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OtherRealms Issue 25 Part 05
Electronic OtherRealms #25
Summer/Fall, 1989
Part 5 of 17
Copyright 1989 by Chuq Von Rospach
All Rights Reserved
OtherRealms may not be reproduced without permission from Chuq Von Rospach.
Permission is given to electronically distribute this
issue only if all copyrights, author credits and return
addresses remain intact. No article may be reprinted or re-used
without permission of the author.
Scattered Gold
Reviews by Charles de Lint
Copyright 1989 by Charles de Lint
Installment 8: In which we visit with friends, old and new
The Mace of Souls [****]
Bruce Fergusson
William Morrow & Co., 321pp; $17.95, 0-688-08477-X
Bruce Fergusson's The Mace of Souls is proof positive that his first
novel was no accident. Set in the same world as The Shadow of His Wings
(albeit in a different corner), it's another gritty high fantasy,
strong on setting and character, and a wonderfully refreshing addition
to the field.
It follows a street thief named Falca, looking for the big score, who
finds his convictions and character undergoing changes after he becomes
involved with Amala, the rebellious daughter of a high born family.
When Amala's soul is stolen by a religious sect (sucked from her body
and carried off in the crystal head of a mace) and she's left behind as
an "empty", Falca sets off to recover her soul, gaining some help on
the way from what would normally be his own people's traditional
enemies.
As with many books, when the plot's distilled down to a simple
sentence, it doesn't sound like much. What makes this latest from
Fergusson so satisfying is that beyond that thumbnail familiar sketch
of a plot, he follows none of the usual conventions of the field.
To be begin with, Falca is a thoroughly unlikable character at the
beginning of the book. The character changes he undergoes aren't
convenient plot devices, but a slow, natural transformation that shows
off one of Fergusson's principle skills: his deep understanding of
character. Combined with the kind of inventiveness in cultural
background and world-building more normally associated with sf, the
novel gains a believability and immediacy that leave one certain that
if Fergusson's "Six Kingdoms" and its characters don't really exist in
our world, then they do somewhere.
This is one of those novels that swallows the reader up -- right until
the last page is turned, and then some.
Falling Out of Time [****]
O.R. Melling
Viking/Penguin, 1989; 201pp; $22.95, 0-670-81421-0
O.R. Melling is a Toronto author of two previous novels who divides her
time between working in Toronto and Ireland. The early books, The
Druid's Time (1983) and The Singing Stone (1986) were delightful
fantasies aimed at a young adult market, but gave only an inkling of
what their author was capable.
Her new novel is her first adult book, a contemporary fantasy set in
Ireland that weaves together three separate plot threads. There are the
short pure fantasy sections detailing a flight of two godlike lovers
across an ancient landscape; the unfolding of a relationship between
Rafaella Knight, a Canadian student studying in Dublin, and a modern
Irish musician named Michael O'Dea; and lastly the relationship between
the unnamed protagonist of the book and another Michael.
The first two plot threads are actually part of a novel that the
protagonist is writing as a kind of exorcism after a bad marriage. She
realizes that her relationships tend to fail because she makes doomed
mythologies out of them and thereby causes them to fail. So she sets
out to make the new novel that she is working on to be a catharsis that
will allow her to break the circular pattern of her misfortune.
The three plotlines dart back and forth, but remain clearly delineated
through Melling's use of first person/present tense for her protagonist
and third person/past for the plotlines of the novel she is working on.
Towards the end of the book, however, they bleed into one another --
in a manner somewhat reminiscent of Michael Bishop's Who Made Stevie
Crye? (1984) -- and we end up with characters from the novel and the
novelist herself on the same stage.
This is dangerous territory to wander into, because the situation is
one in which it is very easy to lose the reader, but Melling pulls it
off, as much through the magic of her evocative language and sharp
sense of characterization, as through the reader's willing suspension
of disbelief.
Falling Out of Time is an ambitious novel and a welcome addition to the
burgeoning field of contemporary fantasies.
Lavondyss [*****]
Robert Holdstock
Victor Gollancz, 1988; 367pp ,0-575-04375-X Trade); 0-575-04374-1 (Hardcover)
Robert Holdstock's earlier novel Mythago Wood (1984) tied for the 1985
World Fantasy Award for Best Novel with Barry Hughart's Bridge of
Birds, and justifiably so. The novel was a tour de force that took the
poor tattered garments of Teutonic and Celtic myth cycles and breathed
new life into their over-used fabric.
