Arthur C Clarke on Compassion

Driving through the mountains of Snowdonia National Park in Wales.
(They've been there for a while).

Imagine the curiosity that would ensue if a mountain appeared overnight. This is the central mystery of Arthur C. Clarke's novel 2061: Odyssey Three. As the mountain appears on Europa, a moon of Jupiter, most people simply get on with their lives. Still, it intrigues scientists, who study satellite feeds of the planet, and wonder how a mountain could suddenly just…be there.

Humans live on space stations, there are missions to the other planets, and the terraforming of Jupiter's moon Ganymede has begun. This has been made possible by igniting the gases of Jupiter, and transforming it into a tiny sun. Its rays warm her moons, turning ice to liquid and gas, and allowing atmospheres to form. But scientists cannot travel to Europa, as the strange Monoliths have banned Humans from traveling there. No Human government seems prepared to disobey this order. After all, if the aliens behind the Monoliths can transform a planet into a sun, what reprisals might they take, should Humans disobey their orders?

Yet some cannot restrain their curiosity. While Heywood Floyd, who participated in the momentous events in 2010: Odyssey Two, travels to Halley's Comet on the spaceship Universe, his grandson Chris travels on its sister ship Galaxy on an orbital survey of Jupiter's moons. Heywood and his colleagues land on Halley, and explore the surface and ice caves of the famous comet. Their exploits whet our appetite for the exploration of Europa, which begins when a hijacker puts a gun to Second Officer Chang's head and says "Land on Europa, or else."

After reading stories set on Fantasy worlds, or Space Operas in which spaceships effortlessly whiz around the galaxy, I enjoyed this true Science Fiction novel, in which particulars such as fuel and orbits become limitations and plot points. I also enjoyed seeing characters like Heywood Floyd, Chris Bowman, and the spaceship computer HAL again, even if the latter two only appear briefly in the narrative. I loved wandering across Halley with Heywood's team, and seeing how the Monolith had impacted the lifeforms emerging from Europa's seas. And, of course, there was the weighty question of how a mountain could arise between satellite sweeps of the Jovian moon. But as great as all those aspects were, what struck me the strongest was Arthur C. Clarke's sense of compassion.

Clarke treats his characters kindly: not just his Human characters, but also his aliens.  Another author would have stationed more officers on the bridge during a nightshift. Chang or another member of the crew would have fought with the hijacker, and someone would have been injured or killed to demonstrate the hijacker's determination. Likewise, Humanity would have suffered reprisals for their disobedience, perpetrated either on the Galaxy's crew, or on the larger population of Earth. 

There's nothing wrong with tense and violent scenes. Such moments can enhance the overall tension of a novel, which keeps us turning the pages. Yet Clarke chose to be kind to his characters, and make his aliens understanding and forgiving. In doing so, he suggests that space might be more than just an interesting frontier, and those we encounter on our voyages might actually be better than us. Not just smarter, or more capable, but more noble, kind, loving, and compassionate. For no person's life is without value, even if they only inhabit the stories we read, and the dreams we dream.  

Dragon Dave

A word of caution. If this post aroused your interest in 2061: Odyssey Three, be careful about how much you read about it on the Internet. There are spoilers out there, even on Wikipedia, and as Clarke's story is chiefly concerned with discovery, they may detract from your enjoyment of his novel.  

A Beautiful Mystery

In discussing Jupiter Project by Dr. Gregory Benford, I felt as if I stood upon solid ground.  By contrast, the first time I read through If the Stars are Gods by Gregory Benford and Gordon Eklund, I found myself sinking into sand, fighting to keep my head above the surface.  After a second read-through, this time taking careful notes, I managed to fight the quicksand’s pull.  Still, I cannot pull myself completely free: at best, my lower-legs are still buried below the surface.

Some stories are like that.  Perhaps the most famous case is the film version of Arthur C. Clarke’s story 2001: A Space Odyssey.  Unlike the Peter Hyams-directed sequel 2010, which set off with the purpose of answering questions (and which left you on much firmer footing), the original film seems to ask more questions than it answers.  Reactions to Kubrick’s film divide into three camps: 1) Those whom it utterly mystified; 2) Those who feel absolutely certain as to the meaning of the film; and 3) Those who have fought to gain a tenuous grasp upon its questions and themes, but for whom each time they watch the movie, they still experience a sense of mystery.  I find myself in the third category.

Awhile back, the leader of my reading group assigned the novel Descent Into Hell by Charles Williams.  Unlike his contemporaries C. S. Lewis and J. R. R. Tolkien, I initially found this writer’s prose more difficult to come to grips with.  Our group covered a chapter or two each week; I studiously reviewed previously-discussed chapters before each meeting.  Re-reading, combined with the group leader’s comments, began to suggest that a tremendous depth hid beneath the surface plot.  Perhaps Williams had interwoven themes and ideas within the novel like an engineer designing the numerous layers within a printed circuit board.  When I later tried to explain my “enhanced understanding” of the novel to John Clute, a great historian of the Science Fiction and Fantasy field (and someone who has a greater understanding of Williams’ work than I), he very kindly responded with no more than a bemused expression.

