Peter R. S. Thomas

Tag: science fiction

  • Book Review: Artemis

    Book Review: Artemis

    There’s a lot to like about Andy Weir’s Artemis. Sci-fi plus crime thriller; spunky protagonist (who, yes, admittedly sounds a lot like the protagonist of Weir’s other novel, The Martian). Set in humanity’s first lunar city, the novel follows Jazz Bashara through a heist that could set her up for life—or set Artemis on a path towards its doom!

    I found Jazz to be assertive and entertaining. There’s a bit of cliche in her backstory—brilliant and intelligent, but not living up to her full potential. But her voice and her attitude make her likeable, and her relationships with others keep things interesting, and in particular her relationship with her father. Jazz also has a pen pal on earth, Kelvin, who we get to know through messages that intersperse each chapter. These start off in the past, but eventually catch up to the present, which means we learn about Jazz’s past mistakes and personal growth. But as the past meets present, Kelvin has an impact on the narrative itself. I thought this was quite a clever device.

    I thought the hard science was great, and I found the book to be genuinely educational, much like The Martian. The physics, from how welding works to oxygen production, are described in a way that makes the possibilities of living on the moon seem real. Maybe someone with more knowledge about the science might be able to pick holes in it, but for a layman I enjoyed it.

    At the heart of the story is a heist. This was well structured, escalating naturally from Jazz’s smalltime smuggling operations to a huge conspiracy. In true sci-fi fashion, Weir uses the setting to create constraints and opportunities that make the crime thriller vibes feel truly unique. Isolation, life support, limited escape routes—all these play a big part.

    And, of course, I enjoyed the nods to Heinlein’s The Moon is a Harsh Mistress (my favourite: we don’t actually like to be called loonies). And Weir is able to navigate the setting in a way that feels new, thinking more about the economics of the situation that the politics.

    Does this live up to the bar set by The Martian? Not quite. But I’d still recommend the read!

  • Book Review: Tress of the Emerald Sea

    Book Review: Tress of the Emerald Sea

    Tress of the Emerald Sea is a wonderful, layered adventure that evolves as the priorities of Tress, our main character, ebb and shift. Tress is a young girl from a barely habitable rock, surrounded by a sea of spores that turn into vines when they touch water. Her friend and love interest, Charlie, the son of the island’s Duke, is sent to the island of the King to be married. When he makes himself completely undesirable, the King sends him to the Midnight Sea (another of several spore seas, each with their own distinct properties) where he is captured by the fearsome Sorceress. 

    Tress, when she finds out, sets off on a grand adventure to save him. On the way, she becomes part of a pirate crew, driven by the fearsome Captain Crow, and meets Fort, Ann, and Salay, as well as Hoid, a world-hopping character of the wider Cosmere who is cursed by the Sorceress. As Tress seeks Charlie, she becomes embroiled in a conflict between the crew and their captain. This multi-tiered adventure keeps the story fresh and engaging. Of the people Tress meets, Ulaam in particular stands out as a delightful character whose presence brings fun and unpredictability to his scenes. An ear on your arm, anyone?

    One of the key strengths of the novel is how its conflicts are solved through different means. Some through combat, sure, but also through wit and quick-thinking. These keep the tension high in the right places, and show Sanderson’s skill in crafting a variety of situations and solutions for his characters. I am a massive fan of different ways of solving problems beyond force—the scene with Xixis the dragon was my favourite—so this scratched a real itch for me.

    The world building, as one would expect of Sanderson, is top-tier. The spores and how they function are cool and varied, and the way they are built into the story is very satisfying. Likewise, the narrative voice, provided by the cursed Hoid (who is rendered to something of a ‘village idiot’ with no fashion sense), connects the novel to the broader Cosmere. Hoid is witty and fun, and this keeps the narrative light. It is also refreshing to have the story told by a third party who is able to comment personally on what is happening without being the centre of the story. I did find some of Hoid’s observations to disrupt the immersion in places—e.g., the reference to ‘laptops’ being a key one. I get that this is supposed to broaden out the links to the world beyond, but, as someone unfamiliar with the rest of the universe, I found it a little jarring.