In it, Holdstock introduced Ryhope Wood -- a remnant of ancient
post-Ice Age forest that has a far greater acreage than its outer
borders would appear to allow. Some aspect of the forest, combined with
human racial subconsciousness, peoples the wood with beings of myth and
legend -- the mythagos of the book's title. Some of these mythagos take
the shape of familiar figures -- the questing knight, Jack-in-the-Wood
and the like -- while others originate so far back in time that they
are familiar only as archetypes, remembered subconsciously.
The new novel, Lavondyss, again explores that forest, this time through
the youthful eyes of Tallis Keeton, a young girl whose brother has
disappeared into its hidden reaches and whom she is determined to
find. Tallis, through knowledge she gleans from shadowy mythagos that
haunt the border of the wood, creates a series of masks that allow her
to see into the secret lands that the forest hides, and eventually
travel into those supernatural worlds. Physical renditions of these
masks are beautifully realized by artist Alan Lee and form chapter
headings throughout the book.
The resulting story takes the reader from post-World War II England,
deep into a forest that has grown from the global Jungian consciousness
that underlies all folklore and myth. Tallis's journey acquires the
scope of an Everyman's quest in which we can recognize the hidden
meaning that underlies our own world, delineating the perils as well as
the wonders of such exploration.
Lavondyss can be read on its own, but taken with its prequel, Mythago
Wood, the two novels form a stunning foray into the world of legend and
myth that has rarely been equaled. Holdstock's prose, rich and
evocative, is a true pleasure to read; his imagination a soaring blend
of commonsense and fancy that delights as well as frightens; while his
understanding of exactly how much the resonances of the mythic past
continue to influence the present creates a fascinating logic that
readers will find themselves considering long after the books have been
put aside.
The Gryphon King [***+]
Tom Deitz
Avon, June 1989, 406pp, $3.95, 0-380-75506-8
Like Matt Ruff's Fool on the Hill (discussed in the last column), Tom
Deitz's new novel The Gryphon King is also mostly set in a university --
this time in the University of Georgia which was Deitz's alma mater.
It also sports a large cast of madcap characters, most of whom are
involved in alternate lifestyles, but there the resemblance ends.
Where one never knew what to expect in Ruff's novel -- wherein lay a
great part of its charm -- Deitz's third outing is a straightforward
fantasy that merely happens to be set in contemporary times. Its
weakness is that the principal magical characters are two spirits with
a long history of enmity who take over the spirits of two brothers who
also have a long history of antagonism.
While this might sound like I'm criticizing the book I wish Deitz had
written rather than the one he did, the reason for my complaint is
simple: taking the confrontation away from mortal concerns, where their
strengths and weaknesses could have been utilized, also undermines the
reader's involvement in the encounter. I never really cared about
either one of the spirits.
On the other hand, I was extremely taken with the large cast of
contemporary characters. Their problems were far more engrossing and
engaged me in ways that the magical elements never did, and happily, in
the end, it is their integrity and belief in each other that lends
worth to the struggle in which they've become entangled. They're the
kind of people that, when the book's done, you wish it was just a
little longer, because you'd enjoyed their company so much.
On the strength of them, and on Deitz's fine handling of his
contemporary setting, including the intrusion of "on stage" (as opposed
to ethereal) magical elements into the real world, I find it easy to
recommend this novel. These delightful aspects far outweighed the
somewhat ho-hum confrontation between the spirits.
Novelty [****]
John Crowley
Foundation, May 1989, 227pp, $18.95, 0-385-26171-3
Parallel Universes [***+]
Fred Alan Wolf
Simon & Schuster, 1989, 351pp, $19.95, 0-671-66091-8
In an odd moment of synchronicity, I found myself reading during the
same week both John Crowley's new fiction collection Novelty and an
exploration through modern quantum mechanics of the viability of
parallel worlds and time travel in Parallel Universes by Fred Alan
Wolf, the author of Taking the Quantum Leap.
