Charlie Gordon is a simple man who does cleaning work in a bakery. Unlike what you may think, on some level he is painfully aware of his cognitive limCharlie Gordon is a simple man who does cleaning work in a bakery. Unlike what you may think, on some level he is painfully aware of his cognitive limitations. Flowers for Algernon explores the fascinating premise: what if intellectual disability like his could be "cured"?
As Charlie undergoes an experimental procedure that dramatically enhances his intelligence, we witness a complete transformation of his perception of himself and the world around him. This reframing of his life reveals layers of family and social dynamics that were previously hidden from him.
In the beginning, readers understand situations that Charlie himself cannot comprehend, allowing us to feel both his frustration and vulnerability. As his awareness grows, we see him develop a condescending attitude toward the minds he once admired. He begins to recognize the limitations of their understanding, particularly regarding his own condition – a realization that causes him deep anxiety about what they claim to know about him.
As Charlie's enhanced intelligence begins to deteriorate, the story ultimately comes full circle. The narrative becomes increasingly disheartening as we witness Charlie's regression with a profound sense of loss.
The story is told from a letter-esque first-person perspective that makes the reader experience the transformation through Charlie's eyes. In this aspect, the novel may not be without its inconsistencies. The beginning occasionally strikes a false note, as when Charlie remembers the word "Rorschach". But first-hand access to his emotional reactions vividly reveals an inner turmoil hitherto unknown to him.
Charlie's journey raises the question of whether he was happier in his original state – evoking John Stuart Mill's famous assertion that "It is better to be a human being dissatisfied than a pig satisfied; better to be Socrates dissatisfied than a fool satisfied." Yet, maybe there is more to living a good life than mere happiness. What makes someone worthy of respect and dignity?
The story resonates because it examines fundamental aspects of the human condition: our drive for recognition, the difference between knowing people and having friends, and how changes in cognitive ability affect personality and social relationships.
Flowers for Algernon encourages readers to sympathize with those who are different, making it a rightful staple in school curricula for its ability to sensitize young minds to important issues of empathy and respect.
With Hyperion, Dan Simmons created a science fiction epic that is equal parts mystery, philosophical exploration, and thrilling storytelling, unfoldinWith Hyperion, Dan Simmons created a science fiction epic that is equal parts mystery, philosophical exploration, and thrilling storytelling, unfolding in a universe on the brink of interstellar all-out war.
Seven so-called pilgrims are chosen to journey to the Time Tombs on the eponymous planet, hoping to present a wish to the Shrike, a powerful and enigmatic being that dwells there. This quest represents what may be humanity’s last chance for survival against the Ousters, a long-before separated faction of humanity threatening with a devastating attack.
Rather than a straightforward narrative, Hyperion is structured around six novella-length stories that each traveler shares along the way, blending elements of adventure, war, noir detective work, political resistance, family drama, and fictional biography.
Readers may find themselves reminded of H.G. Wells’s The Time Machine, Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind, Murderbot Diaries, or The Curious Case of Benjamin Button, but the novel still feels fresh and original even today. It asks some intriguing questions questions, like what it would be like to age backward, losing memories one day at a time. Or to be modeled on another person’s personality. In fact, one android character was created from the tormented real-life poet John Keats, whose work inspired some of the story's themes.
Simmons’ language is almost overwhelmingly dense at times, but that only adds to the atmosphere and immersion. Overall these stories were great fun to read. I'm not sure where the story is going – well, it's very obvious where it's going, but not how this will fill up another brick of a book – but I'm very excited to continue with the series!
Annihilation has been an unsolvable mystery. The uncountable scientists that went into Area X either died, or they were absorbed by the terrifying conAnnihilation has been an unsolvable mystery. The uncountable scientists that went into Area X either died, or they were absorbed by the terrifying conundrum. It remained impenetrable from the outsider's perspective of Southern Reach, the governmental research facility located at the outskirts of the zone. After decades the haunting presence has been clouded in secrecy as the too out-there facts have been covered up by whoever might really be in charge.
In the beginning it looks as if we know. A man fittingly called Control takes up the position as director of the aging institute. However, he quickly learns that he has very little actual authority over his staff. Not everyone is as hostile towards him as his assistant director, yet there is no support or intelligence as to where to go from there. And the data poses as much confusion about the area as it does about the individuals currently or previously working in the facility.
For the most part the novel reads as much like espionage fiction as it concerns itself with the mysteries explored in the first novel. In fact, there is very little new information. Instead, facts are re-discovered in different guises and re-evaluated by new theories. Aliens rarely figure in those reflections. If a truth is out there, there are forces at work that control how it would be revealed.
So, if you came back to the series for answers you might be disappointed. The depressing state of the project actively deprives you of all hope. Although not necessarily an appealing figure (or interesting in his own right), its only the protagonist's determination that pulls through the sluggish motion all around him. By the end, internal discoveries do relate to what happens within Area X, only before the status quo is thoroughly shaken.
It's not exactly an exhilarating read. I'm sure the book has been compared to Kafka, in that Control's attempts to deal with his staff can assume almost absurd features. Frankly, maybe it's even lacking some substance. Still, if you are in the mood for something dark, the novel's thick atmosphere will sure be fully immersive. It might not quite be The Road or anything, but be prepared for this to properly drain your energy.
Southern Reach is a microcosm capable to send shivers down your spine, as much as Area X did in Annihilation.
**spoiler alert** In my mind The Hunger Games were always Battle Royale for young adults. Not quite fair, obviously; rarely if ever narratives are tru**spoiler alert** In my mind The Hunger Games were always Battle Royale for young adults. Not quite fair, obviously; rarely if ever narratives are truly original and I'm sure there have been many Battle Royals before Battle Royale. More importantly, though, not fair because it's very good fun in it's own right.
I especially enjoyed the buildup. Not the world-building per se, though I thought that the silly political constellation and the dummy pretense for the Games were delightfully accommodating. Instead of heavy info-dumping, the plot just floats towards where it has to go. In the process we learn to like our heroine as she takes her little sister's place, shows her strengths and weaknesses, and contemplates how she would never want to hurt that beautiful boy who once donated her family the direly needed bread. We learn about the hardships of her life and how this toughened her up for what is to come.
As all good YA (all good SFF, all good literature) it's very visual in its presentation. It's easy to imagine Katniss hunting with her bow and her interactions with the two male parts, the embarrassment that is the drunkard mentor Haymitch, the glamorous Effie Trinket, and especially the Girl on Fire. After some memorable public appearance we quickly end up in the arena and the heart of the story.
