It’s January as I write this, which means I’m just back from Arisia and Boskone is just around the corner. Arisia’s guest of honor was Tim Powers, the deservedly popular writer of science fiction and fantasy novels, often with an occult flavor.
Boskone celebrates its guests of honor with books from NESFA Press. Arisia does likewise for the first time with Powers of Two, which returns to print Tim Powers’ first two novels, first published by the late and unlamented Laser Books. The Skies Discrowned is a tale of survival and the pursuit of vengeance on a world where space travel is routine, guns are rare, and swords are the weapon of choice. An Epitaph in Rust deals with crisis and riot in a grim future Los Angeles. Both show the promise of future success and are sinewy, entertaining adventures in their own right.
The first, Powers reveals in his introduction, saved him from a career teaching creative writing.
The celebration tome for Stephen Baxter, Boskone’s Guest of Honor, is also at hand. It’s The Hunters of Pangaea, a collection of nineteen short stories (including two published here for the first time) and five essays that amply explain why he was chosen. Several of the stories presage novels such as Raft. All are well worth reading.
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Forge of Heaven,
C. J. Cherryh,
EOS (HarperCollins), $24.95, 405 pp.
(ISBN: 0380979039)
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C. J. Cherryh’s Hammerfall gave us a desert world threatened by the aftermath of a long-gone war. Proponents of nanotechnology and human modification (the Movement) had been beaten by the alien ondat, the purity-obsessed folk of Earth and the Inner Worlds, and the more pragmatic Outsiders. But one world remained, where a Movement immortal, Ila, had seeded nanisms and people. And Marak Trin Tain was being drawn eastward by voices and visions that proved to be due to a new breed of nanotech designed to pull people into a refuge where they might survive the ondat-induced bombardment of the planet by asteroids. The ondat don’t like the Movement and its works! But Outsider humans have negotiated a compromise by which they will be permitted to save as many of the people as possible and try to prove that a contaminated world can heal.
The tale was a dramatic race against catastrophe, and I wondered when I reviewed it in October 2001 what Cherryh might do for a sequel. Now, in Forge of Heaven, she provides the answer. The time is ages later. Concord Station orbits the hammered world. Outsiders use the nanotech-based "tap" as a means of communication amongst each other and as a way to maintain contact with Marak (he too is now immortal) and others down below. An Earth-provided governor, Setha Reaux, presides over infrastructure and trade. An Outsider chairman, Antonio Brazis, runs the Planetary Office that handles contact with the world below. Individual "taps" work for the PO and in shifts track every move of Marak and others. An ondat observer, Kekellen, occupies a special enclave, sends robots out to explore and retrieve goodies that catch its eye, and scares the dickens out of humans because the ondat have the weaponry to destroy human civilization, are quick to take offense, and are very difficult to communicate with.
Procyon is one of Marak’s taps, chosen by Marak himself. Fascinated by and committed to his work, he quite resents it when an unscheduled Earth ship arrives bearing an ambassador, Andreas Gide, who claims that Movement tech is somehow being smuggled offworld, announces he is there to stop it, and insists on interviewing Procyon. The boy is pulled off duty just when Marak is getting into a jam down on the surface, and after an inadequate briefing must go to Gide’s quarters to face the strange device that Gide cannot leave (Horrors! He might get contaminated!). Unfortunately, when he opens the door to leave, someone fires a missile which breaches Gide’s containment and Procyon flees, confused well beyond what one might expect.
What’s going on? Reaux suspects a plot to trap Gide on Concord so he can set up a competing Earth-based power. He sends Kekellen a call for help. And then the tap goes wild. Something quite weird and unprecedented is happening!
Not that that’s all. There’s Marak’s adventure down below. There’s Reaux’s teenage daughter, who chooses just now to rebel against parent-imposed conformity and run away to the glamorous world of the Trend (where Procyon’s sister is a major figure). There is politics galore, in a vein familiar to readers of Cherryh’s Foreigner trilogy, though the ondat are a stranger breed than the atevi.
There is also a happy reader. Spend your money. You’ll be glad you did.
 White Devils,
Paul McAuley,
TOR,
$25.95, 464 pp.
