Book review: the long way to a small angry planet

Hello, internet!

I have decided to write a brief book review for you today. The book is called the long way to a small angry planet. It is by Becky Chambers. And in my humble opinion, it is very good.

If I was forced at gunpoint to describe it through references to other pieces of science fiction then I’d say that it’s like a mixture between Firefly and Mass Effect, but that doesn’t really do it justice, and I’d much rather pitch it to you on it’s own two feet. The story revolves around a young human woman named Rosemary who has fled her former life to sign up with a tunnelling ship called the Wayfarer, crewed by a wonderfully diverse mix of nuanced characters who make their living by punching wormholes through the fabric of space. They live in a future where humans have abandoned Earth and spread out among the stars, in a vibrant galaxy where they aren’t major players on the galactic stage. Humans live in colony ships or cling to life on barren moons, and they have to take work where they can get it, which is where the book gets it’s cowboyish Firefly feel. Shortly after Rosemary arrives, the crew are offered a once-in-a-lifetime oppurtunity, creating a tunnel that will lead to a remote planet near the centre of the galaxy. The job is dangerous, but if they succeed, they’ll be rich, and they’ll be helping to put humanity on the map.

Nothing about that premise might seem particularly original or revolutionary, but the execution makes the long way to a small angry planet different from any other science fiction book that I’ve ever read, and I’m not the only one who thinks so. Chambers has been long-listed for the Bailey’s Prize, and I think she’s entirely deserving of it.

I think it’s the focus on characters which makes the long way to a small angry planet so enjoyable. There aren’t any dramatic starship battles or space-western gunfights in Chambers’ book, because there don’t need to be. The galaxy that she describes is a precarious one full of wars and fragile alliances, but any violence occurs ‘off-screen’, as something that happens to other ships in other parts of the galaxy. We’re free to just observe the crew, learning about their daily lives, their eccentricities, their aspirations and their hidden pasts. I grew attached to them very quickly, and was perfectly content with just being a fly on the wall of their ship, allowing the narrative to progress at its own leisurely pace. They move from one job to the next, skirting danger, finding love and friendship on the planets where they stop along the way, and laying the groundwork for a heart-wrenching conclusion which had me up until three in the morning. The characters are well-rounded and entirely believable, and they come across as everyday heroes: working to overcome their flaws and banish their fears, showing extraordinary compassion for one another, and retaining their identities as ordinary people who enjoy doing ordinary things, like eating ice-cream, going to concerts, playing video games, visiting their parents, and enjoying recreational substances (especially in the case of the Wayfarer’s engineers, who are strong contenders for being my two favourite characters).

But the sense of compassion that I got from this book extends beyond the main cast of characters. Chambers has created a universe full of colourful alien species that manage to inhabit the ideal middle ground of being truly alien without alienating the reader. They are convincingly otherworldly, with deliciously weird anatomies and plenty of complicated cultural practices that must be navigated by the main characters, but they are still very ‘human’ in their behaviour. I’m sure that they themselves would be offended by that suggestion, but it is testament to Chambers’ writing ability, and the scope of her creative vision, that they can be so alien and so human at the same time. These aliens have their own flaws and virtues that are instantly recognisable to humans, despite having so many traits that require acclimatisation, both to human readers of Chambers’ book and to the human characters within the story. Watching different species struggling to navigate each other’s idiosyncrasies is actually one of the most interesting and endearing parts of the book. Chambers hasn’t created a callous dystopia or a utopian paradise, but rather a middle-ground with elements of both, where the majority of sapient lifeforms try their best to cooperate and overcome their cultural differences, without resorting to violence.

Tor has described the long way to a small angry planet as a story that‘will restore your faith in science fiction (specifically) and humanity (in general)’, and that’s exactly what it did for me. Chambers has written a refreshing new piece of science fiction, in a well-thought out and nuanced universe, which has the confidence to ask you to come along for a ride. It makes me encouraged about writing my own science fiction. Some people seem to think that ‘big universe’ science fiction can’t follow the same old formulae anymore without being tired and stale, but Chambers shows that you can absolutely write an engaging piece of science fiction which follows the same old format in a fun new way. The long way to a small angry planet has all of the traditional elements of a crew, a ship, a large interstellar political union, a diverse menagerie of fascinating alien races, and a healthy dose of convincing pseudoscience, but it is still a very palatable, enjoyable, and original story. Chambers serves it up like one the delicacies made by the Wayfarer’s enigmatic cook, gathering staple foodstuffs from the homeworlds of his crew and preparing them in a bold new way in which they have never been prepared before.

