Inherit the Stars

Although we usually avoid some hard science fiction, Hogan's Inherit the Stars throws a number of intriguing scientific mysteries at the reader that are bound to pique everyone's interest. Humans in the late 2020s, beginning to expand beyond the Moon, uncover the remains of a man who died 50,000 years ago. A team of various scientists, linguists, and other specialists, operating under a department of UNSA, begin to investigate what turns out to be the origins of Charlie (the deceased man whose belongings and body is subjected to various tests, revealing him to be essentially human). Anyone familiar with the well-worn tropes of science fiction may guess where this is heading, but Hogan's story handles it well through the likable protagonist, Hunt, an English specialist who is able to collate information from various specialist departments. His willingness to think outside the box make him invaluable, although the novel nicely preserves one of its largest revelations to Danchekker, a biologist who was once an "enemy" of sorts to Hunt. The main flaw appears in the plot, which is advanced through Hunt or others encountering and rethinking conceptualizing evidence after getting stumped. But at one point, the plot inexplicably jumps forward after Hunt accepts Caldwell's secretary's idea of a calendar found in the papers of Charlie. This is somehow followed by sudden leap forward to the cracking of much of the "Lunarian" language and their origins on a planet called Minerva. This sudden advance in the plot is a bit rushed, although the overall novel is a "fun" exploration of a scientific mystery. Even the conclusion in which northern Sudan appears to have played an important role in human history was done well and humorously (Hogan's sense of humor is delightful here).

The Moon Is a Harsh Mistress

Robert Heinlein's classic novel of rebellion and the birth of a nation on the Moon is a classic for good reason. Humorous, engaging, suspenseful, thought-provoking, and a masterpiece of world-building, one is completely absorbed into this fascinating setting and its unique language, style, and revolution. Narrated through the perspective of one of the leaders of the revolution that led to the Moon's independence, Manuel, looking back on his life in the distant future, the reader sees how an ordinary (for the Moon) man can become part of history. Indeed, his friend, Mike, the supercomputer whose role in the Moon's secession from Earth's authority was indispensable, often refers to Manuel simply as "Man." In addition to Manuel, whose grit, everyday dedication, and deep roots in the penal colony make him an effective part of the revolutionary leadership, a beautiful woman named Wyoh, an elderly "Prof" with a past in fomenting revolution on Earth, and a wealthy Terran ally round out the rest of the team. 

What truly made the revolution possible was the help of Mike, the aforementioned supercomputer with sentience. Serving as a friend to Mike and then part of the leadership of the Free Luna movement, Mike is their superweapon. As an advanced computer, he can calculate trajectories for catapulting rock on Earth, use his connections to spy on communications of the Lunar Authority, and check probabilities for various scenarios throughout the revolution. Prof Bernardo, an anarchist with a deep historical and practical experience, represents the basic ideology of the revolution and tries to steer it toward a limited government. Wyoh, the initial leader of the first organization to free Luna, is also important but is somewhat sidelined later on. Man, or Manuel, plays a vital role throughout since he influenced how the Free Luna movement began with cells, and then, when Mike was not around, led the movement for independence to its final showdown with Terra. Ultimately, the Moon had no chance against Earth, but needed to engage in a combination of political theater, threats, and the image of being a bigger threat than it actually was to force the authorities on Terra to concede independence.

Through the lens of science fiction, Heinlein's own political perspective and view of what government can and should be seems clear. Although not a left-wing anarchist by any means, one can immediately detect a libertarian bias. The residents of the Moon, overwhelmingly descendants of convicts exiled by Terra and placed under the ineffective Lunar Authority which only buys grain at a fixed price, have developed a unique society to adapt to the harsh conditions of the Moon. Since men were outnumbered by women, co-marriages and distinct marriage customs evolved, perhaps best exemplified in Manuel's family with co-husbands and co-wives. Since the settlers of the Moon hailed from various races and ethnic groups on Earth, racial miscegenation is common. Russian words are also a part of everyday English on the Moon. The people of Luna have also learned to function largely without government. Through contracts between individuals, learning to survive in a harsh environment to find resources or start farms, and, when possible, avoiding the Lunar Authority and its ineffective Warden, the people of the Moon are a "nation." Furthermore, like the people of the United States in its Revolutionary War, the residents of the Moon are unfairly "taxed" by the Lunar Authority's control of the Moon's potentially lucrative trade with Terra in a free market. 

