Solaris: Can we communicate with an alien sentient ocean? Originally posted at Fantasy Literature Solaris is an amazing little novel with a colorful hisSolaris: Can we communicate with an alien sentient ocean? Originally posted at Fantasy Literature Solaris is an amazing little novel with a colorful history. First written in 1961 by Stanislaw Lem in Polish, it was then made into a two-part Russian TV series in 1968, before being made into a feature film by famous Russian director Andrei Tarkovsky in 1972. It only reached English publication in 1970 in a Polish-to-French-to-English translation. And just when you thought it had faded from attention, both James Cameron and Steven Soderbergh expressed interest in doing a remake, with Soderbergh getting the nod in 2002 because Cameron was busy with other movies. Finally, a direct Polish-to-English translation by Bill Johnston was made available as an ebook and audiobook in 2011. In my case, I saw the Tarkovsky film first back in 1995, watched the Soderbergh film in 2002, finally read the 1970 translation in 2013, and listened to the audiobook version in 2015.
Are the book and films worthy of all this attention? Absolutely. Stanislaw Lem was a well-respected author in the Soviet Union, and the 1972 Tarkovsky film became a surprise hit in Russia, playing continuously for 15 years in limited runs there. Many of Lem’s books are translated into English now, and he is well respected as a literary author interested in the nature of consciousness, human psychology, and attempts by man to understand himself and his surroundings. His relationship with the SF world is tenuous, as he preferred not to be associated with it despite his frequent use of SF tropes in his fiction.
The planet Solaris is covered by a single, massive ocean, and after the initial discovery scientists began to observe unusual movements and formations in the ocean. In addition, careful calculations reveal that the planet’s orbit is not entirely stable, but that something on the planet is correcting the orbit. Entire schools of scientific and philosophic thought dedicated to studying the ocean develops over many decades and are dubbed Solaristics.
The most brilliant part of the novel, and something that was completely cut from the films, is the meticulous and often humorous development of academic research on Solaris which begins with breathless excitement as scientists face the prospect of man’s first possible contact with extraterrestrial life, then splitting into various factions who make minute observations of the numerous and inscrutable formations of the ocean, which get categorized into “dendromountains”, “extensors”, “megamushrooms”, “mimoids”, “symmetriads”, “asymmetriads”, etc. Here are some sample passages:
I thought to myself that what we know about Solaris, all the knowledge that filled this library, was useless ballast, a mere quagmire of facts, and that we were in the same position as when we’d started to gather this information seventy-eighty years ago; in fact, the situation was a lot worse, since all the labors of those years had proved to be in vain.
In scientific circles the “case of Solaris” gradually began to sound like a lost cause, especially among the academic leadership of the Institute, where in recent years voices had been raised calling for cuts in future research funding. No one yet dared suggest closing the Station completely; this would be too overt an admission of failure.
For some time one popular view, eagerly disseminated by the press, was that the thinking ocean covering the whole of Solaris was a gigantic brain more advanced by millions of years than our own civilization, that is was some kind of “cosmic yogi,” a sage, omniscience incarnate, which had long ago grasped the futility of all action and for this reason was maintaining a categorical silence towards us.
The novel revolves around a small group of scientists on Solaris Station, a research station that revolves around the planet Solaris. It opens with psychologist Kris Kelvin arriving on Solaris Station to check on the three scientists stationed there. Nobody comes to greet him when he first arrives, and when he meets Snaut (must sound better in Polish), the man is a psychological wreck, initially not believing Kelvin is real, and then refusing to explain what has happened on the station, which is in disarray, or why all the scientists are acting paranoid. He also reveals that Gibarian, whom Kelvin studied with at university, has committed suicide just that morning. The third scientist is Sartorius, who is so eccentric that he stays in his lab and refuses to come out and converse.
Stanislaw Lem builds his scenario carefully and immediately establishes the claustrophobic atmosphere in which the scientists operate, and throws Kelvin into the midst of this. Almost immediately, he realizes that the other scientists are encountering mysterious “guests” that appear on the station when they are sleeping. In each case, these “guests” appear to be generated from painful memories or secret desires buried deep in each person’s subconscious. Even more perplexing, these simulacra do not recognize their own natures, but lacking coherent memories. Kelvin initially is not visited, but when he does receive a guest, it turns out to be his lost lover Rheya, who committed suicide after they had a fight. Suddenly Kelvin understands why the other scientists have been acting so strangely, but he discovers it is not easy to be rid of his “guest” when he tricks Rheya into a space pod and fires her into space, because the next morning she is back…
What follows is a philosophical and psychological drama that explores inner space, memories, consciousness, guilt, love, all the time with the inscrutable alien ocean impassively moving below. What is the purpose of these “guests”, which clearly come from the unconscious but have no knowledge of their origins, and don’t seem to be extensions of the ocean’s thoughts. Although the ocean is creating these simulacra from the scientists’ brain waves, it is not clear if it is doing this merely to study humans or to actually try to communicate with them. The constant formations on the ocean’s surface offer tantalizing signs of intelligence and intent, but despite decades of study their meaning is unclear. Over time, the various scholars despair of ever understanding Solaris or its ocean.