Bad guys are people too

Hello internet,

I’ve been on a bit of a Star Wars binge recently

Yes, yes, we established that two weeks ago. Keep up.

Anyway, it’s probably just because of the new trailers coming out for The Force Awakens and Battlefront – but I’m hyped. I’ve been a Star Wars fan since 2003, when I was ten years old and the original Clone Wars cartoon (not the CGI series) was airing in five-minute shorts between other shows on Cartoon Network. At the time, I thought it was the most amazing thing I’d ever seen in my entire life. It was produced by Genndy Tartakovksy, who also produced Samurai Jack, and it had the same pacing style and the same gorgeous animation. Minimalist but seamlessly functional, with as little exposition as possible, focusing on sharp bursts of action broken up by long periods of quiet suspense, with casual acts of badassery thrown in, and interjections of funny dialogue. Looking back, it was probably a big influence on my writing style. Except I need to learn to be a bit more economical with my exposition.

I can highly recommend watching it. It’s all on YouTube, and it puts the CGI follow-up series to shame. (And it is, so far, the only media from the Star Wars universe to feature high-velocity speeder bike jousting.)

But this post wasn’t supposed to be about Clone Wars. I watched the series again this week, as well as playing through some of my old favourite Star Wars video games and watching the original film trilogy, and I enjoyed them as much as ever.

I’ve harboured secret desires to be a Jedi ever since I first saw Obi Wan Kenobi leaping off that speeder bike, but one of the things that’s always fascinated me about the Star Wars universe is the minor characters. Particularly, in the original movies, the officers and starship crews of the Imperial Navy. Maybe it’s just superb acting from one or two minor actors, but I’ve always found them to be quite tragic characters, in their own way. I’m thinking mainly of Admiral Piett and Commander Jerjerrod. You remember Commander Jerjerrod?

In their minds, they’re serving their emperor, bringing order and justice to a galaxy which is full of “scum and villainy” even by the appraisal of Master Kenobi, who’s apparently the most philosophically enlightened being in the entire universe, given his power to become one with the living force and appear as a glowy blue ghost. The opening scrawl of Episode IV denounces the Galactic Empire categorically as “evil”, but it probably doesn’t seem like an evil organisation to the men who work for it. The Old Republic was more democratic, but it was also more corrupt: corruption which has been swept away by the New Order. Under the empire, does the galaxy still have the problem of huge militarised corporations laying siege to planets which won’t agree to exploitative trading rights, while the politicians – many of them with Trade Federation credits in their pockets – bicker over an appropriate response? Is slavery still common practice on the outer rim worlds? It doesn’t seem like it, from what we see in the original trilogy.

I’m not trying to make the case that the empire are the good guys (even though I do always play as the empire on Battlefront 2 and Empire at War). They did, after all, perpetuate genocide on a planetary scale. And more importantly, they’re supposed to be the bad guys. That’s their function in the story. But what I like is that not every servant of the Galactic Empire actually seems like a ‘bad guy’. Palpatine’s supposed to be maleficence given form, and I’m prepared to believe that he has a core group of supporters and agents whose motivations are wholly evil. But the wider empire must be held together by billions of front-line officers who think that they’re the good guys, or else they wouldn’t get out of bed every morning, pull on their jackboots, and report for duty. For people like Piett and Jerjerrod, the empire probably seems like a breath of fresh air, and Palpatine probably seems like a hero: a reformer who finally made sure that the galactic government had the ability to end corruption and exercise real power to end slavery and other shady practices on the outer rim worlds.

My point – and yes, I do actually have one – is that as writers of any genre, it’s important (and often very rewarding) to make sure that the ‘bad guys’ aren’t uniformly evil. Even if they’re the ones wearing evil uniforms. A multifaceted presentation of any large group is always better than a flat, uniform depiction, but that’s particularly true when you’re dealing with a large organisation or empire that serves as the antagonist in your story. I get bored very quickly if the “good guys” in a story are all morally upstanding paragons of virtue – in Star Wars, we have figures like Han Solo to prevent that from happening – but I get disinterested even more quickly if the “bad guys” are carbon-copy evil scumbags from the emperor of the galaxy all the way down to the lowliest stormtrooper. Shades of grey are always more believable, and more entertaining. Misplaced loyalty from fundamentally honourable characters can be very compelling. Particularly if those characters start to suspect that they might be on the wrong side of history.

