1921: Voyage to Faremido & Capillaria (Karinthy, Frigyes)

Gulliver's wanderlust finds precarious realms (5/5)

Frigyes Karinthy is an early 20th century Hungarian satirist, playwright, and journalist. His parody and humor were once well-known in the Hungarian literature circles, but his international fame was more subdued. Best known for his autobiographical neurological journey of his experience with a brain tumor, its affects on him, and his anesthetic-less surgery, A Journey Round My Skull was first published in 1939 and later reprinted in 2008.

The twin novels Voyage to Faremido & Capillaria were written in Hungarian in the years 1916 and 1921, respectively. They weren't translated until 1965, when they were published in Hungarian, translated to English (by Paul Tabori), and later published in 1966 (with the Living Book publisher) and 1978 (with New English Library). The two novels are Karinthy's literary extension to Jonathan Swift's four-part Gulliver's Travels (1726). These fifth and sixth journey's of Gulliver's are some of the earliest examples of the continuation of Swiftian literature.

Rear cover synopsis:
"First there is Faremido- a planet peopled by machines who regard organic life as a disease. Gulliver is held to trial as a representative of the most corrupt disease in the universe--the disease of humanity.
Then there is Capillaria- an underwater world where the men are nutritious delicacies and the women rule like gods. Gulliver is mysteriously saved from drowning but his respite is short-lived when his dreaded sex is discovered..."

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Voyage to Faremido (1916, 33pgs) - 5/5

Synopsis:
Promising to never travel again after his four adventures, Gulliver gives in to his wanderlust and signs on to the navy as a surgeon. The ship he's on is struck by a mine and as the boat sinks, the captain saves him in a hydrofoil, which flies into the air. Regaining consciousness, Gulliver realizes the captain is dead and the hydrofoil is now thousands of feet into the frigid atmosphere... when a metallic craft captures him.

The first being he approaches intones the notes "F D E C" which is the name of the planet he now strides upon--Fa-Re-Mi-Do, or Faremido. During the next eighteen months of his stay, he befriends the race of intelligent machines which gave "the impression of simplicity and of a self-evident inevitability" and were "a masterpiece of economical and perfect technology." (28) Being an educated man, Gulliver wishes to speak of epistemology and technology while envying the god-like beings, but the mechanical aliens have their viewpoints about organic lifeforms such as Gulliver, himself. Organic beings are seen as tumorous, infectious, malodorous, parasitic, pathogenic germs; a transitory phenomenon. For what of a better place in the universe, Gulliver convinces the machines to make him more machine-like, a process which would see him as part-organic, part-machine. To get a glimpse of his post-humanism to come, Gulliver is injected with an inorganic substance (nanites?) that alters his perceptions and sensations to a temporary omniscient level.

Analysis:
There are a number of progressive elements from the era found in this story which reflect the progress man has made and Gulliver's eagerness to pronounce such accomplishments to the robots of Faremido. Psychoanalysis was a science in its early years at the time Karinthy penned the novel and Gulliver mentions concepts revolving around consciousness and ego, something which is seen as a sickness to the purely inorganic robots. The robots, themselves, use a technology which was being pioneered around 1916--the assembly line. Gulliver mentioned the effectiveness of the system and the division of individual labor.

Karinthy sees a post-human world where man can transcend death through evolution into a bodily vessel, surpassing "the corruptibility of the organic body" into one composed of "inorganic, enduring, imperishable elements." (50) Also, a brief philosophy on technology and mankind is given when Gulliver reflects on the state of the art:

In the course of centuries science and art naturally became more perfect. [...] Finally we reached a stage where the machines not only aided men in all their labour and multiplied their strength--but carried out their work far more perfectly than this could have been done by our frail human bodies, [...] they surpassed Man; they became more perfect, and soon we reached the point where, if he wanted to be perfect, Man was forced to imitate the machines and works which has once imitated him. (32)

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Capillaria (1921, 66pgs) - 4/5
Synopsis:
Promising to never travel again after his five adventures, Gulliver gives in to his wanderlust, again, and signs on to the navy as a surgeon, again. Struck by a U-boat torpedo, the ship sinks and Gulliver is inexplicably rescued from drowning by the shell-shaped gills surrounding his ears. On the seabed Gulliver has no use for his lungs as the artificial gills provide sufficient oxygen for his body. Without using his lungs (?) he is still able to produce speech when he speaks with the pulchritudinous denizens of the deep: the Oiha. The ever-chivalrous gentleman Gulliver, a philosopher and well-read individual, orates to the babylonianesque women about the nature of the role of sexes on terra firma.

