by Tim Powers. William Morrow, 2006.
When Frank Marrity gets an enigmatic phone call from his grandmother, telling him that she’s burned down her garden shed, he and his twelve-year-old daughter Daphne head over to investigate. When they arrive, the shed, though decrepit, is still standing, while his grandmother has mysteriously vanished. Inside the shed they find a signed slab of concrete with Charlie Chaplin’s hand- and foot-prints on it, a box full of letters from Albert Einstein, and some strange gold wiring sticking out from under the floor. There’s also a TV and a VCR, and just before they are interrupted Daphne takes the videotape. Watching it later at home, she discovers that it contains a terrifying silent film that makes the room spin about her. And then things begin to burst into flame.
Oren Lepidopt is a devout Jew who works for a special branch of the Israeli secret services. Educated in the sacred texts of Judaism and the mystical Kabbalah, Lepidopt and his fellow ‘Halomot’ agents use both mundane and paranormal techniques in their work. They are tasked with tracking down the secret discoveries that Einstein considered more dangerous than the atom bomb – too dangerous to share with any government. Also on the trail is a ruthless occult order known as the Vespers, descended from the Albigenses of Languedoc. Their symbol is the two joined cones of the Grail, symbolizing the future and the past, both opening up and moving away from the present. It is their ambition to find a means of altering the past, and thus achieve godlike power.
As is his usual practice, Powers takes unusual events from the lives of historical figures and imagines a secret history that would explain them. He also links his story loosely to The Tempest and mixes in biblical references, the Six-Day War, quantum mechanics, dybbuks, and the paradoxes of time travel. The treatment of this last topic is in some ways reminiscent of Gene Wolfe’s Free Live Free, and Powers’ take on destiny (or Providence) has some interesting points in common with Connie Willis’ To Say Nothing of the Dog.
The story contains some truly chilling moments, interspersed with Powers’ usual brand of wry humour (Daphne is particularly charming.) He remains as deft as ever at keeping his readers guessing. While I thought Frank Marrity’s romantic involvement came together a little unrealistically, the decisions of certain other characters surprised me. I also felt that Powers did a great job of keeping up the tension by moving the story along at a compelling pace, a skill he’s honed through years of writing complicated novels. However, as with Declare, there are a few sections in which people explain the back story through weighty speeches that seem out of character.
There are, of course, plenty of religious references in this book, drawn mainly from Judaism and the Hebrew scriptures, and there is a resurrection of sorts. The moral journey of the characters is not as openly spiritual as in Declare, but their dilemmas and choices do mesh with Jewish and Christian beliefs. The question confronting them all is: Do the ends justify the means? Is it acceptable to override ‘common’ morality if the rewards are big enough? In this regard the Vespers occultists are like the demon worshippers of That Hideous Strength, attempting to attain perfect ‘objectivity’ by recasting good as cowardice and evil as efficiency, but turning themselves into monsters in the process.
Powers hasn’t lost his touch – this is a memorable and thought-provoking book.
4.5 out of 5
Tuesday, August 29, 2006
Monday, August 28, 2006
Book Review - The Anubis Gates
by Tim Powers. Ace, 1983.
After I was introduced to Tim Powers through his Cold War fantasy, Declare, I attempted to track down his earlier works at libraries and used bookstores. Several proved impossible to find. Among these was the novel that first made him famous: The Anubis Gates, so eventually I gave in and bought a new copy. Now, having read it, I understand the reason for its rarity: no one in their right mind would relinquish a copy of such a marvelous book!
Brendan Doyle, a second-rate Coleridge scholar, is hired by wealthy J. Cochran Darrow as part of a peculiar money-making scheme. Darrow has discovered a quasi-magical means of limited time travel, and to raise funds for other exploits, he has arranged to take ten customers back to 1810 to hear Coleridge give a lecture. Doyle’s job is to give the venture a bit of academic gravitas. The first part of the plan goes smoothly, but after the lecture Doyle is kidnapped by a huge bald-headed sorcerer who is intent on learning his magical secrets. Doyle escapes by the skin of his teeth, but finds himself stranded in the past, a friendless pauper.
I’m not sure I could describe the rest of the plot if I wanted to, because it would sound utterly insane. One of Powers’ gifts is the ability to take strange details of the past and knit them together into a convincing secret history, filling in the blanks with a bizarre but logically coherent framework. Suffice it to say that it involves an evil clown, Byron, Coleridge, Egyptian gods, gypsies, a body-switching killer, horrible medical experiments, magical homunculi, Napoleon, a depilatory salon, fire elementals, and a little wooden monkey. And, of course, the fate of the whole world hangs in the balance!
While the plot is complex, it keeps up a fast pace and never gets bogged down in its own twists and turns. For the most part Powers avoids the explanatory speeches which show up in his later works. There’s plenty of sly humour, and a lot of frights, but overall the story plays it straight and doesn’t veer off into the horror or comedy genres. I’ve read quite a few books that tried to follow a similar formula – a rollicking adventure spiced with weird ideas. Usually those works fell flat, were overly predictable, or came off as gimmicky and contrived. Not so with this book – all the pieces work together admirably. The Anubis Gates is the real thing, a classic which no doubt spawned many imitations.
What about religious elements? Early on we learn that the power of sorcery is fading thanks to the newer religions, in particular Christianity. Therefore, one of the main reasons the villains are plotting against England is because of its role in spreading this faith around the world. Coleridge, while a tormented man, was also a passionate and intellectually adventurous Christian, and this shows up in the book through a few of the remarks he makes, along with a brief conversation about the Logos. There’s a vivid resurrection sequence, and by the end of the book one gets the sense that Doyle has been an agent of Providence. Finally, I don’t think it’s too much of a stretch to see Powers’ Catholic faith reflected in the implicit moral dimension of the story. Several of his recurring themes make themselves felt: the importance of making reparations for past wrongs, of paying debts owed; and the wickedness of trying to extend one’s own life or power unnaturally by preying off the vulnerable.
All in all, a tour de force. Skip the used bookstores for this one - go out and buy a new copy today!
5 out of 5
After I was introduced to Tim Powers through his Cold War fantasy, Declare, I attempted to track down his earlier works at libraries and used bookstores. Several proved impossible to find. Among these was the novel that first made him famous: The Anubis Gates, so eventually I gave in and bought a new copy. Now, having read it, I understand the reason for its rarity: no one in their right mind would relinquish a copy of such a marvelous book!
Brendan Doyle, a second-rate Coleridge scholar, is hired by wealthy J. Cochran Darrow as part of a peculiar money-making scheme. Darrow has discovered a quasi-magical means of limited time travel, and to raise funds for other exploits, he has arranged to take ten customers back to 1810 to hear Coleridge give a lecture. Doyle’s job is to give the venture a bit of academic gravitas. The first part of the plan goes smoothly, but after the lecture Doyle is kidnapped by a huge bald-headed sorcerer who is intent on learning his magical secrets. Doyle escapes by the skin of his teeth, but finds himself stranded in the past, a friendless pauper.
I’m not sure I could describe the rest of the plot if I wanted to, because it would sound utterly insane. One of Powers’ gifts is the ability to take strange details of the past and knit them together into a convincing secret history, filling in the blanks with a bizarre but logically coherent framework. Suffice it to say that it involves an evil clown, Byron, Coleridge, Egyptian gods, gypsies, a body-switching killer, horrible medical experiments, magical homunculi, Napoleon, a depilatory salon, fire elementals, and a little wooden monkey. And, of course, the fate of the whole world hangs in the balance!
While the plot is complex, it keeps up a fast pace and never gets bogged down in its own twists and turns. For the most part Powers avoids the explanatory speeches which show up in his later works. There’s plenty of sly humour, and a lot of frights, but overall the story plays it straight and doesn’t veer off into the horror or comedy genres. I’ve read quite a few books that tried to follow a similar formula – a rollicking adventure spiced with weird ideas. Usually those works fell flat, were overly predictable, or came off as gimmicky and contrived. Not so with this book – all the pieces work together admirably. The Anubis Gates is the real thing, a classic which no doubt spawned many imitations.
What about religious elements? Early on we learn that the power of sorcery is fading thanks to the newer religions, in particular Christianity. Therefore, one of the main reasons the villains are plotting against England is because of its role in spreading this faith around the world. Coleridge, while a tormented man, was also a passionate and intellectually adventurous Christian, and this shows up in the book through a few of the remarks he makes, along with a brief conversation about the Logos. There’s a vivid resurrection sequence, and by the end of the book one gets the sense that Doyle has been an agent of Providence. Finally, I don’t think it’s too much of a stretch to see Powers’ Catholic faith reflected in the implicit moral dimension of the story. Several of his recurring themes make themselves felt: the importance of making reparations for past wrongs, of paying debts owed; and the wickedness of trying to extend one’s own life or power unnaturally by preying off the vulnerable.
All in all, a tour de force. Skip the used bookstores for this one - go out and buy a new copy today!
5 out of 5
Wednesday, August 23, 2006
Book review - Crown of Fire
by Kathy Tyers. 2000. Bethany House.
The final volume of the Firebird trilogy, Crown of Fire brings the adventures of our heroine and her husband to a grand conclusion.
Having returned to Netaia to be confirmed an heiress, Firebird must find her way through a number of sticky political situations, while secretly playing a more dangerous game. She and Brennen must act as bait to trap the Shuhr. The Sentinels have a temporary edge over their ancient enemies, thanks both to new RIA technology and the powerful telepathic fusion ability which Brennen and Firebird have discovered. For the Shuhr to learn these secrets would be a catastrophe, in light of their horrific plans for the rest of humanity. The Federacy, desperate to prevent any further destruction, has given Brennen clear orders – interrogate one of the Shuhr, and then use the resulting information to lead a strike force against them.
I found the first half of the book to be rather unexciting, as various factions and personalities maneuver into position and the Sentinels wait for their enemies to commit themselves. After the terrors and thrills of Fusion Fire, it was hard to get too concerned with the machinations of Netaian politicians. But the Shuhr are as ruthless and frightening as ever, and when they finally do strike, the story explodes. I can think of few other authors who regularly put women and children in such hideous danger as Tyers does in this trilogy (particularly danger that the reader truly feels) and Firebird suffers some terrible damage.
I appreciate the way Tyers depicts unmistakably evil people while showing them in context. In their own minds, they have perfectly sane and moral reasons for the things they do, and the author emphasizes how easy it would be for any of us to go down that road. She also does a good job of portraying controversial social issues without descending into polemic. For example, she imagines what a society which regularly manipulated, killed and ‘harvested’ cloned embryos would look like, and lets her readers drawn their own conclusions. Despite the structural and entrenched nature of the Shuhr’s sins, however, Tyers does not deny them grace. Terza Shirak, a Shuhr geneticist, becomes an unexpectedly sympathetic character as she begins to wonder if a different life is possible.
Firebird always struggles with pride, and many occasions for it arise in Crown of Fire. She imagines becoming a triumphant Netaian queen who brings salvation to her people. Brennen, in turn, seeks to know God’s will for him in the war, and steels himself to make an awful sacrifice. Besides this spiritual growth there are some interesting theological insights, as when Firebird imagines the fulfillment of prophecies as being like “a series of mountain ranges, with nearby peaks obscuring the distant ones. Only when you arrived at the first summit could you see that the second range was still far off.” (p. 241) And I think Tyers handles the overlapping human and divine causes of the final cataclysm with appropriate subtlety.
Though it takes its time in picking up speed, Crown of Fire is a fine ending to this exciting series.
4 out of 5
The final volume of the Firebird trilogy, Crown of Fire brings the adventures of our heroine and her husband to a grand conclusion.
Having returned to Netaia to be confirmed an heiress, Firebird must find her way through a number of sticky political situations, while secretly playing a more dangerous game. She and Brennen must act as bait to trap the Shuhr. The Sentinels have a temporary edge over their ancient enemies, thanks both to new RIA technology and the powerful telepathic fusion ability which Brennen and Firebird have discovered. For the Shuhr to learn these secrets would be a catastrophe, in light of their horrific plans for the rest of humanity. The Federacy, desperate to prevent any further destruction, has given Brennen clear orders – interrogate one of the Shuhr, and then use the resulting information to lead a strike force against them.
I found the first half of the book to be rather unexciting, as various factions and personalities maneuver into position and the Sentinels wait for their enemies to commit themselves. After the terrors and thrills of Fusion Fire, it was hard to get too concerned with the machinations of Netaian politicians. But the Shuhr are as ruthless and frightening as ever, and when they finally do strike, the story explodes. I can think of few other authors who regularly put women and children in such hideous danger as Tyers does in this trilogy (particularly danger that the reader truly feels) and Firebird suffers some terrible damage.
