise verses shaped into objects—arches, diamonds, blocky space ships, and others.

Despite both Dark Star and Calypso being written in epic verse, there is a strong difference between the two. Where Dark Star looked to define edges, angles, and lines in harsh light, Calypso looks to break free, to create colorful, kaleidoscope spaces. And it suits the space setting, the massive terraforming projects, and other “scenes” for which the flow and bubble of language expand rather than retract. I prefer the story of Dark Star, but Calypso feels alive, burgeoning.

In the end, Calypso is a soaring tale of post-human colonization told in verse. Langmead uses the form to positive effect, filling the immense, empty spaces with language that buoys the post-human conflict. Boiled down to its bones, the plot will not win points for originality or set the world afire. It's the poetic rendering where the book distinguishes itself, and where you can make a decision if it's of interest.