This theme is brilliantly explored, and is in stark contrast to the vast majority of SF that posits that given the opportunity we can communicate with alien intelligences. But how much of that is merely our anthropomorphic bias, clouding our judgment? For a truly alien consciousness, are humans nothing more than insignificant insects buzzing around. And what does that do the giant egos of mankind’s brightest scientists? What could be more humiliating that making contact only to discover the Other was completely uninterested? Stanislaw Lem’s answers are far more cerebral and pessimistic than the simplistic aliens of Golden Age SF and beloved film/TV series like Star Wars or Star Trek, and unflinchingly deny the wish-fulfillment that SF has often nurtured. Solaris also represents a very mature response to the question of alien intelligence, which I found both brilliant and ironic.
Review of the 1972 Tarkovsky film version:
I first saw this slow-moving, visually-striking, and meditative 165-minute art film in college, and it’s certainly very interesting if you have the patience for it. As I mentioned above, it dispenses with the sections of the book devoted to Solaristics, and Tarkovsky’s script takes a different direction than Lem’s novel, as he prefers to keep the focus on the Kelvin’s emotional relationship with the reincarnated simulacra of Harey (Rheya is US version), his lost wife. In fact, Tarkovsky includes an entirely new section devoted to Kris Kelvin’s life on Earth with his parents and wife, which occupies a large part of the film’s length.
Moreover, the focus of the film has shifted from man’s attempts to understand the sentient ocean (which is represented by numerous psychedelic scenes of bubbling liquid, but not much of the bizarre formations described in the book), to his attempts to understand his own subconscious. While this may have been a legitimate artistic choice to make the film more accessible to the audience, it also weakens the most important philosophical SF aspects of the novel.
Visually the film truly is striking (though very slow-moving), and is often considered of the greatest SF films created during Soviet Union era. It also won the Grand Prix Special Jury Prize at the 1972 Cannes Film Festival. It certainly is worth watching for fans of Stanislaw Lem, 1970s SF art-house films, and those interested in Russian cinema. I was pretty shocked to find it available on iTunes for rental, but I’m not sure I’m willing to dedicate almost 3 hours to watching it again. Ah, youthful exuberance~
Review of the 2002 Soderbergh film version:
I was pretty excited when I first heard there would be a major Hollywood remake, especially by an accomplished director like Soderbergh, who had recently finished Traffic. Unfortunately, I really didn’t like it. Although Soderbergh claims he intended to be more faithful to the book than Tarkovsky by refocusing the story on Solaris and not Earth, he too dispensed with the scientific study of Solaris (Solaristics) and the ocean in favor of the psychological drama of Kelvin (played by George Clooney) and Rheya (Natasha McElhone).
Lem certainly didn’t like this approach either, and in 2002 he wrote “To the best of my knowledge, the book was not dedicated to erotic problems of people in outer space. Indeed, in Solaris I attempted to present the problem of an encounter in Space with a form of being that is neither human nor humanoid.” I wholly agree that this film became far too much a “romance in outer space”, which was not the book’s intention. To be fair, I think the novel’s biggest theme, the futility of humans attempting to understand a truly ancient consciousness, is not an easy concept to translate into film, but Tarkovsky did it somewhat better....more
The War of the Worlds: Martians come to England and they’re not here for tea Originally posted at Fantasy Literature This classic alien invasion story fThe War of the Worlds: Martians come to England and they’re not here for tea Originally posted at Fantasy Literature This classic alien invasion story from 1897 hardly needs any introduction. We all know the image of Martians descending from space, moving on giant metal tripods and using deadly heat rays to ruthlessly destroy everything in their wake. Most infamous was the 1938 Orson Welles radio broadcast that had average Americans convinced they were being invaded by Martians. Then George Pal had a crack at it with a film version in 1953.
The funniest film inspired by this book is definitely Tim Burton’s Mars Attacks, which is gloriously silly and spares no civilians. And last but not least, Steven Spielberg gave it the full-budget Hollywood treatment in 2005 with perennial SF leading man Tom Cruise. So this tale is part of our culture, which is a credit to H.G. Wells’ ability to tap into common people’s fears and uncertainties.