Gulliver witness the atrocious act of cannibalism but accepts the cultural oddity because of his wide experience in such counterculture matters while abroad on his travels. The women are lackadaisical gadflys, sucking the "blood" of productivity from male contingent; the smaller, inferior men are incomprehensible to the woolgathering women, whose air-headed language consists "entirely of interjections and ejaculations". (78) Their life goal is the pursuit of pleasure, "in the eternal pursuit of pleasure, the search for and enjoyment of artfully selected physical sensations." (79) His eighteen months under the sea are devoted, not to the physical serving of the scores of women, but to the oration of terra firma human philosophy of the human sexes to the queen. During an excitation in audience with the queen, his true sex is revealed, thence he is banished to the male enclave where his size quickly brings him favor to the industrious men.

Analysis:
I wasn't sure if Karinthy was (1) expressing his own viewpoints on the dichotomous nature of the social function of the two human sexes, or (2) viewing the same functions through the eyes of Swift, a man of the eighteenth century, or (3) peniing the entire novel as written satire... which is actually the widely held belief. Some of the misogyny is hard hitting stuff:
* the female as supporting wife (pages 61 and 94)
* the female preoccupation to physical beauty (pages 88, 95,and 96)
* the female vacuous mind (pages 74, 77, and 88-89)
* female success based on seduction or position (pages 90 and 94)
* aggrandizement of singularly male achievement (pages 101-102)

Page 102 proved to be the most conversational (well, internal monologue debate) with the topic of "The problem of women":

I had endeavoured to prove the inferiority of the female mind, the mental poverty of women by the fact that they were unable to define or describe themselves--so that in order to have a proper idea about them the genius of man was needed because women had no independent conception of their own souls. (102) 

I had admitted to myself [...] that women had a far greater preference for feminine men than men for masculine women--what else was this but a striving towards a uniform, unisexual type of humanity, a longing for 'debasement', 'degeneration', 'feminization'. (102)

Even in Karinthy's fantasy creation of an underworld, the sexes still maintain the same roles as they would on terra firma. Either this clearly shows a lack of imagination, which isn't the case, or a twisting stab at satire in order to awaken the inequality of women in modern society. Karinthy was an anti-war advocate but he wasn't noted for his feminism. One last paraphrase about this feminism from the same controversial page 102: "feminists" are "just degenerate men." You have to keep reminding yourself this is a satire!

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The two stories aren't linked in any way besides simply being stated as the "fifth voyage" and "sixth voyage" of Gulliver. The post-human injection Gulliver received from the Faremido robots never materialized in Capillaria and the events which took place on Faremido were never recalled while under the sea.

Lastly, I found it a quaint comfort to read the lines "I found my wife and children in good health" (55) and "I found my wife and family in the best of health" (124) at the conclusion of the respective stories.

1965: Mission to Universe (Dickson, Gordon R.)

Poor execution after a warmly ominous start (2/5)
From June 29, 2011

Having never read any Dickson before, I did a bit of research on him and found that he's best described as a romanticized sci-fi writer, which told me one thing: he sticks to sci-fi tradition. Being "romantic" is just about the only adjective given to the man, so my initial hopes were low. I know of his Dorsai series but it seems to be hard to find in these here parts. It's a must-buy for me but after reading Mission to Universe, I'm reluctant to pick up another Dickson novel of any sort: classic, relatively unknown, or short story collection.

Rear cover synopsis:

"General Benjamin Shore was heading for the stars under forged orders - and in defiance of the commands of the President. He was leaving Earth in an untested ship with a crew chosen by necessity and with nothing but faith to guide him. His only hope was to find habitable worlds in the unexplored reaches of space ahead. Thus began Man's first mission to the uncharted universe. Shore had no illusions. Before him lay danger, probable disappointment - even death. But nothing had prepared him for the nightmare he would have to face on the planet of the Gray-Furs... for the menace of the Golden People who had driven all other races from Galactic Center--or for what awaited him if he returned to the world he called home!"

The two chapters (of thirteen) of Mission to Universe are ripe with potential: Benjamin Shore quietly assembles his crew in the dead of the night, awaking their prone bodies to congregate in the shift-ship. With presidential orders in hand denying the launch of the ship to orbit, Benjamin alters the order and tells his crew to prepare to embark to earth orbit, to Andromeda and beyond. The mainly narrative text of the first two chapters has a creepy, ominous aura to it. It's a sinister invitation not traditional in any sense.

Thereafter, from chapters three to thirteen, we witness why Dickson has been described as romantic: the ship's air recycler needs repair so they land on a planet with tragic consequences, they land on another planet with tragic consequences... and yet again, and again. It's almost as if Dickson wrote the novel by stream-of-thought, himself thinking, "OK, now that I've written them into this situation, how will I write them OUT of it?" What follows is a ragtag attempt to snare the reader into the adventure and danger of the shift-ship's journey to Andromeda.

