Wednesday, 5 June 2019 03:13 pm
Book Review: Space Opera
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deckardcanineI had heard good things about Catherynne Valente. I don't recall whether I had this particular book on my wish list (unlikely; it came out last year) or my sister just thought it sounded right for me, but I agreed with her assessment. More than one blurb likened it to Douglas Adams meeting David Bowie, and Valente herself thanks both in her acknowledgments.
Circa 2026 by my reckoning, an alien gives humans their first contact. The bad news: Aliens in general, of various species, aren't pleased with what they've seen of us. We're both smart enough and dumb enough to cause a lot of trouble for ourselves and other earthlings, so the ETs are inclined to exterminate us (but leave the rest of the biosphere alone) before our technology reaches a threatening level. The good news: If we enter the imminent Metagalactic Grand Prix and don't come in dead last (out of how many, we never find out), not only will we be permanently spared; we'll be welcomed into a massive trade network and will advance like never before.
What sort of contest is it? A sing-off. Yep, now you get the title. But unlike in The Fifth Element, it's not what you'd call opera-style singing. More rock or something like it. Indeed, Valente's idea began with Eurovision, which explains why the book's five sections (curiously named for the Planeteer elements) kick off with lyrics from Eurovision songs. So obsessed with music are the aliens that their highest authority is called the Great Octave.
The book tries pretty hard to convince us that linking "sentience" to singing is not as ludicrous as it first sounds. Our usual criteria (e.g., tool use, language, caring, puzzle solving) all appear in some measure among animals we wouldn't invite to a conference. I suppose we could go by the standard outlined in the booklet Fantastic Beasts and Wear to Find Them, but these aliens have had tragic experiences with species that would qualify as Beings that way. Meanwhile, making a great musical show requires a lot of fine aspects to come together -- and invites a pun on "soul." And at least one eliminated species clearly had it coming, with the song being a fair hint.
Of course, none of this changes the fact that the question of whether an entire species dies or joins the club hinges on whether this one performance of a single song and any accompanying stage theatrics by a handful of specimens is better than at least one other at this particular event. Furthermore, it's not against the rules to imprison, disable, or even kill a competitor to ensure that the rest don't come in last. And yes, many contestants would rather deprive a newcomer of their only chance at survival than risk living with the dishonor of a low placement. Trust me: Some of the confirmed sentient races are far worse than us.
And who are our champions? A flashy, flash-in-the-pan, newly reunited band called Decibel Jones and the Absolute Zeroes, tho only one Zero, Oort St. Ultraviolet, remains. "Dess," despite a flamboyant flair to make Freddie Mercury blush, is quite the drunken burnout; Oort, quite the sober sellout. They could hardly be more different nowadays and are sorely out of practice at getting along, let alone working together. Or writing.
Why these guys? Because aliens have strange taste in human music. The messenger, nicknamed "the roadrunner" in part because Dess has a thing for the Looney Tunes, much prefers Yoko Ono to the Beatles. Indeed, the whole list of possibilities comprised musicians who, while famous, are typically mocked in the mainstream. But the talent scout's info was outdated, and only the last listed band was remotely available. (OK, maybe Skrillex, but another human nixed that option.) Paradoxically, when humans discover alien music, they love it.
This does not bode well for us. The roadrunner says that the odds would be against us no matter whom we sent. Plus, humans are pretty much inferior at personal defense, so lots of faux-friendly competitors head straight for Dess or Oort at the pregame party. Good thing we get sympathy from a few who've been down this road.
The chapters are not laid out in a linear fashion. Sure, everything that happens from the first contact onward appears in chronological order, but we get many interludes flashing back to either Dess's past or the Grand Prix's. Several chapters tell us nothing important to the plot; they just flesh out some innovative biological and cultural concepts. Some of which my mind could not or simply would not process.
Strange organization and bizarre imagery are two reasons I expect never to see a screen adaptation of SO. Another is the sexual content. Some creatures are awfully willing to bed someone (Dess) who might not even be sentient. Not only is that inappropriate for children; you'd need an extra-exotic fetish to want to see it.
The narration, despite moments of high-end profanity, tends toward purple prose, especially at the beginning (unless I just grew accustomed to it). I got my mom to read the first paragraph silently, and she drew breath as if she'd just finished a hike. With all the musical metaphors, I wouldn't be surprised if Valente were a Cowboy Bebop fan.
Apart from the R-rated stuff, perhaps the main thing to set SO apart from The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy is that it's less negative. Never mind that Earth doesn't blow up near the beginning and the question of the existence of God is unanswered; there is an explicit running theme of life being beautiful as well as stupid, in about equal measure. I can agree with that. More importantly, it doesn't come perilously close to a downer. And this does nothing to reduce the humor value. I laughed out loud at one point.
After reading SO, I recommended it to Shaenon Garrity, one of the cartoonists behind Skin Horse and previously Narbonic. She'd already read and enjoyed it. Now I'm passing it on to my Adams-digging mom. I'll keep an eye out for the planned sequel.
