A Case of Conscience by James Blish

This review was first published in 2013. The novel is now available in a ditigal edition with an introduction by Greg Bear.

First published in 1958; published ditigally by Open Road Media on January 24, 2017

Set in 2049, A Case of Conscience begins with four humans on the planet Lithia. Ruiz-Sanchez is a biologist and a Jesuit priest. Cleaver is a physicist. Agronski is a geologist and Michelis is chemist. They are members of the Lithian Review Commission, tasked with deciding whether Lithia would be a suitable port of call for Earth. Each commission member arrives at a conclusion by a different process of reasoning, although the "reasoning" employed by Cleaver, and particularly by Ruiz-Sanchez, is shaky. Cleaver believes Lithia would be ideal for the development of weapons while Ruiz-Sanchez thinks the planet is literally a satanic creation. Since Ruiz-Sanchez has arrived at a conclusion that is consistent with Manichaeaism, a religious philosophy discredited by his church, Ruiz-Sanchez expects to be excommunicated. He nonetheless casts his vote on that basis and the Commission returns home. The humans take with them a gift from the Lithians -- an egg that will hatch in flight, giving birth to Egtverchi.

The second half of the novel takes place on Earth, where Egtverchi proves adept at exposing human hypocrisy and, in his words, "breeding dissension." Given his own television show, he urges viewers to be mad as hell and not take it anymore, a message that suits his "audience of borderline madmen," as one person characterizes it, or in Ruiz-Sanchez' view, "those who feel cut off, emotionally and intellectually, from our society and its dominant cultural traditions." In other words, they feel alienated, and they identify with the alien who goads them. Egtverchi wants his followers to become wrenches in the cogs, to tear up their identity cards and abandon the cities.

Long before "worldbuilding" became a science fiction buzzword, James Blish carefully created a truly alien world (described in scientific detail in an appendix). Houses are made of ceramic pottery, each one unique. A tree that emits radio waves is the basis for long distance communications. Lithians have no politics, no nations, no media, no celebrations, no religion. The Lithians' science departs credibly from Earth's, in part because it is based on the unique characteristics of the planet Lithia. Blish managed to give the aliens (who resemble tall reptilian kangaroos) a genuinely alien culture as well as a unique means of reproduction and (for lack of a better term) childhood development. It is, in fact, the gestation process, and its apparent confirmation that intelligent creatures are the result of evolution, that convinces Ruiz-Sanchez of Lithia's satanic nature.

The future Earth that Blish imagined is a product of his time. Most people live underground, in bomb shelters the size of cities. The "Shelter economy" that developed eventually produced widespread rioting, which prompted the United Nations to create a true world government. That should have ended the threat of nuclear war and obviated the need for a Shelter economy, but the Shelter economy still prevails, although members of the ruling class live comfortable, decadent lives. Egtverchi is seen as a threat to the continued existence of the class division that serves the leaders so well.

Egtverchi's televised call for civil unrest seems like small potatoes in the day of 24-hour cable pundits, the wackiest of whom urge their wacky followers to do all sorts of wacky things. Yet Egtverchi's message resonates with those whose lives are spent in service of the Shelter economy, meeting labor quotas, never leaving their underground bunkers. To the extent that the Shelter economy is seen as quasi-communism (a frequent theme of 1950s science fiction), Egtverchi points the way to individualism.

A Case of Conscience is notable as one of the first science fiction novels to consider the core beliefs of Christianity in a universe where humans are not the only sentient species. It raises theological questions that are echoed in The Sparrow and some of Philip K. Dick's novels. A Case of Conscience relies heavily on Catholic dogma, and much of that dogma feels dated -- not that the religion has changed, but the world has. Ruiz-Sanchez' belief that if God did not create the Lithians, Satan must have done so (because only Satan would replace divine creation with evolution) seems a little silly (and the silliness of dogma may have been Blish's point), but Ruiz-Sanchez' sincere spiritual debate, the angst he feels while wrestling with spiritual issues, makes him a sympathetic character.

Several other issues of conscience are at play in the novel that make it worth a reader's time. One faction on Earth wants to develop Lithia for the dubious benefit of Earth in a way that will surely harm the Lithians. What, if anything, to do about Egtverchi's rabble rousing poses another dilemma. As a priest, Ruiz-Sanchez must decide whether to carry out the Pope's wishes despite his fear that the Pope's reasoning is flawed, a fear that forces him to confront the heresy that the doctrine of papal infallibility might itself be flawed. All of these issues are interesting, as is the world that Blish creates. If for no other reason, A Case of Conscience deserves to be read by a modern audience for Blish's lush prose.

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Foreign Soil and Other Stories by Maxine Beneba Clarke

First published in Australia in 2014; published by Atria / 37 INK on January 3, 2017

Maxine Beneba Clarke demonstrates remarkable range in Foreign Soil. The stories shift between Australia and less developed countries, as Clarke explores triumphs and tragedies that connect lives in cultures that are quite different from each other.

