Overall Quality 3.5 / 5.0 (recommended)
Gay Content 1.0 / 5.0
Gay Positivity 2.0 / 5.0

I enjoyed this novel, but it is not Simmons’ best work. That said, he is one of my favorite authors. If you are new to his books, start with “Hyperion” (if you like Sci-Fi) or “Summer of Night” (if you’re a horror fan).

“Ilium” stands as one of the most unusual Sci-Fi reads I’ve enjoyed in a long time. The narrative follows three overlapping threads. First, on Mars we find the Greek gods enacting or re-enacting the Trojan War (explicitly, “The Iliad” as written by Homer). These gods seem suspiciously high-tech. Unfortunately for them, thanks to our intrepid scholar-protagonist Thomas Hockenberry, events don’t go quite as planned. Second, the reader follows a group of sentient robots from Jupiter, who travel to Mars because of dangerous quantum distortions emanating from the planet. Finally, human civilization on Earth has seemingly returned to the semi-dark ages, and a group of old-style humans are trying to re-discover the universe.

The three storylines dovetail nicely with each other, and I liked the skillful juxtaposition of history, literature, philosophy, and Sci-Fi. Welcome to science fiction for college professors!

Simmons has mastered the art of raising intriguing questions while offering just enough tantalizing answers to keep the reader hooked. Who are the post-humans? Are the Greek gods post-humans, or something else? What happened to the old-style humans? What are the mysterious voynix? How is Odysseus apparently existing in two places at once? How and why can the old-style humans on Earth “watch” the re-enactment of the Trojan War? Simmons tends to end each chapter with the reader hanging on some important question or dramatic plot point; it can be hard to put this novel down.

On the other hand, I found myself skimming quite a bit. A lot of the conversations (which I assume he intended to be thought-provoking or literary) are prosaic and off-putting. I also felt strung along at times: there’s a fine line between withholding information to create tension and doing so to drag the story out. Simmons also occasionally gets lost in the minutia, for example, when the Jovian robots navigate the Martian seas.

Note that the novel ends with a cliffhanger. The story concludes in “Olympos.”

On the whole, “Ilium” presents an unusual and well-written read. I would recommend it for science fiction devotees, or fans of Homer’s “The Iliad” who are open to Sci-Fi. If you like this novel, definitely try Simmons’ stellar “Hyperion” series as well.

Regarding gay content, to my surprise the author makes several explicit references to homosexuality. Nevertheless, most of the mentions are brief: no characters are clearly gay, and there doesn’t appear to be any gay subtext in the novel, so I rated the Content Scale very low. Similarly, while Simmons never crosses the line into blatant homophobia, his comments hardly qualify as positive.

His novel involves several historical persons who are known or rumored to be gay, such as Shakespeare, Proust, and Achilles/Patroclus. In most cases, Simmons dismisses the theory. In fact, in one sequence one of the robot characters speaks with Shakespeare (don’t ask; it’s science fiction) and explicitly asks the Bard, who reacts violently. In the case of Achilles/Patroclus, the author allows some homoeroticism to exist between them but clearly (through sex acts) establishes them as heterosexual.

The overarching vibe of these mentions is that straight somehow trumps gay. His dismissive and lowbrow use of gay references disappoints me.

Overall 4.0 / 5.0 (recommended for fans of the series)
Gay Content 2.0 / 5.0 (three minor gay characters)
Gay Positivity 4.0 / 5.0

Welcome to The Canterbury Tales meets Star Trek: Voyager. The central story posits that aliens capture the Voyager command crew (with the exception of Captain Janeway and the Doctor – must be lonely on the Voyager bridge) while on an away mission. The aliens take the crew to a prison camp.

Through the process of planning their escape, Chakotay, Tuvok, Tom Paris, B’Elanna, Neelix, and even Kes tell their personal stories leading up to their involvement with the initial Voyager mission, before the ship got lost in the Delta Quadrant.

Quick note – the story is set after Kes’s departure from the ship, and shortly after Seven of Nine’s arrival.

The individual stories make for fascinating and illuminating reads. Taylor enjoys a clever and engaging writing style. It would be easy to lose momentum in a novel like this, but the author manages a brisk pace through a series of unique stories that range from moving to revealing to amusing. The individual stories certainly outshine the more prosaic and implausible imprisonment/escape plot.