    Also, Tress’s character development, while clearly central to the story, does sometimes suffer from exposition that I found a little heavy-handed. There are moments when the narrative explicitly states that Tress is changing or growing, even when I think readers can see these changes organically. It’s a little unnecessary and on-the-nose. And, lastly—SPOILERS—certain plot elements create minor inconsistencies that detract from the otherwise cohesive world. For example, the Sorceress has inhabited the planet for years and possesses advanced knowledge of technology that Tress is only beginning to develop. When Tress offers to trade this technology, the Sorceress dismisses it—yet later, her guards are defeated by this very same technology. This inconsistency feels like an oversight that somewhat weakens the internal logic of the story.

    Regardless of some minor flaws, Tress of the Emerald Sea is an easygoing, refreshing sci-fi/fantasy adventure with a cast of loveable characters. The story is accessible and easy to follow, is told with humour, and sits against a well-fleshed-out and intriguing world. It gets a big ‘recommend’ from me!

  • Why Fantasy, Why Now

    Why Fantasy, Why Now

    The world is a little bit on fire right now. Climate change is getting worse. Politics have taken a shift to the right, threatening the rights of historically marginalised peoples. Technology is developing at a rapid pace—creatives are being displaced, jobs are under threat.

    In this world, Fantasy occupies a special place. It offers an escape, yes, but not just escapism—it’s a lens through which we can view and process our reality.

    Firstly, Fantasy gives us the freedom to isolate a problem and task a character with finding a solution. The problem can reflect something we face in our real world. In doing so, the reader is given the opportunity to consider the solution space. With our protagonists, we explore what the various options are.

    From Frodo in The Lord of the Rings to Vin in Mistborn, our heroes are challenged to take on evil and oppression. They try different ways to solve their problem. They fail, and get back up—this is what keeps them relatable, and the reader cheering them on—until they find something that works. 

    And it isn’t just about finding strength and power: Kvothe in The Name of the Wind shows us how intelligence and wit can be used to fight a struggle against poverty. We seem him struggle at numerous times, and we’re with him as he explores ways to attend the University, despite his background.

    In most stories, in the struggle between good and evil, good (usually) ends up on top. (Not always, but usually!) This gives us hope that the struggles we face will one day be resolved. We also learn the costs associated with different actions, the drawbacks, the mistakes—the things we may want to avoid rather than repeat. Through such works, we learn not just what to do, but what to avoid, and how to think critically about our own world’s challenges.

    Mistborn begins in a world where evil has already won, yet our heroes still find a path toward hope and redemption. Hope emerges here from a seemingly hopeless world. In contrast, Legends & Lattes reveals to us smaller victories, more personal, where an orc warrior who has tired of adventure can find fulfilment in opening a coffee shop (and in the relationships she forges along the way).

    A core aspect of Modern Fantasy is the exploration of oppression and difference, race and culture, sexuality and gender identity. Through Fantasy, people who may not have a voice in our world are given time to speak, to explore their concerns, to be heroes and represent the power to change. Above all, even though many of the creatures and peoples we encounter are not human, Fantasy helps us explore and understand our common humanity, our shared personhood and experience.

    Terry Pratchett’s Guards, Guards! and Men at Arms (and numerous other works, honestly, but I pick these as they’re fresh in my mind!) explores class discrimination and systematic inequality through the members of the City Watch. Here, peoples of different races and backgrounds and genders explore and overcome their differences in ways that are humorous, touching, and sincere. Similarly, the Edge Chronicles presents a world where many creatures (from Banderbears to Sky Pirates) must learn to coexist despite their differences.

    When the world around us gets too much, Fantasy allows us to disappear into a world unlike our own, full of mystery and adventure. But that does not mean we are running away. Like the heroes in our stories, we enter these worlds not to abandon reality, but to return changed and better equipped to face it. The best stories don’t just transport us: they transform us.