(ISBN: 0765307618) |
Genetic engineering, which Paul McAuley calls "gengineering" (a contraction I have long thought inevitable), scares people. It is perhaps the technology that most threatens to put the power to do war-scale damage to people, nations, and the environment in the hands of individual terrorists, fanatics, and madmen. Some fear that, applied to people, it will turn us into monsters. Some fear that (mad) scientists will make mistakes. More noise is made by activists who fear that gengineering will get out of control and unleash plagues of superweeds, will poison people with unsuspected "unnatural" toxins, or will give megacorporations patent control over the living world and destroy the world’s poor (see Jerry Cayford, "Breeding Sanity into the GM Food Debate," Issues in Science and Technology, Winter 2004). Those concerned about rationality fear that fear of gengineering could make us respond to a new but natural disease (think of the 1918 flu, or Mad Cow Disease, or AIDS, or Ebola) with a leap to the conclusion that someone is to blame, followed by immediate over-reaction and the destruction of nations (think of what we have done to Iraq out of fear of more conventional weapons of mass destruction).
It’s all there in McAuley’s White Devils. The background is disaster: The "Black Flu" swept across the world some years before the tale. Governments assumed it was a gengineered plague and attacked the apparent source in Africa. The results included the release of the "plastic disease" (a virus that turns tissue to polymer) from a bombed lab. Now Africa no longer has a population problem, but the colonialists are still at it: The megacorp Obligate, which makes a very big thing of how green it is, has bought the Congo and is busily eliminating gengineered creatures (such as butterflies with logos on their wings) and turning natural rainforest nuts, oils, and saps into product. They also use a mind engineering technology to turn all their employees into happy members of the corporate family.
That technology was developed by Matthew Faber, who now occupies an isolated island with the Gentle People (result of an attempt to recreate Australopithecines). His wife stole the tech when she left him to join Obligate. And here is Nicholas Hyde, part of a team employed by the humanitarian agency Caritas. They are studying the site of a Rwandan-style massacre, collecting bones and DNA and other evidence, preparing to speak for the dead. A call comes in reporting a fresh massacre, and they scramble. But hardly are they on the scene before white-skinned, toothy demons erupt from the brush, kill most of the team, and devour their guts and brains. Nick escapes and soon finds government soldiers telling him he did not see White Devils. They were really just child soldiers. No monsters, not really.
Nick doesn’t like the cover-up (partly because he has a pretty well-covered secret of his own). So he starts pushing. Soon more people are dead and, accompanied by Matthew Faber’s daughter Elspeth, he is on the track of a secret lab deep in the heart of the Dead Zone. But so is the crazed religious zealot, assassin, monster-slayer, and eco-wrecker Cody Corbin. In due time, there will be a rousing climax.
The book is billed as a biotech thriller, and so it is. I would like to be able to say it is quite unlikely, but so many of the pieces are straight out of the headlines that I cannot. As is McAuley’s way in such previous books as The Whole Wide World (reviewed here in the October 2002 issue) and The Secret of Life (November 2001), he is quite unreasonably plausible. He remains concerned with the commercialization of science, and as I said about World, "By the time you read this review, some of his tale may already have made the papers."
It was a pleasure to spend a few evenings with Patricia A. McKillip’s Alphabet of Thorn. Not only is she a gracefully transparent writer of young-adult fantasies, but her tales are invariably charming. This one is no exception. Here is the Kingdom of Raine, whose past rulers have conquered a dozen neighboring realms, now known as the Twelve Crowns of Raine. The palace is carved into a mountainside, delving so deep that rooms and hallways can be forgotten for generations. A coronation is imminent, though the queen-to-be is a mere slip of a girl without much interest in the royal role.
Meanwhile, deep in the bowels of the royal library, Nepenthe, an orphan taken in as is the librarians’ custom and trained to translate the myriad tongues of the world, past and present, has been brought a book whose letters look like fish. She has never seen such a thing before, but her talent is up to the task. Then a fellow transcriptor asks her company on an excursion to the Floating School (which any fan of Harry Potter must love). They are to pick up a book, which the school’s mages cannot translate. As they approach on horseback, her companion balks, for the school terrifies her. Nepenthe goes on alone, and when Bourne, one of the School’s young students, hands her the book, she opens it to find an alphabet of thorns. Instantly, it speaks to her; when she returns to her companion she claims the mages changed their minds and denies having the book. It will soon be her secret obsession.
