An Unreliable Review: Transition, by Iain Banks

"Apparently I am what is known as an Unreliable Narrator, though of course if you believe everything you're told you deserve whatever you get."

So opens Iain Banks' Transition. It is a science fiction novel, set among and across many alternate worlds; but it has been published in the UK without the defining "M". Transition is ostensibly about the Concern, an organisation from an alternate Earth which operates an undefined number of agents who have the ability to "transition", to travel between alternate realities. In order to further an agenda which never quite becomes clear. Chief among these operatives is Madame d'Ortolan, who heads the Concern's Central Council and so runs the organisation. Set against her is the rebel Mrs Mulverhill. And caught between the two is Concern agent and assassin Temudjin Oh.

The novel comprises a number of different narratives, none of which progress in chronological order. One featuring "Patient 8262" does very little until the epilogue, which gives his identity without actually explaining it. Another narrative is that of a Yuppie barrow-boy-turned-trader, who is peripherally involved. And there's another, which appears only a handful of times, about an American film producer trying to get a project green-lit.

There is little that is actually unreliable about the story of Transition. Perhaps there's a vague possibility that it is all confabulation, but if there are clues suggesting as much I missed them. In fact, other than the bald "I am an Unreliable Narrator" which opens the book, there's very little in the way of narrative games in Transition. Structurally, yes - the plot is a collage of related vignettes and episodes from life histories. But that's nothing new for Banks - his Use of Weapons is justifiably known for its innovative structure. But the structure of Transition does beg the question: is it greater than the sum of its parts?

And... I don't think so. Banks has never been a great prose stylist - good, but not great. But his fiction has always been characterised by great imagination. Even as Iain Banks, the mainstream writer, there has been bleed-through from his science fiction persona, Iain M Banks. And while Transition is certainly not a M book in feel or presentation, it is coloured by his sf far more than any of his other mainstream novels. It's not a M book because it is low-residue, low-profile science fiction. It's not the in-your-face space operatics of the Culture novels.

The central conceit, the travelling between alternate Earths, is certainly science fiction; but it is never explained or rationalised. There's a drug, septum, and a certain small percentage of the population has a talent... There's a vague nod in the direction of the Many Worlds Hypothesis, but no real attempt at depicting the phenomenon realistically. If anything, it's simply a device to allow Banks to present different worlds - which are constructed with much of the invention and excess of his science fiction. Sometimes too much, in fact...

The Culture at least provides Banks with a framework for his invention. And he needs it, otherwise he has a tendency to over-colour his worlds. The chief villain of The Algebraist, the Archimandrite Luseferous, is such a pantomime figure, all he is missing are twirling moustaches. And the same is true of Madame d'Ortolan in Transition. She's not real. Neither, for that matter, is Mrs Mulverhill. They're comic-book characters - in fact, you can almost imagine them in some brightly-coloured hyper-real graphic novel. Adrian, the 1980s trader, is more real, but even then he's something of a cliché. And, it has to be said, yuppie excesses are an old target. Today it is the bankers, especially the incompetent CEOs who get to walk away from the wreckage with millions.

In fact, there is a sense throughout Transition of old battles being dragged back into the light. Banks has never been one to shy away from a fight, and we get the usual well-worded attacks - on libertarianism, religion, the rich, military adventurism, the ends justifying the means, torture...

The religion one is especially interesting. There have been many mentions of the novel's assertion that Christianity is a perfect religion for terrorism.Which may be true considering its creed. But terrorism is a secular activity, and Islam, unlike Christianity, is not simply a creed and a moral framework. It is a political and judicial system, it is more tightly-interwoven into the lives of its followers than Christianity. And, it should be pointed out, all studies on suicide bombers and terrorists to date have demonstrated that they are driven more by nationalistic and political motives than they are religious.

In total, it's hard to know exactly what to make of Transition. The total doesn't quite add up. The Concern's secret agenda - which is the hidden engine of the plot - is not properly geared to the story. The low-profile sf which permeates the novel gets inexplicably thrown away at the climax and replaced with, well, magic. If the villains are comic-book characters, then Oh only wins through at the end because he turns into a superhero...