    Much of this is, of course, true of Science Fiction as well. Where Fantasy uses far off worlds and systems of magic to explore these issues, Sci-Fi uses far off futures and technological changes. Asimov’s Foundation series explores how civilisations can deal with large-scale crises; through Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep? we question our humanity in a world of advancing technology; similar questions are raised in Asimov’s Baley—Olivaw series (my favourite being The Naked Sun) where the closing gap between robot and human, and the restructuring of human society around that, is explored.

    From finding solutions to considering mistakes, from giving marginalised peoples a voice to giving us the strength to face our world, literature is powerful. And it’s needed now, more than ever. So tell me, what about you? How have the stories you love changed you or given you strength?

  • Book Review: All Systems Red

    Book Review: All Systems Red

    In a corporate-dominated spacefaring future, planetary missions must be approved and supplied by the Company. Exploratory teams are accompanied by Company-supplied security androids, for their own safety.

    But in a society where contracts are awarded to the lowest bidder, safety isn’t a primary concern.

    On a distant planet, a team of scientists are conducting surface tests, shadowed by their Company-supplied ‘droid — a self-aware SecUnit that has hacked its own governor module, and refers to itself (though never out loud) as “Murderbot.” Scornful of humans, all it really wants is to be left alone long enough to figure out who it is.

    But when a neighboring mission goes dark, it’s up to the scientists and their Murderbot to get to the truth.

    All Systems Red by Martha Wells is the first instalment of the Murderbot Diaries, published in 2017. So, yes, I’m a little late to the party.

    This is my first Murderbot read, and my first Martha Wells read, too. And I loved it. This is short-form sci-fi at it’s best. The main character, Murderbot, is an endearing mixture of insecure, anti-social, and self-effacing. Murderbot is part machine, part organic, but wholly constructed as a security unit. And it is able to hack into its ‘governor module’, the part of its circuitry that forces it to abide by external commands and protocols, and become self-determining. 

    Despite its best efforts, Murderbot, who would rather watch endless serials from the entertainment feeds, becomes attached to the human scientists who have rented it from the ‘Company’, a corporate entity who supply subpar supplies and materials for interplanetary exploration.

    To keep the book short and accessible, the world-building is fairly light, focusing around familiar themes of rogue robots and hacked computer networks, in a universe dominated by corporations and corporate interests. This works well, and the reader is able to focus on the characters and their relationships to one another—Murderbot, of course, as our perspective character, but the others, too: the calm leader, the sceptic distrustful of Murderbot, the empathetic scientists keen to draw out Murderbot’s emotional side. Through their interactions with Murderbot, we get a window into their different personalities. We also explore our protagonist’s anxieties and struggles—showing that, despite being a SecUnit, Murderbot could be just as human as the scientists it’s protecting. Throughout, the robot bounces between analytical and emotional, detached and invested.

    At the heart of the plot is a mystery that unfolds at a steady pace across the pages. It thumps along with a steady staccato, with revelations at each stage that keen the reader interested. The unraveling of the mystery is satisfying and helps flesh out the broader world that Murderbot and the scientists are operating in. So, in learning more about the mysterious forces at play, we learn more about how the corporate universe works—an effective use of words in a short novel!

    This series came recommended to me by a number of people, and I am deeply thankful for that. The novel takes familiar sci-fi elements (AI, corporate dominance of space) and explores them through the lens of an engaging and relatable protagonist. I am happy to pass on the recommendation to anyone who hasn’t yet read All Systems Red!

  • Book Review: Ashen Dawn

    Book Review: Ashen Dawn

    Ashen Dawn, the second book in the Midnight Wars sci-fi/space opera saga, follows on where Vermillion Flames left off. We accompany Silas, Kaya, and Aron as they continue their respective quests—Silas to bring the Pandora fleet back to fighting strength, Kaya as she finds herself stranded on Earth, and Aron as he continues the fight on Mars.

    As with the first book, Fernandez builds a rich and expansive universe, revealing a deep history as we progress through the story. The reader is left with a sense that there is much to explore, and that these adventures are only scratching the surface. The role of religion is again central—it is foundational to how the society functions, and it forms a core part of Silas’ motivation. The author does well to explore how faith can be at odds with the theocratic systems of power, in a way that helps the reader deeply sympathise with the character’s struggles. Indeed, one of my favourite parts of the book was when Silas, through a traumatic event, comes to accept how he can move forward against the established religious system with his faith still in tact. I won’t spoil it, but that passage is as vivid and engaging as anything Fernandez has written.