Of course all moments of synchronicity are odd by their very nature, but
in this case, the parallels between Crowley's "Great Work of Time" --
one of the more intriguing recent stories concerning the paradoxes of
time travel -- and Wolf's non-fiction approach to the same subject was
so sharp that I could go from one to the other -- fiction to
non-fiction to fiction again -- and almost never lose the thread.
Wolf's book is a fascinating introduction to some of the odder theories
of modern quantum mechanics, exploring everything from black holes and
cosmology to that Zen-like riddle, if there is no one present to
observe an action, does the action still occur? His prose is highly
readable, clear and precise and admirably suited to bringing the
bewildering puzzles of his subject matter down to layman's terms
without making the non-specialist feel like a moron.
Crowley's writing, on the other hand, gets so dense in one of Novelty's
four stories -- the near future sf tale "In Blue" -- that this reader,
at least, was left baffled and backtracking through its pages. Far more
successful are "Why the Nightingale Sings at Night", a sweet fable
about the loss of innocence, and the title piece that takes the reader
into the mind of a writer desperately searching for a story that
matters. And, of course, rounding off the quartet of stories, is the
aforementioned "Great Work of Time" which will undoubtedly be ranked
with the all-time classic time travel stories....
Unless someone goes back and changes things....
The Hour of the Dragon [****]
Robert E. Howard
Donald M. Grant, Publisher, Inc, 1989; 247pp; $30.00, 0-937986-86-0
With the lame Hollywood version of the character, not to mention the
endless parade of posthumous collaborations and outright pastiches
added to the canon over the years, it's sometimes hard to remember just
how entertaining Robert E. Howard's Conan stories are. You have to
strip away all that excess baggage mentioned above and go right back to
the original, untampered-with stories to do that and I can't think of a
better place to do so than with the Donald M. Grant Deluxe Conan
Editions series.
From 1974, when they first published The People of the Black Circle,
through to 1979's Jewels of Gwahlur, Grant produced nine uniform titles
in the series. Like all Grant books, they were beautifully made books,
illustrated and on acid-free paper, reprinting Howard's material from
its original sources, rather than the "edited" versions that have
appeared over the years from Lancer, et al. In 1986, after a seven year
break, we finally got The Pool of the Black One, and with this year's
The Hour of the Dragon -- the only real novel-length Conan story Howard
wrote, the series is finally complete.
Now I know there's better writers out there in the great world of
letters, but as with Burroughs, it wasn't the author's stylistic
nuances that readers sought in their work, but their sheer storytelling
skill. And that's what, as one goes back to these Grant Conan
editions, one finds in Howard's work. He was first and foremost a
storyteller, and one of the best when it comes to this style of
adventure writing.
It's also true that the lone barbarian who shuns magic, the awful
demons, sorcerers and monsters, the bloody plots themselves might seem
stereotypical, but do remember, that's only because over the years all
these other writers have ridden piggyback on what, when this material
first appeared, was fresh and innovative. The derogative remarks that
are often leveled against heroic fantasy -- and Howard in particular --
are usually as misinformed as the two young boys I overheard in an sf
shop a year or so ago who belittled Tolkien's work because he was --
and I quote -- "just a Terry Brooks rip-off".
Grant is preserving a slice of our field's history with this handsome
series, and for my money, you'll have to go a long way to find as
entertaining an adventure series as the original Conan stories.
End of lecture. Now why don't you go read one of the books instead? If
your local bookstore doesn't carry them, you can order them directly
from the publisher at P.O. Box 187, Hampton Falls, NH 03844.
Doris Lessing's Canopus in Argos
Fantasy in the Mainstream
Chuck Koelbel
Copyright 1989 by Chuck Koelbel
Doris Lessing is one of the leading writers in the world today. Her
reputation rests on books like The Golden Notebook and The Four-Gated
City which deal with great themes of modern civilization. So it was
something of a shock when she announced in 1979 that she was writing a
series of science fiction novels. The literary establishment blasted
Lessing for wasting her time in such a low-class genre, in some cases
not waiting for the first book to appear. The science fiction
establishment, on the other hand, read the first book and then blasted
it for not being "real" science fiction. Since then, all five volumes
of Lessing's Canopus in Argos series have appeared to rather mixed
reviews. Many critics on both sides of the fence have given at least
one of the novels favorable reviews, although I have yet to meet anyone
who liked all five books. Opinions on the individual books also vary;
if there is a pattern to who likes the first novel and who hates it, I
haven't been able to figure it out. This essay is an attempt to
describe the series and hopefully give potential readers some idea of
whether they will like it or not.
