Star Maker

Perhaps the most insightful and layered book I've ever read but one that challenged me in a way that I haven't really seen before. The concept of time and space seemed bewildering and it did truly feel like reading a history of our universe and its components. However, at times I felt at a loss of emotion due to the broad perspective that we experience. As that protagonist in the book experiences a range of bafflement and wonder, this book has made me question a manner of thoughts never truly visted in a book. Although it won't make my top list it is a worthwhile read for any curious person about the context of our little lives in the vast cosmos of being.

This would've been two star rating but I fully admit that I'm biased and the banality with which Stapledon approaches what I consider the utmost evil is infuriating.

It starts with out of body experience where soul of a nameless man travels the time and space and witnesses progress of other civilizations, merging with other “spirits” in search of the Star Maker, a.k.a. God.

First he visits a similar civilization than ours which destroys itself and it's blamed on “human” tendencies and oddly on position of the planet against the stars. This astrology bit is never mentioned again. This soul, or rather spirit to use Stapledon's terminology, merges with another one from this destroyed civilization gaining knowledge, becoming more. Then it travels further and visits countless other worlds of which few are mentioned in the book that is written as memoir of his experience. This spirit collects more and more souls like a blob, merging all personalities into one yet still remaining all of them at the same time too.

The civilizations make no sense, there is no evolutionary logic behind them but this was written before DNA was discovered and before evolutionary biology and psychology were developed to the level on which they are now, so it's not that big of a deal.

But this is where alarm bells started ringing in my head. As I kept reading I noticed certain pattern in these civilizations – specifically those that adhered to marxist-like ideologies, reforms, revolutions survived and ascended to higher forms and those who didn't destroyed themselves or were destroyed by other means. On top of that Stapledon kept using Marxist vocabulary – communal spirit, communal consciousness, struggle, awakened world, oppressors and the oppressed, etc.

So I looked Stapledon up and yeah, he was devout Marxist. I don't vet the authors I plan to read because to read only non-leftist sci-fi would make that list pretty short. Most of my favorite authors lean heavily left and yet it doesn't stop me from enjoying their work. But this novel is half propaganda, half genuine story and I refuse to ignore the first half which brings the whole thing down. Throughout the whole book there is no human name mentioned ever except the very end where Stapledon mentions Lenin twice. What a coincidence.

This book is hailed as one of the early masterpieces of science fiction. Even without the ideology it is not but with it it belongs on a garbage pile. Once I realized what I'm holding in my hands I was only curious how far this will go. Stapledon euthanizes (his word for geocide – destruction of the planet) whole worlds for “greater good” I guess because it would be inconvenient for civilization capable of moving planets between solar systems to instead move only the people living on them.

Stapledon meshes civilizations into world spirits where people don't have their own will, they're all cogs in the communist machine whose goal is to reach utopia. No individualism just communal spirit working as one. This progressively graduates to the point where whole galaxy becomes alliance of world spirits and starts communicate with other galaxies. Of course there is some struggle and wars first. Punishment for some of the losers? Their world spirit disintegrated and they becoming individuals again. Wow! What a terrifying notion to think for myself. Chilling.

Here's a passage where Stapledon banalizes these deeds as little price to be paid for utopia. You know, what are billions upon billions of souls if those that stand on their graves can be happy? Those were worth the price, no big deal:

(Mind of our galaxy speaks to the beings living in it.) It confronted all the tortured spirits of the past not with pity or regret but with smiling content, such as a man may feel towards his own childhood's tribulations. And it said, within the mind of each one of all its members: “Their suffering, which to them seemed barren evil, was the little price to be paid for my future coming. Right and sweet and beautiful is the whole in which these things happen. For I, I am the heaven in which all my myriad progenitors find recompense, finding their heart's desire. For in the little time that is left me I shall press on, with all my peers throughout the cosmos, to crown the cosmos with perfect and joyful insight, and to salute the Maker of Galaxies and Stars and Worlds with fitting praise.”

After some nonsense about conscious stars we are then met with Star Maker himself. This part seems to be the most normal of the whole book. But I've not read Russeau so who knows, maybe there was some hidden proto-Marxist philosophy here too.

It's my first SF Masterworks stinker. Don't waste your time on this book unless you think communism was never properly tried before.

8/10

Story: 8 / 10
Characters: 10
Setting: 10
Prose: 7

Star Maker is the most ambitious book I have read. Unlike what the description suggests, it is a profound and fictional, anthropological history of the universe. The unexpected religious ending is endearing. The only weak points are the unnatural and loose direction of the plot, as well as the contradictory epilogue. Nevertheless, the story structures works. It starts a bit slow, as you would expect from a book that mirrors scientific texts.
Recommended for everyone, but scifi fans should endure.

reviews.metaphorosis.com

3.5 stars

A man suddenly acquires the power to travel mentally throughout all dimensions of the universe, from creation to conclusion. He traces the development of many kinds of life while seeking signs of a postulated creative force.

This is possibly the dullest interesting book I've read, or vice versa. It's seldom that it takes me this long to complete a book (even the dread Alexandria Quartet felt faster), and it could almost be said of this novel that I “couldn't pick it up”.
I believe I've read some of Stapledon's work before, though I don't recall when or what - perhaps Last Men in London. In any case, I wasn't sure what to expect.
What I found was a book with an amazing scope (literally the entire lifespan of the universe, and more), and an astounding creativity. Stapledon tosses off interesting and novel ideas every few pages, including the original Dyson sphere. He postulates intriguing intelligences, species, societies, cultures, lifeforms, you name it. There's a mountain of fascinating material in here.
Unfortunately, he presents it all in a style so determinedly dry that it's hard to stay awake for the marvels. Even allowing for the period (1930's), the prose is so clinical that it begs to be treated as an academic report, to be put down in favor of something more engaging. It's a shame, because if you can keep your mind focused, there's a lot here to like.
The main story kicks off on “Other Earth”, with what seems a thinly-veiled polemic against capitalist materialism. It ends somewhere in the cosmos with what seems a thinly-veiled paean to religious creationism. But neither of those impressions is really accurate, for in between is a steadfastly logical exploration of the concept of human development. This is a ‘what if' story in the best way. If it reads more like a thought experiment than a story, that's not inaccurate.
‘Human', in this book, means roughly ‘intelligent life'. Stapledon doesn't discriminate between humans shaped like homo sapiens and symbiotic whale-crab partners. What he cares about is how they develop, and how they'll succeed. Most of them don't. This is not a warm and fuzzy YA story, and to his credit, Stapledon doesn't duck the hard questions. He makes some assumptions, and sets in motion a train of events, but there's no magic happy-ever-after. Instead, there's a genuine exploration of what could happen, and what it would mean. 
‘What it all means' is a central theme of the novel, and perhaps its reason for being. I found Stapledon's answer to have too strong a religious tinge for my taste, but it's clearly something he (and his narrator) thought long and hard about. Ironically, C.S. Lewis thought Stapledon's answer was “devil worship”, so perhaps he hit an unhappy medium after all.
I recommend this book. It's a slow and painful read - much more of a slog than a sprint. But if you persevere, and if you manage to keep Stapledon's ideas in focus, you'll be rewarded. I wish (oh how I wished while I was reading this) that Stapledon had been a lighter writer. He wasn't, but his ideas are worth engaging anyway.