On reflection, seen in that light - Transition is a hyper-real graphic novel in prose - then perhaps things begin to make sense. The need to atone for the 1980s. The brightly-coloured and highly-detailed backgrounds. The ungrounded inventiveness. The larger-than-sf characters. The way in which each vignette or episode must be treated as complete in and of itself, and yet must also be taken as a part of the greater plot. Transition feels as though Banks has adopted comic-book story-telling techniques to a prose novel. And disguised it as science fiction.

Has Banks has created a novel which can be read in three modes - mainstream, science fiction, and comic-book? Possibly. Because reading Transition solely in one of those modes renders it an unsatisfactory read. It never quite convinces as science fiction; it becomes increasingly too fantastic to work as mainstream; and its narrative is perhaps too complex to succeed as a comic-book. But it certainly makes for a (mostly) interesting read.

Someone once said of Anthony Burgess that he was a great novelist who never wrote a great novel. I'm beginning to wonder if we should say the same of Iain Banks...

The Heart of Matter

NOTE: THIS POST INCLUDES SPOILERS

Matter is Iain Banks' first Culture novel since Look to Windward in 2000. So there was a great deal of eagerness - and not just by myself - when it was announced. Orbit clearly realised that Matter's publication was an event - Waterstone's has been selling the hardback at half price since a week or so before the official publication date.

There are, it has to be said, a certain number of things you expect to find in a Culture novel. And one of those things is a Big Dumb Object. In Matter, this is the Shellworld called Sursamen, which consists of a series of vast concentric spheres, each of which is in effect a planetary surface. Shellworlds were built for reasons unknown by a race which has long since vanished.

The Sarl, a human race, live on Sursamen's Eighth level. They are at war with the Deldeyn, another human race, from the Ninth level. Ferbin is heir to the throne of Hausk, a cod-mediaeval Sarl kingdom. He's more of a playboy prince than a suitable candidate for ruler, however, so when Ferbin inadvertently witnesses his father's murder after a battle, he flees for his life. He determines to seek help from Xide Hyrlis, a Culture representative who had been a friend of King Hausk many years before. He also decides to track down his sister, Djan Seriy, who left to join the Culture, and now works for Special Circumstances.

There are three main narratives in Matter, centred on the three surviving offspring of King Hausk. Ferbin and his manservant Holse escape Sursamen and track down Hyrlis. Djan Seriy returns to Sursamen to learn the truth of her father's death. And Oramen, youngest son and now prince regent, follows the invading Sarl army to the Ninth level and the Nameless City, an ancient metropolis slowly being revealed by the great Falls of Hyeng-zhar.

King Hausk's murder, the war against the Deldeyn of the Ninth level... these are all part of a conspiracy orchestrated by Hausk's trusted adviser, friend and murderer, tyl Loesp. He is working for the Oct, the alien race which control part of Sursamen. Their objective is not revealed until a good three-quarters of the way into the story, and its result is certainly not the intended one.

The Oct are mentored by the Nariscene, who are in turn mentored by the Morthanveld. Whose civilisation is equivalent in technology and advancement to the Culture. This civilisational hierarchy is important to the plot of Matter.

Iain Banks is one of the most interesting writers currently working in science fiction - but only in the sense of science fiction as a branch of literature. He's not really an ideas man. Yes, the concept of the Shellworld is pretty impressive... but it's been done before - in Colin Kapp's Cageworld quartet. In fact, if anything, Banks has a tendency to pick up current ideas and slot them into his fictions, whether they fit or not. Look to Windward introduced nanotechnology to the Culture; and Matter introduces cyberspace. Neither had been mentioned prior to their appearances in these novels, and yet they are treated as if they had always existed. Which does make their sudden inclusion seem a little odd.

