Maria Doria Russel, The Sparrow
Jun. 12th, 2006 02:23 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
sub_dividedThese are working notes. I'm going to type them up as they were written and then maybe I'll say something at the end, if think there's anything left worth saying.
1. Things are going very smoothly. Emilo is always attributing this to God and the other Jesuits are going along with it. The effect is that I keep thinking about how unlikely success is. After all, it says a lot more about the inevitability of disaster when you have a mission that seems almost divinely blessed, but which fails spectacularly, than when you have a mission where there is one disaster after another but the situation is somehow salvaged after each one. Agreeable gravity, breathable atmosphere, edible plants and animals, no nasty bacteria passing either way, friendly natives...it's amazing how well things have gone. So if after all of this things still fail, it says something.
It also occurs to me that...okay,![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
b_hallward was talking about how in writing, focusing on one thing can parodoxically call to mind its opposite. So focusing on sound can make a story seem quiet, focusing on keeping hold of reality can make it seem unreal, etc. Partially because I already know that mission ends badly, all this focus on success is making me think about failure.
I don't think this is what the author intends, though. I think all of the build-up is to make Emilio's religious fall, when it comes, that much more unbearable. "The higher you are, the further you fall..." Also, Emilio keeps saying that his belief in God is being validated by physical things. When belief rests on solid evidence, of course it's vulnerable. This reminds me of the stories of Holocaust survivors. Most of them lost religion because they couldn't accept that God would allow such a thing, but the ones who decided that God had nothing to do with human events became more religious.
2. First chapter from an alien perspective. I really like that Jana'ata culture is changing even before the humans get there. I'm talking about Hlanth writing songs that make sex into an aesthetic experience and not just a utilitarian one and Suupathi's unprecedentedly close relationship with the Runa. It's neat that the humans fit into a pattern of change rather than being the cause of it. Certainly it's a nice change from the visitor-centric stuff you see everywhere else (I liked books two and three of the Temeraire series for the same reasons -- Lawrence and Temeraire are important, but there's ultimately local politics going on that are just as important if not more so).
On the other hand, it's possible that when Emilio insists that the probablems with rebellious Runa predate their arrival, he is only trying to make himself feel better.
3. Ugh, now here's an awful thought. Emilio's giving a speech about predators, prey, stewardship, and breeding, and right after that there's a chapter that re-emphasizes the fact that in Runa linguistics, something that's temporarily out of sight is the same as something insubstantial and might never have existed at all. I have this horrible suspicion that the reason the language is like that is that so Runa who go missing are not remarked upon, and after the Jana'ata eat them all can be forgiven and forgotten and the Runa can go on as a peacefully co-existing trade society with them. And this makes the fact that Marc is teaching the Runa not to feel as if absent relatives are insubstantial (with his portraits) into something really sinister.
4. It occurs to me that even on earth, hierarchy is associated with meat-eaters and equality with vegetarians. Peacefully grazing herds of buffalo VS dominance of an alpha wolf over the other wolves in his pack. Humans, being omnivores, would fall somewhere in between the socialist Runa (they even have village collectives!) and the extremely aristocratic Jana'ata. I can't help feeling that every time the humans make some sort of civilized gesture, for instance offering to share their food, it puts them closer to the "Runa" end of the spectrum in the minds of the Jana'ata. They're communicating in Runaja, too! There definitely ought to be more done to emphasize that human beings are not to be considered on a sliding scale between Jana'ata and Runa, but should be treated as a seperate category that normal rules don't apply to.
5. "My curiosity is exhausted" <-- CHEAP! This is such a cheap way to explain away the author's refusal to speculate too far into the future (though on the other hand, I think it's hilarious that she's bringing the issue up inside the text like this, and I'm glad that she is even if I think she could have come up with a better excuse). By the way, the stuff I said before about Russel's conservativism -- only small changes twenty years in the future -- isn't true. The changes are large. They only seem small because the story is framed by an enduring institution (the Catholic Church) that is slower to change.
6. And now I'm feeling really morbid: what what if some of the meat being served at Supaari's table was Runa? What if it was the meat the humans liked best? Ugh. Also, there were no infants present among the Kasan villagers because breeding is strictly regulated, but what if, in addition to this, Runa infants had major physical differences from the adults, so that even if the humans saw the animals they were eating, they didn't recognize them?
God, I've got cannibalism on the brain. Earlier there was a line about "songs are played, a winner is announced, and a prize is awarded; the Runa don't like that, so they don't like music." And I thought: well, this is probably because the "prize" is a Runa village. Yum yum.