I appreciate the way Tyers depicts unmistakably evil people while showing them in context. In their own minds, they have perfectly sane and moral reasons for the things they do, and the author emphasizes how easy it would be for any of us to go down that road. She also does a good job of portraying controversial social issues without descending into polemic. For example, she imagines what a society which regularly manipulated, killed and ‘harvested’ cloned embryos would look like, and lets her readers drawn their own conclusions. Despite the structural and entrenched nature of the Shuhr’s sins, however, Tyers does not deny them grace. Terza Shirak, a Shuhr geneticist, becomes an unexpectedly sympathetic character as she begins to wonder if a different life is possible.
Firebird always struggles with pride, and many occasions for it arise in Crown of Fire. She imagines becoming a triumphant Netaian queen who brings salvation to her people. Brennen, in turn, seeks to know God’s will for him in the war, and steels himself to make an awful sacrifice. Besides this spiritual growth there are some interesting theological insights, as when Firebird imagines the fulfillment of prophecies as being like “a series of mountain ranges, with nearby peaks obscuring the distant ones. Only when you arrived at the first summit could you see that the second range was still far off.” (p. 241) And I think Tyers handles the overlapping human and divine causes of the final cataclysm with appropriate subtlety.
Though it takes its time in picking up speed, Crown of Fire is a fine ending to this exciting series.
4 out of 5
Tuesday, August 22, 2006
Book revew - Fusion Fire
by Kathy Tyers. Bethany House, 2000.
The second book in the Firebird trilogy, Fusion Fire defies the traditional wisdom about sequels being inferior creatures. In fact, it overshadows its predecessor, expanding the scale of the story and serving up a heady mix of fast-moving action and terrifying new threats.
Picking up the narrative eight or nine months after it left off, we find our heroes married and expecting twins. Pregnant though she is, Firebird is far from helpless when an assassin comes in the night. No sooner is that threat dealt with than worse ones arise, along with some fresh tragedies. It seems that someone is intent on wiping out Brennen’s family, due to ancient prophecies which indicate the Messiah will arise from his line.
While the devout Sentinels follow a strict code that prevents misuse of their special abilities, their equally gifted cousins care nothing for laws or the precepts of religion. Known as the Shuhr (pronounced ‘Sith’), they serve only themselves and seek to dominate the galaxy. Infiltrating both Netaia and the Federacy, they are intent on wiping out the Sentinels who stand in their way. Masters of the biosciences, equipped with an arsenal of horrific techniques, they have found ways to increase their lifespans and telepathic powers by preying off the vulnerable.
Firebird borrowed concepts from Star Wars, Star Trek, and other places, but in Fusion Fire Tyers demonstrates how deftly she has reworked these elements into an original story. Readers get to see more of interesting characters such as Carradee and Tel Tellai, and find themselves in the unlikely position of pitying Firebird’s malicious sister Phoena. They also observe the somewhat amusing fate of Ellet Kinsman, the manipulative woman who only had eyes for Brennen.
Firebird is relentlessly confronted by evil, both within and without. Seeking to uncover her own latent psychic talents, she must wrestle with darkness inside herself. The malevolent Shuhr are a truly hideous menace, particularly the masterminds Dru Polar and Eshdeth Shirak. Tyers inflicts a great deal of damage on her characters. Both they and her readers must ask how God can permit such evil, and what He is doing while His creatures suffer. As in our world, His purposes are often opaque to mortals, but eventually Firebird is permitted to see some of them come together as retribution strikes at the heart of the Shuhr’s arrogant schemes.
Fusion Fire also reveals more of the Sentinel’s religion. The ceremony of Firebird’s consecration includes a very striking vision of the Sentinel’s ancestors and a desperate midnight sacrifice that hints at a greater atonement. However, I felt there were places when the Sentinels’ language and beliefs corresponded a bit too obviously with contemporary evangelicalism. For example, the fiery darkness inside Firebird is already a potent symbol for original sin, without the characters meditating on it and explaining it in theological terms.
Overall, though, this is a highly enjoyable work. Moving from hand-to-hand combat and outer space dogfights to psychological disintegration and a nearly fatal childbirth, Fusion Fire is a very compelling ride.
4 out of 5.
The second book in the Firebird trilogy, Fusion Fire defies the traditional wisdom about sequels being inferior creatures. In fact, it overshadows its predecessor, expanding the scale of the story and serving up a heady mix of fast-moving action and terrifying new threats.
Picking up the narrative eight or nine months after it left off, we find our heroes married and expecting twins. Pregnant though she is, Firebird is far from helpless when an assassin comes in the night. No sooner is that threat dealt with than worse ones arise, along with some fresh tragedies. It seems that someone is intent on wiping out Brennen’s family, due to ancient prophecies which indicate the Messiah will arise from his line.
While the devout Sentinels follow a strict code that prevents misuse of their special abilities, their equally gifted cousins care nothing for laws or the precepts of religion. Known as the Shuhr (pronounced ‘Sith’), they serve only themselves and seek to dominate the galaxy. Infiltrating both Netaia and the Federacy, they are intent on wiping out the Sentinels who stand in their way. Masters of the biosciences, equipped with an arsenal of horrific techniques, they have found ways to increase their lifespans and telepathic powers by preying off the vulnerable.
Firebird borrowed concepts from Star Wars, Star Trek, and other places, but in Fusion Fire Tyers demonstrates how deftly she has reworked these elements into an original story. Readers get to see more of interesting characters such as Carradee and Tel Tellai, and find themselves in the unlikely position of pitying Firebird’s malicious sister Phoena. They also observe the somewhat amusing fate of Ellet Kinsman, the manipulative woman who only had eyes for Brennen.
Firebird is relentlessly confronted by evil, both within and without. Seeking to uncover her own latent psychic talents, she must wrestle with darkness inside herself. The malevolent Shuhr are a truly hideous menace, particularly the masterminds Dru Polar and Eshdeth Shirak. Tyers inflicts a great deal of damage on her characters. Both they and her readers must ask how God can permit such evil, and what He is doing while His creatures suffer. As in our world, His purposes are often opaque to mortals, but eventually Firebird is permitted to see some of them come together as retribution strikes at the heart of the Shuhr’s arrogant schemes.
Fusion Fire also reveals more of the Sentinel’s religion. The ceremony of Firebird’s consecration includes a very striking vision of the Sentinel’s ancestors and a desperate midnight sacrifice that hints at a greater atonement. However, I felt there were places when the Sentinels’ language and beliefs corresponded a bit too obviously with contemporary evangelicalism. For example, the fiery darkness inside Firebird is already a potent symbol for original sin, without the characters meditating on it and explaining it in theological terms.
Overall, though, this is a highly enjoyable work. Moving from hand-to-hand combat and outer space dogfights to psychological disintegration and a nearly fatal childbirth, Fusion Fire is a very compelling ride.
4 out of 5.
Monday, August 21, 2006
Book review - Firebird
by Kathy Tyers. 1999. Bethany House.
Firebird is a fast-paced space opera which was originally published in the mainstream SF market, and then rewritten for an evangelical audience. It centers around two characters: strong-willed Firebird Angelo, and the telepathic Brennen Caldwell.
Born into the ruling family of Netaia, Firebird is wealthy and educated, but she knows her life will not be long. The Netaian nobility eliminates excess heirs once they fall past a certain point in the succession, and Firebird has fallen to the point of no return. Thus she eschews romance and long-term plans, training as a fighter pilot and hoping to die in a blaze of glory. Her class lives in opulent luxury, repressing the common people through a state religion, a culture of obedience and brute force. Their vaguely Confucian religion preaches conformity and worships a set of deified attributes, such as Strength, Knowledge, and Excellence. Their culture is xenophobic, holding itself proudly aloof from the Federacy, an interstellar alliance which upholds human rights and freedoms.
When Netaia begins a war of expansion on nearby Veroh, Firebird eagerly goes off, seeking a glorious death. But Veroh is a Federacy protectorate and she soon finds herself a prisoner, captured and interrogated by Brennen, a Sentinel.
Descended from a nearly extinct people who genetically altered themselves to gain uncanny powers, the Sentinels who live in the Federacy follow a strict code of conduct which regulates use of their telepathic and telekinetic abilities. They also wield a special weapon - the crystace is a simple hilt from which, upon activation, emerges a long crystal blade that can deflect laser blasts and cut practically anything. (Sounds like the Jedi, huh?)
Ever since the Sentinel’s ancestors misused their powers and died in a catastrophic civil war, a small, exiled remnant has sought to atone by using their powers for good and remaining faithful to their religion. They worship one God, whom they hope one day will send a Messiah. They’re essentially Jews.
But not quite. These people have two testaments, and a Trinitarian concept of God. Nor do they seem to sacrifice animals. Their preoccupations and expectations are more Christian than Jewish. As might be expected, their emphases are evangelical. For example, only two aspects of their hoped-for Messiah are mentioned in this volume: he will perform an act of sin-cleansing substitionary atonement; and after he comes his people will again be allowed to proselytize. So perhaps it would be correct to say that the Sentinels are Jedi Jews for Jesus!
Does all this sound derivative? You bet. We’ve got the Star Trek Federation battling World War II Japan while Jewish Jedi rush about performing mind melds. But Tyers manages to spin it into an entertaining space opera. She accomplishes this by providing plenty of action, and by focusing on strong characters. Firebird is daring, driven and self-destructive. Brennen is powerful, conscientious and intense, and it’s not surprising that a romance soon sparks between them.
I felt that Tyers created so much excitement and tension with the military exploits of the first half of the story that the second half seemed rather tame and predictable. Firebird and Brennen go on to engage in dangerous James Bond-style adventures, but the shift in scale creates the impression we’ve switched genres, from military SF to romantic thriller. Much of the political intrigue will only be interesting if you go on to read the other sections of the trilogy, and I suspect Tyers reworked her books to flow best when read as one epic tale.
The spiritual elements work fairly well. Firebird rejects the graceless tradition she was raised in, but she is not immediately comfortable with Brennen’s unfamiliar religion. She struggles with her pride and selfishness while trying to understand his faith. I was particularly moved by her vision of God as an almighty singer, creating and conducting the music of the galaxies. It fits nicely with Firebird’s talent as a harpist, and the musically themed chapter headings.
Firebird is a worthy addition to the field of Christian SF, though it’s best read along with its sequels.
3.5 out of 5
Firebird is a fast-paced space opera which was originally published in the mainstream SF market, and then rewritten for an evangelical audience. It centers around two characters: strong-willed Firebird Angelo, and the telepathic Brennen Caldwell.
Born into the ruling family of Netaia, Firebird is wealthy and educated, but she knows her life will not be long. The Netaian nobility eliminates excess heirs once they fall past a certain point in the succession, and Firebird has fallen to the point of no return. Thus she eschews romance and long-term plans, training as a fighter pilot and hoping to die in a blaze of glory. Her class lives in opulent luxury, repressing the common people through a state religion, a culture of obedience and brute force. Their vaguely Confucian religion preaches conformity and worships a set of deified attributes, such as Strength, Knowledge, and Excellence. Their culture is xenophobic, holding itself proudly aloof from the Federacy, an interstellar alliance which upholds human rights and freedoms.
When Netaia begins a war of expansion on nearby Veroh, Firebird eagerly goes off, seeking a glorious death. But Veroh is a Federacy protectorate and she soon finds herself a prisoner, captured and interrogated by Brennen, a Sentinel.
Descended from a nearly extinct people who genetically altered themselves to gain uncanny powers, the Sentinels who live in the Federacy follow a strict code of conduct which regulates use of their telepathic and telekinetic abilities. They also wield a special weapon - the crystace is a simple hilt from which, upon activation, emerges a long crystal blade that can deflect laser blasts and cut practically anything. (Sounds like the Jedi, huh?)
Ever since the Sentinel’s ancestors misused their powers and died in a catastrophic civil war, a small, exiled remnant has sought to atone by using their powers for good and remaining faithful to their religion. They worship one God, whom they hope one day will send a Messiah. They’re essentially Jews.
But not quite. These people have two testaments, and a Trinitarian concept of God. Nor do they seem to sacrifice animals. Their preoccupations and expectations are more Christian than Jewish. As might be expected, their emphases are evangelical. For example, only two aspects of their hoped-for Messiah are mentioned in this volume: he will perform an act of sin-cleansing substitionary atonement; and after he comes his people will again be allowed to proselytize. So perhaps it would be correct to say that the Sentinels are Jedi Jews for Jesus!
Does all this sound derivative? You bet. We’ve got the Star Trek Federation battling World War II Japan while Jewish Jedi rush about performing mind melds. But Tyers manages to spin it into an entertaining space opera. She accomplishes this by providing plenty of action, and by focusing on strong characters. Firebird is daring, driven and self-destructive. Brennen is powerful, conscientious and intense, and it’s not surprising that a romance soon sparks between them.