My next read is Storm Front by Jim Butcher. We'll see if the fantasy noir of the Dresden Files works for me.
Circa 2026 by my reckoning, an alien gives humans their first contact. The bad news: Aliens in general, of various species, aren't pleased with what they've seen of us. We're both smart enough and dumb enough to cause a lot of trouble for ourselves and other earthlings, so the ETs are inclined to exterminate us (but leave the rest of the biosphere alone) before our technology reaches a threatening level. The good news: If we enter the imminent Metagalactic Grand Prix and don't come in dead last (out of how many, we never find out), not only will we be permanently spared; we'll be welcomed into a massive trade network and will advance like never before.
What sort of contest is it? A sing-off. Yep, now you get the title. But unlike in The Fifth Element, it's not what you'd call opera-style singing. More rock or something like it. Indeed, Valente's idea began with Eurovision, which explains why the book's five sections (curiously named for the Planeteer elements) kick off with lyrics from Eurovision songs. So obsessed with music are the aliens that their highest authority is called the Great Octave.
The book tries pretty hard to convince us that linking "sentience" to singing is not as ludicrous as it first sounds. Our usual criteria (e.g., tool use, language, caring, puzzle solving) all appear in some measure among animals we wouldn't invite to a conference. I suppose we could go by the standard outlined in the booklet Fantastic Beasts and Wear to Find Them, but these aliens have had tragic experiences with species that would qualify as Beings that way. Meanwhile, making a great musical show requires a lot of fine aspects to come together -- and invites a pun on "soul." And at least one eliminated species clearly had it coming, with the song being a fair hint.
Of course, none of this changes the fact that the question of whether an entire species dies or joins the club hinges on whether this one performance of a single song and any accompanying stage theatrics by a handful of specimens is better than at least one other at this particular event. Furthermore, it's not against the rules to imprison, disable, or even kill a competitor to ensure that the rest don't come in last. And yes, many contestants would rather deprive a newcomer of their only chance at survival than risk living with the dishonor of a low placement. Trust me: Some of the confirmed sentient races are far worse than us.
And who are our champions? A flashy, flash-in-the-pan, newly reunited band called Decibel Jones and the Absolute Zeroes, tho only one Zero, Oort St. Ultraviolet, remains. "Dess," despite a flamboyant flair to make Freddie Mercury blush, is quite the drunken burnout; Oort, quite the sober sellout. They could hardly be more different nowadays and are sorely out of practice at getting along, let alone working together. Or writing.
Why these guys? Because aliens have strange taste in human music. The messenger, nicknamed "the roadrunner" in part because Dess has a thing for the Looney Tunes, much prefers Yoko Ono to the Beatles. Indeed, the whole list of possibilities comprised musicians who, while famous, are typically mocked in the mainstream. But the talent scout's info was outdated, and only the last listed band was remotely available. (OK, maybe Skrillex, but another human nixed that option.) Paradoxically, when humans discover alien music, they love it.
This does not bode well for us. The roadrunner says that the odds would be against us no matter whom we sent. Plus, humans are pretty much inferior at personal defense, so lots of faux-friendly competitors head straight for Dess or Oort at the pregame party. Good thing we get sympathy from a few who've been down this road.
The chapters are not laid out in a linear fashion. Sure, everything that happens from the first contact onward appears in chronological order, but we get many interludes flashing back to either Dess's past or the Grand Prix's. Several chapters tell us nothing important to the plot; they just flesh out some innovative biological and cultural concepts. Some of which my mind could not or simply would not process.
Strange organization and bizarre imagery are two reasons I expect never to see a screen adaptation of SO. Another is the sexual content. Some creatures are awfully willing to bed someone (Dess) who might not even be sentient. Not only is that inappropriate for children; you'd need an extra-exotic fetish to want to see it.
The narration, despite moments of high-end profanity, tends toward purple prose, especially at the beginning (unless I just grew accustomed to it). I got my mom to read the first paragraph silently, and she drew breath as if she'd just finished a hike. With all the musical metaphors, I wouldn't be surprised if Valente were a Cowboy Bebop fan.
Apart from the R-rated stuff, perhaps the main thing to set SO apart from The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy is that it's less negative. Never mind that Earth doesn't blow up near the beginning and the question of the existence of God is unanswered; there is an explicit running theme of life being beautiful as well as stupid, in about equal measure. I can agree with that. More importantly, it doesn't come perilously close to a downer. And this does nothing to reduce the humor value. I laughed out loud at one point.
After reading SO, I recommended it to Shaenon Garrity, one of the cartoonists behind Skin Horse and previously Narbonic. She'd already read and enjoyed it. Now I'm passing it on to my Adams-digging mom. I'll keep an eye out for the planned sequel.
My next read is Storm Front by Jim Butcher. We'll see if the fantasy noir of the Dresden Files works for me.