7. For some reason I continue to imagine the Juna'ata as large bipedal lizards, even though I know they look more like the bipedal Brittany spaniels. Maybe it's the claws -- or maybe I've been playing too much Suikoden III, haha. Anyway, a definite case of wolves in sheep's clothing.
8. The end: ooooh, that was horrible. The violence, I expected, but I'd been putting off contemplation of the sexual side of it. Askana's fate took me completely by surprise, it was like a very unfunny cosmic joke. Compared to the long set-up, the end went very quickly.
I have to say, I didn't cry, and some of the emotional impact passed right over me, in part because I am not religious (I once went through a religious phase -- very closely tied to science and the beauty of creation -- but I got over it). Also, the sense (held by many of the 2060 characters, who to be fair were all Jesuits) that Emilio would eventually recover his faith made his story less moving -- I know I've been deeply moved by Holocaust naratives that end with a permanent loss of faith. And also, the exaggeration of Emilio's case -- from saint to whore -- somehow took the impact away. I couldn't imagine being him, and it was always implied that circumstances had aritifically inflated his belief. I guess what I'm trying to say is that the way his crisis got pumped up into the novel's major theme made it, for me, less moving on a personal level.
None of which is to say that I didn't like him; I definitely did. I liked all of the characters, except Voelkner whose purpose is to be disliked and Alan, who died too quickly. Emilio's remark about celibacy was painful, because the feeling of having wasted your life is painful.
9. Final thoughts: None, really. The title comes from a quotation near the end: everytime a sparrow falls, God knows and grieves, but the sparrow falls anyway. I'm not much into religious parables, but I really liked the characters and set-up and science of this book; I'll have to read the sequel.
I've become a very boring person who only talks about books lately, sorry about that.
In other news with a limited audience: the critically acclaimed Macedonian movie Before the Rain** tries for a lot of structural and thematic complexity, but it doesn't quite connect. It's not really an effective movie -- but GOD, I WANT THE SOUNDTRACK.
**Which also features a priest under vows, this time of silence as well as celibacy. His section is contrasted to the section about two divorcees who talk but don't communicate, I suppose as a kind of commentary on the failure of language. But again, it's not entirely convincing. In the last third of the move, the symbolism is so thick you can cut it with a knife, and it's not misplaced but...I guess it's that the characters are such total caricatures, you almost feel more emotionally attached to the scenery.
But again, SOUNDTRACK. *slobbers*
1. Things are going very smoothly. Emilo is always attributing this to God and the other Jesuits are going along with it. The effect is that I keep thinking about how unlikely success is. After all, it says a lot more about the inevitability of disaster when you have a mission that seems almost divinely blessed, but which fails spectacularly, than when you have a mission where there is one disaster after another but the situation is somehow salvaged after each one. Agreeable gravity, breathable atmosphere, edible plants and animals, no nasty bacteria passing either way, friendly natives...it's amazing how well things have gone. So if after all of this things still fail, it says something.
It also occurs to me that...okay,
b_hallward was talking about how in writing, focusing on one thing can parodoxically call to mind its opposite. So focusing on sound can make a story seem quiet, focusing on keeping hold of reality can make it seem unreal, etc. Partially because I already know that mission ends badly, all this focus on success is making me think about failure. I don't think this is what the author intends, though. I think all of the build-up is to make Emilio's religious fall, when it comes, that much more unbearable. "The higher you are, the further you fall..." Also, Emilio keeps saying that his belief in God is being validated by physical things. When belief rests on solid evidence, of course it's vulnerable. This reminds me of the stories of Holocaust survivors. Most of them lost religion because they couldn't accept that God would allow such a thing, but the ones who decided that God had nothing to do with human events became more religious.
2. First chapter from an alien perspective. I really like that Jana'ata culture is changing even before the humans get there. I'm talking about Hlanth writing songs that make sex into an aesthetic experience and not just a utilitarian one and Suupathi's unprecedentedly close relationship with the Runa. It's neat that the humans fit into a pattern of change rather than being the cause of it. Certainly it's a nice change from the visitor-centric stuff you see everywhere else (I liked books two and three of the Temeraire series for the same reasons -- Lawrence and Temeraire are important, but there's ultimately local politics going on that are just as important if not more so).
On the other hand, it's possible that when Emilio insists that the probablems with rebellious Runa predate their arrival, he is only trying to make himself feel better.
