wirOne of the things I like best about Bujold is her uncanny ability to create and evoke alien cultures. (The fact that those cultures don’t actually involve aliens is inconsequential.) The real trick of it, I’ve decided, is that Bujold doesn’t make a big deal out of it. With most authors, every single difference is emphasized and analyzed and justified. The result feels inherently unnatural – partly because the author is making an elaborate production out of it, partly because the author is showing their hand at work, and often because the characters end up being far too self-aware. (Neither I, nor anyone I know, pauses to give elaborate, pseudo-science lectures on why 21^st century Americans behave the way they do.)

Bujold, by contrast, simply allows her characters to live in the cultures she creates. Perhaps even more importantly, she lets us see the universe of her story through the unfiltered eyes of her characters, without apology or explanation.

On this level, Ethan of Athos delivers in a big way. The colony of Athos was founded by patriarchs who believed, primarily, that women were a corrupting influence. Using uterine replicators, they successfully created an all-male society way out in the boondocks of civilized space. Now, however, problems have begun to appear: Their original ovarian cultures are dying out, and problems of limited diversity were rearing their head even before the most recent genetic crisis came to a head. Somebody needs to be sent out into the wider galactic community to purchase new genetic material for the colony, and that’s where Ethan comes in: He leaves on the annual galactic census ship on a secret, if somewhat unexciting, mission to save his world.

At which point he promptly falls into the middle of an espionage mission involving Elli Quinn (a delightful character familiar to those who have read Bujold’s other Vorkosigan books).

Coincidentally, this discussion of culture-building brings up something which consistently puzzles me: A lot of people seem to have the belief that Bujold’s work is light on the science fiction. Or, in other words, that her work only has a thin layer of science fiction thrown in to make them genre works. The only explanation I have for this belief is that Bujold is simply too subtle a writer for these people.

At first glance, Ethan of Athos is a simple adventure story starring a protagonist from an unusual culture. But take a closer look: That unusual culture is, in fact, a very sophisticated extrapolation of how technology will affect human society. And Bujold works in a complete analysis of the consequences and mindset of that culture, even while you’re busy turning the pages for the exciting payoffs of the adventure story – she just refuses to Emphasize It With Capital Letters and Long Speeches Explaining the Point.

And against all of this, Bujold weaves yet another theme: A softly-played, emotionally-packed character drama.

Which brings me to another thing that I like about Bujold: Her humor. It’s believable and real and rib-achingly funny. It’s the humor of actual people living in an actual world, and it demonstrates the vividness with which Bujold evokes her stories. And, like most living humor, its all about context. (You’ll see what I mean when you understand the line: “Apparently they had committees on Kline Station, too…”)

So, we’ve got great prose, keen foresights, a fully-realized world, compelling characters, and an exciting plot.

And this is one of Bujold’s weaker novels? There’s little doubt in my mind that she’s the best science fiction author writing today.

GRADE: A-

Lois McMaster Bujold
Publisher: 1986
Publisher: Baen Books
Cover Price: $5.99
ISBN: 0-671-65604-X

(Note: In some countries this novel is known as The Moat Around Murcheson’s Eye.)

This is going to be a rather rapid reaction, because the book doesn’t really deserve more than a quick dissection.

First off: DO NOT LOOK AT THE MAP. Good lord. That thing is a cesspool of spoilers. And not in a “well, now we know where they’re going” way, but in a “they just told us what Rosebud is” kind of way. Unless you’re the type of crazy person who likes reading the last page of a mystery first, steer clear of the map.

Now, to begin properly, let’s discuss what works in The Gripping Hand: The prose is smooth and, from sentence to sentence, generally well-written. It’s also nice to revisit the Moties and see their unique culture from a new slant.

…

Okay, now that we’re finished with the strengths, let’s look at the host of flaws which plague this book. Let me count them off:

First, starting off small, there’s the recapping. Niven and Pournelle recap just enough to annoy people who have read the first novel, but don’t manage to cover enough territory to actually fill in those who haven’t. The result is the worst of both worlds: On the one hand, they’re bogging down this book for everyone who read The Mote in God’s Eye. On the other hand, they aren’t actually making this book accessible to anyone who hasn’t.

Second, and in a similar vein, there’s the clumsy and overwhelming exposition. I was literally stunned by the sheer mass of “as you know, Bob” lectures peppering the novel – I think they average about one every ten pages. In some cases, they’re even polite enough to explicitly identify what they’re doing. (Quote: “I may have to lecture. […] I won’t explain that, you got it in high school, but [insert explanation he just said he wasn’t going to give].”)

