I’ve never felt this way about a Robert Silverberg novel before. It seems like Silverberg uses more than 130 pages of Star of Gypsies to set up his conflicted character, Yakoub—King of the Gypsies. The problem of the character is described by a former wife/lover: “You think I take anything you say at face value, Yakoub? You’re the only man I know who can hold six contradictory ideas at one time and feel comfortable with it.” (p. 71) Indeed, this protagonist could be a poster child for cognitive dissonance.
One of the good things about Silverberg’s entire body of work is that he is well-read in the field (as witnessed by his editorial efforts such as Legends series and Deep Space. So, I wasn’t surprised to find an intertextual reference to The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy when Yakoub turns on a “Vogon sphere.” (p. 65). Of course, his intertextuality extends to biblical and classical references: “To drive us forth from our homes with a flaming sword…” (p. 45), Yakoub’s very name (Jacob—especially because he longs for the planet of promise as opposed to land of promise), “milk and honey” (p. 177), “rod and staff” (p. 188), the threat of whips and scorpions as in Solomon’s son Rehoboam (p. 322), Absalom’s rebellion against his father King David (p. 328), the ungrateful child as sharper than a serpent’s tooth from ”King Lear”(p. 329), John Donne’s “No Man is an Island” (pp. 338, 349), The Meditations of Marcus Aurelius (specifically on pp. 160 (quoting Book IV, 32 on history and IV, 33 on justice) and (the mention of a unique copy of the book on) 185, but a lot of Yakoub’s philosophy sounds like the ancient emperor’s book), some comments from Nikos Kazantzakis on Nietzsche on p. 210), and several lines from the last stanza of T. S. Eliot’s “Little Gidding” (p. 412).
The protagonist also tends to drop proverbial (albeit extended proverbs in some cases) wisdom. His description of youth is quite impactful. “To exist in the moment, not yet wound in layer upon opaque layer of experience. To be transparent, bones visible through the skin, every motivation laying in clear view just below the surface, …” (p. 53). I liked when Yakoub was speaking to his French friend Julien: “Power kept too long goes flat, Julien. You know, when you leave a bottle of champagne open too long, what happens to it?” (p. 85) In terms of dealing with a personal deity or destiny, Yakoub sounds a lot like Marcus Aurelius when he says: “Trying to see things His way is philosophy. Actually getting to see things His way is becoming wise.” (p. 288) Indeed, as obvious as it may seem, I chuckled over this advice on p. 400: “…it rarely pays to be discourteous to megalominiacs, especially when you’re standing in their living room.”
Yet, as the reader will find out (some 250 pages in), Yakoub is the creator of his own circumstances and, despite all of his cleverness, bears much responsibility for the major crisis in the book (which doesn’t really occur until more than 350 pages in). In fact, Yakoub is the most passive protagonist I can remember in reading a successful novel in years. With the exception of one very clever bit of action about the middle of the book, Yakoub’s strategy in most things seems to be to attack through surrender (pp. 310-311). The blurb on the back of my paperback edition, attributed quite ambiguously to the Associated Press, touts this as a “delightful swashbuckling tale across time and space.” While Yakoub is a larger-than-life, romantic figure, the bulk of the events do not depict Yakoub as having any particular “derring-do.”
The truth, though, is that Star of Gypsies, while not being the most exciting science-fiction I’ve read, has much to commend it. Just as Jack Vance is amazing in how he describes the sociology of alien cultures, Silverberg offers the most amazing planetary ecologies in this book that I can imagine. There is a sea of Cthulhu-like tentacles that turn out to be a strange forest as opposed to the scary creatures I had imagined (p. 63). But while the forest didn’t actually have an intelligence on one planet, a sea that seems like a cross between Pepto-Bismol and an amoeba most certainly does (pp. 127, 138-9). One planet has a vivid scarlet sea with interesting properties (p. 153) and another has almost a total framework of yellow vines (along with giant worms that, while not making “spice,” do provide the most valuable resource on the planet (pp. 215, 217). Silverberg creates a fascinating ecology for the so-called “mudpuppy” on, of all things, a desert planet (pp. 260-261). And while this list is not exhaustive, let me also commend the intriguing impressions made by his description of a city constructed solely of woven reeds (p. 428).
Time-travel in Star of Gypsies is limited in one way and unlimited in another. One isn’t physically travelling back in time and one can only travel backwards from where one is, but one doesn’t need a machine or a stimulant to perform what the novel calls “ghosting.” (p. 157) In fact, there are no problems with time paradoxes because this universe is, as with Marcus Aurelius’ philosophy, operating on a basis of determinism. One character explains: “Don’t you understand? There is never any in the first place.” (p. 158) Perhaps, even more simply, “Nothing can ever be changed,” (p. 173).
As a result, I liked Star of Gypsies; I didn’t love it.