At some point while reading Children of the Mind, I thought about the fact that all of this started with a little boy being sent to Battle School. We have travelled rather far. By now Card is dealing with copies of people produced from the mind, faster-than-light travel achieved by stepping outside the universe, an artificial intelligence trying to work out what kind of being she actually is, the continued threat against Lusitania, and Ender confronting himself in ways that have become unexpectedly literal. Calling this the fourth Ender’s Game book almost feels misleading. There are traces of that first novel everywhere, but the series has mutated into something much stranger.
I liked Children of the Mind considerably more than Xenocide, even though many of the things that frustrated me there haven't exactly disappeared. People still talk. A lot. Card has never encountered a philosophical problem he couldn't make two characters discuss for another ten pages, and everyone remains remarkably capable of articulating the deepest problems in their relationships while simultaneously being terrible at solving them. But this time I found myself more interested in those relationships.
Peter and young Valentine could easily have felt like a gimmick. They're essentially creations of Ender's mind given independent existence, carrying aspects of people who have shaped him without simply being those people. Card gets some fascinating material out of that. Peter in particular has to live with the uncomfortable knowledge that he resembles someone Ender feared and hated, while also being the product of Ender himself. What exactly is he supposed to do with that? Apparently, argue with everyone, a quite convincingly, to be fair.
Jane's situation worked even better for me. Her existence has been one of the most interesting threads running through these books, and here the abstract questions surrounding her become intensely practical. She is enormously powerful and extraordinarily intelligent, but none of that answers the deceptively simple question of where she is. What does embodiment mean to a consciousness that has existed across a network? Is occupying a body the same thing as becoming that body? And if identity can move between different forms of existence, what exactly is the part that remains continuous? Card can be heavy-handed with these questions, but they're good questions.
The same is true of Ender. He's much quieter here than the title character of a series might be expected to be, yet that felt appropriate. Ender has spent thousands of subjective years carrying the consequences of what happened when he was a child. He has been soldier, xenocide, Speaker, husband, brother, symbol and historical monster, depending on who is looking at him. By this point there is something almost exhausting about the amount of identity accumulated around one person.
His relationship with Novinha remains difficult, sometimes painfully so. I didn't always enjoy reading their interactions, but I appreciated that Card doesn't suddenly make their marriage easy because we're approaching the end. These are two damaged people who love each other and are also remarkably capable of hurting each other. Love does not magically make them compatible at every moment.
The wider political story interested me somewhat less. The threat to Lusitania still provides urgency, and Peter's attempts to influence events elsewhere give the book movement, but I rarely felt that this was where the novel's real attention lay. I was much more interested in Jane, Ender, Peter and Valentine trying to understand what their increasingly peculiar forms of existence actually mean. And peculiar they certainly become.
I still don't entirely buy the metaphysics introduced in Xenocide. Card asks me to make some enormous leaps, and there were moments when I decided resistance was pointless and simply went along with him. Once I'd done that, though, I enjoyed what he built from those ideas considerably more here. The strange mechanics become less important than their consequences for the characters. Perhaps that's why this worked better for me than Xenocide. That book often seemed to stop the story so everyone could examine an idea. Children of the Mind more often makes somebody actually live with it.
It's an extraordinarily odd place for Ender's story to arrive, and certainly not where I imagined I was heading while reading about the Battle Room a few books ago. But I rather like that Card never tried to write Ender’s Game four times, and somehow, against all reasonable expectations, I think Jane may have become my favourite character in a series called Ender's Saga.