A word of warning – these stories will probably hold little interest for anyone who doesn’t know the characters from the TV series.

The book includes three minor gay characters. George Mathers is Harry Kim’s roommate from Starfleet Academy. He has an unrequited crush on Harry, who responds to the situation with grace and compassion: “An immense wave of friendship, of caring and concern and, yes, of love, swept over Harry” (115). It’s mildly disappointing to see a gay character fall in love with an unavailable straight guy (I’d much rather see a successful gay romance), but I’m thrilled with both the inclusion and Harry’s response.

Meanwhile, Noah Mannick and Brad Harrison are part of the Voyager crew stranded in the alien prison camp. They have “only recently become a couple” (176). One frustrating aspect of their relationship: at one point Noah suffers from severe cramps, probably the result of contaminated drinking water. Then we never hear about him again.

So was Noah okay? Did he and Brad make it back to the ship? The novel doesn’t tell us either way. Unfortunately, Noah and Brad are very minor characters, present more to flesh out the situation and, perhaps, demonstrate some gay inclusiveness. To that end, once again, I am delighted to find them present in the novel. I just wish we had seen more of them.

On the whole, could she have done better by the gay characters? Sure: they could have enjoyed beefed up roles, with more compelling subplots of their own, or at least a bigger role to play in the overarching story, and positive endings. Nevertheless, I’m happy to find them at all. Star Trek: Voyager has been one of the least gay-inclusive iterations of the Star Trek franchise, so I’m glad that gay people are represented somewhere in the Voyager universe.

As an interesting side-note, fictional Star Trek novels are not usually considered canon, or official. But Jeri Taylor wrote Pathways (along with Mosaic, which details Captain Janeway’s personal back-story) to provide reference material for the show’s main characters. She specifically intended the books to be canon. We never see Noah or Brad on the show, but presumably they’re in there somewhere. IMDB.com does indicate a Crewman Noah Lessing (played by Rick Worthy).

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For more posts on all things gay in the Star Trek universe, check out my Gay Star Trek Main Page.

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Overall Quality 3.0 / 5.0 (a good story with a couple of serious weaknesses)
Gay Content 2.0 / 5.0 (important gay character)
Gay Positivity 4.5 / 5.0 (would have been ideal but for one major cliché)

Closely tied to the film Star Trek: First Contact, the story opens with a brief prologue following the events of the film. The book’s main story, however, takes place as a flashback set shortly after the Enterprise-E is commissioned. (The Enterprise-D was destroyed in the movie Star Trek: Generations ).

Chiaros, a lone planet located in a desolate and empty section of space called the Geminus Gulf, has applied for Federation membership. However, the Romulans are also vying for possession of the planet and the Gulf. Social instability in the Chiaran civilization gives the Romulans ample opportunity to manipulate local politics and create a dangerous situation for the Federation. And no one can understand why: as far as anyone can tell, the Geminus Gulf is an absolutely worthless territory.

In the meantime, the Federation’s secret spy organization, Section 31, is conspiring with the Romulan Tal Shiar to effectively cede the planet to the Romulans in exchange for some tactical information. As part of their effort, Section 31 contacts Lt. Sean Hawk (played by Neal McDonough in First Contact) to recruit the young and promising (and gay!) officer (1).

Section 31 was created in the Federation charter, and has the ability (largely due to a complete lack of oversight) to take extraordinary, and otherwise illegal and immoral, actions in order to protect Federation interests. Deep Space Nine introduced the organization in “Inquisition” (Season Six, Episode No. 142).

I’ve never particularly cared for Section 31 as a source of drama. In Rogue, I have a couple of issues with it that detract from the reading experience.

First, the raison d’être for the organization rings hollow to me. Michelle Erica Green, writing for TrekNation, states the dilemma well:

“Unfortunately, it’s difficult to make any character sound intelligent while parroting Sloan’s explanations of the reasons for the group’s existence — basically, the argument runs that the Federation can’t maintain its existence under its own peaceful charter, so it needs a top-secret division to break all its rules in the name of saving it, even if that division’s actions (ranging from assassinations to stopping proto-warp civilizations from traveling into space) violate everything the Federation represents” (2).