The main emotional import comes from the innovation to the usual Battle Royale rule set, the requirement that two children of the same district have to participate. This makes it very likely that at least pair-wise the contestants know each other. The plot's biggest strength in the second part of the book is how Katness and Peeta are stylized as the tragic would-be couple in the in-world media coverage of the spectacle.
For me this wasn't enough to keep me fully engaged. It's a pity and a puzzling flaw that we never learn of any relationships between the other participants. They must have known each other too, right? In fact, the plot's biggest weakness is the lack of personality when it comes to the antagonists. With one exception they are presented as this faceless and rather immobile mob. It deprives the events of humanity before the killing even begins.
On the way to the climax there are developments that keep things interesting. There is one (albeit brief) friendship, there is the lingering question of whether Peeta can be trusted, there are some tactical considerations, and closer to the end there is the rule change and the smart move on how to trick the system. I never felt the pressure – strangely it just doesn't seem too dangerous and I was surprised how little Katness even thinks of her first kill – but I was never bored, either.
A decent Hollywood blockbuster as page-turner of a book.
When in popular science fiction adventurer and pioneers travel to other planets it's to explore the unknown, it may lead to first contact, or even offWhen in popular science fiction adventurer and pioneers travel to other planets it's to explore the unknown, it may lead to first contact, or even offer an opportunity for human progress. If you've read any Gene Wolfe you will know that with him nothing is that simple. His The Fifth Head of Cerberus problematizes spacefaring from a postcolonial perspective. And I mean this in the genuine sense of the literary tradition.
The book consists of three novellas. If I begin with the third, V.R.T., maybe I can best explain how planetary occupation can become an issue. The titular initials refer to a boy whose at least on his mother's side descendant to the Aborigines that inhabited the planet before the arrival of the French settlers from Earth. Since then they fully made the planet their own. Whoever lived there before seems now extinct, their sacred sites destroyed or exploited for resources, their stories forgotten. What remains are legends and clichés.
Uprooted from his heritage the boy grows up in the limbo that the settlers wouldn't even recognize. In his preconscious identity crises he sees an opportunity to better understand his own history and even become the cultural bridge between the Free People and the colonizers. Through his business-minded father he makes acquaintance with an anthropologist from Earth whom he believes – or is told by the pompous specimen himself – is influential enough to educate and speak for a people that can no longer speak for itself. Eventually, V.R.T. assumes the role of John V. Marsch.
In this function he becomes the originator of the second novella, "A Story" by John V. Marsch. The mythical tale depicts the story of the boy's people in the events that lead to the Frenchmen's arrival. Our protagonist is John Sandwalker, member of the hill-people and twin brother of John Eastwind who is kidnapped at birth by the marshmen.
In this way we realize that the Aborigines – or Annes, so-called after their planet Sainte Anne – are not the uniform group that they are in the minds of the future colonizers. In fact, there is a third people, the enigmatic Shadow children whose psychic abilities and origins are far from the only mystery in this initially almost impenetrable legend.
That's quite tangible, right? This is the point where I have to admit that what I presented was my tacked down account of the overall narrative. The beauty of Wolfe's writing lies in the fact that very little is for certain. Much of it the astute (or at least patient) reader has to gather from passing remarks. More often than not we have to build our mental model on the most speculative foundations. We do learn thinks more directly or explicitly, only that then there is no independent evidence to consolidate the assumptions.
For me it's an endlessly fascinating experience. In the suggested realm of possibility the reader is encouraged to rearrange the "facts" and to shift her understanding of what is of core importance. Culture and identity, the tragic experience of individuals, power relations and the political climate in a postcolonial society, or even the destructive consequences of science and exploitation, these things all figure prominently in your very own attempts to make sense of it all.
Science, now this is something I haven't even talked about yet. It's the métier of the first novella, the eponymous The Fifth Head of Cerberus. Again the story is driven by the crisis or even conflict of identity. At that point we don't really know about history or the Aborigines. Instead, it focuses on the narrator's struggle to come to terms with who he is.
Somewhat early on we learn that his father calls him "Five", now if that isn't a predictor for identity in crisis, what is. His father's relationship to him is even more sinister. This becomes clear when we discover that he subjects his two sons (the other being "David") to most horrifying experiments. As you will have realized at this point, Sainte Croix (the other of the two twin planets) is a very bleak and dark place. And that is even before we gain insight into the Kafkaesque bureaucracy depicted in the third novella. It's a very engaging mystery story fully of shock-factor reveals about the nature of Five's family. With potential consequences for the state of their society.
I thought about how I would talk about the endless list of questions that the stories never conclusively answer or even explicitly address. After reading the book you passionately want to talk about these things. Yet this clearly isn't the place. Instead I should be talking of how faithfully the overall experience mirrors the academic engagement with cultures inaccessible to readers of the Global North.
If you've read works of cultural anthropology and ethnography you will recognize the desperate attempt to solidify something essentially in flux. After colonialism it has become even harder to discern truth from fiction and to discover past reality in the legends of the present. We all know the local myths, the touristy fabrications that make us roll our eyes. Yet for anthropologists it might be what the have to go on.
It's mesmerizing how Wolfe was able to capture the unique form of uncertainty in the medium of science fiction.
The end of All Systems Red saw Murderbot freed from its deterministic obligations as a SecUnit. In the given legal framework there was no way to be fuThe end of All Systems Red saw Murderbot freed from its deterministic obligations as a SecUnit. In the given legal framework there was no way to be fully liberated, though. To avoid the uncertainty of what it would be like to live with a guardian, Murderbot went rogue.
However, it has taken an opportunity because it was there, not because it knew what it wanted (to quote the book itself). There is one nagging open question concerning the crucial moment in its past, when it went berserk and killed a number of people. I guess until now we had assumed (or had been told) that the incidence was caused by a failure of the governor module that controlled Murderbot and that this was the reason it hacked the module to free itself. But its memory was purged, how would it know it didn't hack the module and kill voluntarily? Or that it even happened?
So, mission established, it has to find the side and investigate what happened. On its journey it reluctantly accepts the help of ART (Asshole Research Transport), the bot that pilots the transport ship Murderbot travels in. The dynamics between the two is seriously funny and its certainly not friendship on first sight. Bot and construct are not quite the same thing. For instance, ART is incapable of being irrational and it needs to see things through Murderbot's eyes to comprehend the subtext. Not the best guidance, I have to say.
In All Systems Red, Murderbot pretended to be a SecUnit. Now for something even more intriguing, to reach its destination it has to convince others to be human. As before, this core premise of the plot is so wonderfully well thought-through and absolutely mesmerizing in its philosophical depth.
