Friday, 27 May 2022 11:23 pm
Book Review: The Sparrow
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deckardcanineMary Doria Russell is the only sci-fi author I know to have been an anthropologist by trade. After pitching a story idea and getting no takers, she opted to try her hand at a different kind of writing. This may explain why her 1996 novel does a few things not advised by seasoned authors.
With the 2019 (heh) discovery of extraterrestrial singing, eight astronauts -- most of them Catholic, some of them Jesuit priests -- head for the source, Planet Rakhat, not to proselytize the natives but to explore the beauty of God. The first chapter indicates that only one, Father Emilio Sandoz, lives to tell about it, and he's quite reluctant to do either. From there, the book jumps between past events and the aftermath in chronological order.
The first arguable no-no on Russell's part is that POVs tend to switch rapidly without warning, tho I half-welcome the ability to read characters' thoughts immediately. The second is that both timelines take a long time to get going. Emilio recovers very gradually before sharing many details, which his superiors are eager to learn partly in order to inform future actions regarding Rakhat. And while it makes sense that a lot would happen before takeoff, the bulk of it serves to flesh out the characters -- most of whom, again, we know will die, and Emilio changes almost beyond recognition from his youthful vibrancy to a physically broken misotheist.
Compounding the tragedy is that the expedition gets off to a promising start, apart from an unsolved death case. The first sapient beings the humans meet, the Runa, are as friendly and peaceable as they could hope for, albeit somewhat dull and obnoxious with their herd mindset's disregard for privacy. The other sapients, the Jana'ata, are another kettle of fish. The first one they meet is actually a refreshing change from the Runa, but he does have a reason to delay their introduction to the rest.
Oddly enough, even at their most clashing, the Jana'ata are understandable with a little effort, especially to linguist Emilio. They're not necessarily more evil than humans, nor can they easily be described as smarter or dumber overall. (Their technology appears less advanced, but they have other priorities.) Emilio doesn't seem mad at them. What he can't understand is how a journey that had felt so divinely guided could turn out so wrong.
As the afterword confirms, that gets at the point in a nutshell: If you expect to find heaven in this universe, you're in for a huge disenchantment. Russell herself went from Catholic to atheist to Jewish (one of the astronauts is a Jew), so she sees God as difficult to put in a box. He may love us, but He doesn't always make it obvious.
Now that I think about it, people who either stop believing in or start hating God when bad things happen to them are pretty selfish. I mean, we all know intellectually that history is replete with unjust suffering. Heck, the oldest book in the Old Testament dwells on that in depth. But if we reevaluate our perceptions only when we get a big dose of it personally, what does that say about our cares?
To be fair to Emilio, misfortunes feel harsher when highly improbable and/or mysterious. And if you're in the habit of attributing every unlikely good turn to a miracle, well, the concept of a nasty miracle is easy to grasp. But the remaining Jesuits in his life, appalled as they are by his eventual account, can still find a third choice beyond wicked God and no God, and they hope he'll come around too.
I like to think the depiction of the priests is basically accurate. They don't act all that different from the rest of us. The Father General himself admits to a considerable dark side. Where my suspension of disbelief falters is in the idea that the Society of Jesus would take the first initiative in reaching aliens, especially with an octet of first-time astronauts, however geographically diverse.
Anyway, yes, this is one of the bleakest books I've read cover to cover. I might have found it even harder back in my devout days. So why did I soldier on? For the same reason as Emilio's inquisitors, I suppose: It may not be fun, but it is enlightening, and getting only a portion of the picture would be less satisfying. I didn't want to give up like I did with Hyperion.
That said, I am not putting the sequel, Children of God, on my list. Poor Emilio going back for more? It's not God who hasn't finished with him; it's Russell.
Next up is a recent birthday present, Naomi Novik's Black Powder War. Given the previous Temeraire entries, I call it a safe bet not to be depressing.
With the 2019 (heh) discovery of extraterrestrial singing, eight astronauts -- most of them Catholic, some of them Jesuit priests -- head for the source, Planet Rakhat, not to proselytize the natives but to explore the beauty of God. The first chapter indicates that only one, Father Emilio Sandoz, lives to tell about it, and he's quite reluctant to do either. From there, the book jumps between past events and the aftermath in chronological order.
The first arguable no-no on Russell's part is that POVs tend to switch rapidly without warning, tho I half-welcome the ability to read characters' thoughts immediately. The second is that both timelines take a long time to get going. Emilio recovers very gradually before sharing many details, which his superiors are eager to learn partly in order to inform future actions regarding Rakhat. And while it makes sense that a lot would happen before takeoff, the bulk of it serves to flesh out the characters -- most of whom, again, we know will die, and Emilio changes almost beyond recognition from his youthful vibrancy to a physically broken misotheist.
Compounding the tragedy is that the expedition gets off to a promising start, apart from an unsolved death case. The first sapient beings the humans meet, the Runa, are as friendly and peaceable as they could hope for, albeit somewhat dull and obnoxious with their herd mindset's disregard for privacy. The other sapients, the Jana'ata, are another kettle of fish. The first one they meet is actually a refreshing change from the Runa, but he does have a reason to delay their introduction to the rest.
Oddly enough, even at their most clashing, the Jana'ata are understandable with a little effort, especially to linguist Emilio. They're not necessarily more evil than humans, nor can they easily be described as smarter or dumber overall. (Their technology appears less advanced, but they have other priorities.) Emilio doesn't seem mad at them. What he can't understand is how a journey that had felt so divinely guided could turn out so wrong.
As the afterword confirms, that gets at the point in a nutshell: If you expect to find heaven in this universe, you're in for a huge disenchantment. Russell herself went from Catholic to atheist to Jewish (one of the astronauts is a Jew), so she sees God as difficult to put in a box. He may love us, but He doesn't always make it obvious.
Now that I think about it, people who either stop believing in or start hating God when bad things happen to them are pretty selfish. I mean, we all know intellectually that history is replete with unjust suffering. Heck, the oldest book in the Old Testament dwells on that in depth. But if we reevaluate our perceptions only when we get a big dose of it personally, what does that say about our cares?
To be fair to Emilio, misfortunes feel harsher when highly improbable and/or mysterious. And if you're in the habit of attributing every unlikely good turn to a miracle, well, the concept of a nasty miracle is easy to grasp. But the remaining Jesuits in his life, appalled as they are by his eventual account, can still find a third choice beyond wicked God and no God, and they hope he'll come around too.
I like to think the depiction of the priests is basically accurate. They don't act all that different from the rest of us. The Father General himself admits to a considerable dark side. Where my suspension of disbelief falters is in the idea that the Society of Jesus would take the first initiative in reaching aliens, especially with an octet of first-time astronauts, however geographically diverse.
Anyway, yes, this is one of the bleakest books I've read cover to cover. I might have found it even harder back in my devout days. So why did I soldier on? For the same reason as Emilio's inquisitors, I suppose: It may not be fun, but it is enlightening, and getting only a portion of the picture would be less satisfying. I didn't want to give up like I did with Hyperion.
That said, I am not putting the sequel, Children of God, on my list. Poor Emilio going back for more? It's not God who hasn't finished with him; it's Russell.
Next up is a recent birthday present, Naomi Novik's Black Powder War. Given the previous Temeraire entries, I call it a safe bet not to be depressing.