Third, the entire work is plagued by inconsistencies and contradictions. Mostly these are internal, but there are also several inconsistencies between Mote and Gripping Hand. And that doesn’t even count the deliberate and ham-fisted retcon which drives the entire plot. (Something which I found intrinsically annoying. With all of the interesting possibilities raised by the Moties and the situation at the end of the first book, why did they feel it was necessary to resort to a retcon in order to come up with a plot? Heck, they off-handedly discard another fascinating possibility explicitly. And even the scenario they use in the book would arguably be more fascinating without the retcon.)

Fourth, there’s still no thought put into the setting: A massive interstellar empire can rule over dozens (possibly hundreds) of star systems, but can’t figure out how to ship produce a thousand klicks and keep it fresh. The same society possesses Langston fields which can protect a ship from the fury of a sun, but characters puzzle over how to keep the Imperial family safe from atom bombs. The leaders of a colony are quoted as believing that a fireworks display will be the biggest show since one of their cities was bombed into oblivion (which would be like a Japanese Prime Minister claiming that a fireworks display will be the biggest show since Hiroshima). In one sentence we’re told that two colonies have stopped fighting with each other because they collectively fear war with the Moties; in the next we’re told that they’ve stopped building defensively because they’re no longer afraid of war. Even accepting the fact that Niven and Pournelle were constrained by the 20^th century analog they had established in A Mote in God’s Eye, there’s still no depth or thought given to the technology they show or the society it implies. This is world-building of the Star Trek planet-of-the-week variety, and in many cases its even worse.

Fifth, the characters are still as flat as cardboard. In fact, if anything, they’re even more contrived than they were in A Mote in God’s Eye: An ambitious investigative reporter is allowed to sit in at a meeting where top secret material is being discussed, and only after the fact does anyone realize this was probably a really stupid idea. More retcons are used to justify important decisions. And, yet again, you’ve got a couple of people falling in love at first sight and for no apparent reason. (Perhaps that’s the only kind of love there is in the Second Empire.) It’s not that I don’t believe in love at first sight. It’s that Niven and Pournelle don’t make me believe in love at first sight.

Finally, this book seems to suffer from many of the same problems that Niven’s Ringworld Engineers did: The authors seem to be writing the book as much from a desire to patch the problems criticized in the original work as they are from a desire to tell a good story. The result is predictable, turgid, repetitive, and boring.

Let me stress that again: Boring. The entire plot of the novel (from set-up to resolution) is dispensed with in a single scene around page 100 and the rest of the novel is nothing but sound and fury signifying nothing.

That’s the long of it.

Here’s the short of it: This book is a complete and utter waste. It’s a waste of your time. It’s a waste of a perfectly good opportunity. In many ways, it’s a waste of paper.

No matter how tempted you may be after reading The Mote in God’s Eye to discover what happens next, please believe me when I say that the pain of The Gripping Hand just isn’t worth it.

GRADE: D-

Larry Niven and Jerry Pournelle
Published: 1993
Publisher: Pocket Books
Cover Price: $6.99
ISBN: 0-671-79574-0

To read a spoiler-free review of The Mote in God’s Eye, click here.

For some spoiler-filled thoughts about the book, go ahead and read more…

Read more »

I had fairly high expectations for The Mote in God’s Eye. For years I’ve seen it listed time and time again alongside all-time greats like the Foundation Trilogy and Childhood’s End. It’s frequently described as the greatest first contact novel of all time, and I’ve even seen many describe it as the greatest SF novel of all time.

In the reading of it, I’m fairly underwhelmed. But we’ll get to that.

THE SCENARIO

A thousand years in the future, humanity has spread to the stars. Scientific revolution has discovered points of inconsistency in the space-time continuum, and technological innovation has created the Alderson drive which allows mankind to travel instantaneously through these points, resulting in a network linking the many stars and worlds of human space. Accidental inspiration has also led to the creation of the Langston Field – a generated shield capable of absorbing tremendous amounts of energy in form (kinetic, chemical, etc.).

Interstellar politics of the day have lent themselves to an aristocratic empire, whose will is enforced through military might in the form of warships protected by Langston Fields and capable of wiping out entire planetary populations. The borders of this empire are in constant flux, with numerous military campaigns being waged in an attempt to unite all of mankind.

Into this tenuous situation, a ship driven by solar sail enters the New Caledonia system. Within it are the first aliens ever seen by humanity. Now an expedition must be sent to the system from which the ship came, but even before it leaves, Niven and Pournelle clearly define their scenario of mystery and intrigue: On the one side, there are the utter unknowns of the aliens and their culture. On the other, the Empire must do everything in its power to guard the secrets of the Alderson drive and the Langston Field – for these may be the only advantages they have.