There are many sides to the issue. For one thing, humans have a bodily existence and certain qualities make us appear human. There are the obvious needs, like sleep, going to the toilet or the kind of wounds you shouldn't recover from. We make involuntary restless movements (like scratching our nose), we react to stimuli, we even do silly things like checking for stuff we already know is there. It's important to know (not necessarily in the propositional sense) when to sigh or when to roll our eyes. Sometimes we stare into the distance as we look inwardly.
We would subliminally notice certain things, like missing the tiny bits of hair. For this reason, physical alternations to Murderbot's organic and mechanic parts are necessary. For some reason I loved that. Imagine we were able to change some configuration file and run `murderbot-rebuild switch` and end up with a new system state (reading too much NixOS lately...).
Murderbot is very reluctant to go through with the procedure. It would make it even more difficult to pretend not to be human. SecUnits are designed so as to draw as little attention to them as possible, and Murderbot is used to disappear this way. This is no longer possible.
Mutual respect demands to treat each other as a person. For Murderbot (and perhaps for many introverts?) this is a completely new situation. Before it was treated as a tool, or even as a toy. Of immediate importance, it can now itself decide whether it takes up a contract and to incur the obligations that come with it.
Before it was responsible for the lives of its clients, now it also has the authority to decide how to best serve their needs. When they reached its destination, it could breach contract, but it decides that to stay and to protect them was the right thing to do. There is a whole landscape of rich philosophical concepts involved, if you think about it.
In its current situation it's important to care for what others think of it. After being hired as a security consultant, Murderbot is considered a real member of the group. It's asked for its opinions and others listen. It is not obliged to immediately answer and even evasive answers can be acceptable in certain situations. There are certain personal topics not appropriate to talk about ("no right to ask").
The plot itself is again simple and without any big surprises. It's good fun, but it's probably fair to say that the quest for the scientists safety and their stolen research data is not what the book is really about. It's mostly at the end that we are treated to some entertaining action. The climax incidentally explains some aspects of what happened during the massacre, but I think even Murderbot points out that big reveals only happen in its soap operas.
For me Artificial Condition was all about the classic philosophical conundrum: If it looks like a duck, and quacks like a duck, maybe it is a duck. Or human. I more and more understand why the series resonates with people on a deeper level. I mean, there are many Murderbots among us. And I don't mean this as in serial-killers-in-the-making.
In Redemption Ark events are taking place on an even grander scheme of things. The Inhibitors, the machine-descendants of an ancient alien race whose In Redemption Ark events are taking place on an even grander scheme of things. The Inhibitors, the machine-descendants of an ancient alien race whose purpose it is to prevent intelligent life in the universe from reaching the spacefaring stage (and thereby becoming a threat to other cultures?), are now actively closing in on humanity. The only hope to defend themselves against the cosmic antagonist are weapons of severe mass destruction once developed by a hive-minded faction called the Conjoiners.
If things only were that simple. Only very few people know about the existence of those weapons. In fact, we (the readers) knew about them, since they are the very same weapons Ilia Volyova used in Revelation Space and it was this event that put the Conjoiners on their track. So we know – or if you are like me, gradually realize – that the story will eventually reconnect with where the previous novel left off. I like that, that's a cool setup.
It turns out to be quite the race. The Conjoiners are at war with another faction, the Demarchists, had been for decades. And even among themselves they are not as unified or even egalitarian you would think a hive-mind society to be. Our main hero is an old – old even when considering rejuvenating technology that figures prominently in this universe – war hero called Nevil Clavain. I guess he's a bit of a Han Solo character, though guided by some moral principles from the beginning. To be honest, it was only after I started reading the book that I became aware that the protagonist debuted in two shorter stories and especially in the beginning I felt I was missing out on some details regarding him.
Anyway, let's get to the review part of this review. The complex plot is full of shifting loyalties and personally I occasionally lost track of where the confrontations were coming from. For instance, a Conjoiner woman called Skade more or less hires Clavain to seek out the cache weapons, yet at some point she turns into the main opponent. It makes sense given the fact that she turns out to be Inhibitor-controlled, yet a the earlier stage it didn't make perfect sense to me. The same might be true for Remontoire, though given that he's Clavain friend his motives are even less obvious.
As always Alastair Reynolds very much shines in the fast-paced action that is genuinely epic in scope. I think it's because of the hard-SF make-up that the world really comes to life (certainly not because of the personalities, I'll get to that). There are passages throughout that present developments from a more scientific perspective. So the telling of the age-old species and it's aim to destroy intelligent life becomes part of the natural history of the cosmos and how the two strands might be interwoven. Or a different example, it's not just the straight-forward fact of brain implants for world-building purposes, it's the result of long experimentation that mirrors the development of the digital computer and that culminates in quantum-computed cognition and... consciousness of different timelines? Is that what's happening? Naturally, it often lost me but it's still thrilling to read.
I think this applies for the novel as a whole. Difficult yet certainly much fun. Unfortunately, it's again very much missing on the real character-level. There are some sweeteners, like the reveal of Beast's true identity or the personality-turn of the hyper-pic Scorpio, but overall the quieter moments cannot fully breath life into the impending tragedy as a whole. This is especially true for some bits that feel as if they were in the book because the publisher expected it to be of a certain length. Like the silly mission to save Clavain's daughter with whom he doesn't have any real connection. It fact, ironically they weren't even related in the first place.
The ending was particularly confusing since there is no real closure. If I understand things correctly then there was an open Inhibitor attack that culminated in the destruction of Resurgam and the death of all inhabitants that weren't yet evacuated? It's not very satisfying given that it happened independently of the main story itself, is it?
It evidently builds up for the third novel with Galiana's consciousness most likely being among the minds captured in the waters of the Pattern Jugglers. Yeah, Galiana, I haven't even talked about her yet. She is the woman responsible for the brain-implant technology that make the Conjoiners possible to begin with. She appears as possessed by the Inhibitors in the Prologue, but essentially leaves the story from then on (even though her frozen body makes another appearance). Personally I felt she wasn't important enough to justify her central role in the post-climax. Oh, and the Pattern Jugglers, they are this alien race whose oceans can modify intelligent minds (you might remember them from Revelation Space).
I don't know, I loved this for it's out-there ideas and the overall atmosphere and grandeur. But this time I feel like there was something quite off about the pacing and the plot threads that are not quite clear enough to lead the reader through the story. I got lost and often I was more interested in the technological asides and cosmological background than I was about the main events. This being said, I'm still excited to see where the story goes on from here.
