Cheshire, CT USA | Member Since 2012
Had all the fun and wondrous tech of a PFH story, but I felt it was a good bit longer than necessary. It also has a larger percentage of the story grounded in a terrestrial detective case which drags on slowly for both the characters and the readers. This story was at it's best when it took to the stars and the off-world settings.
This first half of Hamilton’s Commonwealth masterpiece (because it really can’t be considered in isolation from ‘Judas Unchained’), is about as perfect an example of world-building in modern Space Opera as you can find. With only a brief introductory prologue to bridge the present to his imaginative future, the reader is quite suddenly thrust into a society and setting that turns everything upside-down. Modern science's prolongation of life combined with easy and efficient FTL transportation have broken all the fundamental rules of the game, and delivered a post-scarcity standard of living across the board for humankind. With nearly limitless real estate to spread out into among the stars, there seems to be a place for every lifestyle, doctrine, and sub-culture. But after stumbling into their first hostile alien encounter, all of that progress is threatened overnight. Hamilton delivers a handful of protagonist POV characters for the narrative to alternate between, most of which are fascinatingly expert or elite in some field or another. Each is chosen for the distinct corner of the Commonwealth society they can illuminate for the reader, although some are more interesting to follow that others. Unlike the later ‘Void trilogy' set in the same story universe, the stakes feel higher here where humanity is an underpowered underdog still new to the galactic community. The simpler, faction-light society also keep the plot relatively unclouded. Despite the unusual length of the novel, it never really felt overweight or extraneous, something the later Hamilton novel 'Great North Road’ suffered from.
This fast-paced story combines the fascinating post-human robo-society of Stross’s earlier “Saturn’s Children” with an intriguing thesis that even over interstellar distances, the Almighty Dollar is the greatest force in nature. I found it hard to decide if this later was a satiric extreme or a natural progression of macroeconomics. Stross argues that human curiosity, cooperative aspirations, and other trite SF notions for the expansion of civilization into the stars are all naively ignoring the truth of how things ultimately get done: by the patient application of market forces to a situation. Here, physical colonization missions are prohibitively expensive, and can only be undertaken with the understanding that the newly established colonies pay off their “foundational debt” with the only currency that can realistically flow between the stars: information. Hilariously, but quite believably, everything in this civilization bends to this notion: space pirates are instead ‘insurance adjusters’, planetary monarchs are ‘bank presidents’, and citizens are born chattel until the day they earn off their own ‘instantiation debt’. Superimposed onto this narrative worldview is the equally exotic outlook of mechanical life. Designed to be more resilient to the hostile environments of the universe beyond Earth’s atmosphere, and with many adopting non-anthropomorphic body plans, they nonetheless inherit quite a bit of human psychology and skeuomorphic behaviors. This keeps the characters relatable while still allowing the narrative enough flexibility to beam their consciousnesses between stars at lightspeed (something prohibited for material objects for most of the story). The plot alternates between between moments of furious action and stretches of historical exposition chronicled by the narrator in a ongoing diary, intended for an audience as unfamiliar to the setting as we. One humorous running gag throughout is the exception-less failure of unmodified humanity (referred to as ‘The Fragile’) to quickly run extinct despite post-human societies’ every attempt to help. The novel’s strongest moments, I think, are when financial concepts are explained to the reader, with a sugar-coating of SF to help it go down agreeably.
Impressively, Neal Asher has managed to up both the quantity as well as quality of the violence in this second installment to his near-future dystopian ‘Owner’ trilogy. Like a hydra, the ruthless ‘Committee’ of Earth’s rulers, quickly sprouts new leadership in the wake of anti-hero Alan Saul’s one-man revolution in ’The Departure’. Chief among these is Serene Galahad, whose Committee bloodletting efficiently secures her role as supreme ruler of Earth. For a genocidal tyrant, this character is surprisingly understandable in Asher’s hands. His first person segments taken from her POV connect the dots of her atrocities believably, while illustrating the progression of her stomach for violence. In order to level the playing field and restore dramatic parity, Asher contrives to incapacitate and diminish Saul’s abilities, which also allows some of his satellite characters to step out from his shadow a bit. Three or four other narratives alternate with these, and all of them overflow with yet more gruesome death. Delightfully, adolescent wish fulfillment comes via some new techno-tricks Saul has learned, and almost everyone gets their comeuppance, although enough loose threads remain to provide ample material for a third installment.
This story has a remarkably sophisticated plot that traces the outlines of a mystery that kept me guessing all the way through. I was shocked to find out midway through my reading that this was written in 1952, prior to the whodunit stories in his Robot series, ‘The Caves of Steel’ and ‘The Naked Sun’, which seem somehow less complex by comparison. It also had a lot more suspense and action, even violence, than I’ve come to expect from Asimov. Only in the final chapters do we see any multi-page-long monologues, something else seen frequently in Asimov’s work. Taken together, it feels like a more mature and developed story that I would have instead placed in the 1970's or 80’s. I’m incidentally glad that I had read 1986’s “Foundation and Earth” prior to this story, as it would have spoiled one of that books biggest surprises had I not.
