eggy Starlitz is a dandyish schemer and also a bit of a bumbling slob, a
mysterious, amoral entity living in the shadowy interstices of the 20th
century. Partial to high living, his origins uncertain, his tawdry,
dangerous exploits uncountable, Starlitz survives by adhering to a certain
weird philosophy which involves creating plausible "narratives" for himself
and others, by which he can--with varying degrees of success--manipulate
reality.
The reader first encounters Starlitz as the manager of a girl-group of
pop stars known as "G-7." Named after the famous economic summit attended
by seven leading countries, the group boasts members from each of the
nations in question. Deprived even of their real names, the generally
talentless girls, together a totally manufactured commodity, are each
referred to as "the German One, the American One," etc. Starlitz is
shameless about the scam he's running with these substandard,
interchangeable Spice Girls, intending to make all the money he can in this
apocalyptic year of 1999 before facing the uncertainties of the new
century.
While enjoying some downtime in dangerous, schism-divided Cyprus,
Starlitz and the girls have the misfortune of becoming involved with Mehmet
Ozbey, a Turkish rogue with none of Starlitz's easygoing savoir-faire.
Already hip-deep in drugs, guns, terrorism, gambling and smuggling, Ozbey
takes over G-7 to further the career of his mistress, the genuinely talented
Gonca Utz. Starlitz is pushed completely out of the picture.
At the same time, Starlitz reconnects with his long-absent
11-year-old daughter, Zeta. Focusing all his vibrant Machiavellian
energies on Zeta, Starlitz returns to America, where he and Zeta try to
settle down, but only after enduring some bizarre rituals intended to allow
them to make contact with Starlitz's father. Their pilgrimage includes a
stay in Hawaii, spent with Starlitz's millionaire patron, Makoto, a Japanese
pop wizard a la Phil Spector. But unresolved G-7 matters that
impinge on Starlitz's conscience drag him and Zeta to Turkey, where a
showdown with Ozbey caps the traumatic passage into the new millennium.
Deviants in the slipstream
Leggy Starlitz (whose name more than coincidentally evokes David Bowie's
chameleonlike alter ego, "Ziggy Stardust") has starred in several previous
novellas (none of which are needed as prerequisites to enjoyment of this
book). So when Sterling launches the wily reprobate onto his first
full-scale adventure, the reader senses a character already richly
developed, more so than in most SF novels. This is true of all of the
personages here, right down to such minor walk-ons as roadies and hotel
staff. Sterling sketches his people vividly, deeply and memorably.
Unlike all previous Sterling novels, this one occupies the actual
historical past, and involves some undeniably supernatural events (Ozbey's
regurgitative spiritual crisis, the invocation of Grandpa Starlitz). In
this sense, the book is pure "slipstream," that term popularized by Sterling
to indicate mainstream fiction that partakes of genre features. Yet because
Sterling sees the future implicit in the present (and the eternal implicit
in the future), this book still delivers the kind of kick-ass speculations
found in his purely science-fictional novels such as Heavy Weather.
Starlitz's absurd sojourn in the underworld of international politics and in
the equally cutthroat pop cosmos read just as "futuristically" as anything
in Sterling's
Holy Fire.
Two features of this book are paramount: the humor and the pathos.
Sterling's satire is high-caliber and unrelenting. No individual or
institution escapes his witty jabs. And such comic set-pieces as the magic
show Starlitz conducts for his patron, Makoto, exist sheerly for laughs.
Along these lines, Sterling joins such jester luminaries as Tom Robbins and
Michael Moorcock (in his Jerry Cornelius mode).
But even more affecting is the genuine pathos involved with Starlitz's
role as father to Zeta, and as an independent loner in the rigorous,
authoritarian global culture. Sterling's depiction of parental duties and
the hard-won privileges of an anarchic individual make this book his
equivalent of Pynchon's Vineland.