Nothing very clever ever surfaces from Mission to Universe. There are many dead ends in the details, like the stowaway cat which plays no part through the novel and only goes to characterize the female love interest as girly and to draw her closer to Benjamin (I had other grander ideas of why the cat was on the ship). When the ship discovers life on two planets, I could quickly draw conclusions as to the state of their civilizations. Dickson may have written Benjamin as a quick thinker, but he never saw me coming.

(And you can't put yourself into orbit around a planet without having any velocity. The shift-ship only shifts and has no means to physically propel itself. Dumb point, but still.)

All in all, it may have been written for the YA age bracket. When the rear cover synopsis reads "A riveting space adventure," that kind of language gives it away. BUT, like I said about the first two chapters, there is potential in Dickson and I've already bought a short story collection In the Bone and another lengthier novel entitled The Forever Man. I won't whitewash Dickson with criticism yet, but he already has negative marks in my book.

1983: The Tartarus Incident (Greenleaf, William)

Science, horror and human error (4/5)
From April 30, 2010

From the front cover: "Trapped in the catacombs of a decaying planet, five desperate space travelers are stalked by the only thing in the universe hungrier than Man." This sentence is a very enticing mini-synopsis but mostly describes the plot condition in the last half of the novel: the horror part of this science fiction/horror novel. The first half of the novel is an original and well-written piece of science fiction. If it were to have a similar mini-synopsis, it would read: "Stranded in the desert of a searing planet, five auditors are coping with the only thing in the universe more dreadful than Taxes." That dreadful thing is the long running basis of the plot: the accumulation of human error.

The rear cover actually provides a good synopsis of the first half of the book:
"'Somebody get us the hell out  of...' This was the last transmission received from Oliver McElroy's audit team. What could never happen... was now a terrifying fact. The five-person crew of the UNSA audit ship jack-a-dandy had simply disappeared during a routine materialization from Graywand station to the planet Sierra. It was the end of their comfortable routine, and the beginning of the interstellar nightmare know as The Tartarus Incident."

I originally gave this book a three-star rating, but I've upped it to four stars because the horrific catacombs in the last haunt me to this day. I'd say the contrast of science and horror was very vivid and provides a long-term thrill!

The style of writing is nondescript but lends itself to be easy on the brain, where it can easily be read in the span of 3-4 hours or within two days of on and off reading. The first half of the short book is the inventive science fiction bit. Greenleaf has the sense to create a novel propulsion unit for the ship, which inevitably goes haywire and strands the crew on the arid planet. This half is full of tense scenarios and tricky problem solving. Intermixed, irritating and interrupting the easy flow of reading are random childhood memories of some of the crew. These insights don't cast a new light on any of the fairly generic crew of five auditors. The second half is the horror section of this book, which takes place in an underground labyrinth. The maze of passageways is detailed but still lacks a defining characteristic: it's dark, it's full of creepy crawlies, and it's dilapidated. The cavernous abyss between the two halves of the book is laden with an eerie foreboding, outlined here in a sequential manner: "The dead city waited under the sun-glazed air." (64) "He sat there a moment longer, feeling the hot breath of the city all around him. And suddenly, for no reason, he was afraid." (65) "[...] with the blazing city all around him and his mind touched by the presence of those who had built it, he could see himself with painful clarity." (66-67)

The resulting tectonic shift of the plot is rather annoying (but stands the test of time) as Greenleaf had an excellent, classic sci-fi novel on his hands as the plot itself was problem-solution based. Sporadic science-based endeavors are included in the second horror half, easing up on the intensity involved down below in the arid catacombs of the scorched planet of Sierra. All in all, it's not such a bad novel as it's a quick and easy read but the story still sticks in your mind due its trying circumstances, terror filled darkness and the realization that sometimes situations are out of our hands because of accumulated human negligence.

1964: To Conquer Chaos (Brunner, John)

Light and swift, yet hearty and fulfilling (4/5)

You could say I'm a bit of a Brunner fan... this is my 17th Brunner book and I have thirteen more on my to-read shelf. If you have any more than this, then we should talk. To say the least, when I open a Brunner novel I only expect the best. Period. His diversity is what keeps me coming back--he's the king of the stand-alone novel in my opinion. Out of his whole collection, he only wrote three series (can't that that for nearly modern sci-fi authors) but even those are loosely woven together, so perhaps "theme" would be a better word than "series." I own the original 1964 Ace cover (mint condition, thank you very much) which trumps the 1981 DAW cover with a damn dragon on the front.