Clearly, Heinlein's novel espouses a libertarian perspective in which government intervention is minimal. While the Free Luna movement later establishes a Republic (through elections controlled by Mike and then the established Congress steered in the "right" direction by Prof to avoid it influencing the conflict with Terra), and symbolically draws on the Fourth of July, Prof, Manuel, and Wyoh do not want a strong, central authority after independence. Ineffectual yammerheads in this early Congress who do nothing but criticize and do not serve in any military capacity to defend Luna when Terran forces strike are severely criticized by Manuel, too, who threatens to resign when confronted by one in a committee. It seems that, to Heinlein (and Manuel), military service was essential for having a true say in the Revolution. The ultimate sacrifice, one might say, which many Luna men, women and even children do to defeat Terran troops sent to quell the revolt. Moreover, the ends justifies the means since our protagonists had to manipulate both sides with controlled media, deception, bluffing, fake elections, and grand-scale theft for funding. Yet, this type of limited government/libertarian ethos can only work in a setting in which a century of adaptation to difficult living conditions without strong central authority for most of the period have instilled  certain values, cooperative and extended kinship networks, and generations of ethnic/racial miscegenation. On overcrowded Terra, such an arrangement is impossible. Even in the United States, whose independence movement was an inspiration for Free Luna, race still serves as an obstacle to social unity while the overcrowded population suffers from exploitative and ineffective governments headed by the Federated Nations. In other words, libertarianism can work, but one must have both the cultural and economic bases for it established. This includes the understanding that there is no such thing as a free lunch, meaning the people of the Moon will not view government as a provider, unlike governments on Terra (like in overcrowded India, which relies heavily on grain imported from the Moon).

Sadly, the character of Mike is the most interesting and depressing of the novel. The only sentient computer, and more human-like throughout the novel as "he" gains friends, shares jokes, and even takes on a human persona as "Adam Selene" to help lead the revolution, Mike unfortunately disappears by the novel's conclusion. Perhaps this was necessary so the new nation of the Moon could truly act autonomously and take its destiny in its own hands. Nonetheless, it felt like a cop out and never addressed the possibility of other computers gaining sentience and perhaps having a voice in government. Furthermore, Mike had arguably become even more human throughout the novel, which would have been interesting if his "true" identity had been revealed after independence. Did Mike view the whole enterprise as "fun" and have chose to disengage from government? Would future advances in technology, perhaps with Mike along to nudge things, have led to more sentient computers capable of accelerating research for colonization of other planets and satellites? 

A Memory Called Empire

Arkady Martine's A Memory Called Empire was recommended to us a few years ago by an avid science fiction reader. We purchased a copy last year and recently read the novel. It's an excellent example of science fiction borrowing from the history of empires to craft engaging space operas or tales of galactic imperial sagas. In this case, Martine has drawn from both the Roman/Byzantine Empire (like Asimov in Foundation) and the Aztecs. A number of words in the Teixcalaanli Teixcalaanli Empire's language are clearly inspired by Nahuatl, as are references to the Sun, sacrifices, the names of the citizens of the City, and even their physical features. Of course, references to the Byzantine Empire can also be found, such as a text referred to as The Buildings, a nice nod to Procopius. The City itself, a planetary metropolis and capital of the Empire, features pyramids and features that also reference Tenochtitlan. In short, it's an impressive example of crafting an intriguing empire in the far future with some inspiration from the Aztecs. 

The creative decisions by the author in the use of technology, especially the imago technology which allows the memory of someone who passed away to be implanted into another, raises a number of interesting questions about identity just as Mahit Dzmare, the Lsel ambassador, confronts her own position as a barbarian in love with the empire poised to devour her homeland. This, I believe, is where Martine's book really shines as a space opera. There are no epic space battles, but the internal tension of Mahit as she struggles to protect her people's independence and juggle her own loyalties while desiring so strongly to be accepted as something other than a barbarian. However, no matter how hard she tries, that sense of being a barbarian never truly accepted in the heart of Empire is inescapable. Anyone familiar with the literature of colonized people can immediately sense something deeper in this novel, as it explores the depths to which imperialism can wreak havoc on colonized (or, in the case of Lsel, semi-colonial territories, since it retains its independence) peoples. 

