Miguel
Creating a mystery box is not particularly challenging, that being an airplane crash some place isolated from time and space, a galleon lost in a reimagined version of hell, or the world waking to spaceships humming over the stratosphere. It's seldom a challenge.
The challenge is, in fact, opening the box to a satisfying, elegant resolution. As much as we are tempted to label books as good or bad, my particular appreciation stems significantly from the wondrous nature of how an abnormal situation is resolved, and how logical or sensical that resolution is when confronted with the established world built within the plot.
This is my preamble to establish that my particular taste and expectations may not match everyone else's, and your experience and appreciation for this novel may be dramatically different from mine. And why is that important?
Because the mystery box here is interesting until, half way in, it becomes clear that it happens in a universe with no cameras or monitoring systems. In fact, this version of our world is devoid of scientists or engineers, and is populated - apparently - by suburban cutouts of people who never really feel real. It's a superficial analysis of the social and political implications of a society in disarray, but one where every single actor is, at the core, a high middle class woman in costume. This is particularly notorious (and, at times, embarrassing) when, in order to build the world, the author throw a number of caricatures of stereotypical personae with no particular depth other than resembling House of Cards characters.
The light poking at politics and sterile commentary on social justice is insufficient to detract from the fact that the premise does not function as a plot device. Any attempt to establish a realistic response to the premise is very quickly discarded in favour of (what feels to me) an attempt at a soap opera-y pulls of the proverbial heartstrings - in fact, it is at par with the low expectations from the readership in terms of vocabulary and short POV chapter structure. And all this was, for me, unsatisfactory.
It is entirely possible this is just a novel intended as light summer reading. And that's OK. I guess.
Your mileage may vary.
Megan is a very good successor to Bujold, with very little space unfilled in those shoes. The hints of Delany and LeGuin are delightful and not intrusive, in what is a significant step up from velocity weapon's protectorate trilogy. An author to follow attentively.
Let's first tackle the elephant in the room: is Biography of X sexist? Well, yes. Yes, it is. Largely in the same vein as early twentieth century science fiction tended to be overly simplistic and reductive in developing female characters, the large majority of male characters in this novel are two-dimensional hyperbolised caricatures, perfectly placed to carry the weight of blame and fault. And that's alright, I get it.
That out of the way, what Catherine Lacey does in this novel is nothing short of impressive, both in building an alternate history version of the US that some would consider too possible for comfort, and simultaneously digging through the emotional stack of a main character, exposing her strengths and weaknesses, fears and motivations, as she unravels the life's mysteries of her departed wife. Catherine does so with an elegance and simplicity of prose, and a sincerity of feeling that is uncommon in genre writing.
Biography of X aims to be a cautionary tale of geopolitical scale, but where it succeeds the most is at studying the complexity of human beings - the layers of motivation, drive, fear, hypocrisy, and fallacies that compose us; the walking, talking paradoxes that we are.
At that, it succeeds in spades.
This made me rediscover the absolute bliss that is reading a genuinely fantastic novel.
Run-of-the-mill post-apocalyptic, epidemic story. Below average prose, poor plot, lazy ending. Interesting pathology (hence the additional star).
Our little world is filled with so many interesting people, so many interesting stories.
Let's do this then, shall we?
Terra Ignota is a full meal, a book series that excites the senses of every reader who is passionate about the Craft of Writing, History, Philosophy, Poetry, and everything in between.
Watch as Mycroft, our Richard III, charms the reader with his soliloquies under the guide of future hatred. They warn us, beloved reader, that any empathy we may feel for this object of our affection will soon fade as the reality of his actions reveal itself in gore and anger. This same Shakespearean protagonist that will confide in us his insecurities and their life of servitude. Watch him as he plays with God, as he lifts the curtain on a most curious conspiracy that would delight all and any who distrust the powers that be, whichever epoque they may inhabit.
Watch Voltaire exulted and Dumas avenged. Send us Aramis and make her dance into our home, afraid. Watch the marble-infused Masons and the mothers of the world, regardless of gender. Watch the cyborgs. Are they cyborgs? Watch the lust of the clerics and the androgyny of beauty. Watch Diderot paint and Rousseau negotiate a treaty, and show us how the land starved devour all.
Watch as we witness the corruption of Utopia, as we are lead to support murder for the sake of the common good. Watch as we are complicit on torture, and blood, and cannibalism. And watch as marvel at the foundations of Olympia, cemented in corruption and sex, and political games too gruesome to conceptualise without being present. Watch us witness this second Enlightenment, on the shoulders of the original, the great Renaissance, where our Giants transform and adapt to the realities of the Future.
And then Watch it all fall apart.
Watch Mycroft, our Odysseus, reenact the stage and map of this new Iliad and this new Odyssey. Watch Bester's influence in a World War that reminds us there is no glory in nations, only in Men, and only just. Watch us fail Mankind, and the Stars. See us at Mankind's best and worst. Here is a Weapon of Mass Destruction! Watch us hate with sufficient vigour to demand its use, annihilate all who oppose us.
Oh, wait, we were wrong.
War. War never changes.
It hasn't changed since Sun Tsu.
It hasn't changed since Hobbes (oh, Hi Monster of Malmesbury!)
And meet God.
Fucking Hell.
This is awesome.