Aside from it’s strong mystery elements, it had rather tame space opera elements, with commonplace technologies (though perhaps not for his original audience), and no aliens whatsoever. There is a very loud theme that is impossible to ignore; the dangers of a stratified social class system without any upward mobility. This seems timely to consider in our growing crisis of 21st century Wealth Gap expansion, although retrospectively looks misplaced for the time of writing.
In all the mentions of this novel and peripheral encounters I had with it prior to reading, it somehow eluded me that it’s what I would consider ‘YA’ material- the polarizing Young Adult label that either terrifies or ensnares readers in droves. Fortunately, it is undoubtably SF as well, and carries the theme of danger lying in wait alongside graciously given gift-horses. As stated in the publisher’s jacket summary, it is about the recovery of alien technology from crash-landed UFOs. There’s some promising conflict set up between two opposing alien civilizations from which the two crashes originate, but it is largely deferred to subsequent novels. The teenage trio of protagonists take on some superpowers, as they tend to do in YA stories, and struggle to save the world while keeping their secret from Mom & Dad. The challenges they face all played out very over-and-done quickly, even after some heavy foreshadowing, and so the victories seemed unearned. The three teenagers are also all written fairly interchangeably I thought, and I never full distinguished them in my mind. I will leave it to younger readers to judge whether Phillips successfully captured teenage thought and dilemma adequately, although I suspect his characters a bit over-matured. One satisfying technique used here successfully was to slowly weave together plot threads from disparate characters which at first seemed unrelated. With a number of unresolved questions and troubling character disappearances, we seem well positioned for a follow-up story, though I hope it expands the stage settings and characters.
This debut novel by Madeline Ashby asks some interesting questions about what the motivations and desires of humanoid AIs would be, and the surprising answer is remarkably similar to what their human creators seek. Life, Liberty, and the pursuit of robo-happiness looks much the same as the familiar goals, with some cosmetic differences in the health & diet departments. Ashby’s von Neumann robots are lot like the vampires making the rounds in a lot of YA fiction these days: Super-powered, beautiful versions of people who happen to eat something unusual, but share all our emotions and dramas. Here, I was a bit disappointed, and saw potential for some wildly interesting outlook that superimposes inarguable machine logic on top of everyday life. The closest thing here was the universally in-built “failsafe” directive that the vN possess which compels them to obey and cherish humans, (their garlic/sunlight/stake/holy water Achilles’ heel). The central conflict of the story arrises from, naturally, the appearance of a vN who can willfully ignore her failsafe. Like many of those YA ‘paranormal romance’ stories, there is a blossoming romance in the works, and an authoritarian regime eager to snuff it all out. The first person perspective brought to mind Charles Stross’ “Saturn’s Children”, which also featured a female humanoid robot protagonist, and a parallel mechanism to the failsafe whereby robots are compelled to obey all humans completely and lovingly.
When adapting Doctor Who for audio presentation, it makes great sense to use a audio-centric setting, as “Dead Air” does with it’s 1960’s pirate radio station floating off the coast of England. The format also lends itself to suspenseful “In the dark” scenes where the listener is just as blind as the characters. Despite these in-built advantages, however, the story drags a bit for want of relatable characters to identify with or even a sufficiently menacing villain to overcome. Told from the first person perspective of the Doctor himself, the story right off precludes any hope of fully relating to the protagonist’s fear or dread; David Tennant’s Tenth Doctor doesn’t really suffer from these. The only way for the author to provide any exposition into the threat is for the Doctor to explain it to other characters, or directly to the listener through a clever "narration for posterity” trick. Companionless, he takes on the temporary acquaintance of a mostly helpless young lady named Layla, who he spends the story attempting to protect from an Alien weapon that has achieved some degree of sentience and (therefore?) bloodthirst. In between these moments of terror-filled tension, he provides a sympathetic, “girlfriendy” shoulder for Layla to unburden her unrequited love sob-story on to. While there are only four characters in this brief adventure, it was enjoyable to hear Tennant narrate the additional voices, which I felt were memorably done. The most off-putting element for me was deus ex machina provided by that sonic screwdriver, the crutch of lazy writers since 1968.