Second, the two men who work for Section 31 in the novel just seem dumb to me. I mean seriously, how naive can you be to think that the Romulans are going to hand over tactically important information in exchange for possession of what seems to be a worthless world? Have these people never heard of the “too good to be true” principle? Do you think they might be suspicious and try to do a little due diligence before breaking Federation law?

This particular criticism leads me to my mixed feelings on the plot itself. Fundamentally, it’s a pretty good story: multi-layered, suspenseful, exciting, and thought-provoking. It probably would have made a superior movie to either Insurrection or Nemesis.

Mangels and Martin do an amazing job with the established Enterprise crew as well. Each of the characters sound distinct and exactly like they do on the shows, and Mangels and Martin manage to throw in a number of references to the movies (especially First Contact, of course) and the television shows that were a lot of fun to identify.

But Section 31’s foolishness undercut the story’s tension and distracted me from fully engaging with the plot. Also, the story takes too damn long to get going. By 100 or so pages in, I was hooked. But it took 100 pages! I probably would have stopped reading if I hadn’t been so interested in the gay content that is so rare for Star Trek.

And Mangels, who is openly gay, and Martin handle the gay content extremely well. A major negative cliché does rear its head. If you’ve seen First Contact, you know what I’m talking about, an unfortunate stereotype that the authors inherit from the movie. I suspect they would have happily opted for a different outcome for the gay character if they could have.

Instead, this book almost serves as a love letter to a character who may be the sole good gay person in semi-official Star Trek canon. They are pitch perfect in their portrayal of Lt. Hawk. They don’t even really comment on his gayness; it’s just part of the fabric of the story and of the social milieu of the Federation. It’s a total non-issue, and they mention Hawk’s partner Keru Ranul as a natural part of Hawk’s life. The authors present Hawk himself as a prodigy, unusually bright and skilled, and clearly possessing a thoughtful and moral nature. He makes an excellent hero.

I mention that Lt. Hawk may be the only good gay character in semi-official Star Trek canon, but I must emphasize the “may be.” It’s not exactly clear cut. For one thing, Star Trek novels do not count as “canon.” Paramount Pictures expects them to adhere as closely as possible to established Star Trek material, and Paramount must approve any Star Trek book project. The vetting process suggests that the books have at least semi-official status, particularly if nothing in the Star Trek canon (the movies and television series) directly contradicts them.

However, Andy Mangels

“admits there were some problems with the Paramount licensing and [he] worried the character’s sexuality might be edited. He goes on to say, ‘Paramount licensing was very quiet about the book’s contents, and made sure that Rick Berman and Brannon Braga (the Trek TV producers) did not see it before it went to press. There was some concern that the gay elements would be forcefully removed if Berman and Braga saw it. Once it was at the printer, it was given to their office. I never heard if there was fallout or not, but the book got publicity all around the world’” (3).

It’s worth noting that Rick Berman, who produced First Contact, released a statement in conjunction with the film specifying that Lt. Hawk is heterosexual (4).

Hawk’s sexuality is not even slightly ambiguous in Section 31: Rogue. He’s gay, happily partnered, and positively portrayed. Yay! Albeit with one pretty serious negative item. I scored a little higher on the Gay Positivity scale than I normally would given that negative issue, but I was so happy with the rest of the portrayal I decided to be a little more relaxed with the score.

Overall, it would probably take a pretty serious Star Trek fan to really get into this story. If that’s you, or if you’re interested in meeting a gay character in the Star Trek universe, I definitely recommend Section 31: Rogue.

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For more posts on all things gay in the Star Trek universe, check out my Gay Star Trek Main Page.

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(1) Does the story sound vaguely familiar? In fact, it’s loosely similar to “The Mind’s Eye,” Episode No. 91 of Star Trek: The Next Generation. In that episode, the Romulans supply forged Federation weaponry to the citizens of Krios in order to destabilize the Federation’s relationship with the Klingon Empire.