I might have a new favorite science-fiction protagonist. The part machine, part human hybride who thinks of itself as (a) Murderbot is genuinely fasciI might have a new favorite science-fiction protagonist. The part machine, part human hybride who thinks of itself as (a) Murderbot is genuinely fascinating because it freed itself from outside control to do essentially the same thing it was set up to do. The only (and obviously very crucial) difference is that it does so self-consciously in the literal sense of the word.
On the surface, Murderbot is a somewhat whimsical character. It is decisively detached from its mission and from the scientists it is commissioned to protect. It spends as little time on the actual job as possible, instead watching hours of soap opera in the quieter moments on site. Its almost uncompromising indifference and preoccupation with TV are funny, sure. But more importantly, it's all part of a wonderfully subtle buildup.
To describe the setup in slightly richer terms, we have agency, a deep interest in human emotions and relationships (what else would be presented on the shows?), yet not even the beginnings of hope that it itself could enter into any sort of real relationship with the people it is there to protect. To spice things up, there is also a background of guilt and possibly redemption.
It's amazing to think that all of this is packed into a story that is simply much fun to read. The fast-paced mystery plot is very on-point when it comes to discoveries and it's very visual in its execution. The tech prose feels adequate and adds to the metallic vibe of the rather uninhabitable research site. It's almost as if you have the inevitable TV adaptation already running on your mind (it's coming, right?).
There are surprising twists and some tension, particularly after the team finds out about Murderbot's tinkering with its governor unit, yet Wells has too much taste to go for big shocks or outbursts of feeling. Instead, the story is full of little observations that gradually come together as representing a more meaningful relationship between Murderbot and the (pure) humans.
There is the acknowledgement that interaction between them is to some extent awkward for both parties, and even more so after they saw it without its helmet on. In fact, it itself prefers to wear the armor for "protection" (another sense of being self-conscious). There is the strange moment when it rides in a passenger seat and what this might imply had the humans known about its status. (Was this what it was? In the passenger cabin? I'm not sure anymore.) It saves one of the scientists and is later in turn saved by her. Then there is the debate on whether it can be trusted. Can its action so far be taken as evidence for its well-meaning attitude? At least it appears to demonstrate that it's capable of taking an attitude and that it ought to be treated as a person.
The events have this enticing philosophical dimension throughout. For one thing, there is something striking about the idea of a (part) robot that acts as if it was a robot. Then there is the intricate difference between being contractually obliged and being programmatically determined to do something, especially in the case where no free consent was given to take up the contract. And of course there is the existential demand of setting your own goals to give meaning to your actions, especially prevailing towards the end of the story.
Murderbot is now free to explore the nearby universe on its own. I'm very excited to see where its story goes from here and how it growth further as a person.
**spoiler alert** For the most part, Chasm City is a simple revenge story, and one whose real premise is explained only late in the plot. Even with th**spoiler alert** For the most part, Chasm City is a simple revenge story, and one whose real premise is explained only late in the plot. Even with the promise of a the titular place being filled with wonders and mystery, it's admittedly not exactly the most fascinating pitch to a novel of such length. But let me tell you, this was a sci-fi blast!
The setting is as awesome as people – granted, the few people that read it – make it out to be. Some aspects of it we already learned from Revelation Space. Sky's Edge had been at war for centuries. Sections of the Yellowstone system, including the planet that holds Chasm City, had been in the fangs of Melding Plague.
Its outbreak about seven years ago not only crippled all technology. From the previous novel we already know that it takes possession of human implants (especially prevailing in the Ultras), turning it into a very deadly human virus. More dangerous, though: in the future there is technology to transform buildings into architecturally very different shapes – and due to the virus the shifting is out of control. It's such a terrifying imagery, like an everlasting horror of earthquakes amidst futuristic skyscrapers.
Sky's Edge too was mentioned in Revelation Space, but since it's only a sideshow (or even less, since no action actually takes place there) our information on the planet is very limited. Here we have its origin story, literally transmitted by the school plot device of a different infection. In the beginning of the plot, the main protagonist and narrator, Tanner Mirabel, caught the so-called Sky Haussmann virus that vividly makes him experience events that happened centuries earlier.
Similarly structured plots commonly bore me, since it often feels as if they mainly distract from the main action and unnecessarily stretch out the length of novels. Surprisingly, I felt very invested in Sky Haussmann's story. From the cult at the beginning of the novel – another touch I quite enjoyed – we know that the man was responsible for horrifying deeds, but for a long time it remains a mystery what exactly it is and what made him do it. Maybe the character is not the most nuanced (he really isn't), but I enjoyed how the villain only slowly enters the stage.
Again similar to the previous novel, there are other players that appear only later on. Actually, the big reveals at the very end tie in to what we learned about the universe so far, and I absolutely loved the continued world-building. It's the kind of canapé that I'm sure will make me come back to the series rather sooner than later. If only because it would be hard to continue when the details (or even the general scheme) fade from your memory.
Alastair Reynolds is famous for going the extra mile to create events that (for the most part) stay true to actual physics. In Chasm City the most impressive example is the idea of an elevator into space. Or more precisely, what happens to people ascending when the thread below is cut. Apparently, it's not as smooth as you might expect, not the least because of the very real possibility of collision between the cars.
There are other ideas I thought were quite fascinating. Sky is member of a fleet that is the last chance of humanity. Not exactly the most original plot thread, but here there are people left in Earth's solar system. This means that research continued long after the fleet left. Had the technology been state-of-the-art at their departure, it will certainly been ancient at arrival. There is also the tough decision of whether they should take the risk and try to update their engines (never change a running system, right?).
And even if we saw it often before, the idea of people sacrificing their lives so that others and their offspring will make it is still highly intimidating to me. In the story it's clearly framed as a class issue. There is the infuriating twist of the sleepers all being treated to very much prolong their lives, and not sharing the secret with the people who sacrifice their lives for them. It's so fucked up, but not exactly hard to believe.
On a similar note, there is a minor point of spacefaring bringing new forms of massive luxury. The best food is produced in space – some are so obscenely rich they can afford to import on this grand scale. More in focus of the actual plot are the measures to prolong life indefinitely. It comes with the philosophical issue of whether you would still value life without death. Turns out, what is required is (only) the fear of death. Or only the simulated fear of death, either by acts that are not actually dangerous or by consuming the vivid experiences of people in war or similar situations. Or by participating in the Game – to remember death by taking human lives. Again, I don't find it too difficult to imagine that similar dynamics would evolve in the real world.
In the final act, there are frankly hilarious twists about the identity of our anti-hero. Of course, it didn't exactly come out of nowhere when it becomes increasingly harder to distinguish between himself and Sky. However, there is still much to discover about who he himself is. He is Tanner Mirabel, but certainly not in the sense we thought he was. Do memories make us? Do memories come with responsibility for the acts they represent? Does a prolonged lifetime give us a (better) chance to redeem for our past evils?
