I won a print copy of Camp Zero in a giveaway. I didn’t really think of print giveaways as something one won—more something one entered, periodically, on a whim, then forgot about—so receiving a free book in the mail was lovely. And though I had mixed feelings in the end, I anticipate that Sterling's novel will be much read and much talked about.
If Camp Zero is a four-star book, it’s a four-star book that's one part three-star book and one part five-star book, which is far and away the most interesting kind of four-star book there is. I found it, somehow, at once captivating and underwhelming. The prose, for example: highly competent, often lovely, hardly a paragraph you couldn’t read out in a seminar as an example of how to artfully vary tone and rhythm, and yet—sanded down, somehow. Whole paragraphs that I feel I could have encountered in any number of literary novels published in the last decade. (Which is to say, this is not a problem limited to one book!) Too many artful turns of phrase where they don’t belong. There is a lot about this book that is pretty deranged—that’s much of what I liked about it—but stylistically, it only sometimes rises to the occasion.
The world-building, too, is lacking. There’s nothing particularly bizarre or unanticipated or chaotic, just the steady march of the forces that appear to be atomizing our own society—social media plugged straight into the brain stem, ever widening gaps between the haves and have-nots, the endless degradation of the natural world. It all sounds terrible realistic: isn’t that exactly the future we all face? But it’s not, not really. Because history is nothing if not unpredictable; a future that imagines only the forward motion of the forces buffeting the present is a future robbed of the jaw-dropping potential that human societies contain, for good and for evil. No, the future will not be just superstorms and social inequality and more glass towers and more extractive capitalism. All those things will go on—maybe—but if the past is any guide at all, all kinds of stranger and less predictable things will happen too.
And then, this is a future where no one reads books or appreciates the world around them, where a parasitic virtual reality is literally sapping people’s minds and memories—except, of course, for our characters, all of whom read literature and exist in the moment with aplomb. Why not credit the rest of humanity with such resilience? Then too, more than a few characters have back stories so pat they almost read like fables. A flaw, I thought—or is it a strength? By the time I’d reached the end, I wasn’t sure any more.
As the second half unfurled, I began to feel that I had underestimated the book. Was I reading a dystopian science fiction novel at all? Or something more interesting in disguise? Was this, actually, a utopian novel? A violence took hold, deep in the heart of the book, a terrible, captivating violence. Something swimming beneath the surface of this smoothly-plotted, over-hyped speculative literary novel—something complicated, something troubling. A note of gender essentialism; a note of anarchism—and suddenly, I could see the book in conversation with a long lineage of feminist science fiction.
And that is where, in the end, I thought that the book shone: as a feminist novel of ideas. Those ideas are not safe and not easy and not sanded down. They are dangerous and wild and tense. For all its shortcomings, this is not only a book worth reading, but a book worth arguing about, worth fighting over.