At some point in the 1960s, all the hip kids started writing books about nothing. In science fiction, this trend asserted itself in the works of writers as diverse as Philip K. Dick, Samuel Delaney, and Arthur C. Clarke, all of whom endeavoured to take us on ponderous journeys into the heart of the human psyche, eschewing conventional narrative structure, and blah blah blah.
They're all shit.
I hope at least some of the people who've read - for instance - Clarke's "Rendezvous With Rama" shared my sense of having been utterly robbed of my time upon having completed it. The revelation that the giant drifting space tube was in itself too revelatory to be, er, revealed, made "Rendezvous" the smuggest fucking anti-book in the Western canon. "You can't possibly comprehend," Clarke tells us, and then makes no attempt to help us do so. But at least he doesn't have us tripping through some kind of pointless Joycean nightmare like Delaney in "Dhalgren" (which I will never finish), or imploring us to see the face of God with him like Dick in... well, everything written after 1966.
Let me be clear: I don't hate these authors, and I don't even hate these works. But I'm conservative in my artistic tastes. I like my paintings to be of battles or agricultural idylls or 17th century Florentine noblemen, without signifying anything more than "here's a picture of a field". I like my sculptures to be of emperors or philosophers; I like my movies to have three acts and a discernable protagonist. I like my stories to come in the form of a traditional bildungsroman, wherein something actually happens.
Anyway, I digress. After they finished experimenting with anti-art, the SF writers of the 60s became the SF writers of the 70s and 80s, and the literary equivalent of rock'n'roll (that is, innovative and experimental, but limited by its form) gave way to the literary equivalent of prog rock or glam rock (that is, utter shite). To give you a sense of what I mean here, Dune and the Lord of the Rings were both very popular during this time, and George Lucas started making Star Wars.
In other words, the backlash, as it almost always does, went too far. That's why Iraq has swung from Baathist secularism to novo-caliphate without stopping off at grudging tolerance along the way. George Lucas and Frank fucking Herbert and their ilk evidently got sick of people producing SF works that were about everything but in which nothing happened. They initiated the backlash with a series of Saturday morning cartoon level shittery that's about nothing but in which everything happens.
So you get a situation in which one minute everyone's reading novels by Philip Dick in which, if we're honest, the only science fictional element is the fact that he has made up the drug that he - ah, that is, his main character - is taking, and the next minute they're reading about the magical adventures of a plucky cohort of space monsters (I'm looking at you, Jar Jar Binks) who want a thing but can't get the thing because an evil galactic something is being very mean or something.
And we come to "Take Back Plenty". I'll be honest. I bought it because:
1. I liked the title
2. It was in the SF Masterworks series.
This is a novel that fits - that is, that should fit - in with a rich but limited SF tradition called New Wave. New Wave is the little shard of light in the darkness of post-Golden Age SF writing. (And don't talk to me about fucking cyberpunk. Jesus, I hate cyberpunk. There never was a sub-genre that dated more quickly. But I digress. Again.) New Wave - to use my earlier trite musical analogy - is the equivalent of Joy Division in a landscape filled with David Bowie and Queen and all that showy bollocks. In other words, it's a short-lived little island of artisitc innovation in a sea of superficiality. The flagship New Wave novel is "The Centauri Device", whose author has reportedly come to hate it, but which I think should replace Dickens on the school curriculum.
At its best, New Wave analogises contemporary culture - particularly cultural out-groups, like women, or, in the case of the Centauri Device, Palestinians - in order to plunder familiar ground for new ways of telling stories, but also to help us to understand ourselves a little better. It's short, it's punchy, it's unconventional in its plotting and characters, but at heart the story is always linear and the protagonist is always acting in a comprehensible manner. It's literary punk. It's edgy. It's a hobby-horse of mine.
Anyway, "Take Back Plenty" should fit the bill. It was written at the right time, by the right kind of author. The blurb promises a lot. The opening chapters promise a lot. But ultimately, it's New Wave's evil twin. It's the bastard child of the epic and the introspective, but while its sibling manages to inherit the best aspects of both parents - sure-footed plotting and an introspective sense of purpose - "Take Back Plenty" gets neither.
It aspires to be edgy: the protagonist is a woman for God's sake! She even has sex! And talks about it! But it doesn't manage to hit its notes any better than an installment of any other bog standard space opera. An assortment of silly things makes its silly way through a succession of silly environments designed especially by the author to accommodate the silly and oh-so-fucking-predictable progressions (how generous of me to use that word!) of the plot. On the other hand, we have a running theme of introspection that is so self-knowing that it is compartmentalised in the narrative structure and externalised in thecharacter development: the book's confessor is the AI of the protagonist's (predictably) worn-out but well-loved rustbucket of a space ship called the Millenium Falcon... or the Alice Lidell or something. Does it matter?
Look, the bottom line is that I haven't read a book that I really liked all year, and I had such high hopes for this one. I gave it two stars because the blurb and the title and the cover art gave me a nice basis upon which to invent my own story that isn't as interminably boring as this one and has characters who aren't kooky fucking weirdo space pirate things.
I'm very upset.