Fortunately for Mahit, however, Lsel possesses information on a greater threat that will preserve the station's autonomy for at least a little longer. So, even though we felt the ultimate conflict over imperial succession could have been resolved in a better fashion in this novel than the diplomat's political maneuver, and there are still so many loose threads, this novel was so suspenseful and captivating that we must read the sequel. We cannot wait to see how Mahit and Three Seagrass will communicate with the unknown threat beyond Lsel that is nearing the Empire. 

The Naked Sun

The second installment in the mystery tales of Elijah Baley and R. Daneel Olivaw takes the reader to one of the Outer Colonies, Solaria. In this underpopulated human colony, social distancing is the norm and their society is based entirely on robots, eugenics, and strict population control. Unlike the overpopulated Earth with its vast Cities, where a fear of the open dominates, the people of Solaria fear the personal presence of others. When an inexplicable murder occurs, Baley and Olivaw are called in to investigate a mystery with Galactic implications. 

The ultimate message of this rather short novel appears to be a call for the embrace of the "naked sun" in order to grow or advance as a society, with the "sun" standing in for that which can limit a society or individual. As in the Foundation series, sociology as a discipline occupies a prominent place for understanding different human societies and weaknesses. As in The Caves of Steel, Baley is even more convinced of the need for Earthmen to become like the Spacers (at least with regards to colonization), and manages to question the Three Laws of Robotics in the process. 

However, this novel separates Olivaw and Baley for too much of the narrative, depriving us of their collaborative process. Due to the nature of the hidden threat to humanity posed in the novel, one can see why Baley sought to keep a certain distance from Daneel, but much of the strength of their first murder investigation relied on their pairing. Nonetheless, Asimov's second murder mystery still delivers, in spite of the different nature of this case. It is also more anthropological and sociological, showing us both quantitative and qualitative aspects of a future discipline of sociology. 

Nova

Samuel R. Delany's Nova is difficult to describe. A relatively short novel that blends space opera with mythic quest, Delany's world-building is excellent and engaging. Dealing with the topic of novas, energy sources, galactic politics and the nature of history and time, it tells the tale of Lorq Von Ray's ragtag crew racing against the Reds in search of Illyrion. Stylistically, the novel moves through flashbacks and, at times, ends mid-sentence, leaving for a jarring feeling of sensory overload. Much like Dan and, eventually, Lorq, sensory overload from peering directly into the nova matches the theme of the book, where the break down of the laws of physics accompanies a radical shift in history and politics. While at times the prose could be somewhat of a chore to thumb through, the crew of the Roc, particularly Mouse and Katin, are fascinating characters revealing much of what life in the 32nd century is like. Katin's meta-novel mirrors the themes of Nova and a conception of history and time that connects all of humanity, a return to "cultural solidity" of sorts considered lost by the thinkers of the day.

However, as a product of its historical epoch and telling the tale of a great transformation in humanity's trajectory, the novel form allows Katin to see his own connections with the revolutionary Ashton Clark and the rise of cyborg technology that ended alienation of worker and labor (but exploitation of labor, particularly miners, is rampant). The Tarot Cards and references to ancient mysticism allow for a resurgence of ancient belief in fate and cycles, which will end the current cycle to usher in a new age (hints of Spengler here, no doubt, but the cards are meant to be guides, not destiny.  Class dimensions are no doubt present, as the Outer Colonies are peopled by the workers, the Pleiades Federation dominated by the middle-class (now wealthy, such as the Von Rays), and Draco by the plutocracy (Prince and Ruby Red). By the novel's end, the dominance of the plutocracy is no longer secure. This raises the question of the future fate of the species under the domination of the Pleiades Federation and the Outer Colonies, perhaps leading to another set of conflicts with the descendants of Von Ray and the working-classes.A sequel to this would be a fascinating read to see how the galaxy looks after the revolution in energy sources weakens Draco. But, maybe the world of Nova is best left alone in its transition to a new epoch. 