Similarly, when my book group was reading through some of Flannery O’Connor’s stories, I found myself locked in battle with the leader of the reading group.  I believed I perceived “the truth” behind the themes within the particular story, and had accurately divined the intent of the writer in her depiction of a peripheral character.  The leader then read from a letter in which O’Connor responded to a fan’s questions: I found my face grow progressively hotter as the writer divulged an intent with the work different than I had perceived, and revealed a marked distaste for a character I had felt sure she secretly admired.

If the Stars are Gods deals with numerous issues, and ponders daunting questions.  The novel is split up into several sections, and is a rewrite of an award-winning novelette.  (To further complicate matters, I studied the original hardcover version; the later paperback edition, which I am working through now, contains notable differences).  The novel deals with matters both scientific and spiritual.  Given that my understanding of the authors’ work is less than I would hope, I find myself reticent to discuss the novel.  I wonder if I am alone here, or if reactions to this novel are as varied as they are toward 2001: A Space Odyssey.  My hope is that, through writing down what I believe I understand, and musing on what I know I don’t, that my grasp on the story will grow a little firmer. 

If the Stars are Gods by Dr. Gregory Benford and Gordon Eklund sets before me a beautiful mystery, one that may well challenge me for years to come.

Jupiter Project: A Final Word

As depicted in Jupiter Project,
life in space could be fun.

Walk into any bookstore, and you are confounded by an infinite number of books.  Even segregated into helpful categories, more titles await your perusal than you could ever read in a lifetime.  All too often, educators and employers force on us a simple choice: read this assigned work, or face my displeasure.  After thus equating reading and work in our minds, some of us opt to read little more, and if we do, these tend to be books which make no demands of us, such as light entertainment or ones that explore our interests or hobbies.  Some of us aspire to do more than this, to dedicate at least a portion of our reading to books of importance: ones valued by previous generations, or that speak to current issues.  So why can’t we do all three, you ask?  Why do we find it so difficult to identify those special books that not only inform us in vital ways, that not only fill us with delight, but speak to issues pertinent to generations both previous and present?  I, for one, believe that Jupiter Project, by Dr. Gregory Benford, is one such book.

Firstly, Jupiter Project is both important and fun.  For those who want factual reading, the novel explains how we could live beyond the confines of Earth, touching on such fundamental issues as space station design, how to build shuttles and satellites, even how to extract necessities like air and water from a distant world we might wish to colonize (in this case, Jupiter’s moon Ganymede).  Like Huckleberry Finn and the Heinlein juveniles, Benford’s novel stirs the blood with rousing adventure.  His young protagonist, Matt Bowles, confronts crucial issues from past and fights against those who would bar him and those he loves from choosing their own destinies. 

Secondly, while Fantasy novels are currently in vogue, Jupiter Project offers just as much escapism for children as it does for teens and adults.  Children could imagine themselves putting on Matt’s space suit, walking out of an airlock, and floating through space.  Teens could imagine themselves piloting a shuttle like Matt, or performing satellite maintenance using an electronic device of their own design, while Jupiter rotates below them, its storm clouds spinning and clashing before their eyes.  Adults could imagine taking their families with them (like Matt’s parents) to live on the space station JABOL, or exploring the mysteries of Jupiter and its asteroid belt as JABOL’s crew members do, or building the big reactors for Ganymede’s Atmosphere Project, so that their grandchildren could live unassisted on its surface.  While previous generations thrilled to Captain Ahab’s attempts to capture and kill Moby Dick, people of all ages can revel in Matt’s death-defying effort to save JABOL from closure.

Lastly, Jupiter Project is a book everyone should read because it speaks to timeless issues, and because it challenges us to consider the direction in which we, as a society, are headed.  For previous generations, Lewis and Clark were heroes.  The great American dream was to leave behind known society and settled territories, and forge a new life in distant lands full of possibilities they could only imagine.  Today we relegate a few weeks each year to our personal explorations, and that’s if we have the funds and can get the time off work to do so.  Instead of taking on the wilderness and converting it to our desires, we repaint our rooms, remodel our homes, and re-landscape our yards.  When these efforts at transformation fail to satisfy, we consult books and experts on how to re-prioritize our lives to make them more productive.  A young president once charged us with a different dream, one that he believed we should pursue, not because it would make our individual lives easier or more pleasant, but because it would constitute a noble achievement for all humanity. 

Visionary writer Arthur C. Clarke is credited with saying that the remarkable thing was not that we made it to the moon, but that we stopped going there.  We’ve all heard variations on this self-help mantra: if we can conceive it, and we can believe it, we can achieve it.  Yet we’ve allowed the accountants and bureaucrats to tell us that our dreams of exploration and colonization beyond this world are too costly, too impractical, too hard.  In so doing, we’ve relegated those dreams to the trash cans of history.  Are we content to let them remain there?  In Jupiter Project, Dr. Gregory Benford suggests a way forward for us all, if we will only rededicate ourselves to the goals we once dared to believe that we really, truly could achieve.

Dragon Dave