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The Algebraist
Iain M. Banks / Orbit
There are not one, but two Iain Banks living in the same body. One is the mainstream novelist, author of quirky and singularly voiced best sellers like The Wasp Factory, Complicity and Espedair Street. The other is a science fiction genius responsible for Consider Phlebas and Feersum Endjinn. This disgustingly talented Scottish writer, a success in both genres, has just published another sci-fi novel, and it’s a whopper.
The Algebraist begins after some framing shots with the Archimandrite Luseferous, Executive High General of a fleet of well-armed starships hurtling at nearly the speed of light towards Ulubis, an unarmed and relatively obscure portion of the civilized galaxy. Luseferous is "that most deplorable of beings, a psychopathic sadist with a fertile imagination," but in these opening paragraphs it is the imagination of Banks that truly shines. The product of fearsome genetic engineering, tasteless plastic surgery, and vacant morality, Luseferous is the embodiment of pure evil.
In the system of Ulubis, Fassin Taak is a Slow Seer, a human who has been trained to speak to the Dwellers, a nearly immortal race of beings that live in the gas giants throughout the galaxy. When the Mercatoria, a governing organization for the civilized universe, discovers the impending invasion of Luseferous, they call on Fassin to be an ambassador to the Dwellers, and to find if there is any truth to an old legend he did some research on years before. The Mercatoria have new evidence to believe that this legend may be the only chance his galaxy has at salvation from Luseferous’ attack…
The scope Iain M. Banks’ vision in this sci-fi masterpiece is simply colossal. He takes into account things like the unimaginably massive size of the universe, and the issues such as time and age implied in beings attempting to cross large sections of it. His savagely wild imagination almost outruns the story itself. While the plot at times gets slightly clunky in the middle, one of the true joys of this book is the way the author masterfully unfolds the details of this universe one by one, like a series of slowly shifting curtains. In this way, he keeps the reader hooked from beginning to end. The storyline comes and goes, and while being enthralling almost the whole way through, the ideas he comes up with in the book—the jaw dropping, “what if…” concepts—will blow your mind and probably linger longer than the details of the story itself.
Banks is a gifted storyteller, and it shows in The Algebraist. He knows when to zoom in on a detail, and he knows when pull out to the overarching story curve. While some may find the somewhat enigmatic ending unsatisfying (if only because it is unexpected), the good news is the response to this novel has been so overwhelmingly positive, we may hear again from this fascinating world so poetically laid out.
THE KARAOKE WORLD OF CORTOUS HAIRE
By Bjorn Turmann / Konstrukt Books
As far as expat fiction goes—a genre primarily made up of cliched, lusty tales of clueless foreigners falling for local working girls—this book is quite good. Bjorn Turmann sets himself apart from the crowd with the oddball tale of a Cortous Haire, an American in Singapore who works for a karaoke video marketing and production company. Set in the mid-90s, the tale recounts the free-wheeling optimism of that time through his company’s search for a karaoke star who could be popular throughout the entire Southeast Asian region. Following the ‘97 economic crash, however, Cortous loses his job and he takes a string of other positions that eventually lead him on a wacky journey north to Bangkok and onwards to Laos. Cortous is a bit of a fish-out-of-water at first, and newcomers to the region will certainly find the protagonist’s hi-jinx familiar.
The story itself is a meandering tale that feels a bit meaningless, but it’s at least unpredictable and at times humorous. The characters are the best part of the book, with the love triangle between Cortous, his roommate Richard, and his girlfriend Mei Ling as a highlight. Turmann is doubtless a competent writer, but as a storyteller he’s not so strong. The beginning of the novel is too slow for today’s attention-deficient readers with the author not hitting his stride until 150 pages in. While the book is head-and-shoulders above most of the bar girl/foreigner pulp fiction lining the airport bookracks, there’s not much here to hook readers and keep them coming back for more. Turmann may be one to watch in the future, but as yet his voice is too undefined.