Reviews of Revelation Space (2000) and related work
- Spin-off: Chasm City (2001)
- Sequel: Redemption Ark (2002)
Revelation Space (2000
)
Alastair Reynolds (writer).
Read in 2024.
In the 26th century, a somewhat transhuman archaeologist pursues the mystery of a lost alien species before coming to question his motives.
An excellent space opera with unusually low levels of tendentious narcissism. It resembles The Reality Dysfunction (1996) in that the archaeologist—Dan Sylveste—is an apparently lucky bastard, living in a diverse and mostly peaceful human/transhuman multi-planet society, who gets pulled into a struggle against an existential threat to humanity with Abrahamic religious overtones: The winged Amarantin as “fallen angels” with Sun Stealer as their Lucifer engaging in demonic possession. A couple of sequences are close enough to gothic horror that they would have fit into Dysfunction or even the 40K universe, but that’s where the similarities end. Reynolds’s worldbuilding is full of nuance and balance in its gentle cynicism, its real trend is toward Lovecraft rather than Jesus, he makes good use of his professional training in astrophysics, and the plot runs deep enough to justify the page count. It’s not hard science fiction, but it’s definitely science fiction. The characteric narcissism of fantasy fiction is thankfully absent here, and so is the religious allegory. Deep thought and a solid thriller take their place. The Lovecraft influences range all the way from Clarke’s-third-law super-ancient aliens to “Cool Air” (1928).
The character writing is good but not brilliant. The trio of Ana Khouri, Ilia Volyova and Pascale Sylveste is both badass and funny enough, without Dysfunction’s sexual objectification. The technological and political worldbuilding is a little loose, but almost free from MacGuffins. The ending is reminiscent of both Solaris (1961) and Roadside Picnic (1972). Overall, Reynolds manages to strip the genre of almost every dull cliché without losing any of its entertainment value.
‣ Chasm City (2001)
Alastair Reynolds (writer).
Read in 2025.
A veteran of the war on Sky’s Edge comes to the source of the Melding Plague, which has turned nanotechnology against its users.
This entry is almost in the style of contemporary Warhammer 40,000. It’s got a weird cult, the deathwishful upper classes hunting the poor for kicks like it’s Necromunda, and a deeper cynicism than Revelation Space. It even has stronger crypto-Christian mystical symbolism: Sky Haussmann’s crucifixion and Tanner Mirabel’s stigmata. The cynicism is a little dull and the double-triple thriller plot is convoluted beyond the point of making sense (Haussmann is Mirabel is a third guy but they don’t have the same psychology), and Mirabel is too much like the first novel’s Ana Khouri, but it’s still charming, especially when the hard-boiled detective plot relatively briefly and skillfully touches on the large-scale worldbuilding of the setting.
References here: Pushing Ice (2005).
‣ Redemption Ark (2002)
Alastair Reynolds (writer).
Read in 2025.
In the early 27th century, a couple of the series’ antiheroes are already tired at the prospect of defending intelligent life from the emerging Inhibitor threat. They seek redemption in the opening battle.
Returning to the main plotline after the spin-off that was Chasm City, Reynolds has gotten rid of all the flaws typical of a first novel and has not yet accumulated the flaws typical of a long-running series. The Conjoiner faction reminds me of the most awesome transhumans of Schismatrix (1985), with Galiana and the post-Scottish Clavain in particular successfully fusing the dysteleological worldview of Reynolds’s astronomical background with his growing powers of literary characterization. The author is also more confident with the rare intertextual jokes here: There is a gas giant named after the German band Tangerine Dream, and an off-hand reference to a stereotype of in-universe space opera, which is that lasers in ship-to-ship fighting are invisible to build tension. The joke is of course that in the space operas of the early 2000s, the cliché was exactly the opposite, that lasers and other direct-energy weapons are spectactularly visible. Reynolds re-inverts that particular cliché, explaining why lasers would sometimes be indirectly visible in space battles, without dumbing anything down.
The series is increasingly a space opera, with more uplifted animals and other plucky heroes facing more threats of apocalypse. The baseline morality of the protagonists includes caring for a large amount of civilians, putting them on the titular “ark”, but no part of the story is told from the perspective of these ordinary people. Still, as space operas go, it’s a clever one. The motivations of the Inhibitors are laid out in one of many fine lore-drops, the gothic elements are still amusing, and the worldbuilding continues to mesh with the deep and multi-threaded plotting in excellent form.