3. Ugh, now here's an awful thought. Emilio's giving a speech about predators, prey, stewardship, and breeding, and right after that there's a chapter that re-emphasizes the fact that in Runa linguistics, something that's temporarily out of sight is the same as something insubstantial and might never have existed at all. I have this horrible suspicion that the reason the language is like that is that so Runa who go missing are not remarked upon, and after the Jana'ata eat them all can be forgiven and forgotten and the Runa can go on as a peacefully co-existing trade society with them. And this makes the fact that Marc is teaching the Runa not to feel as if absent relatives are insubstantial (with his portraits) into something really sinister.
4. It occurs to me that even on earth, hierarchy is associated with meat-eaters and equality with vegetarians. Peacefully grazing herds of buffalo VS dominance of an alpha wolf over the other wolves in his pack. Humans, being omnivores, would fall somewhere in between the socialist Runa (they even have village collectives!) and the extremely aristocratic Jana'ata. I can't help feeling that every time the humans make some sort of civilized gesture, for instance offering to share their food, it puts them closer to the "Runa" end of the spectrum in the minds of the Jana'ata. They're communicating in Runaja, too! There definitely ought to be more done to emphasize that human beings are not to be considered on a sliding scale between Jana'ata and Runa, but should be treated as a seperate category that normal rules don't apply to.
5. "My curiosity is exhausted" <-- CHEAP! This is such a cheap way to explain away the author's refusal to speculate too far into the future (though on the other hand, I think it's hilarious that she's bringing the issue up inside the text like this, and I'm glad that she is even if I think she could have come up with a better excuse). By the way, the stuff I said before about Russel's conservativism -- only small changes twenty years in the future -- isn't true. The changes are large. They only seem small because the story is framed by an enduring institution (the Catholic Church) that is slower to change.
6. And now I'm feeling really morbid: what what if some of the meat being served at Supaari's table was Runa? What if it was the meat the humans liked best? Ugh. Also, there were no infants present among the Kasan villagers because breeding is strictly regulated, but what if, in addition to this, Runa infants had major physical differences from the adults, so that even if the humans saw the animals they were eating, they didn't recognize them?
God, I've got cannibalism on the brain. Earlier there was a line about "songs are played, a winner is announced, and a prize is awarded; the Runa don't like that, so they don't like music." And I thought: well, this is probably because the "prize" is a Runa village. Yum yum.
7. For some reason I continue to imagine the Juna'ata as large bipedal lizards, even though I know they look more like the bipedal Brittany spaniels. Maybe it's the claws -- or maybe I've been playing too much Suikoden III, haha. Anyway, a definite case of wolves in sheep's clothing.
8. The end: ooooh, that was horrible. The violence, I expected, but I'd been putting off contemplation of the sexual side of it. Askana's fate took me completely by surprise, it was like a very unfunny cosmic joke. Compared to the long set-up, the end went very quickly.
I have to say, I didn't cry, and some of the emotional impact passed right over me, in part because I am not religious (I once went through a religious phase -- very closely tied to science and the beauty of creation -- but I got over it). Also, the sense (held by many of the 2060 characters, who to be fair were all Jesuits) that Emilio would eventually recover his faith made his story less moving -- I know I've been deeply moved by Holocaust naratives that end with a permanent loss of faith. And also, the exaggeration of Emilio's case -- from saint to whore -- somehow took the impact away. I couldn't imagine being him, and it was always implied that circumstances had aritifically inflated his belief. I guess what I'm trying to say is that the way his crisis got pumped up into the novel's major theme made it, for me, less moving on a personal level.
None of which is to say that I didn't like him; I definitely did. I liked all of the characters, except Voelkner whose purpose is to be disliked and Alan, who died too quickly. Emilio's remark about celibacy was painful, because the feeling of having wasted your life is painful.
9. Final thoughts: None, really. The title comes from a quotation near the end: everytime a sparrow falls, God knows and grieves, but the sparrow falls anyway. I'm not much into religious parables, but I really liked the characters and set-up and science of this book; I'll have to read the sequel.
I've become a very boring person who only talks about books lately, sorry about that.
In other news with a limited audience: the critically acclaimed Macedonian movie Before the Rain** tries for a lot of structural and thematic complexity, but it doesn't quite connect. It's not really an effective movie -- but GOD, I WANT THE SOUNDTRACK.
**Which also features a priest under vows, this time of silence as well as celibacy. His section is contrasted to the section about two divorcees who talk but don't communicate, I suppose as a kind of commentary on the failure of language. But again, it's not entirely convincing. In the last third of the move, the symbolism is so thick you can cut it with a knife, and it's not misplaced but...I guess it's that the characters are such total caricatures, you almost feel more emotionally attached to the scenery.
But again, SOUNDTRACK. *slobbers*