Starship Librarians is the 15th anthology from Tyche Books, an indie publisher of fantastika, encompassing stories from Canadian authors. It is a wide range of styles and views, all presenting the premise of libraries following humanity into space.
The overarching theme the writers approach in the anthology is one of protecting information, a theme which is perhaps an eloquent statement of the rise of populism and conservatism which has resulted in real-world, present-day, book-banning, and sometimes burning. The theme of ‘library’, however, goes beyond cataloguing and archiving physical books; it encompasses data, raw data which represents all aspects of knowledge from arts and sciences, philosophy and social commentary, and the need to preserve that information in any manner imaginable. These are important stories, with an important message, albeit delivered with a sometimes heavy and clumsy hand. There were a few remarkable nuggets among this collection of interesting stories wrapped in average writing. A few of those stand-outs, for me, were “Is Anybody Out There”, by Rhonda Parrish and E.C. Bell, and “The Thriving Green”, by Kayla Whittle.
What became very apparent throughout the anthology was the writers’ predisposition to imagine space-travel with physical books, with a biological librarian, which is altogether a rather Gene Roddenberry, Star Trek franchise vision, with little relation to the very real imperative of economy of physical space. It is not beyond the realm of possibility any crew member might bring along a treasured print volume on a voyage, just as officers in the age of sail might have allocated precious space to a few, favourite volumes. It is, however, beyond credibility there might be an entire section of a spaceship dedicated to housing print books. This is the wish-fulfillment of every bibliophile. It is unlikely in the extreme. Given the growing demise of print versus digital, it seems even more unlikely that a physical library would be part of that very expensive and scarce real estate aboard a spaceship.
What is more likely is that all that knowledge, spanning a myriad of disciplines and epochs, would be stored in databases, and the overseeing of that database would either be the provenance of a member of the crew—a librarian, if you will—or more likely of sophisticated onboard computers.
Beyond my quibble with credibility, I did find a lack of oversight on the part of editors Allen and Campbell. Allen is a freelance editor, author and book coach, while Campbell is a writer and anthologist.
There were numerous instances of eyes detaching and scanning rooms, rolling across surfaces, piercing, locking…. You get the picture. Eyes cannot scan. Gazes can. Eyes cannot roll across surfaces, unless you have a psychopathic sadist on hand to remove said eyes and play a game of marbles. Gazes, however, most definitely can roll, as they can pierce, lock…. You get the picture. I pick nits, I know, but it’s important to the maintenance and promotion of good writing, and of good editing.
There were also numerous instances of what I consider to be a novice, or amateur, tendency to give physical descriptions of a protagonist from the protagonist’s point of view. Unless the protagonist can see themselves in a reflective surface, and that reflection is imperative to forwarding the plot and tension, then there’s no need to write: Amalia tossed her long, auburn hair over her shoulder, straightened her indigo tunic, and set off a trot. Is the length and colour of Amalia’s hair important? Is the colour of the tunic? Probably not, beyond the writer trying to get a clearer internal image of their protagonist. Conversely, by the author refraining from such physical descriptions it allows the reader to more fully engage, to allow imagination to run freely. A writer dictating detail, unless that detail is imperative to the furtherance of tension and plot, as I’ve said, is unnecessary.
And thus, given the above, I found the anthology adequate. It’s a good vacation read, easily consumed and quickly forgotten.