Tuesday, 31 August 2010 10:45 pm
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deckardcanineHaving finished three classic space travel sf books in a row, I think it's time for my reviews:
I, Robot by Isaac Asimov. I read Foundation several years ago and found it dull; perhaps I just wasn't prepared for something so mature and low on action. By contrast, my second taste of Asimov was a delight from start to finish, and I took little time to get to that finish. It may help that the chapters are standalone stories held together by a recurring character's interview narration, providing a fine rhythm for my craving for resolution.
That and I always take interest in robots, especially ones that illustrate explicit philosophical conundrums. After reading "FreeFall" for upwards of 8 years and "21st Century Fox" for upwards of 6, I figured I ought to learn more than the famous Three Laws of Robotics, and I knew I wouldn't get it from Hollywood. Nice to see that the future it paints is far from dystopic; I was getting tired of that from other books in the genre.
Like many old sf works, it's often quaint when you consider how much more advancement the author expected by now. Sorry, we're a bit behind schedule on the Mercury station. There's also a sort of death sequence that suggests a loose adherence to the Christian view of the afterlife; to me, that's a welcome change of pace from Arthur C. Clarke's Childhood's End, but a little corny in presentation. The biggest flaw to me was the use of questionable punctuation and other grammar aspects, but few care about it as much as I do.
Out of the Silent Planet by C.S. Lewis. I've read about ten books of Lewis by now, but oddly enough, the only other fiction works among them were The Screwtape letters and The Great Divorce -- never even heard the first Narnia volume to the end. Nevertheless, when I bought this one on a whim shortly before vacation, I had a pretty good idea of what his 1938 venture into space would include: preachy allegory with barely any science. Of the three books I'm reviewing here, this is the only one that may not take place in the future, as the spaceship is a secret. Lewis shows some awareness of the logistics thereof, yet some of his treatment of gravity reminded me of the excellent but hardly realistic Super Mario Galaxy.
Not a whole lot of fancifulness to be found on the dying planet of Malacandra, despite three sapient alien species who would have been much more fleshed out in the hands of a full-time sf writer. I like the pfiffltriggi best, if only because they challenge the imagination most. No, the message is the main thing as usual, only this time it's not all that specific to Christian theosophy. Unbelievers may find themselves agreeing on Lewis's main points. Maybe not his most solid work, but I can see why my mom in her teen years liked it better than she expected.
Rendezvous with Rama by Arthur C. Clarke. I got a kick out of the '96 PC adventure game Rama -- probably the only game I've played based on a book, complete with author footage. I'm left to wonder how I would've felt about this book if I hadn't played the game, or even whether I'd've borrowed the dog-eared copy from a friend of the family. Turns out the game must be based more on the sequels. After the glacial pace of the movie 2001: A Space Odyssey, which I barely tolerated as a teen, I was not surprised to find the book moving a lot more slowly than the ironically fast-paced adventure game.
Thing is, neither the pace nor the length (more than the other two reviewed books combined) bothered me, nor did even the near absence of danger for long periods. Clarke was playing to a strength he had slightly underutilized in Childhood's End: the ability to stretch our mental images to epic levels, awed by alien works that we don't even know to exist. His science is at least as hard as Asimov's, so you can just about believe it. I'm not so impressed with the tidbits he drops about 22nd-century human civilization, but those have their interesting aspects as well, like biases surrounding "Hermians" and members of the Fifth Church of Christ, Cosmonaut.
A nice binge if I may say so. And now for something completely different: Bed Riddance by Ogden Nash.
I, Robot by Isaac Asimov. I read Foundation several years ago and found it dull; perhaps I just wasn't prepared for something so mature and low on action. By contrast, my second taste of Asimov was a delight from start to finish, and I took little time to get to that finish. It may help that the chapters are standalone stories held together by a recurring character's interview narration, providing a fine rhythm for my craving for resolution.
That and I always take interest in robots, especially ones that illustrate explicit philosophical conundrums. After reading "FreeFall" for upwards of 8 years and "21st Century Fox" for upwards of 6, I figured I ought to learn more than the famous Three Laws of Robotics, and I knew I wouldn't get it from Hollywood. Nice to see that the future it paints is far from dystopic; I was getting tired of that from other books in the genre.
Like many old sf works, it's often quaint when you consider how much more advancement the author expected by now. Sorry, we're a bit behind schedule on the Mercury station. There's also a sort of death sequence that suggests a loose adherence to the Christian view of the afterlife; to me, that's a welcome change of pace from Arthur C. Clarke's Childhood's End, but a little corny in presentation. The biggest flaw to me was the use of questionable punctuation and other grammar aspects, but few care about it as much as I do.
Out of the Silent Planet by C.S. Lewis. I've read about ten books of Lewis by now, but oddly enough, the only other fiction works among them were The Screwtape letters and The Great Divorce -- never even heard the first Narnia volume to the end. Nevertheless, when I bought this one on a whim shortly before vacation, I had a pretty good idea of what his 1938 venture into space would include: preachy allegory with barely any science. Of the three books I'm reviewing here, this is the only one that may not take place in the future, as the spaceship is a secret. Lewis shows some awareness of the logistics thereof, yet some of his treatment of gravity reminded me of the excellent but hardly realistic Super Mario Galaxy.
Not a whole lot of fancifulness to be found on the dying planet of Malacandra, despite three sapient alien species who would have been much more fleshed out in the hands of a full-time sf writer. I like the pfiffltriggi best, if only because they challenge the imagination most. No, the message is the main thing as usual, only this time it's not all that specific to Christian theosophy. Unbelievers may find themselves agreeing on Lewis's main points. Maybe not his most solid work, but I can see why my mom in her teen years liked it better than she expected.
Rendezvous with Rama by Arthur C. Clarke. I got a kick out of the '96 PC adventure game Rama -- probably the only game I've played based on a book, complete with author footage. I'm left to wonder how I would've felt about this book if I hadn't played the game, or even whether I'd've borrowed the dog-eared copy from a friend of the family. Turns out the game must be based more on the sequels. After the glacial pace of the movie 2001: A Space Odyssey, which I barely tolerated as a teen, I was not surprised to find the book moving a lot more slowly than the ironically fast-paced adventure game.
Thing is, neither the pace nor the length (more than the other two reviewed books combined) bothered me, nor did even the near absence of danger for long periods. Clarke was playing to a strength he had slightly underutilized in Childhood's End: the ability to stretch our mental images to epic levels, awed by alien works that we don't even know to exist. His science is at least as hard as Asimov's, so you can just about believe it. I'm not so impressed with the tidbits he drops about 22nd-century human civilization, but those have their interesting aspects as well, like biases surrounding "Hermians" and members of the Fifth Church of Christ, Cosmonaut.
A nice binge if I may say so. And now for something completely different: Bed Riddance by Ogden Nash.