I felt that Tyers created so much excitement and tension with the military exploits of the first half of the story that the second half seemed rather tame and predictable. Firebird and Brennen go on to engage in dangerous James Bond-style adventures, but the shift in scale creates the impression we’ve switched genres, from military SF to romantic thriller. Much of the political intrigue will only be interesting if you go on to read the other sections of the trilogy, and I suspect Tyers reworked her books to flow best when read as one epic tale.
The spiritual elements work fairly well. Firebird rejects the graceless tradition she was raised in, but she is not immediately comfortable with Brennen’s unfamiliar religion. She struggles with her pride and selfishness while trying to understand his faith. I was particularly moved by her vision of God as an almighty singer, creating and conducting the music of the galaxies. It fits nicely with Firebird’s talent as a harpist, and the musically themed chapter headings.
Firebird is a worthy addition to the field of Christian SF, though it’s best read along with its sequels.
3.5 out of 5
Wednesday, August 09, 2006
Book Review - The Sword of the Lictor
The Sword of the Lictor, by Gene Wolfe. 1981.
This is the third volume of The Book of the New Sun. When we meet him again, Severian has taken up his post as lictor (executioner, torturer and prison warden) of the city of Thrax. It is not a position he occupies long, though, for a crisis of conscience causes him to disobey the local archon. He flees into the wild, a hunted outlaw.
This book shows us more of Wolfe’s glorious and eccentric future landscape. The mountains through which Severian travels were long ago carved into monumental statues depicting forgotten emperors. In the valleys he encounters the animalistic zoanthrops, people who have renounced their humanity. On Lake Diuturna he sees the traveling islands and the free fisherfolk who dwell on them.
While there are sections in which our narrator, wandering alone, muses eloquently on questions philosophical and theological, Wolfe still provides plenty of action. Severian’s twilight encounter with the alzabo, a creature which speaks with the voices of its victims, remains one of the most tense scenes I’ve ever read. Equally exciting are his confrontations with a fiery assassin, a cabal of jungle sorcerors, and the demonic ruler Typhon.
It is in this third volume that Wolfe begins to supply answers to some of his riddles. We learn who is behind the attacks on Severian, and where Dorcas came from. We again meet Dr. Talos and the giant Baldanders, but see them in a very different light. We learn why the Claw is so named. And we are permitted a glance beneath the double masks of the alien cacogens.
A number of these insights and encounters combine to indicate that something profound is going on beneath the adventures, something of great import for Urth and her peoples. While only reaching fulfillment in the four and fifth volumes, it is becoming apparent that Severian’s story is actually one of salvation history.
5 out of 5.
This is the third volume of The Book of the New Sun. When we meet him again, Severian has taken up his post as lictor (executioner, torturer and prison warden) of the city of Thrax. It is not a position he occupies long, though, for a crisis of conscience causes him to disobey the local archon. He flees into the wild, a hunted outlaw.
This book shows us more of Wolfe’s glorious and eccentric future landscape. The mountains through which Severian travels were long ago carved into monumental statues depicting forgotten emperors. In the valleys he encounters the animalistic zoanthrops, people who have renounced their humanity. On Lake Diuturna he sees the traveling islands and the free fisherfolk who dwell on them.
While there are sections in which our narrator, wandering alone, muses eloquently on questions philosophical and theological, Wolfe still provides plenty of action. Severian’s twilight encounter with the alzabo, a creature which speaks with the voices of its victims, remains one of the most tense scenes I’ve ever read. Equally exciting are his confrontations with a fiery assassin, a cabal of jungle sorcerors, and the demonic ruler Typhon.
It is in this third volume that Wolfe begins to supply answers to some of his riddles. We learn who is behind the attacks on Severian, and where Dorcas came from. We again meet Dr. Talos and the giant Baldanders, but see them in a very different light. We learn why the Claw is so named. And we are permitted a glance beneath the double masks of the alien cacogens.
A number of these insights and encounters combine to indicate that something profound is going on beneath the adventures, something of great import for Urth and her peoples. While only reaching fulfillment in the four and fifth volumes, it is becoming apparent that Severian’s story is actually one of salvation history.
5 out of 5.
Three Days To Never
Jimmy Akin's got a post about Tim Power's new Three Days To Never, which he's started to read.
My own copy has already been shipped by Chapters.ca!
My own copy has already been shipped by Chapters.ca!
Sunday, August 06, 2006
Book Review - Till We Have Faces
Till We Have Faces, by C.S. Lewis. Geoffrey Bles, 1956.
Lewis considered this, his last novel, to be his best, and many of his readers agree. It is the first-hand story of the ugly princess Orual’s love for her sister, and her complaint against the gods. Orual lives in Glome, a little barbarian kingdom of ancient times. Glome and its closest neighbours are fictional, but Lewis uses his considerable knowledge of classical history to imbue it with all the beauty and horror of pagan culture.
Orual’s kingdom lives under the distant influence of Greece, and her people worship local variations of the Greek gods. Their primary goddess is Ungit, elsewhere known as Aphrodite or Venus. Ungit is not the clean-limbed beauty of the Greeks, however. In Glome she is an almost shapeless black rock, spattered with the blood of sacrifices, crouching in the darkness of her temple.
The King, a violent and insecure man, is always seeking a male heir but gets daughters instead: Orual and Redival with his first wife, and Istra with his second. Istra is a stunningly beautiful child, and Orual, repulsively ugly, loves her whole-heartedly. It is from their foreign tutor, a slave know as The Fox, that Orual learns the Greek version of her sister’s name: Psyche.
Lewis is retelling the classical myth of Cupid and Psyche, refocusing the story on a mortal who has her heart broken by the deeds of the gods. Psyche is loved and worshipped by the people for her beauty, which incurs the jealous anger of Venus/Ungit. The goddess afflicts the lands with a curse, until the people turn on Psyche and send her away as a sacrifice. Cupid, known in Glome as the god of the Grey Mountain, is sent to destroy her, but upon seeing her, falls in love and bears her away to live with him. And thus Orual’s true problems begin.
If this all sounds very complicated and mythic, blame the reviewer. Till We Have Faces is in fact a straight-forward and grittily compelling book. The narrator is a very real woman, part of a dysfunctional royal family, and her story is frank about sex, politics and violence. Her book is, in part, a formal (if bitter) complaint against the gods, so she restricts herself as much as possible to the facts.
This emphasis on showing, rather than telling, may be what makes it Lewis’ greatest novel. It enabled him to bypass what Owen Barfield called his ‘expository demon,’ a temptation to explain everything and to freight his allegories with too much obvious meaning. Orual's story comes across as a simple report of things which happened, and as the self-portrait of a remarkable but talented woman.
It also has a depth that bespeaks Lewis’ spiritual maturity. Some of his earlier writings evince a kind of vehemence, a convert’s testiness. His interpretations of Christian ideas were always fresh and insightful, but there was occasionally a sense that anyone who disagreed with the Lewis version was a fool, and perhaps a damned fool. Till We Have Faces, though, displays a more confident, settled faith. Lewis is more at ease with showing the messiness of life, allowing a number of different voices to speak and waiting until the end to show which contains the greater truth.
It should be remembered that Lewis, while a formidable debater and logical thinker, was led into Christian faith less by rational debate than by story and song. It was, in large part, the unexpected joy and beauty found in pagan myths and epic poems which set him on the path to Christ. In this story he seeks to retrace that journey. Readers familiar with Lewis’ life will find a number of biographical elements and characters (Alan Jacob’s The Narnian does a wonderful job of explaining these.) In Orual's deeply moving story we see the grapplings of one who wrestled with divinity.
5 out of 5.
Lewis considered this, his last novel, to be his best, and many of his readers agree. It is the first-hand story of the ugly princess Orual’s love for her sister, and her complaint against the gods. Orual lives in Glome, a little barbarian kingdom of ancient times. Glome and its closest neighbours are fictional, but Lewis uses his considerable knowledge of classical history to imbue it with all the beauty and horror of pagan culture.
Orual’s kingdom lives under the distant influence of Greece, and her people worship local variations of the Greek gods. Their primary goddess is Ungit, elsewhere known as Aphrodite or Venus. Ungit is not the clean-limbed beauty of the Greeks, however. In Glome she is an almost shapeless black rock, spattered with the blood of sacrifices, crouching in the darkness of her temple.
The King, a violent and insecure man, is always seeking a male heir but gets daughters instead: Orual and Redival with his first wife, and Istra with his second. Istra is a stunningly beautiful child, and Orual, repulsively ugly, loves her whole-heartedly. It is from their foreign tutor, a slave know as The Fox, that Orual learns the Greek version of her sister’s name: Psyche.
Lewis is retelling the classical myth of Cupid and Psyche, refocusing the story on a mortal who has her heart broken by the deeds of the gods. Psyche is loved and worshipped by the people for her beauty, which incurs the jealous anger of Venus/Ungit. The goddess afflicts the lands with a curse, until the people turn on Psyche and send her away as a sacrifice. Cupid, known in Glome as the god of the Grey Mountain, is sent to destroy her, but upon seeing her, falls in love and bears her away to live with him. And thus Orual’s true problems begin.
If this all sounds very complicated and mythic, blame the reviewer. Till We Have Faces is in fact a straight-forward and grittily compelling book. The narrator is a very real woman, part of a dysfunctional royal family, and her story is frank about sex, politics and violence. Her book is, in part, a formal (if bitter) complaint against the gods, so she restricts herself as much as possible to the facts.
This emphasis on showing, rather than telling, may be what makes it Lewis’ greatest novel. It enabled him to bypass what Owen Barfield called his ‘expository demon,’ a temptation to explain everything and to freight his allegories with too much obvious meaning. Orual's story comes across as a simple report of things which happened, and as the self-portrait of a remarkable but talented woman.
It also has a depth that bespeaks Lewis’ spiritual maturity. Some of his earlier writings evince a kind of vehemence, a convert’s testiness. His interpretations of Christian ideas were always fresh and insightful, but there was occasionally a sense that anyone who disagreed with the Lewis version was a fool, and perhaps a damned fool. Till We Have Faces, though, displays a more confident, settled faith. Lewis is more at ease with showing the messiness of life, allowing a number of different voices to speak and waiting until the end to show which contains the greater truth.
It should be remembered that Lewis, while a formidable debater and logical thinker, was led into Christian faith less by rational debate than by story and song. It was, in large part, the unexpected joy and beauty found in pagan myths and epic poems which set him on the path to Christ. In this story he seeks to retrace that journey. Readers familiar with Lewis’ life will find a number of biographical elements and characters (Alan Jacob’s The Narnian does a wonderful job of explaining these.) In Orual's deeply moving story we see the grapplings of one who wrestled with divinity.
5 out of 5.
Wednesday, August 02, 2006
Book review - The Shadow Within
The Shadow Within, by Karen Hancock. Bethany House, 2004.
The second volume in Hancock’s Legends of the Guardian-King series, The Shadow Within continues the adventures of Abramm, prince of Kiriath. He returns to his homeland after six years, having been a galley slave and gladiator, as well as a guerrilla warrior and triumphant hero among the foreign Dorsaddi. Drawn back by a desire to protect his people in the service of his god, Eidon, Abramm sets out to rid the land of the evils plaguing it and to claim the crown which is rightfully his. The marauding armies of the Black Moon are coming, and his nation must be prepared. Of course, none of this is simple, and his path is fraught with peril. The obstacles range from foppish noblemen and difficult courtly graces to evil sorcerors, a sea monster, civil war, and a demon dog which is Hell’s own version of the Hound of the Baskervilles.
Though this book is slightly more predictable than the first one (the identity of the romantic interest is more obvious, for example) Hancock remains adept at subverting a reader’s expectations. Abramm’s destiny seems genuinely uncertain. At times he reminded me strongly of Rand al’Thor from Robert Jordan’s Wheel of Time books (not to mention Harry Potter): heroic young leaders who struggle to establish themselves and to prepare their people to face great evils, while being plagued by politics, magical assaults, and the puzzling affairs of the heart.
The book begins with a quest to slay a monster, and the first third of the story continues on in this exciting vein as Abramm’s rollercoaster political career begins. However, I found the middle section of the story less compelling, as the plot gets tangled up in various complex intrigues. While some events are explored in detail, others with seeming significance are covered in a page, a paragraph, or only mentioned as a recollection, as if Hancock was forced to pare them down at some point. Happily, the pacing picks up again in the final third, and the writing becomes quite crisp, some of the best in the book.
The characters remain interesting, with the most detail lavished on Abramm and his family, though some members of the court are memorable. One major villain, a stereotypical religious monomaniac who mutters to himself, becomes humorously endearing as we see him interacting with his dog, the aforementioned hellhound. Of course, this doesn’t last too long as he soon gets on with his wicked plot.