In some respects, the hierarchy of civilisations mentioned above also has the feel of an add-on required for Matter's plot to function - it's not only reminiscent of David Brin's Uplift novels, but it all seems so much busier a universe than earlier Culture novels had suggested. But denying the possibility of such additions and changes does smack a little of the "clomping foot of nerdism". Fictional universes are as flexible and adaptable as required by the story.

What makes Banks really interesting is that his sf novels are not just simple action-adventures in a space opera setting. There's enough detail in there to attract those who want immersion in a made-up universe, but he's not one to slavishly follow genre story templates. Use of Weapons features two narratives running in opposite directions chronologically; Against A Dark Background has a quest plot, in which the protagonist loses every plot coupon shortly after winning it... but still manages to finish the course (but I'm not convinced that was done knowingly).

Having said that, Banks is less adventurous with the structure of Matter. It is, for much of its length, relatively traditional - something of a picaresque travelogue, albeit juxtaposed with high fantasy wargames on Sursamen's Eighth and Ninth Levels... However, Matter ends with an appendix - a completely unnecessary dramatis personae and glossary. And after that, an epilogue. Which changes the final shape of the story. The appendix is there to hide the epilogue. Now, that is an interesting choice.

Banks usually has something interesting to say, too. Matter is no different in this respect. And, if I'm reading the novel right, it's about Iraq, about whether so-called "developed" nations have the right to meddle in the affairs of other nations. The parallels are clear - should the Culture interfere in Sursamen? Unfortunately, Banks' message is muddled. Matter's prologue shows one such intervention by Special Circumstances, and that later proves mostly successful. But the Culture's refusal to interfere in the situation in Hausk - especially given how it progresses; and they are watching it, after all - leads to a situation which could destroy everything. The epilogue shows the Culture changing its policy.

This, then, is the message from the writer who chopped up his passport over the invasion of Iraq. According to Matter, he's now saying it is good to interfere - if the interference prevents slaughter and destruction. Or perhaps he means only to interfere in the interference of the Oct, which has caused slaughter and destruction? Banks has pre-built the moral high ground into his universe - the more evolved civilisations, the Involved, are more advanced and therefore more moral. That's part of evolution, after all. So it's okay for moral - or advanced; or, perhaps, "developed" - civilisations to interfere, Matter seems to be saying, but not for less evolved ones. That's not a good message. Because Banks' universal hierarchy is a cheat - morality is treated as if it were a physical law, as if a civilisation accrued some kind of wavicles of morality as it progressed and aged.

Other areas of Matter worthy of comment... It is very talky. Characters waffle a lot. They often repeat themselves. The novel also suffers from a sudden flurry of small resolutions as the end approaches. Banks' digressions are often his best bits - and some of the digressions in Matter are among the best he's done - but it does mean that his climaxes frequently feel rushed. It does here. And, there is throughout the novel odd verbings of nouns and nunation of adjectives. Banks in part explains this, having Djan Seriy say the Sarl sometimes use "words oddly" - "we guilt you", "he has been jealoused". But there are occasions where even that is no defence - the neologism is neither in dialogue, nor even in a narrative set on Sursamen or featuring a Sarl character.

Oh, and why does Matter have double quotes for dialogue throughout, when normal British practice is single quotes?

One of the reasons Banks is an excellent writer is that despite all the above I liked Matter a great deal. It's likely to be one of the most interesting sf novels published in 2008. Whether that makes it one of the best, I don't know. Depends what else I read, of course. Unlike The Algebraist, Matter did not disappoint.

I'm As Surprised As Anyone That I've Been Keeping Up With This...

I've been a bit random as to which title I choose to read next from my list of favourites. I wonder if this has affected my response to the various novels? I mean, going straight from the grim and political near-future of Gwyneth Jones's Kairos to the slight but fun space opera of Iain M Banks's Against A Dark Background... Of course, I read other books between those two - I read seven books, in fact... including Jed Mercurio's Ascent (expect a post on this soon), Paul Park's The White Tyger (the third book in the series begun with A Princess of Roumania; superior fantasy), and Text:UR (a small press anthology; a mixed bag, but on the whole recommended).

