Many discerning readers, even ones who like SF, will reflexively sneer if you say the dreaded words "space opera". One need only think of E.E. Doc Smith, for a long time the unquestioned king of this particular sub-genre. I read Galactic Patrol when I was at primary school; like innumerable other geeky nine year olds, I adored it, and particularly loved the "Helmuth speaking for Boskone" tagline. I also remember how, aged 12 or 13, I picked it up to see if the magic was still there. Oh dear! It was maybe the first time I felt embarrassed at ever having liked a book, and wondered how I could have had such poor taste. You will gather that he really isn't terribly good.
None the less, if you love a book when you're nine, it probably has something to recommend it; what's great about space opera is the sense of wonder it inspires, as you are taken outside our little planet and shown how huge and strange the larger Universe is. As people like Kingsley Amis and Brian Aldiss have argued, the roots of this kind of literature go back to imaginative, ostensibly mainstream authors like Dante and Milton, but the project somehow got hijacked in the early 20th century. In the 1980s, Iain Banks conceived the ambitious idea of redeeming the space opera, and started writing the Culture series. Consider Phlebas is the first one. The title --- a quotation from The Waste Land, no less! --- lets you know at once that something important has been fixed. (The author presumably wanted to increase the number of people who'd get as far as even opening the book). Instead of Smith's dreadful prose, Banks writes elegant, literary English. By the time you've got a dozen pages into it, you're convinced that this will, at the very least, be pleasant to read at the sentence level. After a while, you find out that he's also addressed most of the other standard problems.
Banks has given interviews about the Culture novels, and one aspect he likes to focus on is the politics. He said he found it distasteful that galactic empires always had to be right-wing military hierarchies; I didn't realize it when I was nine, but the basic plot in Smith is one bunch of Nazis fighting another. The Culture is a more interesting beast: a decentralized, anarchic society, which consists of a loose federation of humans and intelligent machines, spread out over many worlds. The humans use their advanced technology to support a relaxed, hedonistic life-style, with a lot of sex, drugs and rock 'n' roll. A nice detail is that they are genetically engineered so that their bodies can synthesize their own drugs. Not so far-fetched: our own society has plenty of endorphin junkies, to mention just one hormone we regularly enjoy.
The machines are very well done. Most space operas never really consider the fact that machines will eventually be smarter than people, but Banks confronts this head-on. You see the Culture both from the inside and from the outside; its critics tend to say that it's really run by the AIs, with the people having little influence. The smartest Culture machines, the "Minds", are indeed enormously more intelligent than any person could be, and have almost godlike powers. I see the relationship between machines and people in the Culture as being rather like the relationship between a person and their genes. You're far smarter than your genes. However, the genes built you to take care of them, and you often do what they tell you. Just as a person can get into a relationship that they know makes no logical sense, because their genes like the idea, Banks's godlike machines also let their human partners make important decisions for them on emotional grounds. Although his main purpose is to tell a story, Banks is saying some quite interesting things here about the future of technology.
Well, that's a lightning tour of the Culture universe, and Consider Phlebas makes good use of it. There's a war on between the Culture and the Idirans, and the book is about one tiny incident in that war. Neither side is presented as intrinsically good or bad; the main character, Horza, is a spy working for the Idirans, who has been assigned the job of retrieving a Mind that has been accidentally stranded on a remote planet. Horza is opposed by a Culture agent; there is again no attempt to show that he is morally superior, and in fact she comes across in many ways as a better person. We see acts of treachery and heroism on both sides, and one of the things I liked is that some of the bravest and most heroic acts later turn out to have been utterly misconceived. The story at first seems to be meandering around, but as Horza gets closer to the Mind it tightens up more and more; the ending is absolutely terrific, and left me with an adrenaline rush and a head full of startling, nightmare images. I enjoyed this book as much as my nine year old self enjoyed Galactic Patrol.