On first inspection, The Year the Cloud Fell and Phoenix Fire may appear to be very similar alternate histories: politically-charged fantasies that dramatize the struggle to protect native peoples and ecoystems from nationalist or corporate imperialists. The connection Phoenix Fire draws between the Oglala Sioux and the defenders of the redwoods makes this similarity explicit. It would be easy to link these books together in a politically-savvy marketing strategy: “If you support these causes, you’ll love these books!”
But looked at more deeply, the novels’ politics, which follow from their uses of speculative history, begin to appear quite different, and it’s this difference that should matter most, I think, when you decide whether or not to read or buy these books. Put the question, if you want to see the imperialists get theirs, why read one of these novels instead of renting Pocahontas again? Europe and America meet, fall in love, and love conquers hate! Well, with Phoenix Fire I’m tempted to suggest the rental. Phoenix Fire beats the film in that it has interesting characters who aren’t merely types, but the development of the story doesn’t get far beyond Pocahontas in depth. The Year the Cloud Fell is another matter. While it sometimes shows the awkwardness of an inexperienced writer, the novel is intense, vivid, and anything but simplistic. Enemies become friends only slowly, and allies even more slowly. Details matter in this book, because it is only through real immersion in one another’s lives, and the slow learning that comes from it, that characters come to know one another. It’s an exceptional work of speculative history.
Christopher Cobb is Senior Reviews Editor for Strange Horizons. His previous publications in Strange Horizons can be found in our archives.
Ben Bova’s Jupiter: and the Truth Shall Set You Free
Reviewed by John Teehan
8/27/01
“We pronounce, judge, and declare, that you, the said Galileo … have rendered yourself vehemently suspected by this Holy Office of heresy, that is, of having believed and held the doctrine (which is false and contrary to the Holy and Divine Scriptures) that the sun is the center of the world, … and, consequently, that you have incurred all the censures and penalties enjoined and promulgated in the sacred canons and other general and particular constituents against delinquents of this description.”—Sentence of the Tribunal of the Supreme Inquisition against Galileo Galilei, given the 22nd day of June of the year 1633
Who says science and religion can’t mix? Apparently a lot of people do—scientists and fundamentalists alike—and that seems to be the thesis of Ben Bova’s latest novel, Jupiter. Set a hundred years or so after his other “grand tour” novels—Mars, Return to Mars, and Venus—Bova introduces us to a society somewhat reminiscent of Heinlein’s theocracy in Revolt in 2100. In Jupiter, Earth society is dominated by a selection of religious theocracies spread across the globe. Most prevalent is the New Morality, a Christian fundamentalist movement, that shares power with similar Muslim and Buddhist movements. Citizens are required to surrender a few years of their lives in Service to the New Morality, and scientists are viewed with deep suspicion—especially those whose sciences may challenge or contradict Scripture. Evolution becomes a dirty word.
Conscripted by the New Morality is our reluctant hero Grant Archer, a graduate student studying the nature of black holes. (N.B., not the evolution of black holes. Merely the nature of them.) Due to political powers beyond his ken, instead of being sent to the deep space observatories on the moon, Archer is exiled from his new bride to spend his Service obligation on Gold Station orbiting Jupiter. He is ordered by the New Morality to spy on the station’s crew to discover the truth about recent rumors of secret manned missions being sent into the Jovian atmosphere. Once there, Archer slowly learns about the mysterious goings-on around the station and the purpose of the enigmatic vessel tethered alongside. While other scientists perform the official studies of Jupiter’s satellites, Archer is assigned by the fearsome Director Wo to the less-than-official team tasked with studying the planet itself.
Grant Archer is a Believer. The son of a Methodist minister and a regular church-goer, he is also a dedicated scientist; he is a rare fellow in his society in that he is faithful to his religion and at the same time keeps to the ideals of science. Until his arrival at Gold Station, Archer has managed to live with this contradiction with little trouble. Suddenly he’s caught between the two opposed imperatives—his obligation to spy for the New Morality and his commitment as a scientist to extend humankind’s knowledge of the universe. The conflict drives the character development forward as Archer struggles to regain his earlier balance. Finally, the actions of the New Morality and the revelations on Jupiter tip the balance, forcing Archer to look within himself and make a decision.