This is what I like about Piett and Jerjerrod, and to a lesser extent the regular officers on the command bridge of Darth Vader’s star destroyer, who look up from their stations in terror whenever he billows past. Not only do they seem like semi-decent human beings (or, at least, we never see them do anything outright evil without it seeming like they’re conflicted about it), but when we see them come into close contact with the leaders of the empire – Darth Vader, and the Emperor himself – we see that their loyalties begin to waver. They begin to wonder whether they want to be on the same side as people who are willing to commit such foul acts. In any story that depicts people fighting for a cause that they believe in, I’m always interested to see people stop and question their loyalties.

So I have a writing challenge for you, this week. Go and read whatever story you’re writing, or one you’ve already written. Look at the “bad guys”, whoever they are, whether they’re an evil interplanetary empire or just one person who serves as your book’s primary antagonist. Remain conscious of their motivations, and ask yourself whether they’re certain of what they’re doing. Is certainty realistic? Look at the good guys as well. Could you improve your story by making them more doubtful of their actions? I’d love to hear what you think, in the comments!

A Review of Stranger in a Strange Land by Robert Heinlein

If you have never read Robert Heinlein then you should.  He has a gift for including social and political commentary in his novels.  Stranger in a Strange Land is, in my opinion, one of his best works.  You won’t agree with everything that Heinlein says in this book, but he raises questions that are worth thinking about, worth dealing with, and its an interesting story to boot.  However, fair warning, this is a book that will challenge your beliefs, values, and ideas about what society should and could be.  Hopefully, in reading it, those beliefs that need to change will change, and those that need to grow stronger will grow stronger.

Overall: 10/10

In Stranger in a Strange Land Heinlein presents the reader with an outsiders perspective on human society.  The story revolves around Michael Smith, the child of astronauts who is raised by Martians.  Smith returns to Earth as an adult and a long series of strange and troubling events occur.

Writing: 10/10

Heilein’s writing is generally very sparse, and this book is no exception.  Heilein’s writing could almost be described as curt at times, but it is strong, and very good.  If you prefer verbose writers who provide lots of adjectives and details, then you should subtract two to three points from this category, and probably 1 from the overall category.

Characters: 9.0/10

The characters are the center of Stranger in a Strange Land, particularly Michael Smith himself.  The commentary in the novel all comes from Smith’s point of view, however the characters surrounding him, particularly Jubal Harshaw, have a significant impact on how he sees the world, and Smith in turn has a significant impact on how they view the world.  The reader watches as first Smith, and later the character’s around Smith grow in their view and understanding of the world around them.  Again, you probably won’t agree with everything that Heinlein argues for in the novel, but the effectiveness of his arguments can’t be denied.

World: 6/10

The world that Heinlein creates is the weakest point of this novel.  Heinlein generally gives sparse details about the world in which his characters live.  He creates two fictional religious movements, and doesn’t tell the reader much more than is absolutely necessary about them.  While Heinlein provides enough details to create a world that is real and relatively believable, he does not provide us with much more than is necessary, and personally I like extras.

Plot: 10/10

There isn’t much more that I can say about the plot without ruining the story for you.  Michael Smith, the human martian, returns to earth and learns about human culture, then has a profound influence on others.

Pacing: 8.5/10

Stranger in a Strange Land is a slow book, but it is generally well-paced.  Though it is slow, the action moves along steadily for the most part.  However, there are a couple of dry spots the can be just a little bit of a struggle.

Commentary: 10/10

If I could give this book an 11 or 12 then I would.  Stranger in a Strange Land, like most of Heinlein’s work, is a study in social commentary.  Heinlein has a lot to say, and he says it well.  However, this book is one of the most challenging that I have ever read.  In Stranger in a Strange Land Heinlein attacks the very idea of cultural and religious mores.  I’ve said this a couple of times, and I’ll say it again, you probably won’t agree with everything that he says.  However, Heinlein brings up important arguments against cultural and religious mores, and religion in general, that we all need to deal with (whether religious or not).

Conclusion:

Stranger in a Strange Land is, and will continue to be, a profound and influential work of social commentary (there was a church founded off of the ideas in the novel after all).  It will challenge your ideas and preconceptions about culture and morality, and it will make you think through beliefs.