Chasm City gave me all that I expect from a science-fiction novel. Big ideas, a fun action-driven plot, surprising reveals, and phenomenal world-building. And certainly much promise for other stories set in the same universe. It certainly makes me want to continue with the Inhibitor Sequence series soon.
About 320 members of the human species settled on Yan where they live in harmony with the planet's original inhabitants. In fact, there is a big factiAbout 320 members of the human species settled on Yan where they live in harmony with the planet's original inhabitants. In fact, there is a big faction of the Yanfolk that celebrate all earthly customs and habits. However, there is only limited direct interaction between the (for them) alien settlers and the peace-loving Yans. Still, some individuals dare to seek sexual and cultural ascension.
The story is told with this delightful ease that characterizes the John Brunner novels I've read so far. In the beginning we learn much about the Yan way of living, which clearly mirrors the 1970s vision of love, peace, and harmony – and just a little bit of drugs to take off the edge. Oh wait, that's not it at all: apparently the Sheyashrim drug turns them into blood-thirsty animals to perform their brutal duties of population control.
At its core, The Dramaturges of Yan is a mystery novel, though it took me a couple of chapters to figure out what it really was all about. Actually, it's dressed up in the arrival of the extremist performance artist who attempts to stage the Yan's epic tales. Naturally, it's a difficult project, not the least because of the obvious difficulties of interspecies translation of verse (a fascinating idea).
It's all very pulpy, but I highly enjoyed how the pompous douche, the schemings, the silly failure of the human superintendent, the silly fellow who arrived to experiment with the local drugs, and especially the big revelation about the alien species and its past and intended future all come together in the multi-threaded plot. You vividly feel the novel's age on every page, not the least because of the perfectly unmemorable non-characters, but it's really much fun to read.
Some reviews on here express disappointment with the ending. To be honest, I don't fully see why. The Yan's collective and archaic consciousness is the big twist in a climax that involves other minor reveals that all contribute to the overall grandeur of the silly. How can you not love the psychedelic finale and its stumbling attempt at mind-bending retrospect?
A mysterious object (for lack of a better word) appeared in the reachable region of the university. It's alien in origin and researchers start to callA mysterious object (for lack of a better word) appeared in the reachable region of the university. It's alien in origin and researchers start to call it Lascaille's Shroud after the first visitor who made it back alive. It's Lascaille who gives the novel its title: it was in the anomalous space towards the shroud where cosmic knowledge was revealed to him.
The space opera starts off at an archaeologist excavating site on the planet of Resurgam. A man named Dan Sylveste (member of a highly influential clan) fiercely believes in his theory about the Amarantin race that lived on the planet almost one million years ago. To his peers the Amarantins were a rather primitive alien species. Sylveste conjectures that they might have been advanced enough to cause the Event that led to its extinction. What exactly happened?
At least two other factions take a strong interest in Sylveste. Ana Khouri is an ex-soldier who works on Yellowstone as an assassin after she lost her husband through time and space. At least so she thinks until the Mademoiselle contracts her. She claims her husband is there on Yellowstone too, not decades of flight away back at their shared home. But to be reunited she has to kill Sylveste. Who is the Mademoiselle and why does she want Sylveste dead?
It's arranged that Khouri will be hired as the new gunner on the Nostalgia for Infinity, a gigantic space ship occupied by only six crew members. They too are after Sylveste, though for different reasons and they don't know that their new recruit knows anything about him. In fact, the question is, What do they want with Sylveste?
The idea of Revelation Space is a powerful plot device, but important reveals are forthcoming at every junction of the plot. It was awesome how new answers constantly reframe what we thought we knew about the motives of characters and about the history of the entire universe. There really are some great surprises in there that push the story in new directions or that make you think again how you feel about certain actions.
The mysteries take center stage. There is some world-building, like the impressive Chasm City, political factions, the mention of different alien races, or the Ultras with their cyberpunk implant aesthetics. But Alastair Reynolds is fully committed to deliver answers, not distract us with the info dump. As almost always, there could have been more personality to the protagonists of the story, but given the scope of the narrative too much focus on the drama between the characters certainly would have been out of place.
I have no idea what exactly was going on with the neutron star and all the astrophysics near the end, at least not as far as it went beyond drawing attention of intelligent species that come across the region of the universe. But the author is famous for his scientific background and I highly appreciate when writers go the extra mile to draw a plausible backdrop to the action. Talking of which, there is a good amount of action. Nothing too original or memorable, but 80s blockbuster kind of fun with some minor horror elements towards the end. I enjoyed it.
I wouldn't say that Revelation Space was exhaustive, but it's quite demanding on the reader. It should be obvious that the story is highly complex and "harder" than your average space opera. I love this kind of stuff when I'm in the right mind for it, especially when it's done as exceptionally well as it was here. Still, might be another six months before I tackle Chasm City.
**spoiler alert** To my mind there is something intriguing about the idea of a renown author writing in the shilling-shocker genre of TV show tie-in. **spoiler alert** To my mind there is something intriguing about the idea of a renown author writing in the shilling-shocker genre of TV show tie-in. Harvest of Time is part of a series that delivers original stories (as opposed to the numerous novelizations) of classic Doctor Who. The Third Doctor is the only classic run of the show of which I saw every serial, so I was delighted to find that Alastair Reynolds picked (or was commissioned for) the Jon Pertwee era for his novel.
The story takes places shortly before or after "The Sea Devils" when the Doctor was still exiled on Earth and after the Master was taken prisoner by UNIT. Initially, the great adversary is not the focus, though. UNIT sent the Doctor and his companion Jo Grant to investigate strange occurrences around an oil-drilling platform in the North Sea.
Monsters of the Week are the Sild, an alien race that somehow emerges from the end of time. The tiny buggers make their first appearance as swarms of metal crabs, easily fought off in their initial wave of hundreds, but a real threat when they come in the thousands and eventually millions. It soon becomes evident that capturing the Master is their prime directive.
Actually, it was the Master who called them. I think it wasn't them in particular he addressed with his distress call, but of course he was cocksure that some help would pick up his signal. The so-called time fade certainly wasn't part of his plan, though. Only with honest bafflement he learns that he's somehow "unstitched from time". It's quite amusing how it becomes gradually more difficult for people to remember him, and the Master sure is someone who demands to be remembered.