(2) Michelle Erica Green, “Section 31: Rogue and Shadow,” TrekNation.com, 19 May 2001, http://www.treknation.com/reviews/books/section_31_rogue_shadow.shtml (retrieved 5 May 2008)

(3) Michael Ricci, “Forbidden Gay Frontier: Where Star Trek Hasn’t Boldly Gone,” AfterElton.com, 20 April 2006, http://www.afterelton.com/archive/elton/TV/2006/4/startrek3.html (retrieved 30 May 2008).

(4) “Gay Trek Rumor Light Years Ahead of Reality,” GLAAD Alert (Archive), 23 August 1996, http://www.glaad.org/publications/archive_year.php?year=1996 (retrieved 5 May 2008).

In the future, humanity encounters an alien race called the hwarhath. A superficially adversarial relationship develops; our two people do not declare war, but skirmishes, spying, and abducting enemy agents are common on both sides. The book opens with the initiation of diplomatic proceedings, at which it is discovered one of the human abductees, Nicholas Sanders, has been assisting the hwarhath for some twenty years. Military Intelligence attempts to kidnap Nicholas for questioning, using our protagonist Anna – who researches alien intelligence – to help them.

“Ring of Swords” makes for a fascinating, fast read. The prose is crisp and clean, unlittered by flowery language or needless subplots and secondary characters. The author has a story to tell, and she lets it unfold with a minimum of fuss or verbal excess (something that can’t be said for many fantasy novels, but which the sci-fi genre seems to do much better). The story recalls C. J. Cherryh’s Chanur series in its adept exploration of an alien culture dealing with humanity. The feminist bent of the story (and the heroine’s name) also made me think of L. E. Modesitt’s fantasy series, the Spellsong Cycle, whose protagonist Anna finds herself – through no fault of her own – in trying circumstances but manages not only to make the best of them, but to master them.

The novel definitely holds interest for the gay reader in that, as one minor character observes, “We have found an entire culture, maybe an entire species, that does not practice heterosexuality, except maybe…as a perversion” (61).

I found Arnason’s exploration of the sexual culture of the hwarhath fascinating: the separation between genders, the primacy of females over males, etc. I never really understood if homosexuality was practiced among the hwarhath because they were all inherently homosexual and always had been, and in their past had only endured heterosexual intercourse in order to procreate. Or if they were simply socially conditioned to engage in same-sex relationships because of the strict gender divide. Either way, I found the cultural norm she created very believable.

I can almost imagine a similar culture evolving somewhere on earth, under the right circumstances: women, for whatever reason, remain completely separate from men. Intercourse is allowed by the culture only under relatively rare and carefully controlled circumstances in order to procreate. Outside of that experience, men and women do not fraternize; so if they are to form intimate, romantic, and sexual relationships, it must be with members of the same sex.

That leads us to a fractious question, however. Can a person who is biologically heterosexual find true satisfaction in a homosexual relationship? Part of me thinks, why not? If the person is open-minded enough about the source that fulfills their sexual and emotional needs, what difference does the gender make?

But that’s a slippery slope into the argument that a gay person could find satisfaction and fulfillment in a heterosexual relationship, i.e., that a gay person could, for all intents and purposes, change. If only they were open-minded enough. And I have a much bigger problem with that proposition. It’s very close to saying that homosexuality is not real, but some kind of illusion or disordered sexual identity. It’s obvious that situational homosexuality exists here on earth, e.g., in all-male environments like prison or under specific circumstances like adolescent experimentation or gay-for-pay pornography. Those are very different scenarios from someone whose gayness is intrinsic and inborn.

At one point, we meet a hwarhath who is, gasp!, straight. And miserable about it! Apparently there’s no organized straight subculture among hwarhath like we find a gay subculture among humans. Nicholas has a very interesting response upon discovering this hwarhath’s heterosexuality: “I wanted to say, the universe is very large, and most of it is cold and dark and empty; it’s not a good idea to be too picky about who you are going to love” (191). I never understood if Nicholas was “really” gay; or “situationally” gay because he’s a human male with sexual needs who’s only ever exposed to other men who regularly practice same-sex relationships. I generally consider portrayals of the latter kind to be less gay positive, because it’s less affirming of a gay identity, but I also consider that point to be relatively minor. It can be an awfully fine line between “really” gay and “situationally” gay, as I phrase it.