FIRST IMPRESSIONS

In the first hundred pages or so, The Mote in God’s Eye reminded me strongly of Rendezvous with Rama. Not so much in the particulars, which were quite different, but rather in the general feel: There is, of course, the appearance of the alien vessel and the mystery it represents. The science is also very hard (with the notable handwave-tech exceptions of drive and field), particularly when it comes to describing spaceship maneuvers. The politics of academia are detailed, well-drawn, and have an immediate (and understandable) impact on how the aliens are approached.

This early part of the novel also distinguishes itself as a page-turner. The timeline which leads off the book, after summarizing a thousand years of future history, closes enigmatically with, “3019: FIRST CONTACT.” The Prologue which immediately follows it further draws you into the novel, emphasizing the essential mystery of the vastness of space. And then, of course, there is the alien ship itself.

The writing here is tight. The plotting is intense. The mystery is fascinating. The stakes are high.

And then problems start developing.

A BOOK OF TWO PARTS

In many ways, I’m struck by the fact that The Mote in God’s Eye is really a book of two parts.

For example, the first problem to really strike me about Mote were the characters. Or rather, the caricatures, which were what stood in for actual personality among most of the book’s characters. On top of the fact that most of the characters are woodenly drawn, many of them are also forced into situations which doesn’t make a lot of sense: A suspected traitor, for example, is not only allowed to accompany the expedition to the alien homeworld, but is allowed unmonitored access to the aliens. Considering that the expedition is explicitly charged with the protection of Imperial secrets, this is absolutely bizarre.

But, on the other hand, there are some characters which seem capable of leaping off the page. And despite the fact that so much of the character development feels as if the authors are simply pushing them around a game board (the love story, example), some of it is painfully powerful and believable (such as the experiences of the aforementioned traitor).

Another example of this inconsistency are the aliens themselves. They are frequently described as one of the best alien species in the history of science fiction. And they are… for the first half of the book. But as more details reveal themselves, inconsistencies and logical holes begin to develop. Not enough to rob them of their effectiveness and cleverness, but enough to mar what would otherwise have been a flawless creation.

The careful thought labored upon the aliens is even more sharply contrasted against the human society depicted. On the one hand, Niven and Pournelle specifically call attention to the vast gulf of time which separates us from the Second Empire. (Sometimes in silly ways. For example, by asserting that George Washington and Alexander the Great are though of as practically contemporary by most people in the future.) But, on the other hand, the Second Empire they show us is really nothing more than an analog of the 20^th century with a 19^th century aristocracy thrown in for flavor: Here’s New Scotland, populated by entirely by the Scottish – who, after a thousand years, still speak with a Scottish accent, wear Scottish clothing, and are famed for their engineering skills. Over here Arabs and Jews still wage ceaseless war upon each other (despite the fact that the territorial pressures which led to that war have long since disappeared in nuclear annihilation). And on and on and on.

THE BIG PROBLEM

I think the biggest problem the book has for me is that the conclusion comes on page 327, but the words “The End” don’t appear until page 475.

That’s something of an exaggeration, but not by much. The central problem for the first 326 pages of the book is the mystery of the Moties: Who are they? What do they want? What (if anything) are they hiding? How will they affect the future course of history?

On page 327, the mystery is solved. Then, for another 150 pages, tension is falsely maintained while political games are played. It probably didn’t help that I’d been wondering since the beginning of the book why they hadn’t immediately adopted the course of action which is supposed to be the major revelation of the book’s conclusion. But even bearing that in mind, the last third of the book seems to inexcusably drag after Niven and Pournelle blow the surprise.

And this isn’t the only plotting problem, just the most noticeable. Lots of inconsistencies slowly (and then rapidly) sap the book of its strength. For example, despite the fact that the human expedition is trying to keep the Langston Field a secret from the aliens, they leave their fields turned on for the duration of their stay in the alien system: Giving the aliens plenty of time to observe the fields in action.

The setting is also plagued by these inconsistencies. For example, Sally Fowler starts off having to remind herself that people in the Trans-Coalsack region are very puritanical. In very short order, however, Fowler herself has inexplicably become puritanical.

CONCLUSION

In short, The Mote in God’s Eye is an extremely uneven work. I’ve seen first contact scenarios paced better on Star Trek, and X-Men has a more believable invocation of evolution.

On the flip-side, however, The Mote in God’s Eye does offer a lot: The aliens are probably worth the price of admission all by themselves. The science details and science fictional concepts are fun and well done (ignoring the evolution faux pas). The first half of the book has a compelling, tightly-paced plot, and even the significantly weaker second half maintains itself as a fairly solid reading experience.