At first, Archer has plenty of opportunities to agonize about his situation as he deals with various mundane assignments and gets to know his fellow scientists. We feel sympathy for Archer, whose careful plans for the future are turned on their heads as this budding astrophysicist is sent to clean beakers, study weather patterns, and babysit a semi-intelligent gorilla named Sheena. (This novel will strike a chord with anyone working in the science field or who has spent years suffering as a “grad-student grunt” performing tedious tasks while struggling for a doctorate.) His fellow team members bring a varied mix of attitudes and experience to Gold Station. Ben Muzorawa, a Sudanese specialist in fluid dynamics from the University of Cairo, takes Archer under his wing and gets him a place on the planetary exploration team. Biochemist Egon Kharlstad is the team’s sad-sack trickster who’s on Gold Station not by choice but to avoid serving a prison sentence for skirting Earth’s reproduction control laws. Tamiko Hideshi is a physical chemist primarily studying Europa’s oceans. Lanie O’Hara, first met doubling as both scientist and station security chief, spends much of her time in a skin-tight suit swimming with a pair of communicative dolphins.
Settings involving space research stations tend to lead to stories about forced close interaction among their crews. Gold Station, however, reflects its neighbor, Jupiter, in that it’s much larger than one would expect. This contrasts well with the atmospheric ship used later in the book. The characters deal both with isolation in open areas and more intimate interaction within a very claustrophobic setting. In each setting, the character interactions shift from friendly, to suspicious, to cooperative to … ? Bova’s characters are three-dimensional enough that they definitely bump elbows with each other. This is particularly true with Archer. Soon, however, events overtake him, and Archer finds himself less in a position to report the goings-on at Gold Station, and more in the center of all the action.
And we’re talking a lot of action.
The adventure grips you through the last third of the novel and doesn’t let go until the very end. Jupiter is a good example of a novel that can be both entertaining and thought-provoking at the same time. Bova does a very credible job in presenting the violence of the Jovian atmosphere. It’s an exaggerated landscape for exaggerated scenes that become somewhat reminiscent of The Poseidon Adventure. More than the ray-guns and rocket ships of space operas, Jupiter, as a novel, demonstrates some of the very real dangers in exploring the outer planets. The presence of the Leviathans adds to the increasing drama of the Jovian scenes, ending with an encounter that pays off well and will have you cheering.
The end, while satisfactory, does have its sobering moments as Bova inserts a sense of political realism. This doesn’t take anything away from the narrative. More, it reaffirms the thesis of the novel and strengthens it.
Bova, a six-time Hugo winner and past editor of Analog magazine, has a tendency to insert a social agenda into his “grand tour” novels. Mars dealt with political and racial tensions, Return to Mars covered the pros and cons of commercialism, and Venus presented a near-future of the Green movement and economic class distinctions. For the most part, the social aspects work within the novels fairly seamlessly. The tradition continues in Jupiter with the religion-versus-science conflict. There is no question that the villains of the novel are supposed to be the zealots of the New Morality. Zealotry in the name of preserving the New Morality is an honored function in Bova’s post-modern society. The readers are supposed to see the scientists as the heroes—as visionaries with the courage and strength to challenge the political hypocrisy of the New Morality and restore the honor of seeking the truth about God’s universe. In Jupiter, however, the real heroes are people like Archer who maintain both the spirit of scientific inquiry and the integrity of their beliefs.
So is there life beneath Jupiter’s cloudy cover? Readers of Bova’s earlier works will suspect so. After all, since those novels reveal evidence of intelligent life in Mars’s ancient past, life on the chaotic surface of Venus, bacterial life on Europa, and “Clarke’s Medusae” floating in the upper clouds of Jupiter—Bova’s rendition of our solar system is practically teeming with life-as-we-recognize-it—it would be no surprise to find life deeper down in the gas giant.