Dark tales of wonder and imaginings
I'll admit it: A lot of science fiction and fantasy is hackneyed. But I still like this stuff more than sports. And every once in a while, something comes along that not only breaks down preconceived notions of what science fiction and fantasy can or should be, but also makes serious nods to the "cool" factor.
Speculative fiction has decades of pop and underground culture behind it, so by the sheer force of cultural history it has become relevant. Literary fiction often contains internal nods to what came before, and speculative fiction can do the same, but has not been not limited to other books. Comics, movies, music -- even fans themselves -- are the galaxy from which it derives. Two recent books, "Light" by M. John Harrison and "Iron Council" by China Miéville, both British novelists, bring to bear these things. "Jonah Hex," Jack Kirby's psychedelic machinery from the early Marvel Comics, Ray Bradbury's desolate Martian landscape, the urban decay of "Blade Runner," and even the madness that lies on the edges of hallucinogenics and the music of the '60s that fueled it, are all source material here.
In "Light," three stories drive the complex narrative. Michael Kearney, mathematician by day, serial killer by night, is close to unlocking the secrets of quantum physics as he continually flees from a creature whose will forces him to murder. Four hundred years into the future, celestial physics has made the universe a playground for humanity, but selfishness and desire for instant gratification have made that same universe a place of urban decay filled with genetic self-mutilations, virtual-reality brothels, and desire for conquest, while exploration has led some to slake off their humanity forever. Seria Mau, a pilot of a K-ship -- an interstellar craft with whom she has permanently merged her consciousness -- has become a mercenary for the highest bidder. On a planet below, Ed Chianese, an addict and broken-down adventurer, finds himself given to prophetic insights as he runs from debtors and other nefarious creatures.
Each character's narrative reads independently, held together only by the strange physics that surround them. Their individual quests, however, are all driven by the same longing: to discover the mystery of why they each made the decisions that brought them to their grim lots. For a time it appears that Harrison is making it all up as he goes along, but then, as the stories slowly begin to converge, it's obvious he knew what he was doing all along. The results are often breathtaking. This is a story of wonders, both on the personal and the cosmic level, but it's a dark book. Almost everyone is ruined in some way, and a deep sense of melancholy pervades the entire novel. Yet Harrison has done something remarkable. He has turned descriptions of quantum mechanics and astrophysics into a poetry of longing, and awe, with an almost Sylvia Plath-like sense of dread. "Light" is a rare piece of science fiction, and one of the finest I have read. It is also one the best-written books I have read this year.
"Iron Council" portrays an even darker vision, although not one flung into the farthest reaches of space. Miéville's nightmares crawl and scratch their way along an urban landscape scarred by industry and a distant war. Everything and everyone in the city of New Crobuzon is pushing toward rebellion or oppression. The book follows two groups of insurgents: one driven by love, friendship, and a shared quest to discover salvation; the other bound by dreams of uprising, of a revolution to smash the state, but still containing its own secret motivations.
Genetic wonders abound, but they are made obscene by an often decadent mix of science and magic. The novel often reads like a medieval bestiary, with one amazing creature after another. There are golems, frog people, and a race of cactus-people who are like Tolkien's Ents imagined in a peyote vision. There are centaurs, half-mechanical beasts, and steam-driven leviathans.
Miéville piles on the grotesqueries to the point of incomprehension -- the reader can only conjure up so many images at one time. Miéville is a creator not only of worlds, but of words, and every other sentence contains some imagined flora, slang, or turn of phrase. His genius is in the alliteration. Often a word's meaning is less important than its sound, giving the entire novel a sense of both fecundity and rust.
For both these novels, there is a beauty underneath the surreal and often violent landscapes. Miéville is a bit more, shall I say, baroque, than Harrison, but there are moments of stunningly crafted imaginings. Miéville can be a bit precocious, but all he really wants you to do is go for a ride with him through his monstrous creation. Nevertheless, a few motion sickness pills couldn't hurt.
Peter Bebergal can be reached at pbebergal@yahoo.com. 