Rear cover synopsis:
"On the face of the Earth only the Barrenland remained an impenetrable mystery--a blasted radioactive area the size of a small state where no man dared to venture. But Jervis Yanderman was one of the more courageous souls of that future day when men at last were starting to reconstruct the vanishing civilization of the dim past. Jervis knew that the secret of the Barrenland had to be solved. For things from out of this world still emerged from it to terrorize neighboring lands and strange weird visions haunted those who even approached it."

The Grand Duke Paul of Esberg has received rumors of a strange barren land one fortnight's march away. When his northern scout, Ampier, returns to Esberg maimed after a brief with a creature near the Barrenland, the Duke becomes interested in what lays beyond the border of that barren land. Infected with a curious green mold, Ampier accompanies the Duke's troops to investigate what lies at the edge of this Barrenland.

Militarily led by Jervis Yanderman and spiritually led by Granny Jassy, whose visions of the Barrenland intrigue the Duke, the 1,000-man army treks to the town of Lagwich, which borders the Barrenland and is prone to attack by the things which escape. Conrad is the resident chandler boy who also has visions of the mysteries which lie beyond the border. Frustrated by verbal jousts and ignored pleas, Conrad seethes with hatred for his peers and seeks a life with Jervis's army.

Nestamay Maxall is being tutored by her grandfather in the art of defense. Her lineage is dedicated to the protection of the Station, where occasional monsters "hatch" and escape the dome. However, the 400-year long inbreeding of the Station's staff has left her with only one ideal mate, who she can barely talk to let alone romanticize with. When a polypedal monster is reeking havoc under the dome, the Station personnel don't understand by the alarm wasn't triggered, but Nestamay understands why.

To Conquer Chaos is very cleanly written. At the same time, the novel is linear but mysterious; rustic yet futuristic; passive yet horrific. If you ask me, a classic science fiction novel isn't that unless is has monsters in it! Brunner makes the monsters interesting by making them all different and, in the end, providing a reason for it. As the characters battle the beasties and Jervis expounds upon the likely source of the critter-chaos, the reader is sucked into the three thread narrative. How are the Jervis and Conrad threads tied to the Nestamay thread, if at all?

The light characterization of each character goes hand-in-hand with the 192-page length of this earlier Brunner novel. Because the plot is so swift and the tale so intriguing, the light characterization accomplishes a lot when Jervis, Conrad, and Nestamay are in the height of action or concocting a Plan B withdraw from their established life. It's a whirlwind of not only action, but also of sympathetic emotion. I'm not quite sure if Brunner has ever penned such lightly sculpted yet such interesting pawns in his marvelous plots.

Common to an early Brunner novel (and an early Poul Anderson novel, as well) is his written style. Dry as it may be, it imbues a sense of antiquity. Where Poul Anderson in Three Worlds to Conquer (1964) used words like behoven, erstwhile, belike, nigh and thundersmitten, John Brunner has uses words like hitherto, afresh, amiss, impugn, and addlepated. If any other author were to try using such words, the attempt would feel awkward. But the 1960s use of this Olde English by Anderson and Brunner is most welcome.

The one flaw which haunts To Conquer Chaos is Brunner's trope of the six sense--extra-sensory perception or remote viewing. This hypnotic state is found is other Brunner novels such as The Whole Man (1964) and Bedlam Planet (1968). While the latter two examples of extra-sensory perception in Brunner's novels were somewhat persuasive, his use of this trope of fairly dull in To Conquer Chaos. I can see the necessity for it in the plot, but the answer to its existence fails, not because the ending is bad because of the disconnectedness to Conrad's and Granny's remote viewing.

A very satisfactory novel by Brunner, yet again; even the last page conclusion produced a nodding, smiling satisfactory ending. If you can stomach the ESP trope and monster invasion better than I can, then perhaps you'll enjoy this novel even more than I did! This mint condition Brunner novel has a rightful place atop my fourteen-high stacked Brunner pile.

1970: The Fall of the Towers (Delany, Samuel R.)

Semi-coherent, character fueled, radioactive thrill (4/5)
From March 11, 2011

I've only read two Delany novels prior to picking up the Fall of the Towers trilogy: The Einstein Intersection (2/5 for its incoherent quest) and Dhalgren (3/5 for its impressive length and inventiveness). The synopsis for The Fall of the Towers sounded like it may be an interesting story/test/pursuit so I decided to gamble on this for my third, and maybe last, Delany novel. Beyond the first book's near-incoherent ending, the rest of the trilogy is an intricately woven future Earth, the plot full of rich characters and the backdrop exposing an interesting history. It may well be the most un-Delany-like novel yet, which is perhaps why I liked it so much, but is was an articulate, inventive, and flexible read altogether.