It's great fun when the Master and the Doctor are forced to team up and travel the very very distant future to solve the big mysteries. It's here when easily the story's most defining discovery unfolds. What they find are thousands of incarnations of the Master, the results of all his past and future regenerations. The advantages of storytelling unbound by budget restraints.
I have to admit, I frequently struggle to fully grasp how Doctor Who plot threads come together. Harvest of Time was no exception, especially in respect to the connection to the events in the North Sea. It's clear very early on that a superior from there somehow traveled through time and became a queen ruling for millions of years. The two Time Lords met her ten million years into her reign and them again eight million years earlier. I loved to imagine the time frame and what this would do to a human mind, but the narrative itself and its connection to the Sild threat could have been stronger.
It was great to return to the Third Doctor one last time, especially since I thought Reynold's writing very well captured the personas of this incarnation, Jo, and especially the real star of the show, the Master. The story might have profited from some shortening, but overall it was good fun. In fact, I was surprised by how similar it felt to watching an actual episode.
The intertwined storylines of House of X / Powers of X are built up from all the core issues that lie at the heart of modern-day science fiction and tThe intertwined storylines of House of X / Powers of X are built up from all the core issues that lie at the heart of modern-day science fiction and that are currently much debated in the political domain.
It's easy to see how in the world of X-Men genetic engineering (which can bring about mutations) and artificial intelligence (which advances anti-mutant weaponry up to Terminator dystopia) bring with them a new urgency that breaks up the modus vivendi that existed between homo sapiens and homo sapiens superior. Even the good guys now see themselves as the rightful heirs of Earth. To secure their safety until then they proclaimed their own nation state, the fantastic realm of Krakoa. Good and evil, represented by Professor X and Magneto, team up to form a new frontier against encroaching humanity.
Jonathan Hickman's nonlinear storytelling is highly captivating to read, especially when you realize it's not just the four eras – year zero, year ten, year one hundred, year one thousand – we are introduced to in the beginning. The timelines are placed in a multiverse structure perhaps inspired by The First Fifteen Lives of Harry August.
Background is provided by illustrated paragraphs of prose by which we learn about the future and about the past, and about what happened in the past but will only appear explicitly only in a future issue of the comic. Weapons, technologies, classifications, hopes, timelines, there is really much lore in their to enrich the setting without pulling you too much from the action. To be honest, I often didn't fully understand what I was reading, but I was amazed by how it suddenly made sense when you saw the events take (their often bloody) shape.
Talking of the action, I highly enjoyed the pacing of the more violent confrontations. In superhero comics, I often find that there is not much "weight" to the fights and that they don't really go anywhere; the plot progresses elsewhere. Here, the action often is the means to progress the plot. There are many tragic deaths you know will easily come back – especially after you figured out Moira's special mutant power – but I still felt it in the moment.
Yet, parallel universes are not the only place to being back beloved characters. There is one issue almost entirely dedicated to revival, and it was particularly awesome, visually as well as emotionally. It's all a bit silly and all too convenient how the mutant powers come together in this montage, but the yield really delivers. It's so epic when you suddenly understand what the demonstration was all about, and especially Storm's unifying speech to commemorate the event.
I often struggle with Marvel's big events. You cannot read everything, so often I find myself confused about convoluted contexts, what exactly the multiverse looks like at any given moment, and how much is relevant for what you are currently reading. House of X / Powers of X is very refreshing because it's mostly self-contained, even though I now it lead to the lead to the Dawn of X run of releases. More importantly, it was just so much fun.
If you are looking for a superhero story that is as intense as the advertisement makes it out to be, this should be on top of your TBR (well, you've probably read it already). And damn, I didn't even talk about the incredible artwork, you just have to marvel at those colors. Best superhero comic I've read in a long time.
To Your Scattered Bodies Go is frequently mentioned as being among the best science-fiction novels ever released. To be honest, it wasn't very high onTo Your Scattered Bodies Go is frequently mentioned as being among the best science-fiction novels ever released. To be honest, it wasn't very high on my own TBR. The premise sounded frankly ridiculous and its 1970s release suggested that it might be too out-there for my liking. I even struggled to properly parse its title.
I picked it up because I came across a beautifully cheap vintage edition (who could resist?). Turned out, it was exactly what I needed. Pulpy, but very intriguing because of its mystery-driven plot and challenging ideas. What surprised me even more than that there even was a plot was the fact that many of the big questions are actually resolved in the cause of the story. This is where genuine science fiction comes in.
Apparently, after you die you wake up at this endless river with all the other people from Earth, including what is from your respective perspective (far) past or in the future. I think the main reason why this didn't immediately drew me in was because I couldn't imagine where the story would go from this starting point. I think the nature of the novel is best captured by the mysteries the protagonist pursues. Here is a best-of.
How have they been resurrected? Who brought them back to life, and is there a reason why? Where are they now? What's the nature of their environment? Is there a scientific or a supernatural explanation for their existence there? Will there be a revelation (of the Truth)? How much time has passed since the early 21st century? How long did it take to create their world? What will happen to people who die in this afterlife? Would they be bald forever?
Then there is the strong cultural dimension to their challenge. Fully evolved human beings (well, there are others) must now start from scratch. What kind of society will they be able build? Would they end up with political regimes they deemed ideal (or the lesser evil) in their time? Would there bet those who would exploit others? Would they be able to overcome the prejudices of their day, given that they now have the chance to talk to people from other times and geographic or religious backgrounds?
Naturally, the entire situation poses a very difficult question to religion. It's clearly nothing like the aftermath postulated in the holy books. I loved how now even living in the afterlife puts an end to (perhaps literal) eternal theorizing. There is not even agreement on whether their (new) creators are benevolent or whether they now found themselves in purgatory.
Until now I've only talked of the ideas. I think if you enjoy the book then your enjoyment will primarily stem from how the actual turn of events are interspersed with the explicit pondering of the kind discussed above. Our hero is Sir Richard Francis Burton, a British explorer and adventurer who lived in the 19th century, and I think he was chosen as protagonist as he exemplifies strong opinions of his day while you could still assume that he would be willing to change. He's not a bad man, but born later he probably would have thought differently about some matters.
There are minor characters that are well enough developed and that lead to many interesting conversations. It would be an overstatement to say that you will miss them later on – they leave the main events quite unceremoniously – but they and their ideas are recognizable and relevant to what makes the book what it is. They are even involved in some action sequences that are fun in this pulpy way.
It's certainly amusing how Burton later teams up with Nazi leader Hermann Göring. I think the purpose of the character is much less evident – there certainly isn't any clear form of redemption or anything – but taken from the context in which he lived his historically somewhat accurate personality traits appear more tragic than despicable.