So, Against A Dark Background... This was the first of Banks's non-Culture space operas. It's actually set within the Golter planetary system, located millions of light-years from its nearest neighbouring star. It could be a Culture novel - there's no reason why its story might not take place in some unexplored reach of the Culture's universe - but unlike Inversions, there are no clues in the narrative suggesting as much.

The Lady Sharrow is a noble fallen on hard times. When she was little, her mother was assassinated, and her grandfather's vast commercial empire was broken up by the World Court. She served in the military during the Five Per Cent War, but is now a retired hunter of Antiquities (relics of Golter's seven thousand years of technological civilisation). As the novel opens, a religious cult, the Huhsz, has received permission from the World Court to hunt and assassinate Sharrow... in revenge for an incident generations ago. An ancestor of Sharrow's had stolen several artefacts from the Huhsz - including a Lazy Gun. Only one Lazy Gun, of eight manufactured, remains. The last-but-one was found several years earlier by Sharrow, and handed over to a university. Who promptly tried to study its interior... only to trigger an explosion which killed half a million people. The Huhsz want the last Lazy Gun and will kill her if she does not give it to them. Except, she doesn't know where it is.

Sharrow puts together the survivors of her Five Per Cent War squadron, and follows a series of clues about Golter's planetary system, before finally finding the last Lazy Gun. It's plotting by coupons, of course. Sharrow is on a Quest - although unlike in high fantasies, the consequences of failure are purely personal. Sharrow will die if she fails, it's not the fate of the world at stake. Each step of the quest is a set-piece - from the theft of the Crownstar Addendum in Log-Jam to the assassination attempt on the last of the Useless Kings in Pharpech to the final assault on the Lazy Gun's hiding-place. It's all typically Banksian - but you guessed that much from the term "Useless Kings". If there's one thing that distinguishes Banks's novels from those of a similar ilk it's his mordant wit.

And that wit is firing on all cylinders in Against A Dark Background. Especially since every plan put together by Sharrow and her team during their quest goes horribly wrong. In fact, by any definition of "hero", Sharrow is a failure - she is out-manoeuvred at every turn, and only manages to reach the next stage of her quest more by accident than by design. Or by being rescued by saviours from out of the blue. Against A Dark Background could have been titled The Perils of Sharrow.

Sharrow, however, is anything but passive. She's a strong character. In fact, there's a bit of the Perfect Girlfriend to both her and team-mate Zefla - both women are gorgeous, intelligent, independent, strong-willed, and more than willing to dress for display. By contrast, the male characters are mostly under-written. But perhaps this is a hang-over from the book's origin. It was apparently first written in 1975 (when Banks was 21), but heavily rewritten before publication in 1993. The character of Feril, an android, I suspect was added in the rewrite; or at least altered a great deal. Feril joins Sharrow's team some two-thirds of the way through the novel. It is C3-PO in all but name and irritating mannerisms. Star Wars had yet to be released in 1975, of course.

Against A Dark Background is by no means Banks's best sf novel. It's a space opera quest, with plotting by coupons. However, it is slightly subversive in as much as Sharrow loses each coupon to other forces as soon as she has found it. And yet still the quest progresses towards its foreseen end. To have a character fail all the time would not make for an entertaining read, and so Banks livens up the story with wit and an approach to genre furniture and tropes that knows, or allows, no shame. He had fun writing Against A Dark Background, and he wants the reader to know it. Against A Dark Background is a fun book.

Against A Dark Background was one of the books on my list of favourites I'd read several times. And each time I've enjoyed it - perhaps because it's hard to take seriously. That's the book's strength. Repeated rereads don't spoil it, because there's as much enjoyment in encountering remembered characters and events as there is in meeting new ones. Like AE van Vogt's Undercover Aliens and John Varley's The Ophiuchi Hotline, familiarity is comfortable. It doesn't breed contempt. Against A Dark Background is a favourite novel first and foremost because I enjoy it every time I revisit it. It will stay a favourite; it stays on the list.