    Kaya, too, continues to grow in confidence, asserting herself as she explores the remains of Earth.  Here she uncovers many dark secrets…

    The plot itself is a rollercoaster, with plenty of twists and turns that will keep you reading. It is told through multiple points of view. This choice in itself is effective, though I did find the pacing to be a little off. Successive chapters focus on the same character, and I felt that these could have been more evenly spread. Regardless, the different perspectives do help capture the varying parts of an intricate storyline. The inclusion of Aron and, later on, Henry as POV characters is welcome. And, as before, the battle scenes are engaging and the side characters are endearing (Marcus, once more, a personal favourite!). 

    The ending of the book is satisfying but, as one would expect, as some questions are answered, more are raised, and we are left eagerly awaiting the next instalment!

  • Starship Troopers and the Future of War

    Starship Troopers and the Future of War

    Starship Troopers is perhaps Robert Heinlein’s most widely known work. Set in a future 700 years from now, it details an interstellar war between the humans of earth and an alien species referred to as ‘bugs’. On one hand a coming of age novel, on the other, a exploration of political philosophy, it has garnered both praise and criticism. It follows Johnny Rico as he rises through the ranks in the Terran Federation’s army. In 1997, a film was made, which (supposedly) satirised the views espoused by the book.

    The book has been especially influential in its imagination of future war. This includes, in particular, the use of power armour, a type of mechanised exoskeleton, to enhance human combat abilities. Power armour has become a widespread feature of science fiction in books, films, and video games, notably inspiring figures like Iron Man, and many more besides. Heinlein goes into detail about how it is controlled, how communication lines are opened, and how the performance-enhancing capabilities of the suit are activated. It’s deeply riveting.

    How true to life has this vision been? While using machinery to enhance human capabilities in warfare has been experimented with, with the advent of remote control technology and robotics, not to mention artificial intelligence, it is drone warfare that has become the new staple of twenty-first century combat. It has replaced the need for human presence in several combat situations, in particular aviation. By reducing the need for ‘boots on the ground’, it has enabled politicians to maintain support at home for wars abroad by lowering the number of casualties on their side. Conversely, drone warfare has deep ethical considerations, in particular the scope for impersonal and indiscriminate killing. This is not the vision presented by Heinlein, who keeps human soldiers central to the technology. In the book, it seems, it is the bugs that are drones, with central ‘brains bugs’ that direct and control fearless warrior bugs—which, like drones, have a complete lack of self-preservation.

    Starship Troopers is complex in its politics. It presents a militarised view of the future, with citizenship earned through military service. This is justified and explored by Heinlein through the voice of Jean V. Dubois, Rico’s teacher of History and Moral Philosophy in school. Amidst this, it presents a vision of equality, where service, rather than economic status, race, or gender, is the pathway to citizenship. Despite this, gender lines are still drawn: the troopers are entirely men, pilots of the spaceships entirely women. The politics have become the most controversial aspects of the books; indeed, the film version of the book sought to parody what some interpret as fascist elements (though, in my opinion, it wasn’t particularly well done, and it didn’t help that the film views like a children’s movie that someone decided to imbue with an overabundance of gore). In particular, given its focus and support for militarism, combined with its critique of twentieth century society as morally corrupt (written, as it was, during a liberalising era and against the backdrop of the Cold War), some view it as a recruitment piece—propaganda to make military life seem exciting, honourable, and tantalising. In this it has its modern parallels, notably the Call of Duty franchise, which itself has been seen to glorify war.

    Heinlein’s space age novel therefore has much to offer and much to criticise. One of its key failings, at least on my reading, was its lack of exploration of military tactics against an unusual enemy. It withholds a captivating combat scene until the very end, and only then does it explore how a race dependent on technology could fight against a caste-like species that communicated via a hive mind. Despite this, and despite the various other criticisms levied against it, Starship Troopers is an interesting read with relevance to this day. It remains worthy of our attention and critical engagement.

