The story starts with Rick Drake returning home to the asteroid belt after completing his college degree in “spatial engineering”. He hopes to work with his father to develop an antimatter (here called “contra-terrene”, “CT” or “seetee” matter) power source, to break the hold of atomic power monopolist Interplanet Corporation on the Solar System. However, he gets sidetracked, partly by the influence of a beautiful woman within Interplanet, to work for the corporation for a year or two. When he realizes his work is being used to develop weapons instead of energy production equipment, though, he refuses to renew his contract and heads out to work in the family business. From there, things get interesting, as a mysterious antimatter explosion out among the asteroids points to the possibility of new technology for controlling CT matter from a “terrene” world. Rick Drake then must fight the corporation’s suspicions that his father has developed CT technology illegally as all parties race to get the secret of controlling CT.

The book doesn’t miss many golden age tropes: The hero is a hypercompetent, square-jawed engineer. His love interest is a capable corporate executive and heiress. Men can call women “gorgeous” instead of using their names, without irony. All human space colonies are characterized by the stereotyped racial characteristics of the nations that founded them. Politics of the year 2190 reflect the obsessions of 1949. The one break is the character of Paul Anders, balanced between his loyalty to Interplanet and a strong independent morality.

Despite the many cliches, I enjoyed the book because of the engaging story and rapid plot advancement. Even after I spotted the gimmick coming halfway through the book I was able to keep turning the pages to find out how the remaining mysterious details would resolve.

Seetee Ship is a golden age classic, and a very fine story, but if you are easily offended by the prejudices of the past, you won’t find that it transcends its time.

So what this really felt like, was three novellas (novellettes? I can’t keep those straight) stitched together to make a salable volume. A few clues on the cover and title page that The Atrocity Archive, the first 2/3 of the book, were previously released as a self-contained novel in about 2001, and that the final 1/3 was a Hugo-winning short story from 2005, completely passed me by before I read the book. As two (or three) short pieces, the book would have worked well. There’s Stross’s characteristic humor, his harassed protagonists, a tidy wrap up to each story, and always room to expand the setting with more files from the “atrocity archive”. Its good reading, but the confusing marketing made me expect a single novel and gave me wrong expectations.

The book at hand is an episodic novel, told in a magical-realist style, about the development of a tiny outpost in the Martian desert into an industrial city where events change the world, and which is finally destroyed by threads woven into its fabric at its founding.

Wikepedia seems to think that any comparison to Ray Bradbury’s Martian Chronicles is unrelated to style, but I don’t think a comparison can be avoided. The first half, at least, of Desolation Road, is episodic in structure, much like Bradbury’s book, which was a stitch-up of a series of short stories. Both bring a literary sensibility (Bradbury being maybe most heavily influenced by Ring Lardner,  McDonald by Gabriel Garcia Marquez) to a science fiction story. Most importantly, both present characters as people, with much the same motivations and flaws as people on Earth today, living in a science fiction setting — which in both cases happens to be Mars.

Of course, the comparison has to end somewhere. McDonald didn’t have the chance to rework material he’d been away from for a while, and a few unpolished edges show — spots where a roughly chosen word sticks out and breaks the flow of the story. These rough edges are not the same as the places where McDonald occasionally, deliberately and effectively, I think, uses a crude word or brutal event to make a jarring (or eye-opening) departure from the overall elegiac tone. Finally, after its episodic beginning, McDonald’s novel follows more direct plot threads than Bradbury’s, and eventually builds up to a climactic battle scene more in the mode of off-the-rack SF.

I haven’t read any of Garcia Marquez’s works, so I can’t say whether McDonald was influenced by the magical realist style leader, or simply reproduced his style wholesale. In any case, its said that true art is made by stealing from the best. With that in mind, the story might well be compared with Brunner’s Stand on Zanzibar, often described as a pastiche of John Dos Passos’ USA trilogy. However strong their influences, both novels bring fresh literary currents into the science fiction genre.

With only minor flaws, and with a lot of new ideas to ponder, Desolation Road is a fantastic story that deserves a place in the highest reaches of the SF firmament.

Sandor Kraja is youngish, but has been operating his own merchant space vessel nearly solo for years. His merchant family were slaughtered by pirates when he was very young, and then the other two survivors, one being his older brother, died over the years in the accidents that ocurred due to running their ship so short-handed. He’s just scraping by, barely able to keep ahead of his creditors and various authorities, he and his ship going under assumed names, when he meets Allison Reilly, an up-and-coming crewwoman on an important, and wealthy, merchant ship.