Rear cover synopsis:
"The Empire of Toromon was the last hope and refuge of mankind. Sealed off the the charred radioactive wastlelands by the radiation barrier, the Empire survived to face new adversaries deadlier even than the Great Fire. The Lord of the Flames, a force of evil devoid of physical substance. The berserk computer which guided the Empire's military complex. And an alien intelligence which crossed the abyss of space in search of new worlds to conquer."

*****

The Fall of the Towers 1: Out of the Dead City (1966) - 3/5 - An unknown planet is host to a radiation barrier. On one side are the humans which have a historical reminder of the terrible war and the other rests a glimmering yet dead city. The feudal kingdom is home to a weakened king and a promising heir to the throne. When the prince is kidnapped by a menagerie of colorful characters, the kind announces war on the unknown enemy beyond the radiation barrier. One man has been gifted a crystallized body structure to be withstand the barrier's radiation but also enables him to become transparent in certain light. It's with his gift and abilities that lead the colorful assembly to forge through the barrier in hopes of disarming the coming war.

Typical of a Delaney novel, from the onset the initial pattern of events is difficult to fathom--characters are disjointed and events are timelessly situated. But once the grooves begin to merge, an excitement unseen in other Delaney novels brings unsurpassed witticism and a powerful plot flow. A ravenous surge of power is witnessed. The falling of the pieces was epically plotted, great stuff. This is wondrous stuff but it soon lost me towards the ending pages when, like typical Delaney, the plot takes on ethereal essence with very little synchronization of the plot just laid out pages prior to the ambiguity.

*****

The Fall of the Towers 2: The Towers of Toron (1964) - 4/5 - Where as Out of the Dead City accumulated the characters and plot into a semi-coherent flow (utterly disregarding the ending) and bestowed its density into its pages, The Towers of Toron ushers in a sort of comfort with the way things have been laid out in the previous book. The characters are recognizable even after three months and the plot is familiar, the vibe is easy is see. The plot's cadence isn't bewildering or enigmatic as with most other Delany novels. The Towers of Toron is as simple as a Delany novel must get, a derelict trilogy from his earlier days prior to his success with Dhalgren and The Einstein Intersection.

Though I was loathing the start of this book after the semi-disappointing previous novel, I was quickly encompassed in the plot yet still held a reserved doubt as to the rational of the fantasy/sci-fi mix. The ever present Lord of the Flame is on the loose with the its greater-good nemeses close on the heel, unveiling its subterfuge of war and suffering. The convergence of personal story lines is a fine addition, combing the many walks of life which The Fall of the Towers world provides: the military beyond the barrier, the traveling circus, the palace grounds and the forest dwelling. The plot's unfolding is coherent and interesting, only briefly meandering into a surreal realm which Delany is so fond of penning.

*****

The Fall of the Towers 3: City of a Thousand Suns (1965) - 4/5 - From the onset of this third book in this trilogy, its obvious that Delany is taking a different literary route than the previous two books. Book one was more artistic, bordering on avant garde in some areas. Book two was more adventurous, expanding the horizons of possibility for the trilogy. And finally, Book three is a mix of humor and philosophy. City of a Thousand Suns is much more fun the previous two books with a surprising cavalcade of half-forgotten characters crossing paths and Delany's imperial insight into the expanding world of old Earth. Combine this with a heavily philosophical last five or ten percent, the contrast is both impressive and captivating.

Having actually liked Book two, I was eager to start Book three and was met by the familiar scene of the alien entities in The City conversing about three humans on Earth impressed upon by the powerful tri-entity, what is needed from the said humans and how the Lord of the Flames may act to disrupt their plans. The Lord of the Flames takes a backseat in this novel, allowing the story to focus heavily upon character interaction (a real highlight) and the quest to gain access to the psychotic computer (the same computer which fabricated the war in Book two). With the city of Toron under fire from remote controlled armaments, a quest is began which will take the reader from the Devil's Pot, over the sea, into the newly established city of which the title takes its name from and into the realm of the computer. Pretty good stuff!

2006: Odyssey (McDevitt, Jack)

Overdrawn at the Idea Bank since Day One (2/5)

The fifth book in the Academy series is just as bad as the previous four. I initially liked The Engines of God when I read it four years ago, but I bet if I were to pick it up now, I'd find exactly the same faults as I did with the rest of the series: painful word repetition, inane details throughout, padding the pages for word count, and high-handed proselytizing ala Christopher Hutchins. Tack onto this an abrupt knee-jerk reaction to start the novel with a useless sub-plot and, wah-lah, you have yourself a typical McDevitt novel.