Before reading this, I didn't realize I hadn’t read a NON-juvenile Heinlein novel- I was beginning to think they all had spunky pre-teen protagonists thrown into gee-whiz scenarios where they nonetheless manage to outshine the adults. My previous two RAH novels, “Time for the Stars” and “Have Space Suit, Will Travel”, share all the same 1950’s cultural colorations seen here, but are restrained in their violence, profanity, and sexual content due to his audience. Reading Heinlein less restrained in these areas was enjoyably disturbing. There’s something odd about the juxtaposition of 1950’s gender chivalry in one scene followed quickly by man-bisecting ray gun violence in the next that held my attention like a cold war “red alert” duck-and-cover drill. As in “Have Space Suit”, this story is about the early detection of an alien invasion, although what comes out of the saucers is much more gruesome this time. A lot of thought went into the methods a mid-controlling invader would use to subjugate the human race, and I appreciate the subtleties of counter-insurgence played out between the opposing species. The theme of personal freedom plays out on at least two levels: the struggle against literal slavery at the hands (psuedopods?) of aliens, and the second struggle against bureaucratic and paternalistic government authority. The final denouement chapter provides the satisfying full-throated vengeance on both that Heinlein, in his Libertarian zeal, must have fantasized about. I kept expecting a more direct parallel on McCarthyism and Red Scare politics, but found it only passingly mentioned; seemingly a missed opportunity. Just as you can never be immediately sure if the stranger seated beside you on the subway is an alien agent, you can likewise not discover a communist sympathizer with superficial inspection.
Taking the history he created in ‘Blue Remembered Earth’ forward another generation, Alastair Reynolds succeeds in teasing the reader’s interest in the alien mystery waiting at the end of a 200-year old journey, but keeps the scope of events surprisingly restrained for an author known to write in cosmic epochs that laugh at stacks of expired civilizations. Again, he keeps his dramatic perspective on one single family, which can really be said to in fact be one person, duplicated across three cloned bodies who occasionally synchronize their mind states. This concept I found fun, and made for some interesting moments as the separate lives of our tri-fold protagonist, Chiku Akinya, reconciled herselves with the existence of multiple husbands/lovers and families at either end of her dual lives. There is also some great world building here within one of the main settings for the action, the asteroid-sized holoship traveling as part of a caravan to a new and promising alien world. Reynolds, in 2001’s "Chasm City", has previously written about a rivalry between en-route colony generation ships which violently escalates once the prize comes into sight, but with much more believability here. The other two setting loci, Earth and the destination world of Crucible, both have similar challenges for the Chiku heroines in the form of an all-powerful artificial intelligence willing to kill in order to ensure it’s own survival. Like Chiku, this intelligence, Arachne, has been cloned across two distant star systems, but these have remained un-syncronized, and have begun to drift apart in their thinking towards humanity.
The story has well-paced action scenes that don’t rush in too close together, and characters that are compelling to follow, though a bit too saintly and flawless, I felt. I think a reader who hasn’t read the earlier story would feel unsatisfied with this one, and clearly too many questions remain unanswered to give up on ready the series now.
Adjoa Andoh’s narration is impressive for it’s commitment to thickly, haltingly accented English coming from a variety of multi-national characters, but being impressive is not the same as being enjoyable. Whether it’s the baseline Swahili accent of the protagonist, the guttural fish-man accent from the aquatic mer-people, the crafty old lady variant of the earlier swahili accent (this one used for no less than 3 characters), I found them all just a little too over-the-top. I’m sure I’m revealing my own anglocentric cultural bias here, but my ear just needed a rest from the added work of mentally decoding every spoken word. The final straw for me was the dual accent-fail for Chiku’s two significant others, Lucas and Pedro. I want to write about how offensively bad they both are, but I… just.. can’t listen to that exaggerated Texas drawl or caricature Mexican again. Let me instead just stick to my complementary remarks, however- and it’s genuinely the case that Andoh makes a very ambitious effort which must have been quite exhausting, and I know I have no such talent at all.
This quest story set 300 years after the events of the much stronger “Hyperion” novels, was a bit of a let down. A trio of archetypical heroes flee from pursuing elements of the tyrannical empire regime across several planets which are the familiar settings from the earlier novels. While it is interesting to read the developments on those locations in the centuries of aftermath, I was reminded of the similar quest in Asimov’s “Foundation and Earth”, where the protagonist visits several worlds which were the nostalgic settings of some of Asimov’s stories set centuries earlier. Here, however, it is far less compelling as most of the spots have gone to wilderness. Also, the hero characters are a bit two-dimensional, fitting very familiar character patterns: Aenea, "The Holy One” child, who is somehow mystically important, and a threat to the authorities; Raul Endymion, “The Woodsman” guide, who uses his street smarts and survivor skills to protect her; and A. Bettik, “The Man Friday” who loyally and capably serves both.
While the first two novels of Simmons’ Hyperion Cantos made excellent use of multi-protagonist narrative threads to tell the story from multiple perspectives, This novel instead primarily sticks to just two- Raul Endymion and his chief pursuant, Father-Captain Federico de Soya, who is an extremely sympathetic ‘villain’, earnestly carrying out his duty to his shadier superiors. I had a feeling that we’d see some redemption and rehabilitation of this character after the first few examples of his flawless moral behavior, despite his unsavory mission. Most of the evocative tech and philosophical questions lay in his portions of the novel, giving it a much stronger grounding in Space Opera, while Raul’s narrative felt more rustic and terrestrial.
In the end, Endymion is a victim of the earlier novels success and ambition. Outside of their shadow, it might have stood as a great story, but as it happens it is merely a good one. It feels flatter by comparison with it’s fewer character narratives, it’s more linear structure, and smaller-stake drama.
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