So, in the final analysis, I recommend giving the book a try if you haven’t already. I found it to be a very entertaining read, even if it does end up disappointing you after a strong start. In fact, I enjoyed it enough that I’m going to give the sequel a try (even though everyone tells me that’s a bad idea).

But if you think this is the greatest science fiction novel you’ve never read, I’d suggest lowering your expectations before pulling up a chair at the table.

GRADE: B

For additional comments on The Mote in God’s Eye, which include SPOILERS, click here.

Larry Niven and Jerry Pournelle
Published: 1974
Publisher: Pocket Books
Cover Price: $6.99
ISBN: 0-671-74192-6

NOTE ABOUT SPOILERS

This reaction contains spoilers for the first three novels in Kage Baker’s Company series. What I’m Reading reactions to these earlier novels are available: The Garden of Iden, Sky Coyote, and Mendoza in Hollywood.

END NOTE ABOUT SPOILERS

When I finished Mendoza in Hollywood, I was fairly convinced that I had a long wait ahead of me for The Graveyard Game: The original hardback from Harcourt had gone out of print, and the paperback would not be available until much later this year.

Then the fates smiled down upon me: Against all hope, a used copy appeared in Uncle Hugo’s. I immediately snatched it up and brought it home.

As I discussed in my previous reactions, the first Company novel, The Garden of Iden, is a novel which stands by itself. The second, Sky Coyote, also stands by itself, even while subtly beginning to lay groundwork for the series as a whole. Even the third novel, Mendoza in Hollywood, while being a clear sequel to the first novel, has an existence independent of the series (although the presence of the series’ meta-plot was increasingly evident).

But The Graveyard Game, by contrast, is simply an installment in the ongoing series: It has no independent existence of its own, and cannot be read as an individual novel at any level. The plot of the novel picks up the loose threads laid down in the previous novels and begins running with them: If the end of Mendoza in Hollywood left you full of questions, The Graveyard Game will immediately begin satisfying your appetite for answers.

The Graveyard Game, on the one hand, reminds me of a simplified version of  The Illuminatus Trilogy via time travel – conspiracies are unraveled and mysteries at the very heart of civilization are revealed. On the other hand, it also reminds me of the Continuum roleplaying game, which had a very different philosophy when it came to time travel, but also looked candidly at what it would mean for someone to have a playground as large as human history without any practical authority to answer to.

Those comparisons are probably worthless to most of you, but its where the work resonated for me. (It also lightly reminded of Asimov’s End of Eternity, and experienced some truly fascinating parallels with Philip K. Dick’s Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep?, which I started reading immediately afterwards. But I digress.)

Let me put it this way: The plot is a conspiracy-buster set within the immortal world of Baker’s time travelers. Watching conspiracies unwind themselves from within the framework of other conspiracies is a lot of fun (kind of like watching the Smoking Man channel Mulder). In fact, the entire book is best characterized as a fast-paced adventure story. (I’ve heard this book multiply described as the “darkest” of Kage Baker’s novels. I honestly don’t know where that’s coming from. Baker, in my opinion, has never been darker than she was in The Garden of Iden.)

For the first time, the Company novels take us into future history – and the result is mixed. On many levels, I’m fascinated by the narrative history she constructs (particularly at the subtle suggestion that, as the time for its own creation comes near, the Company’s interference with history grows increasingly drastic). But, on the other hand, Baker is also quite capable of giving my suspension of disbelief a rollercoaster ride. For example, when she asserts that only 25 years from now a set of incredibly popular fantasy novels about talking animals will trigger mandatory vegan laws and animal emancipation laws, my rapidly rising eyebrows nearly cracked my ceiling. That’s a little like claiming that the Harry Potter books will trigger a mass conversion to wicca. Her world-building also takes some truly unusual turns, and not all of them sit quite right with me. (I think I’d rather see her simply exploring the consequences of her central time travel thesis, rather than littering the playing field with other conceits.)

So, how to sum this up?

All in all, The Graveyard Game is something of a mixed bag. The plot is fun, but it also lacks the emotional depth and impact of the first three novels. Perhaps this fault can be laid at the choice of dual protagonists (which inevitably divides the thrust of the work). Or perhaps it’s the extended time period (several centuries) over which the book takes place (which inevitably dilutes the thrust). But, on the flip side, for those who have read the previous Company novels, the revelations found here are worth the price of admission all by themselves.

So I’m going to give this one a B. It’s a good book, neither flawed nor superlative.

GRADE: B

Kage Baker
Published: 2001
Publisher: Harcourt
Cover Price: $24.00
ISBN: 0-15-100449-8

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