Following the incident of stranded space craft, the trustworthiness of Academy's fleet is questioned by Priscilla. The craft should have been lost round Betelgeuse IV but was actually found to be within our own solar system, an engine failure which could have resulted in the death of crew members. The aging fleet is put on hold at the same time when reports of mysterious black orbs, called Moonriders, have been flying past stations of humanity across the stars. Silently investigative in nature, there have been no threats or warnings given by the orbs.

A numerous political moves, Priscilla and director Michael Asquith decide to provide one more mission to track and witness the Moonriders, to prove whether they are projections of idle minds or alien entities policing human activity. Considered to be a routine drop-and-go mission, PR director Eric Samuels decides to take a risk in his humdrum life and tag along with the sultry Greek pilot Valya Kouros, the wide-eyed teen-aged daughter of Senator Taylor, and the loud-mouthed firebrand Gregory MacAllister of Deepsix infamy.

When a giant asteroid is found to be directly aimed at an orbiting construction of a hotel owned by Orion Tours, the finger-pointing at the Moonriders becomes priority and calls for space armament are rampant through world congress. The benevolent actions of Orion Tour's selfless duty of diverting another asteroid and their awkward stance in the middle of its hotel destruction has them under the eye of the ever-vigilant MacAllister.

Somewhere in all of this is Priscilla, who, like in Omega, takes a backseat role in the plot. She's stuck behind her administrative desk directing ships to distant ports, calling in favors from orbital friends, and ordering coffee and jelly-smeared bagels. She and the Academy as a whole should have come out spotless after the rescue of the Goompahs under the attack of the Omega cloud in Omega. But just a few years later and the interest in the space program is waning; funds are being diverted from space exploration to earth conservation. If the Goompahs were so hugely popular (there's even merchandising of Moonriders like the Goompahs in Omega), then why has the interest waned to much?

I mentioned above one irksome quality of McDevitt's novels: word repetition. I've been mentioning in my other McDevitt reviews of his bizarre fascination for describing the height of every character in the novel. In Omega along, I counted the adjective "tall" exactly seventeen times when describing stature. All the other adjectives don't even come close. EXACTLY the same here in Odyssey. "Short" and "little" are both used once, "big" is written twice, "average" is used three times, "small" is used five times... and "tall" is written SIXTEEN times (pages 15, 30, 33, 39, 43, 56, 89, 116, 143, 258, 291, 314, 331, 388, 391, and 392). What the hell is Jack's affinity for describing everyone as "tall"? What's worse than that? How about using "of course" about 90 times... aggravating! Where's the editor?

Other annoyances are his overuse of naming fictional book titles that the characters are reading, specifying every food and drink order, and quoting Gregory MacAllister ad nauseam (McDevitt writing himself in the book?). I hated MacAllister in Deepsix and was thankful when that loathsome character took a far, far backseat in Chindi and Omega. Unfortunately, MacAllister makes a grand reappearance in Odyssey, where his (McDevitt's?) firebrand thoughts are not only heading each chapter, but he also orchestrates an unrelated sub-plot revolving around one man, Henry Beemer, who hit Reverend Pullman over the head with book. Beemer insists that the fire-smoldering hell preached by Pullman has made him neurotic and attempts to frame organized religion as hate-loving idiots.

With one book in the series left on my shelf, Cauldron, I've set the goal to complete the series because my father gave them all to me. I hope either Priscilla bites the dust or the entire Milky Way galaxy is wiped of the human race. One of these two conclusions will energize me enough to give it av3-star rating even with the foreseen annoyances McDevitt has laden like landmines. And the like th previous Academy books, this one is flying off my shelf and going to the second-hand bookstore, where I exchange it for something decent.

2003: Omega (McDevitt, Jack)

Monotony and senselessness synergize (2/5)

Do you remember eating your first great Mexican meal at a new restaurant and thinking, "Wow, this is great food!" Do you also remember going back and trying something different but then thinking, "Hey, all the ingredients are the same!" But you get through the meal and return months later to decide upon something else from the menu, when you realize, "Dammit, does this ever change?"

*cue escalating violins, flashing white light*
Bam. Jack McDevitt.
*staccatissimo violin note, red streak on screen*

Omega is the fourth novel in the six-book series following Priscilla Hutchins (known to her friends as Hutch) in her "Academy" career. Starting as a lowly pilot cum archaeologist in Book 1: The Engines of God. A great start to the series which is unfortunately followed by the , eye-rolling, diatribe-infused dud Book 2: Deepsix, where Hutch is still a pilot but finds herself stranded on a doomed planet leading a hopeless group to rescue. The sense of adventure and discovery returned in Book 3: Chindi where Captain Hutch leads her crew on a quest following stealth satellites scattered across space, but the story has an abrupt ending instead of a conclusion. Welcome to Book 4: Omega.