How many people these days have actually read the book? Like many of Well’s books, you can get an e-book copy online for free, and it is a slim but entertaining read. Once you read it, you’ll discover that much of the novel hasn’t made it into the various adaptations, in either details or tone.
Back when the book first came out, England had been steadily expanding its empire throughout the world, spreading the wonders of benevolent British culture and commerce (unless of course the native population impudently tried to resist this, at which point they were ruthlessly put down by Britain’s superior military force). Mother England’s influence was ever-expanding without any credible rivals to her power.
But wait, what about Martians from space? Couldn’t they boast superior technology to best British artillery? As it turns out, the Martians have some pretty nifty heat rays and deadly poison smoke, and England’s vaunted military routinely gets beat, routed, trounced and humiliated throughout this book, in painstaking detail. It’s almost like Wells wanted to attack that sense of British invulnerability and crush it completely. He does a pretty good job too, I’d say. No wonder readers were enthralled by this story.
As I mentioned in my review of The Island of Dr. Moreau, Wells was also very interested in the ideas of evolution and Social Darwinism, which were often used to justify British imperialism and superiority to the lesser races. Manifest destiny and all that. Well, I think Mr. Wells thoroughly enjoyed turning the tables on his smug fellow Brits, showing what it might feel like to be on the receiving end of a brutal invasion by an implacable enemy with superior technology. Not very pleasant, as it turns out. And despite valiant efforts to resist and that famous stiff upper lip under duress, the English military gets trounced and London is forced into a humbling and chaotic evacuation.
Things are looking pretty dire for England (and the rest of the world by extension), when all of a sudden hopes dawns from the tiniest and most unexpected of places…Well, I won’t spoil it for you. Suffice to say, H.G. Wells manages to pack in a whole lot of social commentary, speculation on evolution and the morality of exerting influence by force, and still tell a crackling adventure tale of adversity and resilience. You should definitely give it a try before Martians attack and make it impossible to get in proper reading time!...more
2001: A Space Odyssey: The perfect collaboration between book and film Originally posted at Fantasy Literature Arthur C. Clarke collaborated with Stanle2001: A Space Odyssey: The perfect collaboration between book and film Originally posted at Fantasy Literature Arthur C. Clarke collaborated with Stanley Kubrick to produce the novel version of 2001: A Space Odyssey (1968) in order to provide the basis for the brilliant film of the same name. So although the book can be considered the original work, Kubrick also had a role in its creation, and Clarke rewrote parts of the book to fit the screenplay as that took shape.
Readers and viewers will forever enjoy debating whether the film or novel version is better, with no final answer. Famous examples include The Lord of the Rings, A Clockwork Orange, Dune, Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep vs Blade Runner, The Princess Bride, Stardust, Harry Potter, Minority Report, Total Recall, etc. In some ways it’s not fair to compare two such completely different media. Books have the advantage of providing copious details on characters backgrounds, thoughts, and details of the world and plot that cannot possibly be given in film versions without distracting voice-overs or text comments. On the other hand, films have the overwhelming advantage of being a visual medium, depicting incredible imagery that immediately can be understood by the viewer. Some may argue that a reader’s imagination is more powerful than any special effects available to a filmmaker, but again this depends on the viewer and reader.
This all is a preface to the fact that I find it very difficult separate the book and film versions of 2001: A Space Odyssey since they were created to complement one another, filling in the gaps and creating a richer experience for those who experienced both. So it’s pointless to argue which one is better – that will probably only reveal whether you like novels or films more. In my case I liked both versions quite a bit, but for different reasons.
Part 1
The book has the edge when it comes to describing the first part, when a monolith from an unseen alien race visit the Earth 3 million years in the past and intervene with a group of starving ape-men and pushes them to use tools to kill animals for meat, as well as using these weapons on rival ape-men tribes. We get far more details on the lives of Moon-Watcher and his tribe, and how the monoliths manipulate them to give them a better chance for survival.
The film does a good job too, if you don’t snicker at the monkey suits of the actors, but you are left mainly with the image of a black monolith suddenly appearing in their midst and then see the ape-men experimenting with animal bones to kill prey and each other. The end of the sequence does however create a brilliant and lasting image of the ape-man swinging an animal bone in slow motion to the swelling orchestral poem of dawning intelligence, Richard Strauss’ Also sprach Zarathustra.
