Laurabelle's Blog

Last week Jeff and I checked out Total Recall from the Oakland Public Library. Jeff thinks this is one of the few passable movies involving Schwarzenegger (if not the only one); I’m not sure I would be so generous with my praise.

In any case, the point of this post is not to critique Arnie’s acting. The point is that this is a movie about humans on Mars.

By chance I ordered Out of the Silent Planet and Perelandra at the same time. And I do mean chance; I had absolutely no idea what these books were about when I ordered them, only that they were written by C. S. Lewis, that Jeff had read and liked Out of the Silent Planet, and that we owned the third book of the trilogy and thus that I was obligated to lay my hands on the first two before opening the last.

Out of the Silent Planet is a member of the first, classic generation of science fiction, where almost nothing was known about the conditions in the deep ocean or on the other planets in our solar system, and therefore fantasy was allowed to roam freely where it is now lamentably restricted by fact. For example, the hero of Lewis’ novel simply pokes his head out of his spaceship and breathes freely of the Martian atmosphere.

Anyone familiar with the premise of Total Recall cannot fail to be struck by the contrast. Still, I would be hard pressed to concede that the post-moon-landing movie is any more realistic than Lewis’ seventy-year-old tale.

The Left Hand of Darkness is a winner of the Hugo and Nebula awards and Le Guin's if-you-don't-read-anything-else-you-must-read-this. In her introduction she calls the book a thought-experiment, and I find that a good description. The story is about a world where the human inhabitants are completely androgynous and about the effects that such a physiology has on their culture. It is a fascinating question, and I think her answer is logical, credible, and realistically depicted.

I found it difficult to interest myself in the first one or two chapters, but then the plot became more interesting, and I started to identify with the main character, Genly Ai, an envoy from an inter-planet organization to this androgynous world. I understood his culture shock and especially the unexpected, unpleasant reverse culture shock of seeing true women and men after years surrounded by androgyny.

I'm not sure whether I think androgyny, if possible, would be a good idea or not, but considering the idea has certainly made me think differently about sex and gender. Even though the book consistently emphasized that the inhabitants of this planet are both sexes, or perhaps neither, I couldn't help filing them into male gender roles in my mind. This was perhaps exacerbated by the fact that our language lacks appropriate pronouns (he? she? it? all inappropriate). Androgyny is truly a mind-bending concept.

I don't have a lot to say in a review/commentary of Fahrenheit 451. I particularly don't have anything intelligent to say along the lines of literary analysis. For me, the interesting thing about the book is the rough sketch it gives of a world with no books and thus no libraries.

A few weeks ago I read Sheri S. Tepper's newest novel, The Fresco. I don't think Tepper is the world's greatest science fiction novelist, but I like the ideas that she plays with in her novels. I don't necessarily think that those ideas are correct, feasible, or even desirable, but after all, that's what thought experiments are about.

The Fresco's big what if question is the same as Arthur C. Clarke's in Childhood's End. What would it be like if aliens landed on earth, took over, and solved all our problems?

Tepper's scenario is full of deliciously poetic justice. An ugly plague in Afghanistan transforms all the women into monsters (to all eyes but their own) until their freedoms are returned. Wealthy conservative male pro-lifers are used as hosts for the children of aliens who rationalize that these men have publicly expressed their views on the sanctity of life above all other concerns of career, health, etc. It's fabulous to imagine all my political enemies getting exactly what they deserve.

On the other hand, the plot is in some respect merely a string of poetic justices, unrelated except that most of them pertain to women's rights, without a strong guiding current of its own. But if Tepper's story is lacking, her characters are warm, believable, and real. I find it incredibly easy to identify with Benita, Tepper's heroine with two college-age children and an abusive husband. Benita could hardly be less like me, but I identify with her anyway.

So if you're like me (fed up with war-mongering, tax- and benefits-cutting, and disregard for human rights), this is the book for you. Women are the heroes and Republicans the villains; what could be more satisfying?