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).

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.