The Iron Heel

As perhaps the first 20th century dystopian novel, Jack London's The Iron Heel is a fascinating read for how its predictions of the 20th century successively and unsuccessfully predicted the course of the era. An avowed socialist by the time the novel was published in 1907, London's Ernest and Avis Everhard thoroughly believe in Marxian social evolution and stages of production, but the particular nature of the trusts in the US combining even further and seizing governmental authority openly to institute an Oligarchy (the titular Iron Heel), prevents for centuries the "Brotherhood of Man" (socialist revolution). Like the authoritarian regimes of future dystopias, the Oligarchy openly controls all media, institutions, decimates the small business-class and middle-class, and relies on a "labor aristocracy" and Mercenaries to keep the regime afloat while constructing 'wonder-cities' like Asgard and Ardis. 

Needless to say, the miserable proletariat, already weak before the Oligarchy seizes power in the 1910s, has become a mass of slaves forced to give their labor to any projects organized by the Oligarchy. The rest of the world has also fallen under their own forms of the oligarchy or developed socialist commonwealths, but the US Oligarchy is the world power after a near-war with Germany. Indeed, North America and the Caribbean fall under the control of the Iron Heel, while Japan dominates East Asia, the British Empire crumbles, and India eventually frees itself. As for social relations under the Iron Heel, a favored cast of skilled labor and the Mercenaries receive special privileges in the regime, even given separate housing in superior cities, just as a way to divide the working-class and create an unstoppable military class. Through strict segregation of these social classes and passports, the Oligarchy has created a mass of working and unemployed wretches, described as almost bestial in the account of Everhard.

Like historical authoritarian regimes of the 20th century or future dystopian novels, the Oligarchy also relies on a vast number of agents, provocateurs, and spies to monitor the resistance and control their subjects. Beliving fully in the moral righteousness of their rule, as the capitalists in complete control of profit and labor who have saved civilization, the underlying ideology of the regime is power for the sake of power. In order to make use of the surplus-value of US production, they have conquered as much of the world market as possible, thus investing the rest in futurist wonder-cities where the socialists of the distant future reside after the fall of the Oligarchy. Since the reader already knows, from the notes of the future reader centuries in the future, that Ernest and Avis failed to unseat the Iron Heel, most of the novel focuses on the early rise and socialist resistance to the Oligarchy. Much of the final chapters comprise the "Chicago Commune," a reference to the Iron heel's brutal crackdown on the "people of the abyss" and socialists planning a revolution, taking the reader along the way into a journey of urban hell. Bombings, mobs, machine guns used to mow down the slum dwellers from Chicago's South Side, and inter-building combat bring to mind future urban revolts of the 20th century totalitarian regimes, such as the Warsaw Uprising. Undoubtedly, urban warfare and massacres of WWII were already predicted by London in 1907. 

However, London's fictional Oligarchy lacks any interest in "race." Unlike Nazi ideology other totalitarian regimes, there is no palingenesis or overt white supremacy undergirding the Iron Heel. Even though London himself was racist and a proponent of eugenics, there is a sympathetic "mulatto" character on the side of the Cause, who makes a brief appearance in the story. The other black staff on the Pullman train to Chicago are not stigmatized by race, either.  And, perhaps through references to social evolution and Darwinism, unfavorable comparisons to Native Americans are made by Ernest Everhard, suggesting the atavistic qualities of "savage" peoples and their parallels with the petit-bourgeois who cannot see their future futility in social evolution. Yet, outside of these scattered allusions to non-whites, the working-class of London's novel is almost entirely made up of white Americans and European immigrants. Arguably, Ernest Everhard himself and Avis's description of him as a natural aristocrat (unlike most of the masses under the Oligarchy), may hint at some eugenic or pro-Anglo-Saxon politics, but the Oligarchy itself never utilizes racial ideology. I would not be surprised if this is a reflection of London and the Socialist Party's own racial biases and belief in eugenics, focused as they were on whites and the perfectibility of humanity that socialist would usher.

