I had some reservations about Kim Stanley Robinson after reading some of the atrocious prose in ‘The Memory of Whiteness’, but I put it aside so I could enjoy one of his famous Mars books. The colonisation of Mars sounds like it should be the most interesting premise for a novel, yet I was left disappointed with Red Mars.
Robinson has an obsession with fictional technical details. I think I am alone in my distaste for most kinds of ‘worldbuilding’. At least I understand the writer can enjoy the process of picking details and making up things, the way one enjoys menial decoration. What puzzles me are the readers who enjoy what amounts to fake history. Robinson spends far too much time talking about preparations, the teams, how it all runs, the stupid shape of the ship. There is more excitement and life in the pages of a textbook than in Red Mars. It’s not that I didn’t expect something like this coming into the book, but I thought it’d be more interesting than it turned out to be.
If I told you I enjoyed Brave New World, you may say my criticism is faulty. After all, the whole first chapter is just a description of how humans are manufactured, and there is plenty of ‘worldbuilding’ in the book. Indeed, the first chapter is dry and brutal; this prosaic quality is unique to the first chapter, and is the perfect way to set the ‘world’, the details of which serve a higher purpose in Huxley. We are attentive to the workings of the society, because we know they are not arbitrary choices. They each illustrate an idea: Soma shows the dangerous potential for drugs to pacify a population — an interesting view from a psychonaut like Huxley; the pseudo-religious rituals express his idea that we innately desire the psychological effects of religion, and even in this society they must simulate the religious effect; the cremation process explores our existential dread of death, and asks to what end we may go to shove the ghastliness of this truth from our existence, yet how inhumane this is! The difference is that the details of Robinson stand by themselves, filling your brain but communicating nothing, whereas the details of Huxley are purposeful and allegorical. Some details of Huxley such as the helicopter-cars are simply part of the scenery of a futuristic world, which he doesn’t talk much about it because it’s not what’s important.
It is clear that, though Robinson lingers on details too much, he wants to “shine a light” on how the humans would behave in this world. Perhaps this is what all the bureaucratic description is for, to contrast with the humanity of these colonists. Yet his characters don’t feel truly human. His attempt to fill them with humanity feels artificial, propped up by an obsession with sex bordering on voyeuristic — he paints the space station as a harem of nerds, falling into a dull promiscuity. No character feels like a true, interesting person, and this point I can’t quite figure out, but I have some theory. I believe it might be because of the sense of scale of the book, leading to a disorienting focus. Let me compare it with another book. The premise of Red Mars — humans colonizing Mars — seems like it should be grand, full of potential. The premise of Botchan — a Japanese city man has a short stint teaching in a country school — is opposite, a humdrum anecdote. Yet Botchan is far more lively and interesting, while Red Mars is dry as duricrust. I wonder if it’s because the scale of Botchan is so close and personal, the environment tied to it’s characters, while Red Mar’s mixture of bland pages of Martian description and sweeping description of the whole society, with the personal thoughts of some Maya, keep us disconnected us from the homogenous mix of scientists.
I wasn’t totally bored reading this, but even the better parts weren’t that good. Since I didn’t like ‘The Memory Of Whiteness’ either, I’ve given up on enjoying anything by Kim Stanley Robinson.