I became more aware of the fact that this is a series written primarily for Christians. The language, assumptions and emphases are evangelical, and at times I thought it was all a bit too obvious. But most of those times Hancock didn’t go where I assumed she would. For example, in places I thought the story was turning triumphalist, towards a theology of glory as opposed to a theology of the cross (to borrow a line from the Lutherans.) Abramm is handsome, dashing, muscular, a skilled fighter, and he can dance too! All the women of the court want him, and his natural charisma attracts many followers. However, just as in the first book, he undergoes a great deal of self-doubt and suffering, and the story ends with a great act of self-sacrifice. Eidon makes a way for him (a phrase popular in the book) but it is a hard and narrow way that chisels away at his pride and makes him more sensitive to the sufferings of others.
I appreciated the realism in Hancock’s depiction of the faithful. While they undoubtedly belong to the correct religion, the Terstans are divided, confused and mistaken just as often as most people. There is a welcome conversion in this volume, but at the same time one of the most likable and sympathetic new characters is an atheist. It was also interesting to see religious persecution and its backlash given a realistic treatment.
Hancock continues to live up to her reputation as a leading evangelical fantasist.
3.5 out of 5.
The second volume in Hancock’s Legends of the Guardian-King series, The Shadow Within continues the adventures of Abramm, prince of Kiriath. He returns to his homeland after six years, having been a galley slave and gladiator, as well as a guerrilla warrior and triumphant hero among the foreign Dorsaddi. Drawn back by a desire to protect his people in the service of his god, Eidon, Abramm sets out to rid the land of the evils plaguing it and to claim the crown which is rightfully his. The marauding armies of the Black Moon are coming, and his nation must be prepared. Of course, none of this is simple, and his path is fraught with peril. The obstacles range from foppish noblemen and difficult courtly graces to evil sorcerors, a sea monster, civil war, and a demon dog which is Hell’s own version of the Hound of the Baskervilles.
Though this book is slightly more predictable than the first one (the identity of the romantic interest is more obvious, for example) Hancock remains adept at subverting a reader’s expectations. Abramm’s destiny seems genuinely uncertain. At times he reminded me strongly of Rand al’Thor from Robert Jordan’s Wheel of Time books (not to mention Harry Potter): heroic young leaders who struggle to establish themselves and to prepare their people to face great evils, while being plagued by politics, magical assaults, and the puzzling affairs of the heart.
The book begins with a quest to slay a monster, and the first third of the story continues on in this exciting vein as Abramm’s rollercoaster political career begins. However, I found the middle section of the story less compelling, as the plot gets tangled up in various complex intrigues. While some events are explored in detail, others with seeming significance are covered in a page, a paragraph, or only mentioned as a recollection, as if Hancock was forced to pare them down at some point. Happily, the pacing picks up again in the final third, and the writing becomes quite crisp, some of the best in the book.
The characters remain interesting, with the most detail lavished on Abramm and his family, though some members of the court are memorable. One major villain, a stereotypical religious monomaniac who mutters to himself, becomes humorously endearing as we see him interacting with his dog, the aforementioned hellhound. Of course, this doesn’t last too long as he soon gets on with his wicked plot.
I became more aware of the fact that this is a series written primarily for Christians. The language, assumptions and emphases are evangelical, and at times I thought it was all a bit too obvious. But most of those times Hancock didn’t go where I assumed she would. For example, in places I thought the story was turning triumphalist, towards a theology of glory as opposed to a theology of the cross (to borrow a line from the Lutherans.) Abramm is handsome, dashing, muscular, a skilled fighter, and he can dance too! All the women of the court want him, and his natural charisma attracts many followers. However, just as in the first book, he undergoes a great deal of self-doubt and suffering, and the story ends with a great act of self-sacrifice. Eidon makes a way for him (a phrase popular in the book) but it is a hard and narrow way that chisels away at his pride and makes him more sensitive to the sufferings of others.
I appreciated the realism in Hancock’s depiction of the faithful. While they undoubtedly belong to the correct religion, the Terstans are divided, confused and mistaken just as often as most people. There is a welcome conversion in this volume, but at the same time one of the most likable and sympathetic new characters is an atheist. It was also interesting to see religious persecution and its backlash given a realistic treatment.
Hancock continues to live up to her reputation as a leading evangelical fantasist.
3.5 out of 5.
Monday, July 31, 2006
Book Review - Sacred Visions
Sacred Visions, edited by Andrew M. Greeley and Michael Cassutt. 1991.
This anthology of religiously-themed SF stories is the best work of its kind that I’ve yet encountered. The works included are all either by Catholic authors or on Catholic topics.
Included are three acknowledged classics of 50s SF: the original short story versions of “A Case of Conscience” and “A Canticle for Leibowitz,” and Anthony Boucher’s “The Quest for Saint Aquin.” These stories alone would make the collection worthwhile, but there are some more recent gems as well.
Robert Silverberg’s “The Pope of the Chimps” is a poignant and respectful exploration of the roots of religious experience. R. A. Lafferty’s “And Walk Now Gently Through The Fire” combines a post-apocalyptic tale about the apostles of a diminished Church with commentaries by Screwtape-like demons. It builds to a mystical epiphany of unparalled beauty. “Our Lady of the Endless Sky,” centred around Marian devotion, is about hard-working Moon colonists and the chaplain who serves them.
Several of the stories were commissioned specifically for this book. Jack McDevitt’s “Gus” is startlingly good. Gus is Augustine, or at least a computerized version of him, who spars with and then counsels a disillusioned seminary director. A story involving a (possibly) extinct race of alien converts to Christianity, “The Seraph From Its Sepulchre,” is vintage Gene Wolfe – mysterious, profound, and moving. Michael Cassutt’s “Curious Elation” reads like a Twilight Zone episode on guilt and regret healed by miraculous grace.
As with any anthology, there are a few works that seem out of place – the worst of these is Fr. Greeley’s contribution, “Xorinda the Witch.” A transparent clunker on the redemptive power of tolerance and sex magic over religious fanaticism, it might not seem too bad in a collection of New Age fantasy written by teenagers, but to find it wedged between ‘Conscience’ and ‘Canticle’ is almost painful. Nancy Kress’ long story “Trinity” isn’t bad but doesn’t fit, involving a technological version of sex magic that seeks contact with an oblivious divinity. And James Patrick Kelly’s “Saint Theresa of the Aliens” seems to see Catholicism as being primarily about fanaticism and anti-Communism.
This is certainly not a bad ratio, as anthologies go, and the excellence of the other works more than make up for it.
4.5 out of 5
This anthology of religiously-themed SF stories is the best work of its kind that I’ve yet encountered. The works included are all either by Catholic authors or on Catholic topics.
Included are three acknowledged classics of 50s SF: the original short story versions of “A Case of Conscience” and “A Canticle for Leibowitz,” and Anthony Boucher’s “The Quest for Saint Aquin.” These stories alone would make the collection worthwhile, but there are some more recent gems as well.
Robert Silverberg’s “The Pope of the Chimps” is a poignant and respectful exploration of the roots of religious experience. R. A. Lafferty’s “And Walk Now Gently Through The Fire” combines a post-apocalyptic tale about the apostles of a diminished Church with commentaries by Screwtape-like demons. It builds to a mystical epiphany of unparalled beauty. “Our Lady of the Endless Sky,” centred around Marian devotion, is about hard-working Moon colonists and the chaplain who serves them.
Several of the stories were commissioned specifically for this book. Jack McDevitt’s “Gus” is startlingly good. Gus is Augustine, or at least a computerized version of him, who spars with and then counsels a disillusioned seminary director. A story involving a (possibly) extinct race of alien converts to Christianity, “The Seraph From Its Sepulchre,” is vintage Gene Wolfe – mysterious, profound, and moving. Michael Cassutt’s “Curious Elation” reads like a Twilight Zone episode on guilt and regret healed by miraculous grace.
As with any anthology, there are a few works that seem out of place – the worst of these is Fr. Greeley’s contribution, “Xorinda the Witch.” A transparent clunker on the redemptive power of tolerance and sex magic over religious fanaticism, it might not seem too bad in a collection of New Age fantasy written by teenagers, but to find it wedged between ‘Conscience’ and ‘Canticle’ is almost painful. Nancy Kress’ long story “Trinity” isn’t bad but doesn’t fit, involving a technological version of sex magic that seeks contact with an oblivious divinity. And James Patrick Kelly’s “Saint Theresa of the Aliens” seems to see Catholicism as being primarily about fanaticism and anti-Communism.
This is certainly not a bad ratio, as anthologies go, and the excellence of the other works more than make up for it.
4.5 out of 5
Saturday, July 29, 2006
Book Review - Declare
Declare, by Tim Powers. 2001.
Where wast thou when I laid the foundations of the earth?
Declare, if thou hast understanding.
Tim Power’s novels are in the supernatural tradition of Chesterton’s The Man Who Was Thursday and Charles Williams’ Descent Into Hell. A descendant of Williams’ The Greater Trumps, Last Call ventured into games of high-stakes Las Vegas poker played with Tarot cards and souls. Expiration Date journeyed through the haunts of ghost-eaters and spiritual warriors, guided by the shade of Thomas Edison. Power’s books describe unnoticed corners of life and discover there eerie hints of a world deeper than the one we see.
What better setting for this kind of tale than the already-shadowy realms of international subterfuge, of cryptography, assassination and suicide pills? Declare’s double agents are cousins to Thursday’s anarchists and secret police officers. Both novels affirm that when people go deep enough into the inner workings of the world, they encounter spiritual realities, active powers and principalities that force them to decide their basic loyalties.
Declare discovers the occult subtext for the long struggle between England and Russia, beginning with the 19th century Great Game and intensifying during the 20th century Cold War. Combining meticulous historical research with far-fetched speculation, Powers imagines agencies hidden within agencies, fighting a decades-long war in the shadows. What did Lawrence of Arabia discover in the desert that threatened his sanity and brought about his assassination? Why were there so many bizarre occurrences surrounding Kim Philby, the influential British spymaster and long-time Soviet traitor? And why did both sides pay so much covert attention to eastern Turkey – or more precisely, to Mount Ararat? Powers draws his answers from the Bible, the Thousand and One Nights, Armenian folk tales, and the complex biographies of real-life spies.
Declare moves back and forth through the life of its protagonist, Andrew Hale, a lapsed Catholic and professor of English literature. The reader learns that he was recruited by the British secret service and sent to infiltrate a Soviet network in wartime Paris. He soon found himself drawn into an even more secret body, known as Operation Declare, and was driven to the edges of life and sanity in postwar Berlin and in the deserts of Saudi Arabia. Defeated on the slopes of Mount Ararat in 1948, he is reactivated in 1963 in a last-ditch attempt to complete Declare’s mission.
Powers weaves fact and fiction together so skillfully that the reader is hard pressed to tell where one begins and the other ends. He chooses his historic settings and characters well – it does not strain credulity to imagine that bloodthirsty supernatural beings would have been right at home in the unspeakable horror of Stalin’s purges and in the massacres that were carried out by the NKVD. Nor is it hard to believe that already-unscrupulous leaders and backroom power brokers would seek to harness such beings. In this respect, Declare is also in the tradition of C.S. Lewis’ That Hideous Strength, with its pitiless and deluded demon-worshippers. When people ruthlessly seek hidden knowledge for the power which accompanies it, they encounter forces which in turn enslave them.
While Powers includes plenty of excitement and variety to keep things moving, he does tend to repeat himself at times, dropping the same clues more than once. Further, many characters are prone to giving long expository speeches, in which they sound almost indistinguishable from one another. Declare covers a lot of ground, so it’s hard to see how these explanatory sections could be avoided, but they do disrupt one’s immersion in the story to some extent. For the most part, though, the writing is tense and compelling.
While religious elements in the plot are plentiful, Powers also works in a more subtle spiritual journey. One notices that Hale’s Catholicism is perhaps not as lapsed as he likes to think. In the shifting and ambiguous world of espionage, he must determine where his loyalties lie. He is forced to learn the difference between magic and grace, and to choose between coercive power and sacrificial love.
All in all, a great book – creepy, convincing, and thought-provoking.
4.5 out of 5
Where wast thou when I laid the foundations of the earth?
Declare, if thou hast understanding.
Tim Power’s novels are in the supernatural tradition of Chesterton’s The Man Who Was Thursday and Charles Williams’ Descent Into Hell. A descendant of Williams’ The Greater Trumps, Last Call ventured into games of high-stakes Las Vegas poker played with Tarot cards and souls. Expiration Date journeyed through the haunts of ghost-eaters and spiritual warriors, guided by the shade of Thomas Edison. Power’s books describe unnoticed corners of life and discover there eerie hints of a world deeper than the one we see.
What better setting for this kind of tale than the already-shadowy realms of international subterfuge, of cryptography, assassination and suicide pills? Declare’s double agents are cousins to Thursday’s anarchists and secret police officers. Both novels affirm that when people go deep enough into the inner workings of the world, they encounter spiritual realities, active powers and principalities that force them to decide their basic loyalties.