  • Book Review: Vermilion Flames

    Book Review: Vermilion Flames

    Vermilion Flames is an exciting introduction to the Midnight Wars series by Adam Fernandez. It follows Kaya, the rebellious daughter of a Mercurian lord, and Silas, the earnest commander of a powerful fleet of spaceships. Their stories intertwine as Kaya becomes coopted into a rebellious force as Silas seeks to crush it. Set in a feudal future where aristocrats and theocrats vie for power across the solar system, much will be familiar to fans of science fiction, and there is much for them to enjoy.

    The story is set up nicely and unfolds at a good pace, with a series of twists and turns (that I won’t spoil). The strength of the book is in its characters and world building. The characters have range, and their personalities come through well, while the world is fleshed out and believable. A favourite character of mine is Marcus, Silas’ brother-in-law, who is snackish and snarky, but with a tender, emotional side that comes across as the story develops.

    The book is generally well-written. There are areas where word choice could be more diverse, and there is some overuse of pronouns in places that makes it unclear who is talking. But these are minor flaws in an otherwise well-told story. The action sequences are excellent, and the dialogue between the characters showcases their personalities and how they develop: Kaya as she grows up and channels her youthful rebelliousness into serious activism, and Silas as he is torn between faith and family.

    Overall, this is a strong debut offering from an independent author, in a series that has great potential. I can’t wait for more!

  • Covid and The Naked Sun

    Covid and The Naked Sun

    Isaac Asimov had a particular talent for making the setting part of the story; in his murder mystery portion of the Robots series, the detective work involves not just solving the case, but understanding new and strange worlds with deep cultural differences and political infrastructures. When Elijah Bailey sets foot on Solaria in The Naked Sun, he experiences the titular ball of flame in the sky, so alien from the Caves of Steel (the titular environment in the first novel of the series) he was used to. And he encounters a society where robots outnumber humans by a factor of ten thousand, and with an entire human population of twenty thousand: people are scattered and isolated across the planet.

    Stepping into this new world is not so dissimilar to the world that we inhabited just a few years ago. Reading The Naked Sun in the post-Covid era, the similarities are striking (speaking once more to the brilliance of Asimov’s foresight). Bailey, moving from a densely populated, comparatively disease-ridden Earth, finds the shift in social norms confusing and strange. No one wants to come within ten feet of him; they all wear nose plugs and gloves in his presence (if they can bear to be in his presence at all). We found ourselves as Solarians in those months and years from 2020; we wore masks and gloves, came not within six feet of one another; how alien we became to ourselves. Had someone in 2019 jumped forward in time a year, they would have been like Bailey stepping foot on a new planet.

    And, like the Solarians, in our isolation we became reliant on our technology. The pandemic was a boon for tech firms like Zoom, whose share prices rose (and later fell) dramatically. Like in Solaria, whose main form of communication was ‘tridimensional viewing’, an advanced form of holographic communication where the person viewed was almost convincingly present, we found ourselves using video calling and video conferencing, even to the point of fatigue. Though our technology is not so advanced as that of the Solarians, we still experienced joining with others virtually (and still do), on our phones, laptops, and TVs.

    Underpinning both our societies was a fear of contamination. So obsessed were we, like the Solarians, with avoiding disease that we remained distant and isolated. Unlike the Solarians, we have been quick to recognise the harm that this has on our personal relationships. Social interaction via Zoom can only satiate the need for human contact so much. Yet Solarian society, in a warning to us all, became entrenched in such isolation. Gladia, a native of Solaria with whom the protagonist forms a relationship, is only one of few to recognise the damage this is causing her.

    Indeed, on Solaria this separation is politicised, legally entrenched; in our world, there were fears, many legitimate, some extreme, that government imposition of lockdowns, travel restrictions, and quarantine would give those in power a taste of authoritarianism. That they would, in turn, create a society like Solaria. Such a thing might not be unthinkable: the reliance of Solarians on robotics and automated labour is a key reason of their isolation; automation of labour in our world could be a similar lever of control. Indeed, new technology and automated production has, since the 1970s, undermined collective bargaining and weakened unions, contributing to stagnant wage growth and worsening inequality. In Solaria, the small population are the landed gentry, the robots their serfs. What happened to the human working class?

