The Worst Book Cover I Have Ever Seen

I read an excellent book recently.

Unfortunately it also has the misfortune of what is pretty close to the worst cover I have ever seen. I’ve owned it for quite a few months now and I still can’t get past just how dreadful it is.

Trying to convince people this book is fucking fantastic is going to be a challenge. But it is.

Trying to convince people this book is fucking fantastic is going to be a challenge. But it is.

Fools is the most genuine examination of identity within the cyberpunk framework that I have ever read. Pat Cadigan has created a very rich world with enough allegories and metaphors that are painfully pointed or sometimes very beautiful. These are layered neatly with literal interpretations, an exploration of the physical consequences of the ability to create false personalities and memories within the brain, all loaded into an excellent action-adventure full of all sorts of fun. It’s not what you’d call dry.

I don’t feel like I’m doing this book justice in that description.

For context I read Fools directly after Slow River by Nicola Griffith and they make for an interesting comparison. I’m not going to go into detail, but these two books exemplify to me what this idea of bio-punk SHOULD be about rather than letting it be led by Paolo Bacigalupi and that fucking awful embarrassment of a book The Windup Girl.

However, moving back to Cadigan, the reason I picked up Fools was I’d just read Synners and this was the only other book of Cadigan’s that I could easily find. For some reason, only one of her books has been put into the Gollancz SF Masterworks, which is a shame, because I think both these books are worthy of it. Book depository tells me Cadigan has an SF gateway omnibus collection featuring Fools, Mindplayers and Tea From An Empty Cup coming out in about four months. It’s basically moved to the top of my ‘to buy’ list.

See a much prettier cover.

See a much prettier cover.

Synners is very much the product of that old-skool cyberpunk period when Cadigan was roped into being the token girl in the boys’ club. Of all the cyberpunk (not much) I have read it does something the other books never managed: it makes the drive for technological post-humanism that all the characters have seem human, humane and relatable. Suddenly, you find yourself able to understand this desire and force, as well as the fun of a tech-ridden world. It doesn’t make hacking into a cool but unintelligible and mysterious dark art – it treats it as a skill and a mindset. It makes them relatable and learnable.

Cadigan fills the book with powerful imagery and concepts, and while some of the repeating phrases are clumsy and a little corny, the themes are kept grounded enough. On top of that, there’s an awareness of the socio-economic consequences that isn’t glossed over, which I think makes it feel more honest. It really hit me writing this. Synners is the book that has made cyberpunk seem like a sub-genre of value to me for more than just it’s hilarious and fun aesthetic (which I love to bits).

Both books are excellent, but Synners is probably an easier book to love. That said, both of these books have aged well, especially in comparison to many of the other cyberpunk novels of that generation. Definitely worth reading.

It’s a shame most of her books don’t seem to be as easily available as Synners.

Where big words are used

I’m going to have to apologise, y’all. I was planning on writing a smart-alec foul-mouthed snark at a text, but then I finished this book and, well, it’s a grown-up book and deserves an attempt at a grown-up review.

Cover of The Rediscovery of Man

I have to admit this was mostly bought because I love these SF Masterwork covers.

I’d never heard of Cordwainer Smith till I picked up The Rediscovery of Man as part of my consumerist quest to have as many as possible of the older SF Masterworks books. It contains a series of short stories all set in the same future universe, at different periods in time and societal development. To be honest I wasn’t expecting much, but I wound up amazed and hooked.

It helps that Smith’s writing is perfect for a geography nerd such as myself. The stories cover different stages of future development in an expanding space empire, a purposeful allegory to colonialism, however it doesn’t just stop there. Moving throughout the various stages of development allows Smith to explore many of his themes, human adaptation, pioneering women, war, technical improvements, fights for equality as well as banishment and punishment for crime. These are all explored through a variety of points of views, across many different settings, allowing a complex understanding through relatively simple tales.

The theme of societal stagnation in the face of immortality and predictability as an exploration into what is needed for happiness was easily my favourite theme in a few of the latter stories and appeared to have the most imaginative handling. That said, the binary assumption that life needs death for meaning is an idea I think I’m getting a little tired of.

This isn’t your usual Star Trek-esque feel-good colonial ‘help the savages’ exploration fortunately. Smith uses his ‘underpeople’ as a metaphor for race, their animal origins an uncomfortable reminder, for me a white Australian, of how other races were* treated in British expansion and settlement. Some of these stories do ‘fail’ a little, but I certainly felt that often the flaws were a result of combining too many layers of metaphor and too many thoughts into relatively short and concise stories exploring too many issues. The main surprise, really, is how well and implicitly most of the themes have been built into the universe, rather than the awkwardly explicit tacked-on feel many well-intentioned stories attempting these themes have.

Even the most problematic story is still thought-provoking and ambiguous enough to work for a more modern reader, I think. Titled ‘The Crime and Glory of Commander Suzdal’, the plot centres around the idea of a planet in which ‘femininity becomes carcinogenic’ creating a one-gendered world. The story, on the surface, appears surprisingly homophobic and transphobic, and is somewhat out of place among the other stories. I’m not sure if this is a case where Smith was intending an allegory that is now a little lost as an unintentional but more literal meaning has been created/made more obvious through time, or it’s genuinely hateful in theme. In any case, I’ve read the story twice over and I’m still confused as to what the moral actually was, so I’m hesitant to be too harsh.

You can see how his stories influenced other writers too. The cover has quotes from Pratchett, Baxter and Le Guin telling everyone how inspiring and inventive his stories are. It’s not exactly a great stretch to compare the above story about a planet on which there is only one gender to Le Guin’s Left Hand of Darkness, and I’m sure a more detailed comparison would show more of its influence over the Hanish Cycle novels. This is probably a large part of the reason why I enjoyed these stories so much, actually – it’s that the grains of much greater stories are there were waiting to be developed beyond just colonialist allegory, even one as sophisticated as this one is.

I’m a little afraid I got too caught up in this book to be properly critical, I’d love to hear or read what other people have thought of Smith’s writing.

(*) I am using the past tense in a sort of wistful hope here.