Declare discovers the occult subtext for the long struggle between England and Russia, beginning with the 19th century Great Game and intensifying during the 20th century Cold War. Combining meticulous historical research with far-fetched speculation, Powers imagines agencies hidden within agencies, fighting a decades-long war in the shadows. What did Lawrence of Arabia discover in the desert that threatened his sanity and brought about his assassination? Why were there so many bizarre occurrences surrounding Kim Philby, the influential British spymaster and long-time Soviet traitor? And why did both sides pay so much covert attention to eastern Turkey – or more precisely, to Mount Ararat? Powers draws his answers from the Bible, the Thousand and One Nights, Armenian folk tales, and the complex biographies of real-life spies.
Declare moves back and forth through the life of its protagonist, Andrew Hale, a lapsed Catholic and professor of English literature. The reader learns that he was recruited by the British secret service and sent to infiltrate a Soviet network in wartime Paris. He soon found himself drawn into an even more secret body, known as Operation Declare, and was driven to the edges of life and sanity in postwar Berlin and in the deserts of Saudi Arabia. Defeated on the slopes of Mount Ararat in 1948, he is reactivated in 1963 in a last-ditch attempt to complete Declare’s mission.
Powers weaves fact and fiction together so skillfully that the reader is hard pressed to tell where one begins and the other ends. He chooses his historic settings and characters well – it does not strain credulity to imagine that bloodthirsty supernatural beings would have been right at home in the unspeakable horror of Stalin’s purges and in the massacres that were carried out by the NKVD. Nor is it hard to believe that already-unscrupulous leaders and backroom power brokers would seek to harness such beings. In this respect, Declare is also in the tradition of C.S. Lewis’ That Hideous Strength, with its pitiless and deluded demon-worshippers. When people ruthlessly seek hidden knowledge for the power which accompanies it, they encounter forces which in turn enslave them.
While Powers includes plenty of excitement and variety to keep things moving, he does tend to repeat himself at times, dropping the same clues more than once. Further, many characters are prone to giving long expository speeches, in which they sound almost indistinguishable from one another. Declare covers a lot of ground, so it’s hard to see how these explanatory sections could be avoided, but they do disrupt one’s immersion in the story to some extent. For the most part, though, the writing is tense and compelling.
While religious elements in the plot are plentiful, Powers also works in a more subtle spiritual journey. One notices that Hale’s Catholicism is perhaps not as lapsed as he likes to think. In the shifting and ambiguous world of espionage, he must determine where his loyalties lie. He is forced to learn the difference between magic and grace, and to choose between coercive power and sacrificial love.
All in all, a great book – creepy, convincing, and thought-provoking.
4.5 out of 5
Sunday, July 23, 2006
Book Review - The Claw of the Conciliator
The Claw of the Conciliator, by Gene Wolfe.
This is the second volume of Wolfe’s The Book of the New Sun. When we rejoin the protagonist, Severian, he has left the sprawling metropolis of Nessus and is traveling north, headed for his assigned post as executioner in the mountain city of Thrax. Some time has elapsed since we saw him last, and the reader must be careful to pick up clues of how and why he was separated from his fellow travelers of the previous volume.
Severian’s world becomes ever more rich and vivid, as we see a rustic festival in the village of Saltus; the magnificent but dangerous haunts of the outlaw ‘Liege of Leaves;’ and the elaborate ceremonies and environs of The House Absolute, the home of the ruling Autarch. Severian’s gift of perfect memory begins to play a larger role in the story. As in the first volume, nothing is as it seems, and no detail in this byzantine mosaic is insignificant. Just what is the Claw? Who is Jolenta? Why does Jonas have a mechanical hand? What is the true political situation? Who keeps trying to kill Severian? Why is he sometimes two people? What is the meaning of the signs and miracles that have begun to proliferate around him? It may seem that Wolfe is tossing in strange happenings at random, but the persistent reader discovers that the unfolding plot is in fact meticulously constructed.
This is not to say that the story is boring or difficult – Wolfe includes lots of top-notch action and excitement. Severian finds himself in a terrifying underground battle, fights his way through several attempts on his life by assassins and alien creatures, and gets caught up in various quests, kidnappings, escapes and other hair-raising adventures. Wolfe's prose continues to be excellent, so even descriptions of sedate landscapes or meandering conversations are a delight.
Some readers, though, may be put off by Wolfe’s penchant for putting stories within stories. Claw includes at least two examples of this – one chapter is devoted to a story that may be a future version of the tale of Theseus and the Minotaur; another is given over to a play in which Severian is a performer. Some readers will find these diversions absorbing, while others will want to get back to the main plot.
The spiritual element of the work continues to deepen. C.S. Lewis said that certain stories can become part of our personal iconography. Wolfe’s images are uniquely suited to this, ranging as they do from walking statues and an otherworldly prophetess to a time-displaced Green Man hailing from some future Peaceable Kingdom. In particular, Dr. Talos’ play, described in the chapter entitled Eschatology and Genesis, contains much food for thought. It deals with the destruction of an old, exhausted world, and the creation of a new one, under a New Sun. Or is it instead about the redemption of both? Miracles, oblique and hidden in the first volume, become more noticeable now, though no less mysterious. Wolfe’s Catholic vision of suffering and mercy, of sign and sacrament, gradually emerges from this remarkable story.
5 out of 5.
This is the second volume of Wolfe’s The Book of the New Sun. When we rejoin the protagonist, Severian, he has left the sprawling metropolis of Nessus and is traveling north, headed for his assigned post as executioner in the mountain city of Thrax. Some time has elapsed since we saw him last, and the reader must be careful to pick up clues of how and why he was separated from his fellow travelers of the previous volume.
Severian’s world becomes ever more rich and vivid, as we see a rustic festival in the village of Saltus; the magnificent but dangerous haunts of the outlaw ‘Liege of Leaves;’ and the elaborate ceremonies and environs of The House Absolute, the home of the ruling Autarch. Severian’s gift of perfect memory begins to play a larger role in the story. As in the first volume, nothing is as it seems, and no detail in this byzantine mosaic is insignificant. Just what is the Claw? Who is Jolenta? Why does Jonas have a mechanical hand? What is the true political situation? Who keeps trying to kill Severian? Why is he sometimes two people? What is the meaning of the signs and miracles that have begun to proliferate around him? It may seem that Wolfe is tossing in strange happenings at random, but the persistent reader discovers that the unfolding plot is in fact meticulously constructed.
This is not to say that the story is boring or difficult – Wolfe includes lots of top-notch action and excitement. Severian finds himself in a terrifying underground battle, fights his way through several attempts on his life by assassins and alien creatures, and gets caught up in various quests, kidnappings, escapes and other hair-raising adventures. Wolfe's prose continues to be excellent, so even descriptions of sedate landscapes or meandering conversations are a delight.
Some readers, though, may be put off by Wolfe’s penchant for putting stories within stories. Claw includes at least two examples of this – one chapter is devoted to a story that may be a future version of the tale of Theseus and the Minotaur; another is given over to a play in which Severian is a performer. Some readers will find these diversions absorbing, while others will want to get back to the main plot.
The spiritual element of the work continues to deepen. C.S. Lewis said that certain stories can become part of our personal iconography. Wolfe’s images are uniquely suited to this, ranging as they do from walking statues and an otherworldly prophetess to a time-displaced Green Man hailing from some future Peaceable Kingdom. In particular, Dr. Talos’ play, described in the chapter entitled Eschatology and Genesis, contains much food for thought. It deals with the destruction of an old, exhausted world, and the creation of a new one, under a New Sun. Or is it instead about the redemption of both? Miracles, oblique and hidden in the first volume, become more noticeable now, though no less mysterious. Wolfe’s Catholic vision of suffering and mercy, of sign and sacrament, gradually emerges from this remarkable story.
5 out of 5.
Saturday, July 22, 2006
Book Review - The Shadow of the Torturer
The Shadow of the Torturer, by Gene Wolfe.
This is the first part of a four-volume work, collectively entitled The Book of the New Sun. The second volume, The Claw of the Conciliator, won the Nebula award in 1981. A fifth volume, entitled The Urth of the New Sun, came out several years later, and both extends and illuminates the original work. While The New Sun will likely never be as popular as, say, The Lord of the Rings, in terms of style, depth and originality Gene Wolfe is a worthy successor to Tolkien and Lewis as a Christian fantasist.
In this volume, Wolfe introduces his readers to a detailed, byzantine world of the far future. The sun is dim and red, and the moon was long ago planted with great forests. Severian, raised by the guild of torturers, relates the events of his life, as he explains how he has 'backed into the throne.' He describes his upbringing in the crumbling Citadel, the act of mercy which sees him cast out of his guild, and his picaresque wanderings through the vast city of Nessus. We encounter Ultan the librarian, the cunning Dr. Talos, Baldanders the giant, the waifish Dorcas, and a host of other unique characters.
Wolfe's prose is beautiful and rich, and the reader can be borne along by it without giving too much heed to the depths below. But depths there are, and every detail is vested with significance, though it takes several readings to grasp many of them. Rather than inventing new words, Wolfe employs archaisms and little-used names, adding to both the strangeness and familiarity of his world. Severian has been called a dishonest narrator. I don't believe he is, though he can be guarded and misleading at times. There are hints and clues scattered through the text, but they're generally only given once, in off-hand remarks or in double meanings.
Christians will find much to reflect on. Severian and other characters muse on philosophical and theological questions. People of this time remember an enigmatic figure called the Conciliator (Severian encounters a relic known as the Claw of the Conciliator), and hope for his coming again as The New Sun. Severian himself is not a particularly good nor pious man, being promiscuous, deceitful, and violent, but throughout there is sense that he is being reshaped by a dark and mysterious Providence.
5 out of 5.
(I originally wrote this for the Christian Fandom website - it will eventually appear there as well.)
This is the first part of a four-volume work, collectively entitled The Book of the New Sun. The second volume, The Claw of the Conciliator, won the Nebula award in 1981. A fifth volume, entitled The Urth of the New Sun, came out several years later, and both extends and illuminates the original work. While The New Sun will likely never be as popular as, say, The Lord of the Rings, in terms of style, depth and originality Gene Wolfe is a worthy successor to Tolkien and Lewis as a Christian fantasist.
In this volume, Wolfe introduces his readers to a detailed, byzantine world of the far future. The sun is dim and red, and the moon was long ago planted with great forests. Severian, raised by the guild of torturers, relates the events of his life, as he explains how he has 'backed into the throne.' He describes his upbringing in the crumbling Citadel, the act of mercy which sees him cast out of his guild, and his picaresque wanderings through the vast city of Nessus. We encounter Ultan the librarian, the cunning Dr. Talos, Baldanders the giant, the waifish Dorcas, and a host of other unique characters.
Wolfe's prose is beautiful and rich, and the reader can be borne along by it without giving too much heed to the depths below. But depths there are, and every detail is vested with significance, though it takes several readings to grasp many of them. Rather than inventing new words, Wolfe employs archaisms and little-used names, adding to both the strangeness and familiarity of his world. Severian has been called a dishonest narrator. I don't believe he is, though he can be guarded and misleading at times. There are hints and clues scattered through the text, but they're generally only given once, in off-hand remarks or in double meanings.
Christians will find much to reflect on. Severian and other characters muse on philosophical and theological questions. People of this time remember an enigmatic figure called the Conciliator (Severian encounters a relic known as the Claw of the Conciliator), and hope for his coming again as The New Sun. Severian himself is not a particularly good nor pious man, being promiscuous, deceitful, and violent, but throughout there is sense that he is being reshaped by a dark and mysterious Providence.
5 out of 5.
(I originally wrote this for the Christian Fandom website - it will eventually appear there as well.)
Friday, July 21, 2006
Book Review - The Speed of Dark
The Speed of Dark, by Elizabeth Moon. 2003. 340 p.
Do you like science fiction? If so, then this book belongs to that genre. If you don’t- it doesn’t matter. I think the genre is not very important because, essentially, this is an intimate, personal story – the story of a few months in one man’s life. While it is set in the (near) future, changes in technology or society are not really the point. Moon’s goal here is to get us to see the world through the eyes of her protagonist, Lou Arrendale, who happens to be autistic.
She does an excellent job of it. Moon’s son is autistic, to begin with, and she’s clearly done a lot of research into the lives of other autists. Lou becomes a very convincing and sympathetic character.
Having been given therapies somewhat more advanced than those used today, Lou is reasonably functional. He has a difficult time interpreting social interaction and is prone to sensory overload, but he lives on his own and has a good job. He takes fencing classes, goes to church, and copes well with the routines of everyday life. The reader is plunged into his rich (and to a non-autist, unusual) inner life.
But there are storm clouds on the horizon – the new manager of Lou’s division resents his autistic employees. At the same time, Lou is plagued with a threatening, mysterious stalker who seeks to make his private life difficult. On top of it all, there are rumors of an experimental cure for autism, involving nanotechnology and genetic modification, which Lou and his colleagues are being pressured to take. He must decide who he is and what he truly values in life.