To Your Scattered Bodies Go is really something else, even if it doesn't fully stick the landing in the final act. It's certainly not the big reveals that will stay with you (maybe it was built-up for the follow-ups in the series), but for the unique and novel perspective that it offers.
**spoiler alert** The two previous novels in Adrian Tchaikovsky's most famous series, Children of Time and Children of Ruin, had been epic space opera**spoiler alert** The two previous novels in Adrian Tchaikovsky's most famous series, Children of Time and Children of Ruin, had been epic space operas. Children of Memory is more reserved in scope. It tells the mostly self-contained story of how the crew of an ark ship that left the dying Earth more than two thousand years ago desperately tries to settle down on the planet of Imir. The focus is on the mystery that slowly unravels throughout the story.
Like Nod, Damaskus, and Kern's World, Imir was once designated for the Old Earth terraforming project. Unlike the latter, the process was never completed. Still, when war and excessive resource usage had made Earth mostly uninhabitable, humanity sent out its ark ships in hope of settlement on different worlds. One of them, the Enkidu set sails for Imir. Eventually, it's among the very few spaceships that actually reach their destination.
I was surprised by the story's strong supernatural dimension. Of course you never truly believe in the mythical interpretations of what is going on. But for me it was still very intriguing to explore what was really going on. They are best introduced with respect to the two main protagonists whose actions drive the plot forward.
One is Miranda who had once been a human that gifted her thoughts and memories to the Nodan parasite to be replicated. Our hero in the story is a copy of the human that once lived. It's clear very early on that she as well as other old acquaintances – the octopus Paul and two spiders, the engineer Fabian and the hunter Portia – somehow infiltrated the human settlement on Imir. Puzzlingly, they appear to live as humans among humans. Even more baffling, this strange fact is never explained or even openly acknowledged. Are they parasite replicas created to animate engineered human bodies?
On Imir Miranda becomes the teacher of a teenage girl called Liff. She thinks of herself as the granddaughter of Heorest Holt, the captain of the ark ship that landed on Imir. This fact in itself is already confusing as the timeframe doesn't seem to fit. By her time, agriculture, forests, and livestock have made life on Imir possible; yet, when Holt and the core crew first set foot on the planet it was evident that the terraforming process was interrupted at an early stage. It's very unlikely that they made this much progress in only a generation or two. So the question is, how much time has passed since their first arrival?
The arrival too involved another mystery yet to be fully disclosed. Holt and his lover came across some signal. They weren't able to figure out its meaning, yet it appeared very likely that there was a significant pattern – and that the source of the signal was alien in nature. In Children of Ruin there was First Contact with genuinely alien species on Nod (the parasite among others). Might they have come across another intelligent being?
Even years after their arrival, Holt still searched for the signal's origin. Some of his peers gradually began to think that he became mad in old age. Still, there were rumors that something was out there in the hills or woods. The children of the community saw these ideas in the light of their fairy tales. In an early chapter Liff dreams (or is it a dream) that her grandfather left them to live with the Witch in the woods. When she tires to follow him she comes across her familiars – two talking ravens that are capable to transform themselves into human beings.
Of course, the birds are yet another species uplifted by the familiar nanovirus, and I absolutely loved them. I have a strong interest in computational linguistics and in the question of what kinds of problems can be solved computationally, and the new seemingly intelligent player puts a hilarious twist on these issues. When talking to (other) intelligent interlocutors the birds react with responses that appear fully appropriate at the given point of the conversation. Yet, the sense remains that all they do is complex parroting, that there is no essential difference to what their non-enhanced ancestors did back on Earth. Throughout the book characters asks whether the birds truly understand what it is they hear and say.
This poses the question whether they really are intelligent. It seems clear that the behaviorist idea of intelligence – that certain kinds of behavior, like using language or solving problems , demonstrate the intelligence of the acting being – misses the crucial genuinely psychological dimension. We expect the behavior to be the output of genuine thought processes. Yet, there is some evidence that our own capacity to speak and understand language are facilitated by innate grammatical knowledge somehow encoded (and hardcoded) into our neurological makeup. That is, the human capability to use language is essentially computational, too.
However, some worries remain. The birds express their belief that there are no genuinely intelligent beings. In their own case, the nanovirus turned them into exceptional pattern-matching tools (as they call themselves) and gave them the storage capacity to obtain the data thus received. From this they extrapolate whatever is appropriate to say at a given point in a conversation. That is, they are basically a biological version of ChatGPT.
The other fascinating topic closely connected with the overall mystery is the question of what is (really) real and the nature of reality itself. The big twists in the final chapters reveal that Kern, Miranda and the birds were trapped in a simulation. Intuitively, the experience they had only seemed real (but were not). Their main question is whether Liff and/or Liff's experiences were real.
For the sake of the argument it's probably fair to assume that, for the entity in the simulation, the experiences were indistinguishable from what they would have been had she been living in the real world. But from an outsider's perspective it might be relevant to distinguish between different environments in which the simulation takes place. The plot itself discusses two different scenarios.
In the first scenario – the one originally presented to the reader (in Part XI) as what really happened – the Enkidu landed on Imir. For some generations, the community struggled to survive, but eventually it becomes clear that the planet won't be able to sustain them. Coincidentally, Liff is the very last survivor before she dies too. For whatever reason, the simulation engine then recreates these events over and over again. The Liff in the simulation was in some sense a copy of the real life that once lived in Landfall.
In the book's final twist it's revealed that the crew never actually made it. There never was a real life; all we can say is that, contrafactually,, there would have been a Liff had things been different. Perhaps, this is exactly what the simulation engine is after, to identify and realize possible scenarios close to what happens in the actual world. It's worth noting that Miranda, a parasite replica that animates an engineered human body, thinks of herself as the real Miranda; and that Avrana Kern, the AI that resulted from the memories and thought patterns of the original scientist and that existed in this form for centuries, thinks of herself as the real Avrana Kern. Does it make a difference that, in this scenario, Liff would not be a copy of an entity perhaps more rightly called real?
I thought that, at least for the most part, the plot itself was quite gripping, too. Bigger reveals await the reader at every corner and there are again some visually striking moments. For instance, I enjoyed their arrival on Rourke where they are suddenly attacked by thousands of seemingly intelligent birds. There was also the scene were the intruders are hanged on the First Tree turned gallows before they suddenly turn into the horrifying creatures the really are.
There were some obvious shortcomings, though. The book is already shorter than the predecessors, but I still felt there was an simulation iteration or two that didn't really add too much to the overall picture. What bothered me even more than in the two previous novels were the extremely lackluster minor characters.
