by Jason Sacks
From many, one
Few things are more of a mixed blessing to a science fiction fan than a themed collection.
In the right hands – as with the epochal Foundation, The City and Martian Chronicles – the single-author themed collection tells a fascinating story in three dimensions, providing heft to an impact that even a full novel can’t always attain. Brian Aldiss’s new offering Starswarm doesn’t quite reach the levels of Asimov, Simak, or Bradbury but it is nevertheless an intriguing collection well worth reading.
With Starswarm, Aldiss delivers a different type of anthology than the above authors delivered. He explores inner landscapes as much as he does the alien worlds his characters inhabit. While each of these stories seems widely diverse in terms of exploring the complexity of the Starswarm, they nevertheless explore common themes of the dream of freedom, the need to break away from family, and the joy of exploration. In doing so, he makes the alien familiar. No matter how odd these characters may seem on the outside, Aldiss seems to be saying, they nevertheless share very human characteristics. This book helps bolster the assertion that Aldiss has grown into one of the foremost science fiction authors of ideas.
In Aldiss’s imagining, the Starswarm is a confederation of “two hundred and fifteen thousand planets” (as he says) and has lasted for eternities — long enough, in fact, for societies to have evolved in unique and unpredictable ways. This imaginative back-story promises a myriad of intriguing setups for readers, such as the complexities of managing such a diverse collection of planets and the unique biological imperatives of each one.
A look inside
“A Kind of Artistry” is written in a dense, ornate style which aims to approximate its alien argot. I often found the tale tough wading due to the large number of obscure words, but I responded to its powerful themes. This story tells the tale of Derek Ende, who hopes to stay with his Mistress (later shown to also be his mother) in his ancestral home but who is forced to explore the sentient planet the Cliff. In one key moment, the Cliff metaphorically takes Derek into its womb. In his emergence, Derek experiences a metaphorical rebirth made manifest in the story’s haunting final lines. The story can thus be read as a parable about the breakaway to adulthood as much as a tale of space exploration.
“Hearts and Engines” is a story of military conquering, as a brutal invading military force gives its soldiers drugs which turn them into a kind of berserker force abe to fight until their hearts burst. The other twist to this tale is that, as Aldiss writes, “they allow no weapon that cannot be carried by one man.” These warriors transform into other beings, but in doing so they brutalize their planet, their enemy and themselves. This is a thrilling tale which kept me on the edge of my seat as it went along, straight to its tragic ending.
“The Underprivileged” seemed the most clichéd story in the collection to me, a tale whose twist I figured out long before Aldiss turned the metaphorical tiger’s tale. Yet despite that, I found this story powerful. Tinged with disappointment yet with an odd level of sweetness and naïveté, this tale had an oddly intriguing resonance in light of our current post-colonial era in Africa.
“The Game of God” inverts the classic story of an explorer who has gone native with the story of “Daddy” Dangerfield, a man whose rocket ship crashes onto a primitive planet and who has been portrayed in popular fiction of the era as a kind of Tarzan-style adventurer. But Dangerfield is far from the hero people want him to be. This interesting story adroitly contrasts the myths of the heroic adventurer with the reality of a scared, scrawny man who refuses to learn anything about the planet he chooses to inhabit. A reader has to wonder if Aldiss is playing with the cliché of the great explorer, attempting to show that Western man is not fated to be the savior of every culture which seems inferior — a powerful and subtle statement. Aldiss also does an excellent job in this tale of creating a complex alien culture which feels very different from anything most readers can imagine — exactly what science fiction is great at.
“Shards” is easily the most dissonant and difficult story in this collection, a deliberately obscure and off-putting tale with a tiger’s tale ending that aims to redeem it. Though the story didn’t work for me, I admired Aldiss’s commitment to his narrative and the experimental way he explores the nature of human freedom in a world where genetic engineering transforms people into beings God could never have created.
“Legends of Smith’s Burst” is an odyssey of sorts, almost heroic fantasy, encompassing hidden castles, dogged heroes and endless wandering. Interestingly there is no female character at the center of this tale begging to be saved from the arch-villain, but the hero’s drive to succeed permeates everything. There are echoes of Tolkien and Lieber in this tale, though with an interesting science fiction twist.
“A Moon of my Delight” also highlights the selfishness of its protagonists, a ragged band of landholders and traders on a barren moon who are much more concerned with their sexual fulfillment than more spiritual ends. Though not at all sexually explicit, this is a story about adults — how they use and discard each other, how they ignore the things that don’t help them, and how they reluctantly find themselves forced into unwanted heroism. There’s a shocking death near the end of this story which took my breath away with its casual unfeeling style — a powerful moment in a subtly powerful story.
This collection wraps up with “Old Hundredth”, a meditative tale of mentors and mentees, end of lives and the power of music. It’s metaphorical and oddly powerful despite its sometimes obscure style.
Greater than the sum of its parts?
Several years ago my fellow writer Gideon Marcus wrote on this site about Brian Aldiss’s prior themed collection, Galaxies like Grains of Sand. He declared that “the style is inconsistent” and the book “[not] a complete success.” Several GJ commentators wrote in response to Mr. Marcus’s review, “there’s just something missing for me” and “I want to like this collection, and Brian Aldiss as a writer, more than I actually do.”
Perhaps this slim new volume, weak in physical coherence but strong in thematic power, will change the minds of some of my companions on this Galactic Journey. Aldiss takes us on a different journey than Simak, Asimov or Bradbury followed. I found my trip to the Starswarm to be fascinating.
4 stars.
Thank you for a detailed and thoughtful review.
The only one of these stories that I know I have already read is "A Kind of Artistry" from F&SF. It sticks in my mind as very strange and exotic.
I’m glad to see Aldiss is reaching his audience. I agree with you generally about the merit of Aldiss’s stories and with most of your comments on individual stories. About “The Game of God”: it’s not just the account of Dangerfield that is inverted, so is everything else in the story. The intrepid space explorers who land on the world Dangerfield inhabits are from the Planetary Ecological Survey Team—PEST for short. The name of the planet is Kakakakaxo, which sounds a lot like someone gagging in disgust. (Don’t try this at home. Or at least don’t get carried away with it.) The alien civilization is pretty disgusting too, being founded on attempted genocide: each of the aliens has tethered in front of its dwelling two different-looking animals, which on further inquiry prove to be the sexes of the same species—another sentient species—restrained so they can’t mate. (The dominant crocodilians also disembowel members of the other species regularly.) At the end, the PEST-ers go through the crocodilians’ village cutting the tethers and releasing the captives, but admit that human colonization will probably kill off their kind within a couple of generations. So the great SF theme of conquering the universe is without overt comment shown as futile or disgusting at every turn of the story. This is not new for Aldiss; he frequently mocks or kicks the props out from under the devices of SF even as he is using them. See, for example, “The Failed Men” (a/k/a “Ahead”) in his first US collection No Time Like Tomorrow, or “The Pit My Parish” (hard to see actually unless you’ve got back issues of New Worlds—it’s in the January 1958 issue), or for that matter the revelation at the end of the “Hothouse” stories that Earth and Moon are now joined by cobwebs. It seems like Aldiss is in the field but isn’t quite sure he wants to be of it. Remember that mid-‘50s story by C.M. Kornbluth, “The Cosmic Expense Account,” and the absurd posture the characters would assume to ward off the insidious mind control exercised by the insipid self-help writer? Some of Aldiss’s maneuvers remind me of that.