Perhaps the Stars (Terra Ignota #4)

Perhaps the Stars by Ada Palmer
My rating: 3 of 5 stars

The trolley problem argument at the forefront of the series thus far is now superseded by an even bigger conflict between different visions of the future. Do we focus inwardly on mapping human psychology, conquering death and building utopia on Earth, or do we focus outward on the painful project of colonising other worlds. Palmer is a keen student of science fiction, and it’s fun to consider this dilemma as a way of contrasting the 60s new wave with classic space opera. The book presents this as an either / or proposition, in that the Earth becoming too comfortable reduces the incentive to look elsewhere, and Palmer is very good at continually reversing the reader’s perspective of which side should come out on top. Of course, at the end an accommodation is made, but the journey is a fun one.

Eventually, at least. This is a long book, at the end of a long series, and for me the first third really dragged. Palmer gets a little too bogged down with her new narrator, and I just wanted to get back to Mycroft and the war. She is at her most impressive when upending expectations with each successive chapter, and the book really picks up when she gets back into that groove. Ultimately I found the series interesting rather than compelling. But the ideas it brings to play leaves many more gripping works of speculative fiction in the dust.

The underlying question about the reliability of the narrative we have, given our narrator sees ghosts, says he has witnessed miracles and believes in a living god, is rendered moot for me by the book’s metatextuality – its overt geeky references to its influences, from Homer, the French Enlightenment and science fiction. Whether Bridger and Jehovah are elaborate conspiracies isn’t as interesting a question for me as the metaphors they present if they are ‘real’ in the fiction of the book. Bridger’s ability to bring his fantasies into reality suggests a comment on how human ingenuity reverse engineers discoveries from our imaginations. Jehovah wrestling with the problem of evil generates torrid existential emotions about our own consciousness embodied in a universe that is both accommodating and indifferent. It is slightly mysterious why Mycroft, who as a student of Voltaire and Diderot should be sceptical of providential thinking, would buy into Jehovah’s claims so completely. But that perspective is used to test out absolute values against the contingencies we face. The long final chapter is a showcase of Palmer’s impressive commitment to thinking through the problems she puts forward, and her optimism that an imperfect world can be made just a little more perfect.

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Jacques the Fatalist

Jacques the Fatalist by Denis Diderot
My rating: 4 of 5 stars

This book is structured around the tension between determinism and free will. Jacques the ‘fatalist’ believes everything that will happen is already written in the great scroll on high. He is correct, except that he is a character and his fate is actually written in a book by Diderot. And that book is a deconstruction of the novel – Diderot constantly intervening to speak directly to the reader and reminding them of his authorial power over the narrative. And he insists upon subverting standard expectations of the novel. So what actually happens is chaos – Jacques and his master tell each other stories that keep being interrupted. The fatalist is caught up in a world which is constantly being reconfigured around him, to the point where his fate not only impossible to predict, but a joke.

The result of this dichotomy is never spelled out, but one inference is that if the universe has an author they are a capricious one. The other is that the world is so unpredictable and our motivations so inscrutable that it leaves enough gaps to suggest we can will things freely. Jacques is a servant to a master who is set in his ways, but he is adept at manipulating him to the point where their roles almost reverse. He may be fated to do so by his character (or his author) but is that also not an example of the freedom he has?

The introduction by David Coward points out how the book’s experimentalism and metafictional elements anticipates 20th century deconstructions like Beckett’s Waiting for Godot. Mileage may vary on how amusing you find Diderot’s constant harangues to his reader, and the mischievous insistence on constantly undermining his own storytelling. There’s something juvenile about it for sure, but in its own way it is an authentic expression of Diderot’s own character, who also thinks, and wills, freely.

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