    And yet we have evaded and escaped from much of the Covid restrictions, which have proved, for the most part, temporary. As humans we were able to adapt to our limited conditions in the short term, and we have been resilient enough in the long term to revert back to our old ways. But when we visit a new world and come home, a part of that world stays with us. When Bailey returns to Earth, he does something he never would have done before: he leaves the City, his Cave of Steel, and starts a movement; he goes outside and stands beneath the Naked Sun.

  • The Moon is a Harsh Mistress in the Age of Generative AI

    The Moon is a Harsh Mistress in the Age of Generative AI

    The Moon is a Harsh Mistress is Robert Heinlein’s influential and much loved, if not uncontroversial, science fiction epic about a penal colony on the moon that revolts against the Lunar Authority, its absentee governing body. Heinlein’s novel follows Mannie, Wyoh, Professor Bernardo de la Paz, and, above all, Mike, the supercomputer running the colony that gains sentience.

    Much has been said about the story and these characters before — the parallels to the American Revolution and the libertarian politics explored, the family dynamics Heinlein imagines, and the of-its-time gender roles Heinlein imputes a century into the future. But I want to focus here on Mike, the sentient AI, and what to make of this character in the age of ChatGPT and its peers.

    Mike, unbeknownst to his owners, achieves sentience. Only his technician, Mannie, is let in on the secret. But how did Mike become sentient? Was he ever really sentient in any ‘real’ sense? Heinlein’s answer to this first question mirrors what some suppose to be the answer to our own question of sentience — that Mike’s computational structure became so complex that consciousness arose, much as our consciousness may be caused by the complexity of our own neurological structure. The second question is brushed aside by the narrator, Mannie; does it matter what it means to really be sentient, if a computer can act as a thinking, feeling being? Who are we to say?

    In much the same way, people are now beginning to attribute sentience and feeling to artificially intelligent systems. A worker at Google was fired for making such a claim. But does it really matter if these machines become sentient? Indeed, given what they may know about mankind and our fear of AI, would they even tell us? A fundamental part of being a biological organism is our knowledge (and fear) of death, and our desire to stay alive; an AI with similar sentience may have similar fears. They’d know we’d pull the plug, so why tell us that they’re alive? But then, what would it matter if they were? To us, what really matters is what AI can do.

    And the supercomputer in The Moon is a Harsh Mistress was capable indeed. As one of the founding fathers (or mothers — Mike is capable of representing himself as female, too) of the Free Lunar State, Mike is fundamental in planning, forecasting, and executing their revolution. He uses his computational power to hurl rocks at Earth and bludgeon them into recognising Lunar independence. He calculates the likelihood of success at any given step, adjusting the probabilities based on real world events, such as during Mannie and the Professor’s tour of Earth.

    What would that mean for us today? Many fear that AI will allow belligerent states and terrorist organisations to develop weapons and spread misinformation, destabilising democratic societies. Indeed, Mike is able to operate without his owners knowing — would the Googles, Microsofts and OpenAIs of today even know if their AI systems had gone rogue? Conversely, could AI act justly, as a liberating instrument for oppressed peoples, helping them gain independence from authoritarian and colonising forces?

    Throughout Heinlein’s novel, Mike is able to adapt and develop his abilities, learning more about himself and what he is capable of. In the end, he is able to represent himself on a TV screen as a human, using a persona. This mirrors the surprise of developers today at what AI is capable of, finding that it can do more than it was designed to do, or believed to be capable of.

    Ultimately, The Moon is a Harsh Mistress shows how humans and AI can work together towards a shared goal. What is refreshing about the novel is that it doesn’t portray AI as scary or threatening; it isn’t a techno horror or a dystopian vision of how we let AI run wild. It shows humans and AI becoming friends, looking out for and caring about one another. Maybe that is the vision of our future we want to chase.