Allison’s ship is about to get involved in re-opening trade ties between Alliance and Union space, and re-opening long-abandoned intermediary stations between Earth and Pell (Downbelow). Kraja foolhardily follows the Dublin Again across the lines to Pell, where he and Allison become minor figures in the developments taking shape.

Despite the larger forces pulling the characters along, the real plot is largely character-driven, with the main conflict set up by the main character’s mutual inability to trust each other, despite their mutually compatible goals. Sandor Kreja can’t break out of his habits of isolation and self-reliance, or reveal certain self-perceived weaknesses, while the Dublin characters can’t know whether he is the honest merchant he says he is, or if he’s a pirate himself, who may have even killed to obtain his vessel. Even compared to Downbelow Station, there’s little overt action in the book before the climax, but still there is plot movement throughout.

Compelling characters, dramatic conflicts, and a fast pace make this an excellent book.

The book largely follows the Banks pattern: The style is engaging and enjoyable; there’s a long and very readable character development section in which the plot simmers along; then, at the end, the plot just explodes in your face. The one thing lacking, or at least downplayed,  (and it may not be a bad thing) is Banks’s characteristic interludes of hyper-violence and grotesquery. There is one torture scene, largely off the stage, and a mentally deficient character who eats her own boogers, but nothing like the spectacle of the Eaters of Consider Phlebas.

The book opens with a prologue expositing on the “long decade between the fall of the Wall and the fall of the Towers”, and the “third Fall, the fall of Wall Street”. This sets the stage for the book to be a kind of anti-Heinleinian statement of Banks’s political views reflected in real-world history. And occasionally, the narrator interjects a brief comment on the relative merits of Socialism, Capitalism, and “Greedism”. But aside from these brief commentaries, the theme is never really explored. In fact, the characters, not being native to our timeline, would probably not realistically see the Berlin Wall, the World Trade Towers, or the financial crisis of 2008-9 as critical events of their lives. So did the story evolve as it was written to make the prologue setting the story in history irrelevant, or was Banks’s first draft gutted to make it more palatable to the book-buying public?

It might be more important to most readers, though, that in this book when the plot explodes in the reader’s face it doesn’t mean there’s lots of gunfire and bombs going off, it means the plot itself comes apart at the seams. About 2/3 of the way through the book, the protagonist develops a new and unheard of power that threatens the status quo of the multiverse. The would-be brutal dictator of the multiverse thus sets out to destroy our hero. At which point, the protagonist develops additional never-explained mind-control powers enabling him to escape her evil clutches.

This might not be Banks’s best, and I suspect its not the book Banks set out to write, but its an enjoyable read with interesting characters in a setting so broad there’s room for plenty more exploration, weakened by an ending that depends on deus ex machina.

The premise of his first novel is that a small group of refugee humans have stranded themselves on an isolated world to avoid the attention of more powerful spacefaring species. Unfortunately, a few dozen of the antagonistic aliens managed to end up on the planet with them when the worm-holes that linked it to the rest of the galaxy were destroyed. Two different alien species each have more or less control over a different human community. The Teotl rule a nation called the Azteca with an iron fist, or rather with bloody talons. The Loa, on the other hand, have a much more complex relationship with the Caribbean-islander descended Nanagadans in their orbit.

The choice of non-European background for the human settler groups adds flavor to the story, but doesn’t really seem to do much to drive the plot. The main actors in the conflict are not Nanagadans, but outsiders, space men with mysterious pasts. The Nanagadan prime minister, Diana, is the most sympathetic character, and it might have strengthened the story for her to have gotten a stronger role in solving the crisis. The Nanagadan military commander, Haidan, and an Azteca spy, Oaxytl, are also intersesting characters, but again don’t really have enough influence on events to make the story their own.

On the other hand, the writing is solid, the characters are well-developed, and the story keeps moving at all times. Even with a few quibbles about how much of the story is given over to its Caribbean characters, the book is still a solid, enjoyable, and readable adventure novel with a novel cultural twist.

“Haggle chips”, Tom Purdom Trader Janip is kidnapped while making a delivery, and becomes a bargaining chip in an ongoing conflict between a wealthy landowner and a charismatic cult leader. The story tries to keep fresh, but the Stross-style capitalist dystopia seems somewhat derivative, the character interactions are predictable, and the action sequences come off as obligatory rather than exciting. Not my type of story.