It is in this process of existential questioning that a spiritual element makes itself felt. Moon, an Episcopalian, weaves Lou’s religious life into the story with subtlety and skill. In fact, it plays a pivotal role in his deliberations. Lou hears a sermon preached on the Gospel of John, the passage on the man who lies by the healing pool at Siloam and waits for someone to lower him in. Instead, Jesus approaches him, and asks him if he wants to be healed. The preacher meditates on this question, pointing out that many of us are so set in our prior expectations and attached to our grievances that we do not take healing when God sends it to us. He also explores the meaning of healing, and whether we know it when we see it.
Lou later discusses the sermon with the priest, and learns that his ideas about the message were something rather different than what Lou gleaned from it. The priest helps Lou with his ideas, but has no easy answers. Still, this is very much the Word Lou needs to fuel his thoughts, and he returns to it again and again as the story progresses, always finding new layers of meaning. I found this to be a very insightful and realistic depiction of the way the Word comes to us.
My only quibble with this novel is that the villains are rather stereotypical and one-dimensional. But this is a minor issue, and Moon has put so much careful characterization into this story that too much more might have made things overly complicated. All in all, it is an amazing book, well deserving of the Nebula Award it received.
4 out of 5.
Do you like science fiction? If so, then this book belongs to that genre. If you don’t- it doesn’t matter. I think the genre is not very important because, essentially, this is an intimate, personal story – the story of a few months in one man’s life. While it is set in the (near) future, changes in technology or society are not really the point. Moon’s goal here is to get us to see the world through the eyes of her protagonist, Lou Arrendale, who happens to be autistic.
She does an excellent job of it. Moon’s son is autistic, to begin with, and she’s clearly done a lot of research into the lives of other autists. Lou becomes a very convincing and sympathetic character.
Having been given therapies somewhat more advanced than those used today, Lou is reasonably functional. He has a difficult time interpreting social interaction and is prone to sensory overload, but he lives on his own and has a good job. He takes fencing classes, goes to church, and copes well with the routines of everyday life. The reader is plunged into his rich (and to a non-autist, unusual) inner life.
But there are storm clouds on the horizon – the new manager of Lou’s division resents his autistic employees. At the same time, Lou is plagued with a threatening, mysterious stalker who seeks to make his private life difficult. On top of it all, there are rumors of an experimental cure for autism, involving nanotechnology and genetic modification, which Lou and his colleagues are being pressured to take. He must decide who he is and what he truly values in life.
It is in this process of existential questioning that a spiritual element makes itself felt. Moon, an Episcopalian, weaves Lou’s religious life into the story with subtlety and skill. In fact, it plays a pivotal role in his deliberations. Lou hears a sermon preached on the Gospel of John, the passage on the man who lies by the healing pool at Siloam and waits for someone to lower him in. Instead, Jesus approaches him, and asks him if he wants to be healed. The preacher meditates on this question, pointing out that many of us are so set in our prior expectations and attached to our grievances that we do not take healing when God sends it to us. He also explores the meaning of healing, and whether we know it when we see it.
Lou later discusses the sermon with the priest, and learns that his ideas about the message were something rather different than what Lou gleaned from it. The priest helps Lou with his ideas, but has no easy answers. Still, this is very much the Word Lou needs to fuel his thoughts, and he returns to it again and again as the story progresses, always finding new layers of meaning. I found this to be a very insightful and realistic depiction of the way the Word comes to us.
My only quibble with this novel is that the villains are rather stereotypical and one-dimensional. But this is a minor issue, and Moon has put so much careful characterization into this story that too much more might have made things overly complicated. All in all, it is an amazing book, well deserving of the Nebula Award it received.
4 out of 5.
Thursday, July 20, 2006
Book Review - The Parallel Man
The Parallel Man, by Richard Purtill. 1984. 158 p.
Purtill is a Catholic professor of philosophy, and a scholar of Tolkien and Lewis - you can learn more here.
This is a short book, but the story is not at all straightforward. Prince Casmir is a typical fantasy hero, and when we first meet him he is fighting to save a beautiful princess from a fire-breathing dragon. Before long, though, a hole opens in the sky. Several futuristic people haul Casmir into their world and we learn that this is in fact a work of science fiction. Casmir is a clone, who has been put into a historical simulation so he can be studied. He escapes from his rescuers and heads off into a puzzling high-tech world, using his wits and natural charisma to survive. Before too long we learn that he was not the only clone to be made of the original person, and the story starts to become even more complicated.
Casmir's adventures are entertaining and unpredictable, and Purtill explores issues of determinism, leadership, and morality. The religious elements are fairly minimal. The question of free will is hotly contested throughout the novel. Further, Casmir's original incarnation was well-known for his moral rectitude and Catholic piety, and Casmir tries to live up to this standard.
2.5 out of 5
Purtill is a Catholic professor of philosophy, and a scholar of Tolkien and Lewis - you can learn more here.
This is a short book, but the story is not at all straightforward. Prince Casmir is a typical fantasy hero, and when we first meet him he is fighting to save a beautiful princess from a fire-breathing dragon. Before long, though, a hole opens in the sky. Several futuristic people haul Casmir into their world and we learn that this is in fact a work of science fiction. Casmir is a clone, who has been put into a historical simulation so he can be studied. He escapes from his rescuers and heads off into a puzzling high-tech world, using his wits and natural charisma to survive. Before too long we learn that he was not the only clone to be made of the original person, and the story starts to become even more complicated.
Casmir's adventures are entertaining and unpredictable, and Purtill explores issues of determinism, leadership, and morality. The religious elements are fairly minimal. The question of free will is hotly contested throughout the novel. Further, Casmir's original incarnation was well-known for his moral rectitude and Catholic piety, and Casmir tries to live up to this standard.
2.5 out of 5
Saturday, July 15, 2006
Book review - Sheepfarmer's Daughter
Sheepfarmer's Daughter is the first volume of Elizabeth Moon's fantasy epic The Deed of Paksenarrion. It was published in 1988.
Paksenarrion, known as Paks to her friends, is the 'sheepfarmer's daughter' of the title. When her father tries to marry her off to the pig farmer down the road, she runs away from home and to join Duke Phelan's mercenary company. (In Moon's world, companies from the northern regions are equal opportunity outfits and thus accept female recruits.) Paks is tall, strong, determined and attractive to boot so she's quickly accepted and set to drilling.
Moon spent some time in the U.S. Marine Corps, so her portrayal of an ordinary soldier's life is convincing - Paks is no D&D-style vixen clad in a metal bikini, but a realistic young woman. She learns to march and fight in formation, as well as learning a code of honor. She soon makes friends and enemies and becomes a valued member of the company. After experiencing some routine operations, Paks and her comrades are drawn into a series of increasingly dangerous and exciting adventures. While the mercenaries are honorable, they are pragmatists who fight for the highest bidder - but they find themselves caught up in a struggle against evil powers. It gradually becomes apparent that there is something special about Paks - her destiny is to be much more than a mercenary.
Moon's world contains magic and most of the creatures on Tolkien's evolutionary tree (as Neal Stephenson calls it) - elves, orcs, dwarves and gnomes. However, these races do not play a large role in the story, which is focused on humans and their mundane struggles over power in a late medieval setting. In this way I found it reminiscent of Fletcher Pratt's The Well of the Unicorn, or Gene Wolfe's The Devil in a Forest.
Moon is a Episcopalian whose faith is important to her, and there are some interesting religious elements in the story. Paks lives in a polytheistic culture - she respects the very real power of the gods, but is not particularly dedicated to or knowledgeable about them. The reader slowly becomes aware that this is not entirely a pagan world - some people worship legendary warriors, such as Gird or Falk, who are not regarded as gods, but as saints, servants of 'the High Lord.' It is eventually evident that Paks has a special relationship with St. Gird, though she knows almost nothing about him. One of Paks' friends is a devout Girdian, but her clumsy and ignorant attempts at proselytizing alienate potential converts. On another occasion, Paks is called to transcend her warrior culture and learn the meaning of mercy.
In another review, I mentioned the genre of 'police procedurals' - workaday accounts of ordinary people doing their jobs. Much of this book is the fantasy equivalent to that: not too flashy, but interesting nonetheless. Moon's writing is competent, though not outstanding. Her story is oddly compelling - the book didn't seem particularly exciting, but it kept me turning pages. I just wanted to find out what came next, and on a number of occasions stayed up late to do so! I'm looking forward to reading the next book in the series.
3.5 out of 5.
Paksenarrion, known as Paks to her friends, is the 'sheepfarmer's daughter' of the title. When her father tries to marry her off to the pig farmer down the road, she runs away from home and to join Duke Phelan's mercenary company. (In Moon's world, companies from the northern regions are equal opportunity outfits and thus accept female recruits.) Paks is tall, strong, determined and attractive to boot so she's quickly accepted and set to drilling.
Moon spent some time in the U.S. Marine Corps, so her portrayal of an ordinary soldier's life is convincing - Paks is no D&D-style vixen clad in a metal bikini, but a realistic young woman. She learns to march and fight in formation, as well as learning a code of honor. She soon makes friends and enemies and becomes a valued member of the company. After experiencing some routine operations, Paks and her comrades are drawn into a series of increasingly dangerous and exciting adventures. While the mercenaries are honorable, they are pragmatists who fight for the highest bidder - but they find themselves caught up in a struggle against evil powers. It gradually becomes apparent that there is something special about Paks - her destiny is to be much more than a mercenary.
Moon's world contains magic and most of the creatures on Tolkien's evolutionary tree (as Neal Stephenson calls it) - elves, orcs, dwarves and gnomes. However, these races do not play a large role in the story, which is focused on humans and their mundane struggles over power in a late medieval setting. In this way I found it reminiscent of Fletcher Pratt's The Well of the Unicorn, or Gene Wolfe's The Devil in a Forest.
Moon is a Episcopalian whose faith is important to her, and there are some interesting religious elements in the story. Paks lives in a polytheistic culture - she respects the very real power of the gods, but is not particularly dedicated to or knowledgeable about them. The reader slowly becomes aware that this is not entirely a pagan world - some people worship legendary warriors, such as Gird or Falk, who are not regarded as gods, but as saints, servants of 'the High Lord.' It is eventually evident that Paks has a special relationship with St. Gird, though she knows almost nothing about him. One of Paks' friends is a devout Girdian, but her clumsy and ignorant attempts at proselytizing alienate potential converts. On another occasion, Paks is called to transcend her warrior culture and learn the meaning of mercy.
In another review, I mentioned the genre of 'police procedurals' - workaday accounts of ordinary people doing their jobs. Much of this book is the fantasy equivalent to that: not too flashy, but interesting nonetheless. Moon's writing is competent, though not outstanding. Her story is oddly compelling - the book didn't seem particularly exciting, but it kept me turning pages. I just wanted to find out what came next, and on a number of occasions stayed up late to do so! I'm looking forward to reading the next book in the series.
3.5 out of 5.
Friday, June 23, 2006
Book Review: Soldier, Ask Not
Soldier, Ask Not is a novel by Gordon Dickson, published in 1967. It was originally a short story by the same title, which won the Hugo award in 1965. Mentula recommended this to me back in the SF, Fantasy & Faith Intermission. He (or she) quoted the evocative battle hymn which appears in the book:
"Soldier, ask not - now, or ever,
Where to war your banners go.
Anarch's legions all surround us.
Strike - and do not count the blow!
Glory, honor, praise and profit,
Are but toys of tinsel worth.
Render up your work, unasking,
Leave the human clay to earth.
Blood and sorrow, pain unending,
Are the portion of us all.
Grasp the naked sword, opposing,
Gladly in the battle fall.
So shall we, anointed soldiers,
Stand at last before the Throne,
Baptized in our wounds, red-flowing,
Sealed unto our Lord - alone!"
I finally got around to reading it this past week. Soldier is set in Dickson's Dorsai universe. The premise is this: when humanity left Earth to colonize other solar systems, it split into a number of highly specialized cultures. The Dorsai are super soldiers, something like the Spartans or Frank Herbert's Fremen, though they seem more sophisticated and cultured. The Exotics are the ultimate philosophers, psychiatrists, and mystics. There is a scientist culture, as well, though I don't remember if it has a unique name.
The Friendlies, who sing the battle hymn above, are a culture of religious fanatics. They inhabit bleak and stony worlds without significant natural resources, so they are forced to send their people offworld as cheap mercenaries. They are governed by a theocratic Council of Churches. Despite this, and their frequent references to God and "the Lord," it's hard to tell if they are Christians or not. There's a single reference to their flag having a cross on it, so I suppose they are. We don't really hear much about their beliefs, other than a conviction that they are God's chosen people, and that they are all equal in His sight. They also seem to have commitments to being plain, obedient, iconoclastic, and depressing.