“David” tells the story of two Sudanese women in Australia. One fled from her village with two sons and memories of a third. The younger woman faces the older woman’s disapproval because she wears her hair short, dresses in jeans, has abandoned religion, and rides a bicycle. Yet it is ultimately the bicycle rather than Sudanese tradition that binds the two women in this touching, sad story. It’s easily my favorite in the collection.

“Harlem Jones” is a young man whose parents moved to London from Trinidad. He establishes his individual identity by joining a group protest against the police killing of a black man. The story is honest in its refusal to paint a more uplifting picture of forsaken lives.

“Hope” is about a girl from the mountains who goes to Kingston to find her place in the world and instead learns hard lessons about love. It’s a sweet “slice of life” story that should please fans of romance (as opposed to fans of romance fiction).

“Foreign Soil” tells the story of Angela, who falls in love with Mukasa and leaves Australia behind when he takes her to Uganda. In his own world, however, Mukasa seems like a different person. The story is bleak and troublingly unfinished.

“Shu Yi” is the name of the new kid in school. The story’s narrator, a brown-skinned girl named Ava, is relieved that someone has replaced her as the target of bullies in their white suburban Australian neighborhood. When Ava’s mother forces her to be Shu Yi’s friend, the outcome is surprising. This is my third-favorite story in the collection.

“Railton Road” is the Brixton headquarters of young black rebels who are assembling to express their growing discontent. The story highlights characters who take different approaches to black empowerment while sniping at each other and treating women as slaves.

“Gaps in the Hickory” is a story of poverty, prejudice, and pride. Poverty should transcend race as a unifying force, but some characters in the Mississippi setting of this story are blinded by bigotry as they rage against people of different races and sexual identities. The themes are particularly relevant today, as bigots cling to an imagined past that never existed. This story, like some others in the collection, is masterful in its use of dialect. Its combination of an ugly present and a hopeful future make it my second-favorite story in the volume.

“Big Islan” is about the restlessness of life in Jamaica. The story is again notable for its use of dialect.

“The Stilt Fishermen of Kathaluwa” tells the story of Ansanka, a boy soldier who fled from Sri Lanka and is now being detained in Australia. The story alternates between Ansanka’s harrowing young life and the unsatisfying life of the lawyer who interviews him in a detention facility. I love the story’s contrast between people who think they have problems and people who really have problems.

A girl who gets stuck hanging upside down symbolizes life’s deeper problems in “The Sukiyaki Book Club.” The writer enters the story to explain that she doesn’t know how to rescue the girl. Parental fear -- the writer’s need to assure that her own kids are safe and well adjusted (or at least safe) -- is the story’s focus. I’m not fond of stories in which writers intrude into the narrative, so this was my least favorite.

In “Aviation,” a woman whose husband was killed on 9/11 is asked to become an emergency caregiver for a Middle Eastern child no family will take. The story is a brief but powerful look at misdirected prejudice.

None of the stories in Foreign Soil are bad, most are quite good, and a handful are excellent. I appreciate the attention to important themes that are overlooked by modern authors who so often devote themselves to the trivial.

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Kill the Father by Sandrone Dazieri

First published in Italy in 2014; published in translation by Scribner on January 10, 2017

Kill the Father introduces two notable characters: Deputy Captain Colomba Caselli and Dante Torre. Both are finding ways to cope with traumatic pasts. They support each other after being thrown together in the search for a serial killer.

Caselli is on leave, recovering from a near-death experience that she secretly refers to as “the Disaster,” but she reluctantly agrees to join an investigation of a missing child, her last official act before submitting her resignation. Her boss wants her to investigate because somebody needs to step on the toes of bureaucrats, and Caselli has nothing to lose, given her plan to retire.

Torre has a talent for determining whether children who make accusations of sexual assault are merely repeating what they’ve been conditioned to believe by the other parent. He earns a living by selling that talent to lawyers. Dante is also an expert on missing persons. He was a kidnapping victim as a child and only gained his freedom after eleven years of captivity. Colomba turns to Torre for help locating the missing child.

Dante is one of the more interesting characters to appear in recent crime fiction. He’s claustrophobic and neurotic, but his quirks are a natural consequence of his horrendous childhood. Dante has developed an expertise at reading people (a more credible expertise than FBI profilers display in any number of bad crime novels), but he only wants to do so from a distance because he has a palpable aversion to emotional displays.

Colomba has issues of her own, stemming from the Disaster that she explains at the novel’s midway point. Colomba has lost her self-confidence and worries that she will make another bad decision that will result in more deaths. Some of her fellow police detectives think she’s come unhinged, which adds to her intrigue. And again, Sandrone Dazieri doesn’t overplay Colomba’s emotional fragility, as do so many modern thriller writers who imbue their protagonists with psychiatric quirks.