The Dispossessed

The Dispossessed is one of those science fiction classics all should read. It tells the story of Shevek, a physicist from an anarchist society on Anarres struggling to complete a General Temporal Theory while also adjusting to the dangers of archism on the homeworld of Urras and the bureaucratization of life on Anarres. Anarres is indeed an "ambiguous utopia" based on anarchist values (and, at times, referring indirectly to Prouhon and Kropotkin). For nearly two centuries, the followers of Odo have managed to survive on a bleak landscape through solidarity and mutual aid. However, there are forces within their society which are creeping towards statism and laws (through conventional behavior, customs) that impede the will of individuals. Facing obstacles for his research on Anarres, Shevek attempts to break down more walls by going directly to Urras, and visiting the land of his ancestors in A-Io.

As a novel exploring the contrast between an anarchist society and a wealthy, centralized state with a capitalist economy (A-Io is likely inspired by the US, Thu by the USSR), this novel requires the reader to think seriously beyond any simplistic utopia. Solidarity and mutual aid as social principles require constant work, a "permanent revolution" to limit the reappearance of state-like apparatuses or the tyranny of the majority. Due to widespread inequality, gross sexism, and war on Urras, it is clearly a flawed place and will not be the solution to the estrangement Shevek experiences at home. However, Anarres also suffers through a traumatic drought, bureaucratic abuse and power struggles, and a harsh material existence that suggests anarchist utopias can only be achieved and maintained through an aforementioned "permanent revolution." Shevek's recollections of solidarity, communication and mutual aid on Urras, however, lead to him joining with socialists and syndicalists in an insurrection against the government of A-Io, demonstrating the appeal of Odonian principles to other peoples beyond Anarres. 

Perhaps the appeal of anarchism and stateless principles to others and the need for breaking down all walls explains why Shevek's research helps lay the foundation for the ansible. Technology which can allow for communication among all the known worlds will ensure ideas and technological advances can be shared equally, and therefore allow for information and other forms of change to prevent Anarres from continuing down its isolationist path, living in the past. Shevek's theory, and mindset, requires a synthesis of the past, present, and future, and an anarchist settlement cutting itself off from the rest of humanity will not last. One can find this sentiment in the novel to be quite moving, as its suggests the degree to which utopian thinking is itself a problem since there are no utopias. Life on Anarres may be egalitarian and, for the most part, no one suffers from want. But, pain, suffering, conflict, and the need to learn are an enduring presence in human existence. 

Zamyatin's We

Zamyatin's We is quite unique and influential in the history of the dystopian novel. And though I have possessed a personal copy of the text for at least 3 years, only now have I felt compelled to read it. Perhaps this is due to watching Ergo Proxy, a dark science fiction story set in a post-apocalyptic future in which the remnants of the planet's population resides in a domed, false utopia (akin to a panopticon, but several decades before Foucault's famed one). While We lacks the particularly obvious Gnostic themes (although one wonders if I-330 represented Sophia, the Benefactor the Demiurge, and the members of the Mephi secret society the aeons against the false Guardians of One State's Green Walls?) of Ergo Proxy, the idea of a dystopian society in a domed city, separated from nature, appealed to me. 

While Mirra Ginsburg's translation may not be the best attempt to render it in English, her rendering of the rambling thoughts of its narrator, D-503, a mathematician working on the Integral spaceship, ring loud and clear in the incoherent manner of someone questioning the status quo in One State. Falling head over heels for a woman who, in the end, may be exploiting him to steal the Integral, D-503 gains a soul, begins to dream, and suffers from imagination. In the "utopia" of One State, which has crushed freedom for happiness (since the only way to achieve happiness, is for the authoritarian Benefactor to eradicate individuality in the cold, hard pursuit of Reason alone), the totalitarian regime has erected a cult of Reason, Taylorism, and uniformity. In in its teleological view of human history, with the One State as the final revolution, democracy, "ancient" family structures, and non-regulated sexual unions are primitive. 

Of course, as I-330 tells the narrator, there is no final revolution. Neither the Russian Revolution or the various left-wing or fascist movements of the 20th century were "final" revolutions either. Written before the rise of Stalin, one can see why Zamyatin became a thorn in the side of the Soviet Union. His entire worldview is antithetical to the rise of the modern state in the 20th century, and still relevant today. Of course, one wonders if an authoritarian state is even necessary anymore for some of the same outcomes today. Unfortunately, I think the text, structured as journal entries by the narrator, has some limitations as it does not explore the fascinating world outside of the Green Wall. I also would have liked to learn more about the humans living outside the confines of the dome, the "hairy" beings who at first appear to be noble savages representing liberation. Are they the equivalent of the Native Americans in Brave New World? Either way, this is an enjoyable read that has cemented my interest in dystopian literature.