Canopus in Argos consists of five novels set in a common universe and
sharing several characters: Shikasta; The Marriages Between Zones
Three, Four, and Five; The Sirian Experiments; The Making of the
Representative from Planet 8; and The Sentimental Agents. Any of the
five novels can be read independently of the others, although I
recommend Shikasta as the easiest starting place.
Shikasta is, on its surface, the story of three galactic empires
wrestling for control of the planet Shikasta (their name for Earth).
The three empires are Canopus, Sirius, and Shammat, and their
maneuverings are the basis of the series. The tactics they use on
Shikasta are fairly typical of their operations in the other books. The
Canopeans are the good guys; their only concern is for the welfare of
all, they are all of one mind, and they refuse to resort to base
tactics to gain their ends. They attempt to colonize Shikasta with
specially bred intelligent creatures who will evolve into a race in
harmony with the universe. (This is done before humanity evolves; in
fact, we evolve from these creatures.) To ensure harmony, they
establish a supply line of SOWF (substance-of-we-feeling), a very
important substance. The Sirians are a race of somewhat amoral
scientists. They manage events for their own self interest, conducting
experiments to find the optimal strategies. Their evolutionary tactics
are similar to the Canopeans, although their subjects are not
volunteers. They also make various attempts to subvert Canopus'
creatures to their will. Shammat is a planet of space pirates. They
want power for its own sake, and are willing to use any means to get
it. On Shikasta, they start by blocking the SOWF supply. This not only
makes the evolving creatures aggressive, but it affects Canopeans and
Sirians visiting Shikasta. After humans have evolved from the Canopean
creatures and Sirian experiments, Shammat moves to propaganda,
totalitarianism, and other less subtle measures.
Most of the plot of Shikasta involves the three empires influencing
human affairs in the late twentieth century. Sirius and Shammat must
rely on conventional spies and agent provocateurs. Canopus has another
option: their agents can be born into human bodies, sort of as the
person's soul. This is done by passing through spiritual realms known
as Zones 1 through 6 and finally entering the embryo. Although only
briefly described, this is one of the most fantastic (in both senses of
the word) parts of the novel. Most of the Canopean characters in
Shikasta have been reborn in this way. The second half of the novel
follows these agents as the world staggers toward World War III. The
major themes of Shikasta include the dangers of totalitarian systems
and the value of cooperation.
The Marriages Between Zones Three, Four, and Five takes place in the
spiritual realms mentioned above. Sirius and Shammat are not present,
but Canopus is. Here Canopeans appear as disembodied voices ordering
the inhabitants around to create harmony. The zones become more
primitive as the number goes higher, causing conflicts. Canopus smooths
these arguments by arranging the marriages of the title. Not
surprisingly, many of the conflicts reflect problems between men and
women in our world. The overall effect is a fairy tale about
relationships.
The Sirian Experiments chronicles the colonization of Shikasta from the
Sirian point of view. There is a lot of time overlap with Shikasta, but
surprisingly little plot overlap. Instead, this novel is about Canopus'
influence on the Sirian empire, again driving it to harmony. The
narrator of the novel is Ambien II, one of "The Five," a secret council
controlling Sirius' figurehead democratically elected government. Her
duties bring her in contact with Klorathy, a Canopean diplomat, again
and again. Eventually, these meetings begin to effect Ambien II and,
through her, the rest of Sirius. For this is how Canopus operates:
rather than commanding directly, they show others how much better their
system is, and let the others chose it freely. Most of the action is
not overt, but simply the changes in Ambien II's character over time.
The Making of the Representative for Planet 8 again shows Canopus
guiding the development of a planet. This time there is no interference
from Sirius or Shammat, but there are other complications. The planet
is entering an ice age that will wipe out the entire sentient
population. Canopus is helpless to stop the physical destruction of
the race, but there is still some good that they can do for the race's
spirit. Themes of duty and helping others run through this book, as
well as a sense of inevitable destruction.