What is going on? The book proves to be the tale of Axis, an ancient king, and his conquests, written by his lover, Kane, a sorceress of such power that no realm can stand before her. Mysteriously, many of the realms they conquered did not exist until centuries after their time. But Nepenthe’s friend Laidley (who is rather jealous of her growing relationship with Bourne) does a bit of research and finds that no one ever recorded their death.
Meanwhile, the young queen is crowned. The delegations of the Twelve Crowns linger, gauging her youth and inexperience. Her advisers worry that one or more will rebel, attack, and lay waste to them all. Bourne’s uncle, who sent the boy to the Floating School in hope of developing a weapon, turns out to be an active plotter. The Sleeper, ancient ruler entombed in a cavern beneath the palace, awakens to warn of danger but can only say "Thorns!"
And Nepenthe’s translation continues apace, revealing ancient hearts, minds, and schemes. The tale told in thorns develops in parallel with McKillip’s own until catastrophe looms.
What saves the day? The queen has little interest in the royal role. Nepenthe quite loves working with books. Bourne is happy as a student. The secret of happiness is not, says McKillip, to be at the center of great events, not to be a mover and shaker, but rather to be deeply involved in smaller things.
I was quite pleased with the ending.
Glass Dragons, Sean McMullen,
TOR,
$27.95, 495 pp.
(ISBN: 0765307979) |
If you thought that Sean McMullen was capable of no more than tales of great calculors with human beings used as components that we today think of in electronic terms, take a look at his Moonworlds Saga. It’s sheer fantasy, for it features sorcerers who can wrap themselves in strands of etheric force so thoroughly that they become as of glass, and if they take the form of dragons, well . . .
You get Glass Dragons, sequel to Voyage of the Shadowmoon, which begins as several sorcerers begin the rebuilding of the Dragonwall, a world-girdling etheric structure founded on the ruins of a predecessor which made men as gods but was cataclysmically destroyed thousands of years before. The ostensible aim is to tame the enormous storms that followed the destruction of the island realm of Torea. Yet the sorcerers seem to have other aims in mind as well. Certainly they have scores in plenty to settle.
So an emperor is assassinated. The royal chief musician, Wallas, flees the blame and displays a much grander talent for lechery than for music, at least until he acquires a Willy with a bite. The sorceress Terikel, on a mission to halt or destroy the Dragonwall, staggers off a ship so battered by Torean storms that it barely survived its crossing of the Strait of Despair. So does Andry Tennoner, press-ganged as a carpenter’s assistant, but now–despite falling in with the lecherous Wallas–free to develop his innocence into remarkable heroism. Here too are the ancient and chivalrous vampire, Laron, and his friend, the dangerous Velander, who drinks the blood of drunks and yearns to be alive once more.
Andry turns out to be an appealing chap. Women keep telling him he’d clean up well, though they tend to let Wallas have his way. The result is an interesting relationship with the ferrygirl who transports souls across the river–who has a tendency to abuse the spirits of those who tried to kill Andry before they died–and in due time an intriguing immunization against dragon-hunger. And when Andry and Velander grow affectionate (though they can’t do much about it–you really don’t want to get a vampire too excited, do you?), the result has a good deal to do with bringing the tale to a satisfying close.
As you might guess from my hints, McMullen has a great deal of fun here with low humor, but that is the flavor, not the theme. The tale moves briskly and amusingly. I enjoyed it, and I was not disappointed to note that at the end there seems to be sufficient hook upon which to hang a sequel or two.
Enjoy!
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The Hunger of Time,
Damien Broderick
and Rory Barnes,
E-Reads,
$17.95, 254 pp.
(ISBN: 0759255121)
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Some time back, agent Richard Curtis founded his own publishing outfit–E-Reads (www.ereads.com). Its chief mission was to make older books available once more in both electronic and print form, but it also is "committed to introducing new titles by established writers and talented newcomers." If you haven’t heard of it here before, that’s because they’ve never sent me anything.
