Every age fraught with discord and danger seems to spawn a leader meant only for that age, a political giant whose absence, in retrospect, seems inconceivable when the history of that age is written. Meina Gladstone was just such a leader for our final age, although none then could have dreamed that there would be no one but me to write the true history of her and her time.
Like Hyperion before it, Fall of Hyperion is a marriage of styles and goals that sets nothing less than the fundamental questions of our existence and our spread into the universe as its subject manner. These lofty ideals cause most of the problems in the novel, but, when all is said and done, they are what make Fall of Hyperion worth reading.
Hyperion encompassed everything from high octane space opera to noir mysteries to somber reflections on the meanings of God. Fall of Hyperion has almost all of the same elements, but the key difference is that they’re no longer separated into their own separate stories. Now, every aspect of the narrator is thrown into the same stew. Unfortunately, this results in them bumping up against each other far more often than it does in them aiding each other.
A key example of this is Fedmahn Kassad’s battle with the Shrike. The fight doesn’t occur in one go; instead, the two travel backwards and forwards through time as they battle, and their bout is woven into the narrative in various places as the two pop in and out of the timeline. The effect succeeds completely in making the battle seem like an epic, world changing affair, but it also reduces the scenes themselves. The timeless feel of the two warrior’s war squashes the brutality of their battle, reducing the (otherwise well written) scenes of their fight to more of a reminder of their existence than a source of tension.
In a work so full of elements that reach for the stars, I don’t think that anyone will be surprised to hear that several elements fall a bit flat, at least in comparison to what they were built up to be. Each of the seven pilgrims, we’ve been told, has been selected for a reason, and each of them has a VITAL part to play, without which humanity is doomed. It’s a bit hard to reconcile that with the massive anticlimax that is Martin Silenus’s conclusion. His story in Hyperion was some of the hardest reading in the novel, but was ultimately one of my favorite sections, as Silenus/Simmons pondered the relation between writer and muse and as we saw the Hyperion Cantos prophetic power. His part in Fall, however, basically consists of writing a few words (though not finishing the poem) and then…falling off the face of the earth. Alright, there’s a bit more to it than that, but I see absolutely no reason for the fate of humanity to have been imperiled by his absence.
In the same manner, Gladstone’s plan is a truly bewildering thing. In Hyperion, we receive hints that the benevolent AIs are not what they seem. In Fall, Gladstone is determined to plunge the Hegemony into chaos, if need be, to try and eradicate the threat. But, when her plan finally goes into action, we discover that it was driven entirely by circumstances she could never have known about while formulating it. Are we to believe that the (otherwise brilliant) ruler of mankind’s best idea was to go:
fuck it, I’m sure something’ll look promising when the time comes?
On a final negative note, the appearance of a
second Keats cybrid is a wee bit ridiculous. For a poet who’s supposed to be all but forgotten, to be brought back twice is a bit much. The new cybrid narrates the entire story. His sections aren’t bad, but the method in which he sees what is happening elsewhere in the world comes across as contrived and overly convenient.
Sticking with the theme of poetry, I enjoyed the way that Simmons’s integrated his knowledge of the romantic poets into his story, while generally avoiding coming off as too pretentious, but it brings up a question. Does the history of poetry in Simmons’s world have a gap with absolutely no works of note between Keats and Silenus, because every single piece of quoted poetry is either brand spankin’ new or written by Keats and his contemporaries.
None of these problems, however, are anything even approaching crippling. Fall of Hyperion can almost be compared to the fusion of a lamp, an ipod speaker, and a bicycle. The light is dimmer, the sound quality is worse, and the bicycle doesn’t go as fast, but the combination is far more interesting together than the three objects are apart…or, at least, it would be if that wasn’t such a god awful example. The success of Fall comes not from the individual triumphs of its elements, but from the stunning depth of theme and characterization, and the epic scale that it displays.
The story’s scope is so vast that all the human characters feel insignificant when held up against it:
I am merely a poet dying far from home.The story arcs of the new Keats cybrid and Meina Gladstone are almost complete opposites. Gladstone’s story is about a woman – a leader of worlds, yes, but still just a single person – rising up to face insurmountable odds and do what she can to safeguard humanity. Keats’s story, on the other hand, is the tale of a man literally lost amidst the turmoil around him, a conduit to repeat the world shattering decisions that are too large for him to alter, gradually coming to the realization that he’s
not a true player.
