John Scalzi is careful to point out in his Acknowledgements that The Collapsing Empire “was not intended as a commentary on the current state of the United States, the UK, or that of Western Civilization in general.” Despite the fact that this book dates to 2017, it does have a lot to say in retrospect about the current state of the world.
The Interdependency is a great concept, a colloquial shorthand for the Holy Empire of the Interdependent States and Mercantile Guilds. Here the balance of power is juggled between parliament (laws and justice), the guilds (trade and prosperity), and the church (spirituality and community). “And above them, the emperox, mother of all, for order.” Trade is essentially controlled, or monopolised, by a number of families, who are forever competing (and feuding) against each other for leverage.
Said Holy Empire consists of a far-flung collection of human settlements, the majority of which are on technically uninhabitable planets. The only reason why humanity can endure in this fashion is due to the Flow, a hyperlink-type network stitching the Empire together. Stitching, however, tends to fray and unravel.
Cardenia discovers this soon enough when her father Batrin Wu passes away, placing her firmly in the spotlight as the supreme authority of the Interdependency, the emperox. Not only did Batrin think his daughter unsuitable for the role, but she does not want to be in the firing line either – especially when she enters the Memory Room to commune with her father’s holo-ghost, and he informs her of the last great secret he took to the grave with him.
Cardenia is only one of a range of vivid point-of-view characters, many of them women. Very strong-willed and opinionated women like Kiva, a starship captain from the Lagos family, who unwittingly becomes engulfed in a political spider web of intrigue and machination that quickly envelops the Interdependency in its sticky thrall. Kiva is no walkover, though:
The family legend had it that Kiva Lagos’s very first word as an infant was ‘fuck’, a legend that was entirely liable to be true, given the swearing propensity of the Countess Huma Lagos, Kiva’s mother and head of the House of Lagos.
Yes, Kiva swears so profusely, and with such linguistic fervour, that it is enough to make Chrisjen Avasarala from The Expanse blush. Scalzi has lots of fun with Kiva’s character as a result:
Kiva motioned to them. “Tell the rest of them to fuck off, too,” she said to Limbar.
“Everyone fuck off,” Limbar said. “For the next fifteen minutes.”
Everyone fucked off, and Limbar closed the door behind them.
Together with spaceship names like ‘Yes, Sir, That’s My Baby’, this book wears its street-cred proudly on its sleeve. There is nothing spectacularly new here, of course, but Scalzi injects his story with an energy and a joie de vivre that makes for infectious reading. The ending is, predictably, a cliffhanger for the second instalment.
The space opera sub-genre seems to be enjoying something of a weird renaissance at the moment, with envelope-pushing writers like Yoon Ha Lee and Kameron Hurley taking it to one extreme, while other writers like Scalzi, Becky Chambers and Ian Whates take it to a completely different extreme, in the form of a ‘retro’ Golden Age type of space opera, but focused firmly on modern issues. And with plenty of f-bombs.