oe Niedzwiecki is preparing to pick up a load of manganese nodules
being harvested by robots on the ocean floor when his
one-person submarine is attacked by what appears to be a massive sea
serpent. The submarine manages to take some photographs before Joe decides
his only hope to survive is to jettison in the escape pod and leave the rest of the
wrecked craft behind.
Joe's problem is that without proof of the serpent, the managers at his employer,
Yemaya, which owns the Tethys ocean research/mining station, will
not likely believe him. Therefore preserving the photographs is crucial.
When Joe is rescued, his friend Pete Lipscomb takes possession of the
disk containing the photos to ensure no one tampers with it. Meanwhile, Pete also calls his
wife, Judith, a marine biologist who works for Yemaya and who also has
a special interest in reports of sea monsters. Judith is
vacationing in Dominica, at the home of fellow employee and former mentor Dr.
Charles Touissant, but agrees to return as soon as possible. But as
she and Charles are walking toward a taxi stop, three men assault Charles. Judith manages to fight them off.
All these events are happening at a very inconvenient time. First,
Pete's niece, Andie, is arriving for an extended visit because her parents
are going through a very bitter divorce and they thought it would be best for
her to get away for a while. In addition, Leslie Sun, a reporter from
Millennium, is due to arrive for an in-depth story about Tethys.
Despite these distractions, Charles hatches a scheme to get access to the
Galatea, a deep-sea submarine, on the pretense of investigating new seismic activity at a previously unknown location in the Atlantic Rift. Really he hopes to get a look at Joe's submarine and the mysterious creature.
Smooth, exciting, but unsatisfying
In Oceanspace, Allen Steele turns to the least explored portion
of the Earth, and ties together the ancient myths of lurking monsters with
modern scientific research and corporate espionage. Some of the most
interesting aspects are the details of life in Tethys 2, the portion of the
research station on the ocean floor. It's pressurized to 10
atmospheres, and space is at a premium, which gives Steele the opportunity
to effectively explore some of the more unusual aspects of living and
working in that environment. Another nice touch is a short history of
sea serpent sightings that Steele gives early in the book in a conversation
about what the creature might be.
The story itself unfolds smoothly and naturally, and Steele paces it
well. It's always interesting, often exciting, and very efficiently
written. The few digressions that Steele does permit himself are always
important later. So what's wrong with the book? Basically, despite the
appearance that there's a lot going on, the story turns out to be a fairly
simple one. Though there are several parallel subplots, none of them has a great deal of depth or synergy with the others, and each of them
has either a predictable or unsatisfying resolution. The problem is
exacerbated by Steele's rather superficial characterizations and his
unconvincing emotional portrayals (with the one exception of Andie's
reaction to their brush with death on the Galatea).
It's still a very enjoyable book. And while readers might feel
a little let down after they've finished and have time to
think about it, most will be entertained while immersed in the novel.
Steele does have significant strengths as a writer, specifically his
smooth, efficient prose and his mastery of technical details, and both
shine through here. The real disappointment is that this could have been
much better.
This book illustrates some of the areas where Steele needs to improve his writing. If he does improve in these areas, he could become one of the all-time greats of hard SF.
-- Clint
emories have left Soledad MacCrae unable to speak. She is one of the
few survivors--perhaps the only one--of the burning of Bamaca, an anarchic
city-state on the South American coast. Bamaca was a cruce, or node,
independent of the world's governments and megacorporations. When the
military set Bamaca ablaze, Soledad took asylum in a node in Oakland,
Calif. This Yanqui node is different from the one she knew, but
it may share the same fate, for some of the node's denizens believe that
Soledad's dreams hold not only memories but literal premonitions as
well.
The Memory of Fire intertwines the story of Soledad's life in
Bamaca with her adventures in the Oakland node. In Bamaca, Soledad blossoms
as an individual. An accordionist afflicted with life long stage fright, she
finally gains the courage to perform in public. She becomes a local
folk hero when she performs a composition to accompany the poetry of her
lover, Jorge.
In California the now-mute Soledad confronts a far different world.
Ordinary folk spend most of their time immersed in virtual-reality
entertainments. The Oakland node is plastered with cheap video screens--a
surreal mosaic of ever-changing imagery. But Soledad is absorbed by her own
memories, and only in the searing heat of those memories can she regain
her voice, and thus her music--which turns out to be a method of redemption
and liberation in ways she could not have imagined.
A haunting but off-key melody
This is a beautifully written novel. However, the intensity and intimacy
of Foy's prose and his skillful incorporation of musical motifs into the
story come at a price. There are many pleasures to be found in the book, but
not a lot of narrative momentum.
The Memory of Fire takes place in the same near-future as Foy's
novels The Shift and Contraband. While Memory is a
stand-alone novel, the earlier books, especially Contraband, provide
background that clarifies things that Foy leaves unexplained in this
book.
The strongest sections are the chapters set in Bamaca. Foy evokes a vividly
realized milieu in an unnamed South American country. Against this backdrop
Soledad changes from a timid music teacher to an
independent woman whose music inspires an entire community.
The Soledad of the Oakland chapters is a broken woman, a silent and
largely passive spectator. Gertrude Stein once said of Oakland, "There's no
there there." The same can be said of the Oakland node, which never
quite comes into focus. The characters there, with names like Stix, Zatt and Mojo, are also hard to keep track of.
Some of this is probably intentional, but much of the Oakland portions
feel like desperate improvisation. There's a lot of running around, yet not
much really happens until the final chapters. Here Foy stops marking time
and pulls things together. Like Soledad herself, the book recovers its voice
and sings again.
Foy demonstrates his considerable gifts as a storyteller, but he tries to do
too much here. The heart of the story is in Bamaca, and it should have
stayed there.
-- Curt
oe Niedzwiecki is preparing to pick up a load of manganese nodules
being harvested by robots on the ocean floor when his
one-person submarine is attacked by what appears to be a massive sea
serpent. The submarine manages to take some photographs before Joe decides
his only hope to survive is to jettison in the escape pod and leave the rest of the
wrecked craft behind.
emories have left Soledad MacCrae unable to speak. She is one of the
few survivors--perhaps the only one--of the burning of Bamaca, an anarchic
city-state on the South American coast. Bamaca was a cruce, or node,
independent of the world's governments and megacorporations. When the
military set Bamaca ablaze, Soledad took asylum in a node in Oakland,
Calif. This Yanqui node is different from the one she knew, but
it may share the same fate, for some of the node's denizens believe that
Soledad's dreams hold not only memories but literal premonitions as
well.