Finally, The Sentimental Agents shows Canopus, Sirius, and Shammat
again battling for influence over a planet. In this case it is the
Volyen empire, a small stellar empire that is rapidly breaking up
politically. Both Sirius and Shammat are unleashing their heaviest
propaganda to influence the inhabitants. Most of the story revolves
around Incent, a Canopean who is seduced by these messages. The book
itself is a tract against propaganda and other rhetoric.
Are these books any good? That isn't an easy question to answer. I'm
going to try to answer it from several different viewpoints, hoping
that you will get an overall picture of the series.
As hard science fiction, Canopus in Argos fails miserably. Faster-than-
light travel is used with no explanation. Evolution occurs in thousands
of years rather than millions. Glaciers form on a world with only one
lake (and a small one, at that). And this doesn't count things like
getting the rotation of a planet backwards. Almost nothing is explained
and what is explained is unconvincing.
As straight fantasy, only The Marriages Between Zones Three, Four, and
Five worked for me. All of the other books seemed to be set on
contemporary Earth, including those explicitly set on other planets.
Marriages had a definite storybook feel to it and a structure like many
fairy tales.
For strict realism, I don't think any of the books quite work.
Governments are uniformly nasty totalitarian regimes with extensive spy
and propaganda networks. While some might find this realistic, I
thought it went a bit far. Similar comments apply to large-scale
extraterrestrial interference with a planet's affairs. Parts of
Shikasta and The Sirian Experiments did remind me of South American
magic realism, although this wasn't the impression that the novels left
as a whole.
As myths and allegories, Canopus in Argos fares somewhat better. The
Marriages Between Zones Three, Four, and Five has a fairy tale quality
to it, but it reflects directly on relations between men and women here
on Earth. Shikasta strikes me as a myth about life on Earth rather than
a realistic novel. This mythic feel is most noticeable in the early
parts of the book, when Canopus is seeding life on the new planet. The
Sirian Experiments contains some myth-like sequences similar to
Shikasta. Finally, one could probably read The Making of the
Representative from Planet 8 as an allegory about facing disaster,
although I'm not sure this reading improves the book.
As far as ideas go, Canopus in Argos is a mixed bag. Lessing has an
idea of a "group mind" that runs through the series. Essentially, this
is a group of individuals in such close agreement that all their
actions can be for the good of the group rather than individual
concerns. While this in and of itself is an interesting idea, the
handling here is much less intriguing. Lessing's Briefing for a Descent
into Hell also deals with the group mind idea, and in my opinion does a
better job of it. The Canopeans embody the group mind faultlessly; they
are also boring. They have no individuality except when they succumb to
some "mental illness" (like Shammat interfering with the SOWF supply);
then they act irrationally. Canopus' benevolent care of other races is
designed to bring them into the group mind. This sounds good in theory,
but one could be forgiven for wondering if the races lose their free
will in the bargain. This relates to another problem that bothered me:
the amount of influence that Canopus, Sirius, and Shammat wield over
Shikasta. To judge from these books, all the world's ills and most of
its good points are caused by visiting aliens. Even when the aliens are
good I'd prefer that humans have some control over their own destinies.
Balancing these problems, however, Canopus in Argos does make some good
points: the power of words in The Sentimental Agents, the workings of
governments in Shikasta and The Sirian Experiments, architecture as an
influence on mental health in Shikasta. While some of these ideas are
not handled very subtly, they are food for thought.
I'd recommend Canopus in Argos to people who want to think about what
they are reading. If you are looking for escapist reading material,
this series isn't for you. My ratings for the individual books are as
follows:
o Shikasta [****] - Read it first to get a feel for the series.
o The Marriages Between Zones Three, Four, and Five [***] - Different
enough from the rest of the series that you might like it but none of
the others.
o The Sirian Experiments [****] - If you liked Shikasta you'll
probably like this too.
o The Making of the Representative from Planet 8 [**] - Not much to
recommend it.
o The Sentimental Agents [**] - Propaganda against propaganda.
I'll also mention in passing that Lessing's Briefing for a Descent into
Hell rates [****+]. It deals with the idea of group minds (and much
else besides), but is not connected with Canopus in Argos.
------ End ------