I should note, the book makes clear that future humanity still does not consider homosexuality to be “normal” and implies that it’s less socially or morally acceptable. Nicholas is amused at one point in the novel by the idea of “a bunch of people sitting around on Earth, trying to decide what kind of homosexual pornography will present humanity in the best light” (235 – my favorite line in the novel).

Great characters, a compelling plot, crisp narrative, and thought-provoking themes make “Ring of Swords” a recommended read. Check it out!

As an aside, for a (non-science fiction) movie that re-imagines human culture as predominantly gay with a different take on the relationship between males and females for procreation, check out “Almost Normal” (2005).

Kress postulates a future in which parents can control their children’s genetic futures. Specifically, a genetic modification can be made in utero which would allow the person to never require sleep. The so-called Sleepless thus enjoy an additional eight hours every single day to study, practice their skills, or work. As a result, they are significantly more successful than Sleepers.

At first, Sleepers regard the Sleepless as curiosities, but as the Sleepless grow in number and influence, envy and fear rear their heads. Repressive laws begin dotting the legal landscape, and anti-Sleepless violence mounts. In time, many of the Sleepless withdraw to their own isolated community. The climactic moment of the novel brings with it the threat of war between Sleeper and Sleepless.

Kress has written a quintessential what-if novel. The strength of the story rests in its examination of how the unintended aftereffects (as opposed to side effects) of this genetic modification would play out in society over time. It’s a thoughtful, dialogue- and philosophy-heavy work, with a couple of clever twists that turns the story back from Sleeper-vs-Sleepless to Sleepless-vs-Sleepless to human-vs-human. The title derives from an extended metaphor played throughout the novel. On the whole, the plot is fairly straightforward, slowly building upon itself with successive events. No twist endings here.

The characters are the weakest link in the novel. With a couple of notable exceptions, they are more broadly-sketched caricatures than real people. It’s not that Kress doesn’t have the skill; she just doesn’t spend the time or delve into most of the characters’ lives enough for us to really get to know them. I wouldn’t mind so much if it were just the secondary characters, but even the novel’s antagonist seems one-dimensional. I wish we had seen more of her earlier in the book, so we would have a better idea of who she is and why she’s the person she’s become.

On the whole, an engaging and thought-provoking story. This is science fiction in the Jules Verne tradition. That is, it’s fiction today. Let’s re-read it again in a few decades and see if we can still say that.

For those who are interested: Regarding gay content, there’s virtually zilch. There is one mention of gay rights as part of a list of civil rights movements in history. No gay characters (not even B- or C-characters, which I personally thought was an interesting omission, considering the number of characters and treatment of the subject matter). I didn’t score the novel for its gay positivity because there wasn’t enough information. It’s as if gay people don’t exist in Kress’s future.

Summary

Long, long ago in a galaxy far away – oh, wait, wrong story. Actually in an alternate universe, or in the future, humanity lives in a galactic milieu shared with various sentient species. One of those species has introduced humans to a metaphysical experience called the Dream, a sort of collective telepathic experience. Those who can access the Dream are called the Silent; and in many parts of the politically splintered universe, the Silent are slaves and property.

Our erstwhile hero Kendi was a Silent slave himself, until he was able to join the Children of Irfan, a quasi-religious sect that seek out other Silent. And in this novel, they have a very specific target: a rogue Silent with powers never before seen. Several different parties desperately seek the rogue Silent, many hoping to use his powers to their own advantage. Will the (mostly) selfless Children reach him first?

And of course, the poor fellow comes from a family of many secrets, some of which threaten to tear the Dream apart, literally.

Quality

Dreamer benefits from a very strong, vivid opening sequence. But gradually following that, the story loses steam and focus. The novel has two basic acts: first, find the ultra-powerful rogue Silent; second, save the Universe. The first act is considerably more interesting than the second because it’s more character-driven. In fact, the focus shifts from Kendi in the first half to various secondary characters in the second. Meanwhile, a handful of minor characters introduce potentially interesting or meaningful subplots, which never go anywhere. In other words, the book starts with a razor sharp story and involving characters, but then the storylines get sloppy. I enjoyed some of the twists, for example, events on the home world of the Children of Irfan took me by surprise. But ultimately, the story winds down to a relatively weak ending.