Part II
In part two we follow Dr. Heywood Floyd’s trip to Clavius Base on the Moon. This is yet another iconic scene from the movie, as he makes his way through the space station and onto the ship in very low gravity, and we are treated to slow-moving scenes in space perfectly complemented by The Blue Danube waltz by Johann Strauss. Never before had space flight been shown in such realistic terms, both the slow majestic movements and the stark blacks and whites of space. Not to mention the stewardess on the flight with her magnetic boots to keep from drifting off. Again, these images of space travel and the moon base predate the first actual landing on the moon by Apollo 11 in 1969, but there’s no question that the fired the imaginations of common people and astronauts alike.
The book takes a different approach, providing tons of realistic details on orbital mechanics, zero-gravity conditions, and space stations. Throughout these passages, Clarke’s enthusiasm for space exploration and technology are an interesting contrast to his concerns over the nuclear weapons buildup by the Americans and Russians in the Cold War. This theme is clear in the book but not so in the film. I really liked this part of the novel because the descriptions are lucid but intelligent, and unlike the endless infodumps of Neal Stephenson’s Seveneves, they don’t wear out their welcome.
Part III
Here the story shifts to astronauts David Bowman and Francis Poole, who are on the Discovery One headed to Saturn. The ship is controlled by HAL 9000, an artificial intelligence, and three other crew members are in suspended animation until the mission reaches Saturn. Unknown to the crew, HAL has been tasked with a secret second mission, to investigate signs on Iapetus, one of Saturn’s moons, of the alien intelligence that planted the first monolith on the moon. The conflict between HAL’s directive to hide this from the crew and his programming to assist them causes his judgment to be compromised, and as a result he attacks Poole and kills him outside the ship by reporting a fictitious malfunction. He then targets Dave Bowman, who manages to escape and goes to HAL’s logic center and deactivates him, essentially killing his brain.
I thought this part of the story is equally well-executed in both novel and film. The mild manners of HAL bely his sinister behavior and confusion, and the act of deactivating him is a powerful scene, particularly in the film, as we hear his mind slowly being stripped of complexity and being reduced to singing (slurring, really) the children’s song “Daisy”. It’s a sad moment when HAL is shut down.
In the novel, David Bowman then spends a long period alone on the ship as it heads to Saturn, trying to figure out what went wrong and what the real mission was. This part is essentially dropped from the film for story momentum, I suspect.
Part IV
This is the most transcendent part of the book and film, as David Bowman encounters a much larger monolith above Iapetus, and as he approaches it he says the immortal words, “Oh my god, it’s full of stars!”
At this point in the film he is sucked into the monolith, which is more of a space portal, and rocketed on a psychedelic ride through a wormhole (there are interesting echoes of this in the recent film Interstellar), finally arriving in a stark and creepy artificial constructed room, where he sees himself growing older and finally on the point of death from decrepitude. Suddenly we are shown the image of a baby, or Star Child, hovering above the Earth. This ambiguous image is generally interpreted as Dave’s spirit being reborn into a much more advanced body and mental state, who may bring the wisdom of this mysterious alien race to the rest of humanity. But the lack of exposition has certainly divided opinions: some viewers essentially said “WTF!” while others appreciated the open-ended ending that leaves room for any number of interpretations.
This is the part that most needs the explanatory benefits of the novel. We get more details on the places and visions that the monolith shows Bowman as he travels through space, and understand more clearly that the aliens have carefully planted these monoliths for humans to find when they had reached a certain level of technological expertise. They are an early-warning system and a gateway to other races and galaxies. The Star Child returns to Earth and detonates an orbiting warhead, implying that he will defuse the Cold War and bring peace to mankind. However, the ultimate intentions of the alien race, and any details about them, remain a mystery.
In conclusion, 2001: A Space Odyssey requires that you experience both the book and film to fully grasp the intent of Clarke and Kubrick, and it is well worth the time. The ideas it explores are huge: space exploration, alien contact, past and future evolution, the purpose of intelligent life, and the destiny of mankind. It will remain a fixture in the SF genre for generations to come....more
Speaker for the Dead: Way too much talk about morality, guilt, and redemption through the truth, at the expense of plot and narrative
Ender’s Game and Speaker for the Dead: Way too much talk about morality, guilt, and redemption through the truth, at the expense of plot and narrative
Ender’s Game and Speaker for the Dead really opened my mind to the wonders of the SF genre back in junior high. Ender’s Game was a gripping coming-of-age military SF adventure about child genius Ender Wiggin, which raised serious questions about training children for military combat, and whether genocide can ever be justified, even in self-defense of humanity.