“Eddie’s ants”, D. T. Mitenko An alien stole my girlfriend! Worse, the alien is not even an individual, but a hive mind made up of ant-like component parts, and smug in its superiority to the human race. Mitenko is very clever in building up the protag’s rage against the interloper and mixing in the implications of the alien’s character.

“The Jaguar House, in shadow”, Aliette de Bodard Set in de Bodard’s alternative near-future where Chinese reached the new world before Europeans, and allowed the Aztecs to grow into a viable power in modern times. Onalli is an exiled Jaguar Knight, fighting to return the Jaguar House to its traditional ways, in opposition to her childhood friend Tecipiani, who’s taken over the order. This is a great mix of world-building, character, and action in one story.

“Amelia Pillar’s Etiquette for the Space Traveller”, Kristine Kathryn Rusch A short, witty piece about the possible perils and pleasures of a far-future cruise.

“A history of terraforming”, Robert Reed The life history of a terraforming scientist, spanning hundreds of years as terraforming (and medical) technology constantly advances. The story is epic in scope, but the narration is dry as (unterraformed) Mars, making it difficult to feel empathy for the characters, and the length of the story only exacerbates the challenge posed by the distant tone.

Iron monk, Melissa Yuan-Innes A group of misfit astronauts are chosen for a high-risk mission as punishment for various crimes against the Chinese regime. The portrayal of Tibetan(?) monks on a fairly realistic near-future space mission was a novel touch, but the rest of the story didn’t really fill out that main idea.

A passion for art, David D. Levine A mysterious series of vandalisms at an art museum turns out to have a magical explanation. Although there’s nothing groundbreaking here, the writing fully lives up to the needs of the story.

Plague birds, Jason Sanford Cristina de Ane is a young woman growing up on a farm in what at first appears to be a low-tech environment, but soon turns out to be much more complicated. The world is run by two types of AI’s (at least, two types that we see), a beneficent AI that cares for and guides Crista’s village, and a more dangerous type, carried by wandering human hosts called plague birds to deliver a kind of tough-love justice to wayward villages. These AI guides are needed to lead a fractured, genetically modified human species back toward its earlier state. Altogether a fascinating set of premises, and a complementarily strong story to bring them before us.

Normally I don’t worry too much about the art in Interzone, but here I think it was a real distraction, with a painting of a plague bird in a skin-tight body suit shown on the first page of the story setting up assumptions about the setting that didn’t end up matching my eventual mind-picture of what’s actually depicted in the story.

Over water, Jon Ingold A wanderer tells the tale of the start of his long journey through the archipelago that makes up his entire known world. Ingold pulls together the narrator’s coming of age and setting off from home, an invasion between islands, and a fantastic piece of world building. But not much is given up about the world, and how its islands came to be formed, leaving the reader to work out what the narrator and his in-story audience take for granted. This one really left me hoping for a follow-up to explore more of the history of the archipelago.

• The Left Hand of Darkness, Ursula K. LeGuin. I only finally read this a few months ago, but it is undeniably a classic. It tackles an important topic that’s not explored often enough in SF, and it continues to advance its speculations throughout the entire novel.  An absolutely key example of why speculation is the core of science fiction. This was probably the most-cited book by the SF Signal authors, though A Canticle for Leibowitz may have edged it out only because a couple of other Le Guin titles also contend for this list. And for good reason, as to my mind this is the most uncontestable title to be included on any list of exemplary sf.
• The Forever War, Joe Haldeman. Another favorite of the SF Signal contributors, and the key example of how science fiction comments on the present day.
• The Fifth Head of Cerberus, Gen Wolfe. Shows all of Wolfe’s genius, but its readable without taking notes.
• Snow Crash, Neal Stephenson. Sarah Hoyt cited The Diamond Age, but Snow Crash was the book that introduced Stephenson’s frenetic narrative style, and announced that the cyberpunk era was over.
• The Martian Chronicles, Ray Bradbury. The earliest SF book I can think of that also achieves literary brilliance.
• Starship Troopers, Robert Heinlein. There has to be a Heinlein story in the list, first because he showed the genre that characterization and plot are as important as scientific speculation in making a readable story. Second, because so much later work is written in response to Heinlein’s work, and particularly to this one. Starting with The Forever War, listed above.
• Stand on Zanzibar, John Brunner. The book is (IMHO) under-appreciated, but it is simultaneously a great example of stylistic experimentation and speculations beyond the purely technical, and a precursor to trends that didn’t fully materialize for 16 years after it was written.

