In my quest to read all six of the novels short-listed for the 2024 Nebula Awards, I’ve made two posts so far about four of the novels. This post rounds out the six. When I began this series of posts, I have to say I scoffed. The Nebula Award winners will be unveiled on June 8th, and I only decided I’d do this thing a bit past mid-May. Was I crazy???? And now that I’ve actually done it (except for one–full disclosure, I read it earlier this year), have I ever read such an impressive collection of novels? If I have, I’ve never blitzed through them this fast. But they were so absorbing it was hard to stop. Okay, I’m a fast reader. But I’m not a fast reader of boring stuff. So there’s that.

I read these novels in no particular order, by the way–just grabbed one and dug in. It also didn’t hurt–in fact helped a lot–that I’m on a month’s DYI writing retreat in Portugal, where I am perched five stories above the beautiful Largo de São Domingos in Porto. Wafting through the windows along the balmy breezes are fantastic performances by the street musicians in the square below, especially the music of the superb soprano jazz saxophonist who bills himself as Andre Luis. Was there ever a more perfect writing/reading environment? I’ll go home to the U.S. soon and find out who won the Nebula this year for best novel, but I’ll leave a big part of my heart here in Porto.

Here are my final two reviews: The Terraformers, by Annalee Newitz, and The Water Bandits, by S. L. Huang.

Annalee Newitz, The Terraformers (Tor, 2023)

How do I even begin? And what is this novel, anyway? Is it green lit/eco lit? Yes. Is it something called “noblebright“? Yes. Not dystopian. Not utopian, either. Is it structurally set up to fail as a novel? In my opinion, yes. Does it fail? No, no, a thousand times no. It is superb. Please read this book.

The novel covers a thousand years–enough, according to the author, to encompass a full terraforming cycle of the potentially Earth-like exoplanet Sask-E. That means, however, that you don’t get to follow one protagonist, or even several co-protagonists, over the course of the novel. So what happens when you switch main characters like this? In some cases, your novel functions like a series of novellas bound together into a single book. In some cases, you end up with a mess. Some writers succeed at doing this. In the SF realm, I’m thinking of Walter Miller’s A Canticle for Leibowitz, or Isaac Asimov’s The Gods Themselves (which I found very unsatisfying–others obviously disagree). Another example might be David Mitchell’s Cloud Atlas, which I found very annoying, especially because I think he’s a great writer (again, many, many others disagree). Against all odds–or anyway, against my own reading history and prejudices, Newitz’s novel brilliantly succeeds, perhaps because one of the main “characters” is Sask-E itself, or–maybe the whole Sask-E terraforming enterprise, based on the philosophy of a society of rangers whose job it is to protect the planet. The author’s interview for The Stranger explains their thinking.

The rangers’ communitarian and ecological principles run up against stiff opposition by commercial enterprises with a much different vision of Sask-E’s future. These interests have the financial and political clout to prevail. If I were to tell you my favorite kind of novel is one with a strong message overwhelming the characters, I’d be lying. I find that kind of novel trying. I’m thinking of the (very much lauded) novel The Tortilla Curtain, by T. C. Boyle (1996). At the end, I felt the characters were cardboard cutouts standing in for ideas, and I also felt resentful that I hadn’t spent the time instead reading a good nonfiction book about the problems of immigrants. A few chapters into Newitz’s book, I wondered if I were in for another experience like that. I wasn’t. This novel is thrilling–as a novel of ideas, but a real novel, not just a long, disguised essay.

The first chapter or two almost made me think we were about to embark on a fun adventure story, maybe of the cowboys-in-space variety, the good-guy farmers vs. the evil ranchers. After all, the novel begins with a ranger named Destry, riding their faithful moose Whistle. But pretty soon the reader is in the deep weeds of how a fair regulatory climate and carefully-maintained ecological balance are essential to justice and a decent life. If this description makes the novel seem drab, don’t be fooled. It’s anything but.

Far into the novel, I had to laugh at the minor character Cimell, a failed game designer who is very earnest but whose games are essentially unplayable. Cimell tries to explain to the main characters in this part of the book (a smart, savvy cat–is there any other kind?–and a sentient train) (Yes, train. A train is one of the main characters. A gamer-train.):

Maybe. . .battles are more exciting. They make for better superhero stories. . .But the revolution is actually happening in the boring details, like how you manage housing and water, or who is allowed to speak.

Please tell me the author hasn’t stuck Cimell into the novel to speak wryly for theirself. This novel is anything but boring. This game–this novel–is anything but unplayable. (Because what is a novel, anyway, but an elaborate game played with words?)

The Terraformers is an extremely important novel, and I am so glad it’s a Nebula finalist. The more of us who know about this book, the better. The more of us who read this book, the better. The planet needs us to. In addition, it’s a great reading experience. Did I mention sentient worms? And the much-maligned naked mole-rats finally get their due.

S. L. Huang, The Water Outlaws (Tor, 2023)

What a fun, exciting novel this one is! I enjoyed it immensely. It’s a re-imagining of Ming-dynasty writer Shi Nai’an’s Water Margin, considered one of China’s “Four Great Classical Novels” and a precursor to later wuxia fiction: stories (movies, games, etc.) heavily involved with martial arts, magic, and underdog characters fighting for justice. This re-imagining is set in the Song dynasty (960-1279 CE), although it doesn’t adhere slavishly to historical facts. Huang’s acknowledgments page at the end of the novel gives a good overview of what parts are historical and what parts are made up.

I don’t know enough about wuxia, just that one of my favorite movies ever is Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon (2000, directed by Ang Lee). For the hard-core wuxia fan, I’m sure Huang’s novel presents even more delights than it does for me. Even so, I found it thrilling. It’s a tale of women who are thrust to the margins of society. These outcasts band together in a sisterhood considered a pack of bandits by the authorities but freedom-fighters by themselves and the villagers they protect. A fascinating subplot concerns a woman forced to participate in a sort of proto-Manhattan Project to create a weapon of mass destruction–some of it based on wuxia tropes about magic and the magical arts, but a lot of it on actual Chinese experimentation with gunpowder. This part of the plot reminds me somewhat of Joe Abercrombie’s The Blade Itself. The characters are compelling, and the moral dilemmas they face give them depth.

A serious message about the nature of justice and the dangers of messing with dark destructive forces undergirds this exciting tale. I had a blast ending my Nebula Finalists reading binge with this one.

COMING UP NEXT:

I have some thoughts about who I’d vote to win.