It's probably fair to say that there were quite a few incarnations of Fabian and Portia that had been little more than a name and a job designation; but here they are literally that. Other than the discussion about Tchaikovsky's of the Prime Directive, which Miranda could have had with anyone, they are barely present in the story at all. In the chapters set before their landing on Imir they are annoyingly disinterested in taking any action at all. Why would they even bother to join the crew if they were almost completely indifferent to the planet and its civilization?
Thematically, Children of Memory is perhaps the strongest in the series, yet, even if the plot itself is not quite as tight. I was truly captivated by the overall mystery and I'm sure the final reveal will stay with me for a long time. So, if you felt Children of Ruin was too much of the same – this is something very different, and very excitingly so!
In the near-perfect world of Panga a monk of the order of the Sacred Six struggles to find their purpose. Though originally from a smaller satellite vIn the near-perfect world of Panga a monk of the order of the Sacred Six struggles to find their purpose. Though originally from a smaller satellite village, for all of their adult life Sibling Dex had been living and working as a gardening monk in the city. A sudden urge to leave befell them when they realized that nowhere in the urban environment you would hear the song of a cricket. Eventually, they decide to ask for a change of vocation and to do tea service in the villages.
On the moon of Panga humanity had been living in harmony with nature ever since the Transition. The ideological shift is not explained in any great detail, but the reader is told that our species claims about fifty percent of the one continent's landmass. Outside the city and the villages there are roads, but the rest of the ecosystem remains untouched (or is regarded as sacred even). Energy comes mostly from renewable sources, especially in form of solar energy.
Apparently, there is no great need for luxuries. The Age of Factories – an industry that produces all the stuff we need – is now seen as a terrible mistake. Food is produced as locally as possible and people work as farmers or gardeners (I don't think we learn what other jobs there are). If we can take the fact that computers are built to last forever as representative, there is very little waste. That must be one reason why the oceans remain clean.
In the last paragraph I spoke of there being no great need for luxury goods. Actually, that's an overarching theme of the story, the question of what humans need. Dex is prompted to reflect on the issue when confronted with an outside perspective. But first let me rewind for a moment.
About two hundred years ago it had been robots, not people, who worked in the factories. Suddenly, an event whose origin and meaning still a matter of religious and scientific speculation, the robots grew conscious of their doings. Fortunately, at least the age of slavery was long gone and humanity agreed to leave the newly autonomous agents the decision of what to do next. They wanted to go into the wilderness and our race gave the Parting Promise that we would not seek them out, and there had been no contact ever since.
Recently, there had been a big robot gathering and they decided to see how humanity is doing without them. Which brings me back to where I left off above: One of them, Splendid Speckled Mosscap, volunteered to travel and to learn about what humans need. But even before it (incidentally, it wants to be called "it") makes it to the villages, it runs into Dex who fled into the wilderness.
I'm sure many reviewers have acknowledged how reading the beautiful novella (just look at the beautiful cover artwork!) is like the calming effect of a hot tea after some stressful day. Well, I'm sure all the others put it elegantly. Still, reading about the world is so genuinely peaceful and soothing. It's sometimes said how we would need more positive pictures of the future, something that has the power to inspire hope or even action. Worringly, I can barely think of future-set science fiction that is without violence or even peril.
Dex too often acknowledges the vast gulf between theory and its realization. Or "between having read about doing a thing and doing the thing". For instance: "It was one thing to know people would tell you their troubles. It was another to have an actual flesh-and-blood stranger standing in front of you, weeping profusely as means of introduction, and to know that you—you—were responsible for making this better." Of course, this is a parable. We as a species know what to do save the planet. Individuals know how to pull in their weight. Yet, actually doing something is a much harder feat.
Dex and Mosscap go on a road-trip together. Their interactions are so very sweet and deceptively easy-going. For instance, it's just cute when the two cook together. But throughout the story addresses more intricate issues and even the seemingly innocent scenes can indicate matters of real-world significance. To take up the cooking example, Dex cannot but offer their friend food, of course knowing very well that the robot won't be able to eat. In their childhood home it was common courtesy to share even if there was nothing to spare (which indicates that it's not a society of post-scarcity). Since culture is embodied, going against this programming won't feel right.
During their journey they explicitly ask questions that go to the heart of environmentalism. To take a seemingly silly example, is it okay to wander off the paths? Naturally, if one person or even a few acted against the rule obviously no great damage would come about – and it would be quite convenient for the individuals. But as we all know, if everyone felt free to do as she pleases the damage will be done. And everyone has to suffer the consequences, as does the environment itself (an aggrieved party often left out in political discussions). To Dex it would be sacrilege, and maybe the religious spirit well captures the urgency we should all feel?
Other questions are more philosophical. For instance, given their past relationship, would it be okay for a robot to do work for a human? Dex even feels embarrassed to ask. Yet, there is work only it can do, like a tall person may get something for a smaller person. And it can do things by its own will, like a friend can help another. It may even have its own interest that doesn't result from charity or obligation. I liked how analogies help us to think of the matter.
Robots are not organic, that much is clear. Still, there was an interesting point how they might still mirror nature (and decide to be part of nature or at least nature-like). It has been a long time since the factories, and the original mechanic workers all broke down at one point or another. However, they could fix them. Instead, they take their parts to create new robot individuals (the eponymous wild-builts). It's like how death in nature nourishes other organisms.
What about the central question, what do humans need? As our two heroes rightly point out, it would a builtin purpose. I think we would readily agree that robots were given a purpose by their creators, and – more importantly – that their free will allows them to transcend their purpose. Interestingly, imagine we had been given a purpose by our creator – does our free will empower us similarly? Mosscap tells its friend about different robots that found purpose in mundane things like insect watching (its own passion), and that it's totally fine. I think it is very observant when it points to the isomorphism in the individual human condition.
To Dex this must feel like Jean-Paul Sartre famously put it, that human individuals are condemned to be free. It's up to you to give your life meaning. They tried novelty (they left the comfort of the city to try something new), excellence (they became very good in their new vocation and without much help from others), and making their contribution to the better (people highly cherished their service and it brought them happiness). Their family loves them and they found friendship in the robot. Still, in tears they admit that something is missing. In some respect the story ends on a sad note.
Becky Chambers doesn't offer any ready-made solutions to these often-discussed conundrums (how could she). Yet, her story presents them in a fresh and heart-warming way that in the end is unusually hopeful and upbeat. A Psalm for the Wild-Built is a wonderful read if you are looking for a way to escape the bleak dystopia that dominates the genre – or even the numbing day in, day out that often befalls us. Or it might inspire you to go out and cherish the world worth saving.