And here’s a few that, based on reputation alone, I think everyone should read, but I (shamefully) haven’t read yet myself:

• Solaris, Stanislaw Lem
• Dahlgren, Samuel R. Delany
• A Clockwork Orange, Anthony Burgess
• The Drowned World, J. G. Ballard

“Thief of shadows”, Fred Chappell A new entry in Chappell’s series of stories about Falco, the apprentice shadow-thief, his master Astolfo, and his nemesis Mutano, Astolfo’s multi-talented servant. In this story, we go back to the first meeting between Falco and Astolfo, and Falco’s early days of apprenticeship. As always, the narration and dialog are dryly witty, and Falco’s predicaments mix humour and adventure.

“A history of Cadmium”, Elizabeth Bourne Cadmium was artist Cassandra Ross’s greatest painting, one of a lost series on the theme of “rare earths”. The painting is only a rumor until her daughter, Caddie, narrator of the story, finally decides to show it publicly. The showing, and Julia’s pregnancy lead to a series of revelations about the painting’s genesis, and Caddie’s, from Cassandra’s old friend, Julia. It’s a tightly woven story (maybe too tightly: at one point Caddie says she sold all the Cadmium series of paintings; in another, Julia says that she burned them), and the fantasy and human plot elements are nicely intertwined.

“The real Martian Chronicles”, John Sladek This is apparently a work discovered in Sladek’s estate after the author passed away in 2000. It’s the whimsical diary of a new migrant to the latest frontier.

“Dr. Death vs. the vampire”, Aaron Schutz A twist on the superhero story. Here we have only “almost-superheroes”, like our narrator, whose almost-superpower is to be able to read the emotions and feelings (but not the thoughts) of people around him. He was once a member of the League of Almost-Superheroes, but left to pursue his own interests, following his own morality. But now he’s discovered a vampire, a kind of almost-supervillain that lives off the emotions of his victims. Vampires are more in the League’s line of work, but nonetheless the good doctor sets off in pursuit. A well made story that simultaneously shows the lighter, and the darker sides of almost-superherodom.

“Remotest mansions of the blood”, Alex Irvine Arthur Lindsay has retreated from his western life to a small town in Central America, where he spends his time drinking and wishing he could connect with a local 19-year-old beauty. Her allure is as much that of breaking down the cultural barriers between himself and the locals as her simple physical attractions. When the town is damaged by a strong earthquake, his connections to the place grow stronger, but not enough to win the attention of the girl. He goes out seeking the mansions of the blood, rumored to lie decaying in the swamps around the town, but “the geography of the mansions is all related to whoever’s looking for them.” An excellent dreamscape of a story.

“Seven sins for seven dwarves”, Hilary Goldstein Turns an old fairy tale on it’s side, and manages to not totally re-tread old ground. Which is pretty good for a story with “seven dwarves” in its title.

“Silence”, Dale Bailey A story about a nerdy and picked-on kid in high school, and a visitor from (presumably) another world. It’s a well written story, but thematically it didn’t connect well for me.

“Forever”, Rachel Pollack A goddess, or something near to it, loses a wager and ends up spending a lifetime living among mortals, not even aware of her true identity. The presentation is all drama, and rather dry, but not stultifyingly so.

“The Atchison, Topeka, & Santa Fe”, Robert Onopa A toy train set, depicting an early-20th-century railroad, and controlled by a remarkable AI, obsesses a young boy. The description of the toy’s capabilities, and its evolution, is magical. The ending, though, is a bit of a set-piece, that seems out of place attached to this story. That may be symptomatic though of what is essentially a “big dumb object” story writ small — it’s hard to imagine wrapping up the story without some kind of break from the tone of the main body.

“The Gypsy’s boy”, Lokiko Hall The magical romance between a young blind man and an elemental spirit. A well-told fable.

“The crocodiles”, Steven Popkes A memoir of vile human medical experimentation in the Nazi death camps of Buchenwald and Auschwitz. The narrative style is completely modern, with none of the tendentious and convoluted prose that would give the feel of the 1940s. This may make the story in some ways more readable today, but it gives the story so little gravity that it seems to belittle the monstrous events it’s based on. I don’t think the story was meant to offend, and the narrator’s utter lack of moral introspection in relation to his work is probably the main point of the story. But somehow the story just read too easily to support its momentous theme.