Pym

Quarantine reading for this week included Mat Johnson's hilarious Pym, a satirical work about an African American literature professor denied tenure. He happens to stumble upon a great discovery that turns Edgar Allen Poe's sole novel into a true story involving Dirk Peters and Arthur Pym's adventures in Antarctica and the South Seas. While a familiarity with the Poe source material certainly helps, there is enough material in here for laughs and social commentary to entertain and provoke all readers. From the absurdity of race relations in American academia to the tortured ways African Americans think of themselves in relation to the larger society, there is much to ruminate on here. 

Undoubtedly, the penchant for conspiracy theory among African Americans, the condescension of the "diversity committee," and metaphorical blackness and whiteness in lost beings make for entertaining reading. Particularly so when embedded in an adventure tale with much humor (Garth, for instance, is Chris Jayne's obese friend, obsessed with the Eurocentric paintings of a white artist. Did we mention his cousin, a black militant who named his dog White Folks?).  Structurally, the novel also borrows from Poe to make for entertaining reading with elements of fantasy to terrify and please. Anyone interested in the works of Poe, Lovecraft, Verne, and others likewise inspired by The Narrative of Arthur Gordon Pym of Nantucket could find something likable in this unlikely tale of African Americans in Antarctica. 

Unfortunately, the black Edenic Tsalalians do not receive as much treatment as the "albino snow monkeys" of Antarctica, so those hoping for a black utopian narrative of sorts may be disappointed by the last section of the tale. While I was hoping for a final section in which Chris finds closure of some sort at Tsalal, where the "Negro island" should offer some succor to the weary travelers, there is no easy "out" through a fictional black utopia. Perhaps, in the end, escape to Wakanda or similarly-inspired places will always be illusory when dealing with the real world. Is hip-hop culture any better than white 'cannibalism'? Can blackness exist without whiteness?

The Intuitionist

Whitehead's The Intuitionist is something else! Who would have thought a book about elevator inspectors set in an alternative New York City of the Jim Crow era would be so compelling? Blending, in his own unique way, of course, Ishmael Reed and Pynchon, this speculative novel uses the metaphor of elevators to describe the conditions of African Americans. Intuitionism, a successor of sorts to Jes Grew, is the competing ideology of elevator inspection that challenges Empiricism, a "white" system of thought that requires actual examination of an elevator. 

Intuitionism, founded by Fulton, is the new thing on the block that threatens the hegemony of the Empiricists in the Guild (for elevator inspectors) and may hold the secrets to a new, utopian black box which will revolutionize vertical technology. Said elevator will make the cities of the day obsolete, and pave the way for a radically new form of urban modernity. Needless to say, said technology would appeal greatly to African Americans, especially in an era when the vast majority faced nearly insurmountable obstacles to progress, North or South. 

Combining elements of speculative fiction and detective fiction, the novel's protagonist, Lila Mae Watson, must figure out her place in these changing times and if an elevator she inspected was sabotaged. Along the way, the reader is entertained by shifts in perspective and blending of fact and fiction to elucidate the history of elevators and their importance in this alternate reality. Much like Papa LaBas in Mumbo Jumbo, Lila Mae has to locate the "text" which will determine the future of the race. A fascinating and suspenseful thriller that is both about and not about elevators. 

Aldous Huxley's Island

Huxley's Island, his utopian counterpoint to Brave New World, was not what I expected. Although I read Brave New World over 15 years ago, I recall a primitivist solution of sorts that Huxley promoted in the 1930s. Thirty years later, when Island was published, Pala, the Southeast Asian utopian society of the novel, is not a primitive society. Instead, Huxley seems to propose a fusion of sorts of Eastern and Western civilization for an attainable utopian world which adopts some of the material and technological advances of Western civilization in a sustainable manner. 

Instead of capitalism or communism, or mass consumption and a lack of preventative care, Pala continues its own traditions of Mahayana Buddhism, Shivaite practices, and moksha-medicine for a completely different social order. Written at the height of the Cold War, and with World War II a recent memory (indeed, Will Farnaby, the protagonist of the novel, was in Germany during the War), Pala must be how Huxley saw a possible solution between totalitarianism (of the fascist or Stalinist sort) on one hand, and the alienated, consumer societies of the West. 