Gay Content

For me, the most compelling reason to keep reading was Kendi, an engaging and gay protagonist. One of the subplots centered on his strained relationship with a former boyfriend, Ben. I really wanted to know how it would work out for them.

And Harper handled the gay components of his novel quite deftly, particularly considering he’s straight. I found the lack of gay angst in this novel quite refreshing! I grow tired of authors (or filmmakers, or TV producers) who say they’ll include gay characters only when it’s appropriate to the story. Kendi and Ben are gay, and it’s just who they are, the same way I’m gay, and it’s just who I am.

At the same time, Harper doesn’t treat their gayness as an artifact, i.e., pointing out at the beginning of novel, “Look at me, I’m innovative, I have a gay protagonist!” and then never mentioning it again. No, in fact, as author and blogger Brent Hartinger observes, “The series goes into great detail about his childhood, his feelings of being “different,” and his stormy relationship with another man. It’s integral to the story, not mere window-dressing” (1).

Harper and his editor clearly have a pleasantly low-key attitude about including gay content. In an interview with StrangeHorizons.com, Harper describes how he approached his editor Laurie Anne Gilman:

“Will Steven Harper become known as ‘that gay SF writer’?” I asked [Gilman]. “The label doesn’t bother me, but I’m worried about sales.”

“Gay characters don’t hurt sales these days,” she said. “Do what you like” (2).

Overall

On the whole, it’s a decent story. I mildly recommend it on its own. But if you’re hungry for a science fiction tale with gay characters handled very positively, definitely pick it up.

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(1) Brent Hartinger, “Book Review: Dreamer by Steven Harper,” AfterElton.com, 24 January 2007, http://www.afterelton.com/blog/2007/01/25/book-review-dreamer-by-steven-harper (20 July 2007). By the way, I love the AfterElton website; I highly recommend you check it out.

(2) Mahesh Raj Mohan, “Interview: Steven Piziks,” StrangeHorizons.com, 6 October 2003, http://www.strangehorizons.com/2003/20031006/piziks.shtml (20 July 2007). Note that “Steven Harper” is a pseudonym.

I love McCaffrey’s Pern series. Unlike a lot of modern genre authors, McCaffrey follows the “Keep It Simple, Silly” guideline to fiction writing: a straightforward story (peppered with a few surprises here and there) written with crisp prose and tight editing, populated by a manageable number of engaging and marvelously unique characters. I clearly remember reading “Dragonflight” (another book in the Pern series) one day after school as an adolescent; the book had me utterly enraptured. It’s a rare sequence of books that yields memories OF READING that last for decades.

Chronologically, “Dragonsdawn” is the first book in the Pern series. It follows the human colonists arriving on Pern, establishing a settlement, discovering the deadly threat of Thread, and engineering dragons to combat the Thread. The author interweaves the personal dramas of the myriad characters throughout the story, giving it human interest and depth.

“Dragonsdawn” is easily one my favorites from the Pern series. It’s delightful to watch McCaffrey start with science fiction and end with a fantasy novel. The characters are among the sharpest and most well-rounded she’s created. The engaging story unfolds naturally and quickly; there’s no fluff in this fast-paced novel. What a welcome relief from the modern scourge of genre fiction: overwriting.

For an easy, enjoyable sci fi read, I highly recommend “Dragonsdawn.” You can read it before any of the other Pern books (since it predates them chronologically), after you’ve read the others (as a prequel showing how it all started), or on its own (it’s a completely self-contained story).

Gay Content is low, with a couple of brief references to homosexuality. Specifically, one important female character (Sallah Telgar) has romantic designs on a man who seems at best friendly with her; Sallah wonders if the object of her affection prefers men. McCaffrey also mentions that even those people who are in same-sex relationships have an obligation to reproduce, given that these people are trying to colonize a planet.

On the whole, the references suggest Pernese society accepts gay people (as long as they have kids), but I marked down a little on the Gay Positivity due to “defamation by invisibility.” All the references are abstract. As far as I can tell, none of the named characters (major or even minor) are gay. I appreciate McCaffrey throwing the gay community a bone, but it would have been nice to see an actual gay person, even if minor, in the story.