But now here’s one of those "new titles," The Hunger of Time, by Damien Broderick and Rory Barnes. The mode is a bit retro, it owes more than a little to honored predecessors, and the characters are rather cartoony, but it’s perfectly readable. The protagonist, Natalie, is home after the collapse of a romance. Her father Hugh is a bit of a mad scientist, muttering about the coming disaster and pottering about the garage workshop until one day–thoroughly locked inside–he manages to vanish for almost a month. And then a new plague hits the headlines. Hugh and his wife Grace bundle Natalie and the dog–but not Nat’s sister Suzanna, who cuts and runs–into the garage and through what looks for all the world like a massive boulder. But it’s a 6-brane vacuole, and at the press of a button, it’s a year later.
Zanna’s still there, but older, tougher, and armed with a crossbow. The world is ruled by fear, and the Pox Cops panic at the sight of strangers. The family barely makes it back into the garage in time to press the button again. Then it’s a fifteen-year hop, and there’s no one around at all. Did the plague get everyone? Next hop is 200 years, and where the house used to be there’s a giant statue of Zanna–which moves, and talks, and scares the billy-be out of everyone. Except that it’s benign. The Spike (discussed by Broderick elsewhere, and by Vinge as the Singularity) happened, and technology has gone berserk.
You get the picture. Hop by ever-longer hop, the family explores time all the way to the end and beyond. Omega Point, anyone? That’s passé, you know. No more Big Crunch. But perhaps there is still a way to seed a new universe.
Want to read it? You can find an excerpt on the E-Reads site. If you like that, you can buy a download immediately. For paper copies, go online to Amazon or Barnes & Noble.
What else does E-Reads have to offer? Under the sci-fi (sic–an agent should know better!) heading, you can find titles by Goldin, Effinger, Carver, Bear, Gunn, Leiber, Lynn, Moffitt, Tiptree, Coney, Silverberg, and more. Under "fantasy," there are Leiber, Norman (yup–Gor novels), MacAvoy, Springer, and so on. There are also categories for mystery, horror, romance, historical, and so on.
Here’s something from Ye Olde Curiosity Shoppe: Leigh Hunt’s The Rebellion of the Beasts or, The Ass Is Dead! Long Live the Ass!!! Hunt is perhaps better known today for his verse, for you may have encountered "Jenny Kissed Me" in a college lit class. But he was also a social critic who anticipated Orwell’s Animal Farm by over a century.
Rebellion, first published in 1825, tells the tale of a Cambridge student who discovers a potion that lets animals communicate. The result is rule by beasts, with the ass chief among them (the anti-monarchial flavor is hard to mistake; see the book’s subtitle!).
In his introduction, Douglas A. Anderson (scholar of Tolkien and fantasy) assures us that there is no reason to suspect that Orwell knew of this book, much less plagiarized the basic idea. Nor do we need to doubt his assurance, for Hunt’s target was European royalty, which at any time easily draws a cynical eye, while Orwell’s was Soviet Communism, and the animal fable has a very long history (which we can glimpse in Mother Goose, Grimm, and even Disney).
The author is Lake and the illustrator is Wu, so the book looks like a fat picture postcard and it’s called Greetings from Lake Wu. The contents are less cute, for Jay Lake publishes in such places as Bones of the World and Strange Horizons. Yet I detect no sign of any incompetence that would bar him from more major markets. His skills are quite polished, and the reader has no trouble at all following him into Earths visited by an alien anthropologist who plays a flute made from a human thigh-bone, or plagued by Cavity the Clown, who comes to town to punish sins (until he encounters a true Innocent), or blessed by a boy who plots the precise angle he must run in order to fly just as in his dreams, or cursed by tall spirits, or haunted by the devil confined to a school bus, as long as the goats are properly sacrificed.
If there is a weak tale in the collection, it is the longest, "The Murasaki Doctrine," in which the alien Segrethi descend unannounced from the sky to lay waste a colony world, but the doughty Wanda Murasaki survives the attack and goes on to play what strikes me as an unlikely role in their defeat.
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