Synopsis
Speaker for the Dead revolves around a dysfunctional family of xenobiologists and xenologers, and features an adult Ender Wiggin (now know as Andrew Wiggin, Speaker for the Dead) who is only in his mid-30s thanks to the time relativity effects of interstellar flight. On Lusitania, a new alien species has been discovered, the pequeninos (or piggies, as they are commonly known), the only other alien race to be encountered since the buggers were exterminated by Ender Wiggin, the Xenocide. So now the Hundred Worlds and Starways Congress are much more cautious about alien contact, and restrict all contact with the piggies to just the handful of xenobiologists and xenologers.
The story involves the emotional trials of the Ribeira family, which has been struck with a series of tragedies tied to interactions with the piggies, as well as contact with a deadly plague called the Descolada which scrambles DNA in unexpected and fatal ways. Despite her parents finding a way to prevent the Descolada from harming humans, the main character Novinha loses her parents to the plague. Although she takes on their mission to study the biology of the piggies, along with a father/son pair of xenologers (Pipo and Libo), tragedy strikes both of them fatally as they are killed by the piggies after discovering information related to the Descolada. Novinha, who considers Pipo a father figure and Libo as her lover, is emotionally devastated and retreats further from the community of Lusitania. She later decides to marry Marcao Ribeira, who turns out to be an abusive drunk, and although they have six children together, their family life is toxic and everyone’s emotional lives are a mess. It is the death of Marcao, along with the earlier deaths of Pipo and Libo, that triggers the main events of the story.
Andrew Wiggin answers a call for a Speaker for the Dead sent initially by Novinha (to speak the death of Pipo), but later requests are also made by her eldest son Miro (to speak the death of Libo) and her eldest daughter Ela (to speak the death of Marcao) after Andrew has already begun his journey. When he arrives, it becomes clear that Novinha regrets her request (which cannot be cancelled), and that the family is in disarray due to the abuse of Novinha by her husband Ribeiro, and her refusal to reveal what information about the Descolada lead to the deaths of Pipo and Libo.
It takes only a week of sleuthing and infiltration of the family by the incredibly perceptive Speaker for the Dead to unearth layer after layer of secrets and emotional pain buried in the Ribeiro family, and despite the resistance of various family members, he finally undertakes to reveal the true story behind Pipo, Libo, Novinha, and Marcao, and this cathartic Speaking before the Lusitania community provides one of the key moments of the book. There is also a subplot about Starways Congress finding out about illegal contact with the piggies and attempting to shut down the colony (which it views as being in rebellion) and its ansible communications network, along with an artificial intelligence named Jane that has formed a connection with Ender Wiggin over the 3,000 years since the genocide. However, I found this subplot quite underdeveloped and not really critical to the plot. Most likely it was added to lay the groundwork for the following two sequels, Xenocide and Children of the Mind, which are widely regarded as inferior to the first two books. Finally, the Hive Queen also features as part of the redemption of Andrew Wiggin, as he seeks to find a new home for her race to atone for his unwitting act of Xenocide 3,000 years earlier.
Conclusion
Apparently Orson Scott Card had always wanted to write Speaker for the Dead, and wrote Ender’s Game partly to set the stage for this story. Unfortunately, it is very clear that the book is mainly an opportunity for him to espouse his various views about morality, guilt, lies, and redemption via revealing of the truth, no matter how painful.
I don’t have any problems with OSC’s ideas about redemption via truth, that lies can only destroy family relationships, and that guilt must eventually be let go if people are to ever move on with their lives. However, I would say a good 75% of the 415 pages of Speaker for the Dead are weighed down with endless, well-meaning descriptions of the pain and suffering of the characters, and it got to be extremely annoying after a while. I think if OSC had simply allowed the story to speak for itself, he wouldn't have to spell out exactly how emotional and cathartic the Speaking was. I also didn't like the fact that the Speaker seemed so all-knowing and infallible for much of the book. Finally, I thought it was such a waste that just 25% of the story was devoted to the fascinating alien biology and alien thought-processes of the piggies. The book would have been better served by a 50/50 breakdown, or even the reverse.
This is where Ender’s Game succeeded and Speaker for the Dead failed, because the former story was driven by the action of the plot with occasional thoughts on the moral implications of the story, whereas Speaker for the Dead is almost entirely a discussion of those ideas, with the storyline taking a backseat (and several storylines are barely explored at all, so why bother?). So the irony is that while OSC is probably much more enamored of Speaker for the Dead, I think Ender’s Game has had a greater impact on readers, especially younger ones. And while I can’t say I didn’t like Speaker for the Dead, I really wish it could be rewritten with less exposition and more plot-driven narrative. It would be a much better book....more
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