The plot is filled with surprises, most of which arrive just after it seems that the story has drawn to a close. I wondered what would fill the last 50 pages. None of the revelations were expected, but none are contrived. They all make sense in light of the previous events. The final pages build tension nicely. The deft plotting and the strong characters make Kill the Father one of the better Italian crime novels I’ve encountered.

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Trojan by Alan McDermott

Published by Thomas & Mercer on January 12, 2017

Trojan reads like a police procedural, although the police are a mix of British intelligence agents, anti-terrorist military specialists, and occasional freelance assistants. Torture, for instance, is subcontracted so that Her Majesty’s government can pretend its hands are clean.

An asset with the code name Hannibal has infiltrated Saif al-Islam in Syria. He learns that Saif al-Islam has a chemical toxin that it plans to unleash on the British but, despite Hannibal’s best efforts, the Brits don’t know what it is or where it will be deployed.

The primary good guys are Andrew Harvey and his lover and co-worker, Sarah Thompson. They play a limited role in the opening chapters, as Alan McDermott develops the plot with a primary focus on the terrorist plan and the desperate efforts of British intelligence to get a handle on it. The plot involves several women and their babies who, posing as refugees, transport the toxin. The only one of those who benefits from any character development is Malika Ali.

About a third of the novel has gone by before Andrew and Sarah, as well as their colleagues, play a more active role in the plot. They are thinkers rather than action heroes. Trojan offers a pleasant alternative to all the thrillers a follow a team of former Special Forces heroes as they chase down terrorists, taking occasional breaks to give the reader loving descriptions of their weapons. It’s refreshing to read a novel about a terrorist threat in which the heroes are driven by intelligent thought rather than testosterone. It’s also refreshing to read a thriller that recognizes a distinction between Muslim terrorists and Muslims who condemn terrorism.

Andrew and Sarah engage in the tedious task of winnowing intelligence from cameras and records, but McDermott describes their efforts without subjecting the reader to the same tedium. Trojan contains an occasional action scene, but most of the story involves a battle of wits as terrorists use various schemes in an effort to evade police surveillance.

McDermott also describes the political infighting that inevitably arises when people charged with protecting a nation’s security care more about career advancement than working together to stifle a threat. That theme is often used to give the reader a chance to cheer for the selfless good guys as they battle the self-serving bureaucrats, but McDermott recognizes that even selfless good guys want credit (and career advancement) for doing a good job.

A bit of melodrama in the relationship between Andrew and Sarah is too obvious to add anything interesting to the story. Fortunately, the story maintains interest in other ways. Tension elevates steadily as the good guys chase down leads, exhausting possibilities and themselves while laboring to find the deadly toxin before it’s released. The plot isn’t innovative and the ending is predictable — perhaps even a bit anticlimactic — but the story is grounded in realistic scenes as intelligence agents move step by step toward a solution to the crisis. Trojan is a good fit for readers who like thrillers about real people doing believable work, rather than superheroes who perform impossible feats.

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Dead Joker by Anne Holt

Published in Norwegian in 1999; published in translation by Scribner on July 26, 2016

The Public Prosecutor’s wife has been decapitated. The Public Prosecutor tells Chief Inspector Hanna Wilhelmson that he witnessed the murder and did nothing to stop it. Unfortunately for his defense, the person he identifies as the killer was seen jumping off a bridge some days before the murder occurred. The Public Prosecutor’s fingerprints are all over the murder weapon and unless the murder was committed by a ghost, it sounds like a slam dunk case for Wilhelmson. It appears, however, that nothing is a slam dunk in Norway.

In fact, unlike American law enforcement officers, those in Norway seem to be incapable of believing that anyone they arrest is actually guilty -- at least, that’s the impression I get from reading Anne Holt’s novels. They bend over backwards to keep an open mind and never stop looking for evidence that might lead to a different suspect. I don’t know if that’s how things really work in Norway, but it’s refreshing to imagine law enforcement officers who are aware of their own fallibility. American cops would be jumping up and down with glee to have such a strong case, but nobody in Dead Joker seems to think there’s enough evidence to convict the man whose fingerprints were on the murder weapon, who waited an hour to report his wife’s death, and who is blaming the crime on a dead man.

A related plot thread involves Evald Bromo, who has a weakness for little girls. Now he’s certain that his crimes are about to be exposed. His story intersects with that of a character who describes himself as an Avenging Angel (he is, in fact, part of a group of angels). Of course, the story threads eventually tie together. They do so in a way that is plausible, that doesn’t overreach, and that leads to a couple of mild surprises at the end.

I applaud thriller authors who take the time to flesh out their characters, but there are too many scenes in Dead Joker that focus on characters’ lives in ways that struck me as superfluous. I’m also not sure we need to know quite as much as we are told about characters’ meals and choices of attire. While the story sets up a dramatic change in Wilhelmson’s life, Dead Joker could have been shortened by 50 to 100 pages without losing meaningful detail, and the result would have been a better novel. I liked the resolution of the plot threads in Dead Joker and I like the way characters develop in this novel and throughout the series, but I would have liked the book more if the writing had been tightened.

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