I expected this to mean that Dickson was criticizing Christianity or religion in general, but that doesn't seem to have been his goal. He includes in his story the Catholic planet of St. Marie, which doesn't get along with the Friendlies. The conclusion of the book also indicates that he was trying to make a different point. Essentially this culture embodies the more dour aspects of the Puritans (think Oliver Cromwell) and Calvin's Geneva. Their cannon fodder approach to warfare reminded me of Iran's 'human wave' attacks in the Iran-Iraq War. And I couldn't help thinking of the Murdstone siblings from David Copperfield:
"...what such people miscall their religion, is a vent for their bad humours and arrogance. And do you know I must say, sir,' he continued, mildly laying his head on one side, 'that I DON'T find authority for Mr. and Miss Murdstone in the New Testament?'
'I never found it either!' said I."
The book's protagonist, Tam Olyn, is raised by an uncle with an aggressively nihilistic philosophy. While planning to leave home, he finds himself at the site of Earth's Final Encyclopedia project, where he has an almost-mystical experience. The Final Encyclopedia seeks to compile all human knowledge and thus understand humanity's potential in an objective way. The director of the project comes to believe that Olyn is the successor he's been desperately waiting for. An Exotic explains that his strange experience indicates he is one of a handful of human beings who have control over their own destiny, as well as power over the future of the species. Olyn's not interested in putting his skills to work for anyone else, and he leaves to pursue a career as an elite journalist.
I don't want to give away too much of the story, but it's in this career that he comes into conflict with the Friendlies, and resolves to destroy their culture. In the process, we see the ugly side of their fanaticism. It's this aspect that made the book seem like it would be just another exercise in fundie-bashing, but gradually we come to see that reality is more complex than Tam thinks. He's not a likable protagonist, and it becomes clear that he's imbibed more of his uncle's destructive nihilism than he likes to think. It's in his struggles with himself and others that he comes to finally see the difference between fanaticism and faith, between blind obedience and unshakable personal integrity. Dickson is more interested in faith as a human trait than in the object of that faith, but he does seem to say that the religious impulse is an integral and important part of human nature.
Dickson creates memorable characters with a few deft strokes and describes backdrops well enough. On the whole, though, I didn't think this book was particularly well written. It suffers from the problem much SF historically has - rushing from idea to idea with little regard for literary style. Still, some of those ideas and images are going to remain with me for awhile.
2.5 out of 5
"Soldier, ask not - now, or ever,
Where to war your banners go.
Anarch's legions all surround us.
Strike - and do not count the blow!
Glory, honor, praise and profit,
Are but toys of tinsel worth.
Render up your work, unasking,
Leave the human clay to earth.
Blood and sorrow, pain unending,
Are the portion of us all.
Grasp the naked sword, opposing,
Gladly in the battle fall.
So shall we, anointed soldiers,
Stand at last before the Throne,
Baptized in our wounds, red-flowing,
Sealed unto our Lord - alone!"
I finally got around to reading it this past week. Soldier is set in Dickson's Dorsai universe. The premise is this: when humanity left Earth to colonize other solar systems, it split into a number of highly specialized cultures. The Dorsai are super soldiers, something like the Spartans or Frank Herbert's Fremen, though they seem more sophisticated and cultured. The Exotics are the ultimate philosophers, psychiatrists, and mystics. There is a scientist culture, as well, though I don't remember if it has a unique name.
The Friendlies, who sing the battle hymn above, are a culture of religious fanatics. They inhabit bleak and stony worlds without significant natural resources, so they are forced to send their people offworld as cheap mercenaries. They are governed by a theocratic Council of Churches. Despite this, and their frequent references to God and "the Lord," it's hard to tell if they are Christians or not. There's a single reference to their flag having a cross on it, so I suppose they are. We don't really hear much about their beliefs, other than a conviction that they are God's chosen people, and that they are all equal in His sight. They also seem to have commitments to being plain, obedient, iconoclastic, and depressing.
I expected this to mean that Dickson was criticizing Christianity or religion in general, but that doesn't seem to have been his goal. He includes in his story the Catholic planet of St. Marie, which doesn't get along with the Friendlies. The conclusion of the book also indicates that he was trying to make a different point. Essentially this culture embodies the more dour aspects of the Puritans (think Oliver Cromwell) and Calvin's Geneva. Their cannon fodder approach to warfare reminded me of Iran's 'human wave' attacks in the Iran-Iraq War. And I couldn't help thinking of the Murdstone siblings from David Copperfield:
"...what such people miscall their religion, is a vent for their bad humours and arrogance. And do you know I must say, sir,' he continued, mildly laying his head on one side, 'that I DON'T find authority for Mr. and Miss Murdstone in the New Testament?'
'I never found it either!' said I."
The book's protagonist, Tam Olyn, is raised by an uncle with an aggressively nihilistic philosophy. While planning to leave home, he finds himself at the site of Earth's Final Encyclopedia project, where he has an almost-mystical experience. The Final Encyclopedia seeks to compile all human knowledge and thus understand humanity's potential in an objective way. The director of the project comes to believe that Olyn is the successor he's been desperately waiting for. An Exotic explains that his strange experience indicates he is one of a handful of human beings who have control over their own destiny, as well as power over the future of the species. Olyn's not interested in putting his skills to work for anyone else, and he leaves to pursue a career as an elite journalist.
I don't want to give away too much of the story, but it's in this career that he comes into conflict with the Friendlies, and resolves to destroy their culture. In the process, we see the ugly side of their fanaticism. It's this aspect that made the book seem like it would be just another exercise in fundie-bashing, but gradually we come to see that reality is more complex than Tam thinks. He's not a likable protagonist, and it becomes clear that he's imbibed more of his uncle's destructive nihilism than he likes to think. It's in his struggles with himself and others that he comes to finally see the difference between fanaticism and faith, between blind obedience and unshakable personal integrity. Dickson is more interested in faith as a human trait than in the object of that faith, but he does seem to say that the religious impulse is an integral and important part of human nature.
Dickson creates memorable characters with a few deft strokes and describes backdrops well enough. On the whole, though, I didn't think this book was particularly well written. It suffers from the problem much SF historically has - rushing from idea to idea with little regard for literary style. Still, some of those ideas and images are going to remain with me for awhile.
2.5 out of 5
Thursday, June 22, 2006
Science fiction, fantasy and faith: Book reviews
I've decided to keep track of my book reviews separately (and alphabetically by author). I'll make a link to this post on the sidebar, and continue updating it as an index.
D
Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep? by Philip K. Dick
The Three Stigmata of Palmer Eldritch, by Philip K. Dick
Soldier, Ask Not, by Gordon Dickson
F
Eifelheim, by Michael Flynn
H
Light of Eidon, by Karen Hancock
The Shadow Within, by Karen Hancock
J
Carve the Sky, by Alexander Jablokov
The Stoneholding, by Mark James
L
The Dream Thief, by Steven Lawhead
Till We Have Faces, by C. S. Lewis
M
Outriders, by Kathryn Mackel
Trackers, by Kathryn Mackel
The Child Goddess, by Louise Marley
Sheepfarmer's Daughter, by Elizabeth Moon
The Speed of Dark, by Elizabeth Moon
P
The Fate of Mice, by Susan Palwick
The Necessary Beggar, by Susan Palwick
The Anubis Gates, by Tim Powers
Declare, by Tim Powers
Three Days to Never, by Tim Powers
The Golden Griffin Feather, by Richard Purtill
The Parallel Man, by Richard Purtill
T
Creature Tech, by Doug TenNapel
Shivering World, by Kathy Tyers
Firebird, by Kathy Tyers
Fusion Fire, by Kathy Tyers
Crown of Fire, by Kathy Tyers
W
The Shadow of the Torturer, by Gene Wolfe
The Claw of the Conciliator, by Gene Wolfe
The Sword of the Lictor, by Gene Wolfe
The Citadel of the Autarch, by Gene Wolfe
The Urth of the New Sun, by Gene Wolfe
The Golden Age, by John C. Wright
Brief reviews:
Mainspring, by Jay Lake
Something More, by Paul Cornell
Anthologies
Sacred Visions, ed. by Andrew Greeley and Michael Cassutt
Infinite Space, Infinite God, ed. by Karina and Robert Fabian
D
Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep? by Philip K. Dick
The Three Stigmata of Palmer Eldritch, by Philip K. Dick
Soldier, Ask Not, by Gordon Dickson
F
Eifelheim, by Michael Flynn
H
Light of Eidon, by Karen Hancock
The Shadow Within, by Karen Hancock
J
Carve the Sky, by Alexander Jablokov
The Stoneholding, by Mark James
L
The Dream Thief, by Steven Lawhead
Till We Have Faces, by C. S. Lewis
M
Outriders, by Kathryn Mackel
Trackers, by Kathryn Mackel
The Child Goddess, by Louise Marley
Sheepfarmer's Daughter, by Elizabeth Moon
The Speed of Dark, by Elizabeth Moon
P
The Fate of Mice, by Susan Palwick
The Necessary Beggar, by Susan Palwick
The Anubis Gates, by Tim Powers
Declare, by Tim Powers
Three Days to Never, by Tim Powers
The Golden Griffin Feather, by Richard Purtill
The Parallel Man, by Richard Purtill
T
Creature Tech, by Doug TenNapel
Shivering World, by Kathy Tyers
Firebird, by Kathy Tyers
Fusion Fire, by Kathy Tyers
Crown of Fire, by Kathy Tyers
W
The Shadow of the Torturer, by Gene Wolfe
The Claw of the Conciliator, by Gene Wolfe
The Sword of the Lictor, by Gene Wolfe
The Citadel of the Autarch, by Gene Wolfe
The Urth of the New Sun, by Gene Wolfe
The Golden Age, by John C. Wright
Brief reviews:
Mainspring, by Jay Lake
Something More, by Paul Cornell
Anthologies
Sacred Visions, ed. by Andrew Greeley and Michael Cassutt
Infinite Space, Infinite God, ed. by Karina and Robert Fabian
Tuesday, June 20, 2006
The Light of Eidon - Book Review
The Light of Eidon, by Karen Hancock. 2003. 432 p.
I heard of this book through some of my fellow bloggers (sorry, I don't remember exactly who.) There seemed to be a general agreement that this book, and others in the series, are the cream of the crop when it comes to contemporary CBA (ie, American evangelical) fantasy.
LoE is set in a fantasy world that's loosely modelled on Europe and Africa, with monsters and magic thrown in. It concerns the adventures of a young man named Abramm, also known as Eldrin (his monastic/'baptismal' name), as well as those of his twin sister, Carissa. They're of the house of Kalladorne, the royalty of the northern kingdom of Kiriath.
I don't want to give away too much of the plot. One thing I appreciated about this book is that it kept me guessing, and I don't want to spoil that for potential readers. For the first third of the book I thought Hancock was one of those authors who telegraphs her plot twists miles in advance - but then she pulled the rug out from under me. And then she did it again, and again. The twists I expected were, pleasantly, not the twists I got. This pleasure might have been even greater, were it not for the publisher's blurb on the back of the book. For some inexplicable reason it gives away the major plot points. I recommend you skip it.
My other gripe with the publisher is this: the cover makes it look more like a cheesy romance novel than anything. My wife picked it up at the library for me and said she was somewhat embarrassed to do so. Later she asked "Is the story better than the cover?"
Fortunately, it is. Hancock is a good descriptive writer, and brings the landscapes and backdrops to vivid life. The action is exciting, and leads us to some exotic and interesting locales. And as I've mentioned, it's pretty suspenseful.
The dialogue struck me as about average for fantasy novels in general - the characters don't always sound real people so much as they sound like, well, characters in a fantasy novel! When they do talk like real people, they sometimes sound like modern Americans. But this is a minor quibble.
The main characters are drawn well and we get to see their reasonably convincing inner lives, along with some insight into human failings. I particularly liked the way Carissa's cynicism and hard-headedness protect her but also lead her astray. The minor characters tend to be more two-dimensional. One thing that rang false for me was this: one of the main characters falls madly in love with someone, but suffers in silence and says nothing. Suddenly one day the object of affection declares their secret, undying love! It all seemed rather pat, as we're shown almost nothing of their developing relationship over a period of years.
The spiritual aspects of this book were fairly direct. I liked some elements, particularly the more allegorical ones - flames, stones, heraldry, the rhu'ema, Sheleft'Ai, Eidon, and the debilitating disease which some characters display. I appreciated the struggles with faith and doubt. But I felt the book faltered when things got literal - one minute the characters are riding off on a quest, the next they're debating the technicalities of substitionary atonement doctrine. The correct religion, which the characters need in their lives, is very obviously contemporary evangelical Christianity. This may be perfectly fine for evangelical readers, but I felt these sections grated with the more symbolic and fantastic elements in the book. Non-Christians will likely feel preached at. Catholic readers may experience some irritation, as there are a few thinly-concealed barbs aimed at the failings of the insititutional church, the Pope, and 'works salvation.' (I know, Catholics don't believe in 'works salvation,' but there's a perception that they do.)