Unfortunately for the people of Pala, their boy Raja and his mother, the Rani, are plotting with Colonel Dipa of nearby Rendang-Lobo to undo the society to bring industrialization, extractive oil industries, and the Sears Catalogue (imported manufactured goods). Undone by internal factors and the megalomaniacal Colonel Dipa (who is also sleeping with Murugan), Pala's society is destined to unravel. To what extent a society predicated on sustainable development, harmony with their ecological setting, and human happiness could last in a world threatened by the West, the East, and Global South nations hell-bent on imitating the worst aspects of either is resolved by the novel's conclusion. 

Indeed, can a society truly be utopian if it practices an isolationist foreign policy, like Pala? And just as Will Farnaby makes the momentous decision to side with the doomed residents of Pala, Pala's status as a utopia is terminated. Nonetheless, Huxley's vision of an ideal society deserves kudos for avoiding any form of primitivist or unforgivable Orientalist tone. However, it lives up to the worst of the 1960s counterculture: drug-fueled mysticism, perhaps as bankrupt as the inter-war mystics, and proto-New Agey solutions to the problems of modern life.

Clans of the Alphane Moon

Although not his best work, Clans of the Alphane Moon is a hilarious self-referential novel about Dick's marriages (several, many not ending well), his workload (Chuck, the central character, writes scripts for simulacra), and the narrow boundary between mental health and psychosis. As someone who wrote similar novels about precogs, psionic powers, and time travel involving schizophrenia, Clans takes this interest in new directions. A colony of various schizophrenic types have formed an autonomous society on a moon in the Alpha system by rebelling against the hospital (which was established there to provide psychotherapy for the schizophrenics settled there by Terra). Now, after 25 years of isolation from Terra, a mission led by Chuck's psychologist wife is sent there to provide therapy, reassert Terran authority (a war between the Alphane race and Terra recently concluded, not to mention ongoing tensions between the US and the USSR), and impose therapy on the various clans of schizophrenic inhabitants. Chuck and his wife, who separate after years of acrimony, predictably duke it out on this moon in the later parts of the novel, after a series of manipulative moves and quirky characters (including a slime from Ganymede that communicates telepathically) culminates in a final showdown over the state of their marriage. Where this novel's hilarity reaches its peak is Chuck's use of alien drugs to stay up all night and write (scripts for Bunny Hentman's show, and scripts for the simulacra sent to accompany his wife to the lunar colony), something Dick must have meant as a humorous self-referential commentary on his own use of drugs to stay up all night and write science fiction novels (and support his wife). Despite it all, one sees through the fateful reunion of Mary and Chuck that effort, persistence, and selflessness are necessary for a marriage to work, and mental illness is more of a continuum and capable of change. Indeed, the the paranoid schizophrenic, Gabriel Baines, can change. 

The Simulacra

Philip K. Dick's The Simulacra explores much of the same themes and tropes as his other novels of the 1960s. Prehistoric human species, time travel, intrigue, time travel, World War II, nuclear war, and the obsessive fixation on the real and the artificial drive this novel. While it seems like a typical PKD novel of the decade, the ending is less clear-cut than some of his other work. Furthermore, intrigue between various cartels and government departments in this totalitarian society (Matriarchal, and guided by the Magna Mater figure of Nicole) bring down the government and the population of the United States of Europe and America must confront "reality." This novel actually brought to mind a point from Jeremy Jenning's book on Sorel, in particular the distinction between artificial nature, artificial nature, and human knowledge of the world. If I remember correctly, Sorel's point was that experimentation to progress scientific knowledge was "artificial nature" because it reproduced "natural nature" but in controlled settings, shaped by human knowledge. Perhaps the distinction between the simulacra/ersatz world and that of actually-existing conditions in this 21st century dystopian novel point to the limitations of human reasoning to understand the difference, and social myths (such as the Great Mother figure and its mythic/archetypal connotations) as a basis for a post-apocalyptic government will end in ruin. Perhaps this is the limitations of social myth as a basis for metaphysics?