Welcome to the first of my more straightforward reviews. Though my approach risks being a bit wishy-washy if the book is not the greatest, I usually sit on the book for a couple days after reading to see how my relationship to the story develops. While I will try and seek out contemporary books wherever I can, my perspective is that of a classicist, genre classicist and world literature guy. And in keeping with my more essay-like reviews from before, I will continue to review single short stories, not an entire collection unless - like Winesburg, Ohio, for example - it’s interconnected.
And as always, literature’s aspiration for the eternal will always be present. I do not review books simply because they are new. But because they have something to offer. (or not)
Those who remember and cherish the cheesy quirkiness of the original Star Trek series with Captain Kirk may remember an episode from Season 3 where somebody steals Mr. Spock’s brain.
That kind of goofiness made science fiction so much fun back in the day. And it is a lost art, albeit a dated one in some respects. But I miss it. Nowadays, with sci-fi “realism” seemingly back with a vengeance, I, for my part, feel less inclined to take a risk in the bookshop when it comes to science fiction.
An impetus which has backfired upon my contemporary literature knowledge, as I now have a lot of catching up to do.
I get why people like the hyper-scientific stuff - hard sci-fi, as it’s called. Some are in it for the science: others, like heavy metal fans, are simply in it for a hardcore stimulus. All of that’s cool. But the heavy science - which in turn is also a heavy investment in today, and not the future - risks depriving science fiction of the ability to transcend its words, like The Time Machine, and become timeless. While I don’t think as many classics are rendered inert, so to say, because of this, the genre-wide failure to predict the Internet should give sci-fi readers and writers pause.
But back to the goofy vs. realism dualism: some authors, curiously, have managed to balance those two polar forces. The Martian was like that, but compensated by making the protagonist a creative, DIY-type astronaut while throwing in disco music to make up for the lack of wonkiness.
Which means: perhaps I am judging contemporary sci-fi too rashly? Being both behind a bit - as a sci-fi classicist - and a Philip K. Dick scholar (which obliges me to know my sci-fi well) I randomly chose an author with whom to start a new quest: to be both a classic and contemporary sci-fi nerd. (though God damn, it sure will take awhile!)
Enter A. A. Attanasio. My first new author choice.
Though known for many kinds of genre fiction novels - he wrote a Wiccan adventure novel, apparently - Attanasio sounded just like my type of author: weird and imaginative. And the premise of Solis (his ninth novel, published in 1994) tickled me pink: a character who is basically a thousand-year-old brain.
Somebody else, I can see, must have remembered that Star Trek episode. It’s amazing the kinds of things that make you say to yourself: “I’m sold!”
(this is where I must say: Mild Spoiler Alert!)