However, overall it's worth reading. I'm certainly planning on reading the next book in the "Legends of the Guardian-King" series. I can't quite figure out where the story's going to go next...
3 out of 5.
[PS: I forgot to mention the biblical parallels that are woven in, most notably the story of Joseph.]
I heard of this book through some of my fellow bloggers (sorry, I don't remember exactly who.) There seemed to be a general agreement that this book, and others in the series, are the cream of the crop when it comes to contemporary CBA (ie, American evangelical) fantasy.
LoE is set in a fantasy world that's loosely modelled on Europe and Africa, with monsters and magic thrown in. It concerns the adventures of a young man named Abramm, also known as Eldrin (his monastic/'baptismal' name), as well as those of his twin sister, Carissa. They're of the house of Kalladorne, the royalty of the northern kingdom of Kiriath.
I don't want to give away too much of the plot. One thing I appreciated about this book is that it kept me guessing, and I don't want to spoil that for potential readers. For the first third of the book I thought Hancock was one of those authors who telegraphs her plot twists miles in advance - but then she pulled the rug out from under me. And then she did it again, and again. The twists I expected were, pleasantly, not the twists I got. This pleasure might have been even greater, were it not for the publisher's blurb on the back of the book. For some inexplicable reason it gives away the major plot points. I recommend you skip it.
My other gripe with the publisher is this: the cover makes it look more like a cheesy romance novel than anything. My wife picked it up at the library for me and said she was somewhat embarrassed to do so. Later she asked "Is the story better than the cover?"
Fortunately, it is. Hancock is a good descriptive writer, and brings the landscapes and backdrops to vivid life. The action is exciting, and leads us to some exotic and interesting locales. And as I've mentioned, it's pretty suspenseful.
The dialogue struck me as about average for fantasy novels in general - the characters don't always sound real people so much as they sound like, well, characters in a fantasy novel! When they do talk like real people, they sometimes sound like modern Americans. But this is a minor quibble.
The main characters are drawn well and we get to see their reasonably convincing inner lives, along with some insight into human failings. I particularly liked the way Carissa's cynicism and hard-headedness protect her but also lead her astray. The minor characters tend to be more two-dimensional. One thing that rang false for me was this: one of the main characters falls madly in love with someone, but suffers in silence and says nothing. Suddenly one day the object of affection declares their secret, undying love! It all seemed rather pat, as we're shown almost nothing of their developing relationship over a period of years.
The spiritual aspects of this book were fairly direct. I liked some elements, particularly the more allegorical ones - flames, stones, heraldry, the rhu'ema, Sheleft'Ai, Eidon, and the debilitating disease which some characters display. I appreciated the struggles with faith and doubt. But I felt the book faltered when things got literal - one minute the characters are riding off on a quest, the next they're debating the technicalities of substitionary atonement doctrine. The correct religion, which the characters need in their lives, is very obviously contemporary evangelical Christianity. This may be perfectly fine for evangelical readers, but I felt these sections grated with the more symbolic and fantastic elements in the book. Non-Christians will likely feel preached at. Catholic readers may experience some irritation, as there are a few thinly-concealed barbs aimed at the failings of the insititutional church, the Pope, and 'works salvation.' (I know, Catholics don't believe in 'works salvation,' but there's a perception that they do.)
However, overall it's worth reading. I'm certainly planning on reading the next book in the "Legends of the Guardian-King" series. I can't quite figure out where the story's going to go next...
3 out of 5.
[PS: I forgot to mention the biblical parallels that are woven in, most notably the story of Joseph.]
Sunday, May 21, 2006
The Dream Thief
Steven Lawhead doubtless hoped that his work of Christian science fantasy, The Dream Thief, would lead his readers to prayer and repentance, and in my case at least he was completely successful. Indeed, I found myself praying fervently that the writing would improve, and there were numerous moments when I bitterly repented the fact that I had ever started the book.
Well, I should be charitable and say what's good about this story. It improves. The latter half is better than the first. So if you can drag yourself uphill for two hundred pages, there's hope. Secondly, Lawhead is a fairly good descriptive writer. I found the parts I enjoyed the best were the ones without much human interaction, introspection, or dialogue - descriptions of dreams, a character wandering around by himself on Mars, depictions of a space station, and of India. The parts about India are so vivid that they make me wonder if Lawhead has spent time there.
The story itself isn't without interest - outer space intrigue, lost cities, alien beings, a plot to take over the world. And it wasn't without flashes of humor. For example:
"And who can stand against God?"
Spence could think of no one offhand.
The characters can be charming - I found myself drawn to the Indian genius Adjani and the alien Kyr. Unfortunately, this was at the expense of the main characters, Spence and Ari.
Some of the discussions about God were appealing. I particularly liked the Eucharistic scene which happens later in the book. I also appreciated the way the conversion sequence (as you know, there must be a conversion in every work of "faith fiction") was fairly gradual and halting. The protagonist half-believes, then doubts, then disbelieves, then half-believes again. He receives what seem to be certain indications of Providence and then disbelieves them again the next day. This seems to me a fairly realistic depiction of human nature.
So what's wrong with this book?
Well, for one thing it's two or three hundred pages too long. Lawhead draaaaaaags things out in the beginning, then advances the plot by uneven fits and starts, and then draaaags things along again. At some point he realizes that he's nearing his five-hundred page limit, and speeds everything much too fast, skipping over great chunks of important material near the end.
Motivation is a problem. The readers know why the characters should pursue a certain line of action, since we know more of the behind-the-scenes happenings, and because the formula demands it. The poor characters do not know these things, but Lawhead jerks them through their required paces regardless. Often someone will have an intuition or a mysterious feeling in their heart which tells them where to go or what to investigate next, or there will be a bizarre coincidence that reveals an important clue. These intuitions and coincidences usually provoke a pompous sermon on The Mysterious Promptings Of The Lord. Deus ex machina! This is poor theology (what happened to free will and secondary causes?) and worse writing.
As I've said, a few characters are interesting, but most of them are cardboard cutouts, a stereotype with a name attached. The main character is a remarkably bland and colourless man for the first two hundred pages. This is partly because Lawhead wishes to show what a life of selfish ambition does to a person, but it is pretty difficult to care about him. Even at the end, when he had grown, I found myself sympathizing more with the supervillain during one of his rare displays of personality. The villains are either snivelling cowardly bullies, or super-brains who have a plan for everything, but who have random fits of stupidity and hapless blundering to prevent them from actually winning.
The love interest is a two-dimensional blue-eyed blonde beauty, who's none too bright and who becomes your typical damsel in distress. Barring her deranged mother, who gets a bit part, she is the only female character. All of the scientists and cadets on board the ultramodern space station are male. Women are restricted to very traditional roles: "Spence half-expected the docking bay to be filled with wives and sweethearts and screaming children, all waiting eagerly for their husbands and lovers to return from their voyage. It suprised him to discover that, aside from a few girlfriends of cadets and the docking crew, the area was empty." Small wonder. What self-respecting woman would hang around guys like this?
How about the religious themes? As I've said, some of it is well done. Other parts, not so much. The theological musings can seem clumsy and preachy, and the God of this book appears to be pretty arbitrary. By the end we have a vague idea of why God would have been helping these particular people out, but in certain places Lawhead's hamhanded theologizing prompted more doubt than faith.
Though we have two important Indian characters, they both happen to be Christians, as are most of the good Indians in the story. The ignorant and wicked Indians are all Hindus. At points, Lawhead hints that some Hindu ideas may resonate with the truth about God, but then he backs away and makes a swipe at the religion: "As Spence had suspected... Hinduism was founded upon a primitive misunderstanding, a mistake of cosmic proportions." Oh, so the fact that some minor Hindu gods may have been based on space aliens sends the whole ancient religion tumbling to the ground? We Christians don't like it when crackpot theories are used to cavalierly dismiss our origins, even in fiction. I imagine Hindus feel the same way. Lawhead needn't accept Hinduism as true in whole or in part, but a more respectful handling of that faith would have been welcome.
Speaking of disrespectful handling, I've left one of the more bizarre things about this book till the end. The villain who gets the most screen time is a super-genius scientist. He's got a neuromuscular disorder of some kind, which leaves him skeletal and crippled. He floats around in a futuristic wheelchair which amplifies his voice and makes him sound strange. His name?
Hocking.
Sound familiar?
Well, I should be charitable and say what's good about this story. It improves. The latter half is better than the first. So if you can drag yourself uphill for two hundred pages, there's hope. Secondly, Lawhead is a fairly good descriptive writer. I found the parts I enjoyed the best were the ones without much human interaction, introspection, or dialogue - descriptions of dreams, a character wandering around by himself on Mars, depictions of a space station, and of India. The parts about India are so vivid that they make me wonder if Lawhead has spent time there.
The story itself isn't without interest - outer space intrigue, lost cities, alien beings, a plot to take over the world. And it wasn't without flashes of humor. For example:
"And who can stand against God?"
Spence could think of no one offhand.
The characters can be charming - I found myself drawn to the Indian genius Adjani and the alien Kyr. Unfortunately, this was at the expense of the main characters, Spence and Ari.
Some of the discussions about God were appealing. I particularly liked the Eucharistic scene which happens later in the book. I also appreciated the way the conversion sequence (as you know, there must be a conversion in every work of "faith fiction") was fairly gradual and halting. The protagonist half-believes, then doubts, then disbelieves, then half-believes again. He receives what seem to be certain indications of Providence and then disbelieves them again the next day. This seems to me a fairly realistic depiction of human nature.
So what's wrong with this book?
Well, for one thing it's two or three hundred pages too long. Lawhead draaaaaaags things out in the beginning, then advances the plot by uneven fits and starts, and then draaaags things along again. At some point he realizes that he's nearing his five-hundred page limit, and speeds everything much too fast, skipping over great chunks of important material near the end.
Motivation is a problem. The readers know why the characters should pursue a certain line of action, since we know more of the behind-the-scenes happenings, and because the formula demands it. The poor characters do not know these things, but Lawhead jerks them through their required paces regardless. Often someone will have an intuition or a mysterious feeling in their heart which tells them where to go or what to investigate next, or there will be a bizarre coincidence that reveals an important clue. These intuitions and coincidences usually provoke a pompous sermon on The Mysterious Promptings Of The Lord. Deus ex machina! This is poor theology (what happened to free will and secondary causes?) and worse writing.
As I've said, a few characters are interesting, but most of them are cardboard cutouts, a stereotype with a name attached. The main character is a remarkably bland and colourless man for the first two hundred pages. This is partly because Lawhead wishes to show what a life of selfish ambition does to a person, but it is pretty difficult to care about him. Even at the end, when he had grown, I found myself sympathizing more with the supervillain during one of his rare displays of personality. The villains are either snivelling cowardly bullies, or super-brains who have a plan for everything, but who have random fits of stupidity and hapless blundering to prevent them from actually winning.
The love interest is a two-dimensional blue-eyed blonde beauty, who's none too bright and who becomes your typical damsel in distress. Barring her deranged mother, who gets a bit part, she is the only female character. All of the scientists and cadets on board the ultramodern space station are male. Women are restricted to very traditional roles: "Spence half-expected the docking bay to be filled with wives and sweethearts and screaming children, all waiting eagerly for their husbands and lovers to return from their voyage. It suprised him to discover that, aside from a few girlfriends of cadets and the docking crew, the area was empty." Small wonder. What self-respecting woman would hang around guys like this?
How about the religious themes? As I've said, some of it is well done. Other parts, not so much. The theological musings can seem clumsy and preachy, and the God of this book appears to be pretty arbitrary. By the end we have a vague idea of why God would have been helping these particular people out, but in certain places Lawhead's hamhanded theologizing prompted more doubt than faith.
Though we have two important Indian characters, they both happen to be Christians, as are most of the good Indians in the story. The ignorant and wicked Indians are all Hindus. At points, Lawhead hints that some Hindu ideas may resonate with the truth about God, but then he backs away and makes a swipe at the religion: "As Spence had suspected... Hinduism was founded upon a primitive misunderstanding, a mistake of cosmic proportions." Oh, so the fact that some minor Hindu gods may have been based on space aliens sends the whole ancient religion tumbling to the ground? We Christians don't like it when crackpot theories are used to cavalierly dismiss our origins, even in fiction. I imagine Hindus feel the same way. Lawhead needn't accept Hinduism as true in whole or in part, but a more respectful handling of that faith would have been welcome.
Speaking of disrespectful handling, I've left one of the more bizarre things about this book till the end. The villain who gets the most screen time is a super-genius scientist. He's got a neuromuscular disorder of some kind, which leaves him skeletal and crippled. He floats around in a futuristic wheelchair which amplifies his voice and makes him sound strange. His name?
Hocking.
Sound familiar?
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