The Hyperion pilgrims don’t go through any major character revelations, but they don’t need to; they have all been perfectly set up in Hyperion. Some of them, like Fedmahn Kassad, stride forward and meet their promise brilliantly. Others, like the aforementioned Martin Silenus, don’t quite do the same. One of the most interesting aspects of the first novel was Sol’s pondering of the Abraham question. The answer presented here is satisfactory from a narrative perspective, though I wish that it could have been deeper from a broader point of view. Of course, there I’m being unfair. The questions raised by Sol in Hyperion are ones that I’ve personally debated since long before I read Simmons’s take, and I suppose that I can’t expect Simmons to neatly wrap up age old questions for me.
Fall of Hyperion is anything but a perfect ride. It tries to exist on a level that few SF authors have ever even attempted, and the fact that it occasionally fails to get there certainly doesn’t mean that it isn’t a successful work. If you’ve read Hyperion, there’s no reason at all to not continue…just don’t expect to be wowed
quite as much.
Every age fraught with discord and danger seems to spawn a leader meant only for that age, a political giant whose absence, in retrospect, seems inconceivable when the history of that age is written. Meina Gladstone was just such a leader for our final age, although none then could have dreamed that there would be no one but me to write the true history of her and her time.
Most of you have probably already read Pat's interview with Kay, but I figured I'd mention it, if only for the sheer excellence of the following quote:
I mean, play Gears Of War; those characters, you can’t imagine them doing anything besides running around shooting monsters. 
And in that time, before the gates of paradise were closed to them, men and women were as children. And so plentiful were the fruits and bounties of paradise that they lived for four-score years, and some lived longer than that. And in that time the Earth was warm and blue and green and many were its provinces.
Recently, John Scalzi announced that he has written a “rebooted” version of H. Beam Piper’s Little Fuzzy. Now, I have a decent amount of faith in Scalzi. I’ve only read Old Man’s War by him, but it was quite good, and I’ve read a slightly ridiculous amount of Whatever over the past few weeks. I don’t think that Scalzi is going to start producing hackwork any time soon, but Scalzi isn’t the whole field, and, as Pride and Prejudice and Zombies proved, unique ideas stay unique for roughly as long as it takes for the first reader to pick up a copy. Anyone who can’t see the potential for ludicrous amounts of derivate dross in these reworkings is mind bogglingly optimistic, but what actual impact is this likely to have on the genre?
Let’s stick with the Spliced fiction (ala Pride and Prejudice and Zombies) for a bit, as it’s quite similar to this new (potential) phenomenon. Neth recently posted some musings on his blog, and I think he raises most of the important points. It’s a fun concept, sure, but is it actually worthwhile? I can’t give you a definitive answer, and I’d be lying if I said I was well read in the new fad. I do, however, think that it’s something that could have potential…but, in order to reach that potential, they’ll need to do more than just mash two things together. As it is, for the most part, Spliced fiction is taking an old idea, leaving it entirely unchanged, and then sticking on some flashy disco lights to obscure the fact that you haven’t done shit in the way of actual innovation. Entertaining, sure, but not exactly groundbreaking. If any of these new authors want lasting success, they’re going to have to create something more than a comic idea. It’s the same as with Science Fiction. You can’t just say “my book has a spaceship,” and expect it to sell. You have to do something with the spaceship, and so far I remain unconvinced that anyone’s actually done anything with the spaceship in all these Spliced stories.
The second kind of tribute, however, is a totally different ballpark. This is the kind of cover in which the covering band doesn’t just replay the song, but reinvents it. Excellent examples of this include Jimi Hendrix’s cover of Bob Dylan’s All Along the Watchtower and Judas Priest’s cover of Joan Baez’s Diamonds and Rust. These covers are not so much a regurgitation of the original idea but a reenvisioning of it through a new perspective. If this concept was extended to fiction, as Scalzi seems to intend, I see no problem with it at all.
In books, however, there’s nothing like technology to necessitate revision. Yes, language changes, but not to the degree that you’re going to need to translate The Hobbit anytime soon. What does this mean? Well, barring a few oddballs, I’m hoping that the majority of these Reboots will be done out of a love for the original work, and a belief that it can be altered in some way, rather than because seventeen, or two hundred and six, years have passed.
On his way to work Rick Deckard, as Lord knew how many other people, stopped briefly to skulk about one of San Francisco’s larger pet shops, along animal row.
