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A few weeks back, I decided not to read Mary Doria Russel's The Sparrow just yet because the day was too sunny and pretty to fill with angst.
Well, this weekend it is back to being sunny and pretty, but I just finished The Sparrow anyways and am on my way to the library after writing this up to go pick up the sequel. Yes, it does pile the angst and pain on its main character, possibly to the point of excess (not that I can complain about that, really, being a fellow-acolyte of the Dorothy Dunnett school where Russel learned her angst-causing technique) - but it does so specifically in order to look at a number of extremely interesting questions, and so I can't really call most of it gratuitous.
(Admittedly, I'm biased too; I read a great academic article on this book before ever reading the novel itself. Academia spoils me in so many ways!)
The book takes place in two timelines. In one, a Jesuit priest, the last surviving member of his order's expedition to another planet, returns home utterly destroyed in a number of ways to general calumny (see above, re: angst and pain) and refuses to explain what happened, while the other tracks the expedition from the beginning as sentient life is discovered in another planet. Central issues: God, religion, the ethics of celibacy, the ethics of interplanetary exploration and interference (which the article I read focused on), the purpose of art.
I have to say, first off, that the idea that the first expedition to another planet would be piloted by, specifically, a religious group (in total secrecy, no less) makes me profoundly uncomfortable, and while I don't argue with the premise that the Jesuits would want to undertake this, I wish that the nonreligious characters who made up part of that expedition had expressed any of that discomfort instead of just going 'yay field trip!' I mean, I don't blame them for the feelings of 'yay field trip!' because, dude, other planets, but . . . it comes across to me as a significant ethical question, and as they're all presented as very ethical people I feel that the point should at least have been brought up.
On the other hand, one thing I really did like was the swiftness and unexpectedness with which the end of the book took place. I can see how people wouldn't like that, after all the build-up, and the pacing was definitely slow at the beginning, but for me it really drove home the point that you can't know how you're going to affect things, and you might cause damage without knowing what you do. And I liked the unexpectedness of death; too often in novels all deaths are Terribly and Hugely Significant and Could Have Been Avoided. (Also, I was screaming at the characters throughout the novel to be more careful about what they were altering - clearly none of them had read that much sci-fi - so it was nice to be vindicated.)
Also I found Supaari the most interesting character.
One little nitpicky thing that made me roll my eyes in a tolerant sort of way. Does it seem weird to anyone else that someone would automatically assume a modern-day Sephardic Jew would have an ancestral grudge against Spaniards for being kicked out of Spain in the 1400s? Admittedly, my family and most of the people I know are of Ashkenazi descent, not Sephardic, but . . . come on, Jews have been kicked out of everywhere. If you're going for grudges, why look that far back?
Anyways, the book definitely has flaws, but it's also very thought-provoking and packs a huge punch; as always, if any of you have read, I would love to hear what you think. And now, to counter the angst: moar sunshine! I think I may be getting a tiny sunburn and I DON'T CARE. *smug*
Well, this weekend it is back to being sunny and pretty, but I just finished The Sparrow anyways and am on my way to the library after writing this up to go pick up the sequel. Yes, it does pile the angst and pain on its main character, possibly to the point of excess (not that I can complain about that, really, being a fellow-acolyte of the Dorothy Dunnett school where Russel learned her angst-causing technique) - but it does so specifically in order to look at a number of extremely interesting questions, and so I can't really call most of it gratuitous.
(Admittedly, I'm biased too; I read a great academic article on this book before ever reading the novel itself. Academia spoils me in so many ways!)
The book takes place in two timelines. In one, a Jesuit priest, the last surviving member of his order's expedition to another planet, returns home utterly destroyed in a number of ways to general calumny (see above, re: angst and pain) and refuses to explain what happened, while the other tracks the expedition from the beginning as sentient life is discovered in another planet. Central issues: God, religion, the ethics of celibacy, the ethics of interplanetary exploration and interference (which the article I read focused on), the purpose of art.
I have to say, first off, that the idea that the first expedition to another planet would be piloted by, specifically, a religious group (in total secrecy, no less) makes me profoundly uncomfortable, and while I don't argue with the premise that the Jesuits would want to undertake this, I wish that the nonreligious characters who made up part of that expedition had expressed any of that discomfort instead of just going 'yay field trip!' I mean, I don't blame them for the feelings of 'yay field trip!' because, dude, other planets, but . . . it comes across to me as a significant ethical question, and as they're all presented as very ethical people I feel that the point should at least have been brought up.
On the other hand, one thing I really did like was the swiftness and unexpectedness with which the end of the book took place. I can see how people wouldn't like that, after all the build-up, and the pacing was definitely slow at the beginning, but for me it really drove home the point that you can't know how you're going to affect things, and you might cause damage without knowing what you do. And I liked the unexpectedness of death; too often in novels all deaths are Terribly and Hugely Significant and Could Have Been Avoided. (Also, I was screaming at the characters throughout the novel to be more careful about what they were altering - clearly none of them had read that much sci-fi - so it was nice to be vindicated.)
Also I found Supaari the most interesting character.
One little nitpicky thing that made me roll my eyes in a tolerant sort of way. Does it seem weird to anyone else that someone would automatically assume a modern-day Sephardic Jew would have an ancestral grudge against Spaniards for being kicked out of Spain in the 1400s? Admittedly, my family and most of the people I know are of Ashkenazi descent, not Sephardic, but . . . come on, Jews have been kicked out of everywhere. If you're going for grudges, why look that far back?
Anyways, the book definitely has flaws, but it's also very thought-provoking and packs a huge punch; as always, if any of you have read, I would love to hear what you think. And now, to counter the angst: moar sunshine! I think I may be getting a tiny sunburn and I DON'T CARE. *smug*
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For now, I will say that both The Sparrow and Children of God are, for me, in that category where I am completely blinded to any faults the book has by my adoration of the characters. Emilio! Mendes! Jimmy! Anne! *clutches characters to bosom*
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Also this is a response I TOTALLY SUPPORT. This book does not quite make it into that category for me, but there are other books with much huge-er flaws that so totally do!