*cue thundering drums, dusk approaches*

Rear cover synopsis:
"For a quarter of a century, humanity has watched as the malignant omega clouds have destroyed every civilization they have come across. Now, it's Earth's turn--but not for another nine hundred years. A cloud has switched direction, heading straight for the previously unexplored planetary system--and its living pre-technological alien society. Suddenly, the need to find a method for the omegas' destruction becomes urgent, as a handful of brave humans, scientists and military alike, try to save an entire world--without revealing their existence..."

*cymbal crash, door creaks open*

Hutch makes a mere guest appearance in Omega. The reader discovers that she has been promoted to Director of Operations and temporarily in place as Acting Director. Herein the reader is bombarded with meeting synopses of endless variety and endless irrelevance. When the discovery of an omega cloud careening toward a newly-found civilization, Hutch acts quickly dispatching a crack team of linguists and scientists to the planet. Hutch largely disappears from this scene, only being referred to in FTL messages. The emphasis is put on the landing team, who gather as much data as possible to send it to the crack team in 9-month transit, whose date of arrival is just short of the date of destruction by the Omega.

The most interesting thread of this novel is the three-person contact team's attempts at understanding a new alien culture, not a dead civilization like in other McDevitt novels. However, the alien culture portrayed is anything but "alien." McDevitt has transposed too many anthropomorphic traits onto the aliens, colloquially known as Goomphas as they resemble the Earth cartoon of the same name. The aliens are erect four-limbed two-sex bipeds with two eyes (in the visible light spectrum), two ears, mammary glands for the females, and similar facial expressions. Their material possessions of metallic coins, wooden furniture, beasts of burden, libraries with scrolls of papers, and the equivalent of tea and beer. There is hardly anything "alien" about the aliens at all, except for their green skin tint, awkward stature, duck-like waddle, and sexual behavior.

*sympathetic woodwinds, country scene*

With one or two alien facets to hypothesize on but only to be disappointed by the in-your-face explanation in the worst epilogue ever, the readers disappointment will settle in and their focus can shift to the mystery surrounding the origin and function of the Omega Clouds. The lead scientist in understanding the omega clouds dies early on in the novel, so only vague guesses by Hutch and her team are put forth. Only at the end does Hutch come back onto the scene to sprinkle fairy dust on the conclusion to make origin the omega clouds somewhat sensible... somewhat. Sadly, it reads like a dull knife stab into the thick carapace of a well-rounded novel--it bounces right off and the stabber stabs himself. Leave the novel with a knife wound and loss of pride.

I've been critical of McDevitt before for his sloppy characterization. In Deepsix, McDevitt maniaclly describes EVERYONE'S height. Why, I haven't the faintest clue. McDevitt does this again in Omega--I keep track. He describes about 5-6 people as being short, one person as being of average height, and seventeen (SEVENTEEN!!!) as being "tall". He doesn't have enough creativity to use a synonym, but only uses "tall" a total of 17 times (pages 36, 52, 57, 60, 78, 91, 101, 118, 120, 159, 163, 289, 326, 343, 352 (twice), and 459). It's these senseless additions that makes me wonder who in the hell proofread this crap.

*symphony of clowns with slide-whistles and noise-makers*

Additional senselessness amid the pages of a McDevitt novel are found quite frequently, though not to the degree of filler as in Chindi. Some additions are just stupid: "Her first afternoon call went to Rheal Fabrics. Rheal specialized in producing a range of plastics, films, and textiles for industry. (They also had a division that operated a chain of ice-cream outlets.)" (52) But the coup de tête of senselessness comes from a seven paragraph reaction (159-160) to a character's viewing of a stereotypical horror movie (ala abandoned mansion, story weather, creaking doors and other strange noises). It are times like this that make me gently place the book down and collect myself.

I don't like McDevitt's novels. They are a utter chore to get through when the reader has to slog through diatribes (like in Deepsix), song lyrics (like in Chindi), and petty nuances (like in Omega). I have Book 5: Odyssey on my bookshelves but I think to myself, "How much more fractional senselessness can one man heap upon a novel to make the greater whole a failure?" With my head shaking, my hand trembling, my eyes screwed shut... I reach for Odyssey.

*cue ominous carnival music and lurking shadows of clowns*

2003: The Line of Polity (Asher, Neal)

Same old Asher routine, getting old but maturing, too (3/5)
From March 29, 2009

This is the fifth Asher novel I've read, after the two Spatterjay novels (The Skinner and The Voyage of Sable Keech), Prador Moon and Gridlinked. When spaced apart, the novels are a fun read as they typically include wry wit and gruesome battles. The Spatterjay novels also added detailed yet horrific planetary creature, a similar system which Asher employs in Line of Polity: wit, battles and fauna. But after reading the previous novels, the entire system is getting a bit repetitive with the endless battle scenes and homicidal native animals. Line of Polity doesn't stray far at all from Asher's signature plot and is actually quite evident towards the final 20% of the book when there are battles after endless battles all adding very little to the plot itself. A simplification would have been much appreciated to cut down on the amount of superfluous scenes. Asher is the type of battle writer who uses "a short-stock grenade-launcher for more intimate work."

