ron Osa has raised himself from humble beginnings to become a member of an elite group of mathematicians who rule 28 million human-populated star systems. With backbreaking study and some lucky breaks, he finds himself apprenticed to one of the pre-eminent leaders of Splendid Wisdom, a psychohistorian known as the Mad Admiral whose calculations are out of favor with the majority of his peers. But has Eron's good fortune really been the result of luck—or is a rebel faction guiding his destiny?
Like the classic Foundation series by Isaac Asimov, Donald Kingsbury's Psychohistorical Crisis postulates that human behavior is entirely predictable—as long as the scientists doing the math are measuring the actions of groups and not individuals. Psychohistorians rule by monitoring their quadrillions of citizens in batches. This allows them to tweak trends and possible rebellious attitudes decades, even centuries, before they break into open revolt.
Unfortunately, Kingsbury's 761st century is in a period of stagnation. While the psychohistorians brought a welcome peace to the galaxy when they took over, their singular focus is breaking down, and their only major point of agreement now is that the tools of psychohistory must be kept from the masses. Meanwhile the public resents their secrecy, nationalism is springing up in unregarded corners of the galaxy, and people are beginning to question the legitimacy of their rulers. The psychohistorian claims to power is based on the idea that their use of mathematics keeps their government from becoming corrupt. Now, however, some individuals are investigating the possibility that their benevolent overlords might lie.
Caught between powerful opposing forces, Eron Osa stands a good chance of being crushed beneath them.
Clever revision of a classic idea
In the original Foundation, Hari Seldon uses psychohistory to save the galaxy from anarchy, but his plan goes off the rails. In this version of the tale, it works to perfection. The psychohistorians of Kingsbury's universe are dealing with the fallout of success. Readers see Asimov's classic story through a new lens. It is almost like playing spot-the-celebrity. Which of Kingsbury's planets represents the Trantor of Foundation; which character was The Mule?
Another entertaining aspect of the novel is Galactic culture's snobby disdain for the human homeworld, now known as Rith. People are unable to repress a fascination with their roots, and every character is an amateur historian despite the fact that everything they know about Earth is hilariously wrong. Abraham Lincoln is transformed into a rebellious American slave, while Australopithecus hunted Tyrannosaurus Rex with bows and arrows. People store vast amounts of this "knowledge" in electronic familiars designed to mesh with their brains, increasing memory and enhancing intellectual performance.
Sociologically, Psychohistorical Crisis is a letdown. Its galactic culture is decadent—believably enough—but it is backwards, too. Its men are psychohistorians and rebels; its women are manipulative sex objects who do not balk at using fam-based mind control to enslave their male life-partners into commitment. Almost all of the novel's characters are engaged in something distasteful: seducing 12-year olds, murdering their husbands or frying the fams of their enemies. Eron, while he rises above much of the pettiness, has been tampered with to the point where he lacks free will.
Readers who can slide by the friction made by this clash of hard-core extrapolation and Stone Age gender roles will find Psychohistorical Crisis enormous fun. By putting a thrilling twist on an old and rarely used SF idea, it is a worthy successor to the Asimov tradition.