The planet of Masada is where a good chunk of the book takes place, a place "you cannot draw a breath... even if its horrifying wildlife would let you." That's from the back cover of the novel... that's it, meaning not much info to go by before you buy the novel in the bookstore. A better, in book, quote about Masada is a place where "choices are limited to two - fight or die - and they are not mutually exclusive."

One more downside of the book is the villain Skellor. His name reminds me of Skeletor from the fames of He-man, Master of the Universe. Therefore, the name Skellor feels cheesy, as if it was ripped off from He-man. His presence in the novel is straight from the get-go and makes appearances all the way until the end, but what's seriously lacking is Skellor's motivation for being the villain rather than being part of the Polity.

The Polity doesn't play as big of a role in Line of Polity as it did in Gridlinked. There isn't a focus on augmentations or runcibles as it typically found in Polity society. The entire novel takes place on two distant planets and outer space. It lends little the structure of the Polity society but makes up for it by adding to the mystery surrounding the Dragon, which ended in Gridlinked. An apt foreshadowing quote would be, "That was Dragon. And my guess is that things are just about to start getting very complicated - and very deadly."

I'm interested to see how Asher will progress with the Cormac series, whether in the direction of wit and gore, a focus on Polity society or a concentration on the Dragon. The third novel in the series should answer this question--Brass Man (not as good, honestly--a good book or two, but not worth the while).

1972: Starbrat (Morressy, John)

Rapid plot bypasses unique planets and subplots (3/5)

John Morressy is better know for his fantasy in the Kedrigern Universe but has also made a foray into the science fiction genre with Starbrat (the first book in a series of six) and a single edition of The Extraterritorial. If you can squirm past the irksome sight of the cover and refrain from cringing at the generic title, inside the book there is all-too-rapid plot set amid a post-diaspora galaxy where humanity has colonized the stars for forty-seven generations. Old Earth is just a memory as one man is kidnapped from his bucolic home world and finds himself at the center of more than one galactic stage.

Del is small for his age on the planet of Gilead, where life is slow and the work on the farm takes precedence over everything. Del (short for Deliverance-from-the-Void Whitby) has faster reflexes than his counterparts and the reason for this is given to him on the eve of his rite of passage: he was delivered as a baby to the planet in a mysterious single-man craft with an illegible piece of paper. Soon after this revelation comes to light, Del is kidnapped by space pirates (oh my!) while protecting his sweetheart from the grips of the slave mongers.

Once upon the ship, the pirates discuss what to do with little Del. When one pirate speaks ill of his sweetheart, Del must defend her honor while aboard the spaceship, where his nimbleness and swiftness allow him to fall the beast of a man. It is thus decided to take Del to a planet which sees human combat as the greatest sport. This is where Del begins his second life.

Del has a humble upbringing which drives him to seek out his home planet and return to his sweetheart. After his departure from the gladiator/arena planet of Tarquin VII, his fighting skills take him around the planets at breakneck speed. Each planetfall results in a mini-adventure for Del and his expanding crew of noble yet fearsome cohorts, but what Morressy doesn't do is weave it all together in a tidy manner. There are too many coincidences for such a large galaxy; too many links to the past; too many tiny revelations regarding Del's ancestry. The last 10% of the book skips decades and decades, distancing the reader from Del's ordeals and leading to the sequel... which doesn't even have the same protagonist but takes place in the same universe Morressy has created.

There are some great aspects to Starbrat like the aforementioned planet Tarquin VII and Watson's planet, where data is currency and a supercomputer governs all. Also, the galaxy teems with life. "...the races of the galaxy were a homogeneous bunch... they were homogeneous enough to interbreed successfully." The other viviparous aliens aren't explored in great detail (as a matter of fact, nothing is really explored in great detail) but one or two aliens do play key roles in the later chapters.

It's not a boring read because of all the commotion but then again I do prefer a calm setting with lots of romantic description and vivid imagery. Starbrat sulks in th 2-star region before one twist of plot ratchets it up to three stars. This twist is a culmination of years of physical and mental effort on Del's part and provides the means to his final decision. It's a well crafted move but leaves the end of the novel flapping in the wind. The sequel Nail Down the Stars doesn't have any appeal to me but I have already purchased his other science fiction novel, The Extraterritorial. I don't hold great hopes for it.