Book Review: A Case of Conscience by James Blish

Hello Readers,

Today, I’m pleased to feature a book review by Matt from the Procrastin8tor. This APOV guest review is something I’d like to feature more on this blog. If you’re an atheist, skeptic, agnostic, or just plain curious and would like to write for this blog, please leave a message on the About page.

Our professional procrastinator offered to review this iconic science fiction book for me after realizing how little of the early, iconic science fiction books I have read. He offered to help me pad out my reading portfolio. Enjoy.

 

A Case of Conscience by James Blish

English: IF magazine cover, September 1953 (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Review by: The Procrastin8or

A Case of Conscience is a Hugo award winning novel published in 1958 by celebrated sci-fi writer James Blish. It is set in the decades following first contact between humanity and a race of giant sentient lizards from the planet Lithia.

Father Ramon Ruiz-Sanchez is a Jesuit and a fully qualified biologist. Though this is a pretty normal state of affairs – especially now since the Catholic Church accepted evolution as far back as 1996 – in Blish’s time the Vatican had a very neutral stance on Darwin’s theory: neither speaking out against it nor fully embracing it while insisting on their doctrine that humanity is a special creation regardless of whether evolutionary theory was true.

Ruiz-Sanchez position then might seem completely normal to us today but when written, he might have been considered a very forward-thinking character. Despite this, there are aspects about the man that really grate on the reader. He claims quite bizarrely that biology is in fact a religion and comes up with this rather peculiar nugget: “if you put scientific standards first, excluding belief, admit nothing is proven then you have nothing but empty gestures”. Now, I know that the book was written in the 1950s but it seems that Ruiz-Sanchez is suggesting that science is inherently postmodernist. The other possibility is that this is Blish’ own misunderstanding of science. For me, neither stands up as a possibility. Ruiz-Sanchez’ as one of the world’s foremost biologists (he must be as part of the emissary team) should know better that science doesn’t need faith to make claims in confidence. It is a strange point of view to make the claim that “excluding belief, you admit that nothing is proven”. If this is Blish personal point of view, then it is an odd claim to make considering his background in microbiology and personal agnostic philosophy. I simply cannot understand why such a viewpoint is aired in this book – it doesn’t sit right even though the 1950s were the beginning of postmodern thought.

But anyway, let me get on with the review.  Lithia is the first planet outside our solar system it is discovered contains sentient life. It has an unending supply of natural gas and an abundance of lithium-6 (a substance vital for the mass-production of nuclear weaponry). The occupants are an interesting race of knowledge-cherishing giant lizards who have developed electrostatic power. In some ways their technology is in advance of ours; in other ways they are lagging behind humanity. Due to the lack of naturally occurring iron, magnetism is still a fledgling technology for example. At one point, Ruiz-Sanchez explains that meteorites contain iron, showing them how to accelerate their research into magnet related technology. The most concerning aspect (for Ruiz-Sanchez at least) is that the Lithians have no religion and no concept of salvation, the afterlife or gods, no creative arts or superstitions yet finely honed social rituals and a carefully constructed code of ethics. They devote their lives to learning solely for the greater benefit of their society and with no concept of reward or incentive, or even greed.

Instead of being impressed or intrigued that such a society can evolve without any religion let alone Abrahamic doctrine, Ruiz-Sanchez becomes incensed and proposes that humanity cuts off all contact with Lithia. This, he decides purely of his own volition on the basis that it is hell, a place without God, with clear evolution, a defined code of ethics that has no source, a paradise and intellectual utopia. He perceives that this planet is a trick, a mockery by Satan of the Creation.

Ruiz-Sanchez views are not taken very well, especially amongst his bosses in the Vatican as he has stated unequivocally that Satan has the power to create a planet. After a bit of a debate with the Pope, Ruiz-Sanchez is accused of Manichaeism heresy, excommunicated and instructed to perform an exorcism, something that he flies to the moon to perform. One piece of bolognium later and we have invented a telescope that can “bypass” the speed of light to allow the Jesuit to view Lithia in real-time despite being 50 light years away.

!!!SPOILER ALERT!!! At the same moment that Ruiz-Sanchez is performing his exorcism, Cleaver is powering up the reactors when something goes wrong. The result is that Lithia is destroyed and it is left to the reader to decide for themselves whether it is the exorcism or the lack of a Health and Safety Executive at the nuclear plant which is responsible. !!!SPOILER OVER!!!

I’m not sure this is a book with an APOV beyond that which is imposed by the reader, and of course THAT ending can be taken either way depending on your own philosophy. Yes, Ruiz-Sanchez is pompous and his insistence on the supremacy of Catholic doctrine is the most destructive element of the narrative even though he seems to lose most of his faith in the end; his continued refusal to put aside his inner priest and allow his inner scientist to blossom in the face of what would otherwise have been obvious is frustrating. He wants it both ways at times.

Blish has carefully constructed a Lithian reproduction cycle that is reminiscent of the evolution of life – eggs laid in the oceans, cracking open to reveal tadpoles that run the gauntlet of predators until they beach, lose their legs and then grow into juvenile amphibious forms before becoming land-based creatures as adults. It is surprising that Ruiz-Sanchez does not see this as billions of years of evolution illustrated in a single generation – so fixated is he on this paradise being a corrupt garden of Eden full of nerdy marsupial velociraptors.

What is more clear cut, and perhaps the greater warning for the first half of the book, is the all-too familiar destructive nature of western imperialism. From the time the emissary mission arrives on Lithia they are scouting the planet for knowledge and resources to plunder and get annoyed that they are not sucking up a free market system that is clearly beneficial to Earth’s interests but not Lithia’s; the Lithians ever pragmatic realise this. Knowledge is the only currency on the planet and the human powers discuss this as an irritation while discussing how to exploit the planet’s resources and its people. There is some suggestion that we could treat them like slave labour and nobody really objects.

The book, despite having such an interesting premise, is flawed in that none  of the human characters are particularly likable. Very little actual sympathy is displayed for the Lithians who are treated as stubborn savages by one section of society and the spawn of satan (sometimes literally) by everybody else. The premise that Lithia is a satanic creation is not treated with the disdain it would have received even in 1958; it is far too easily accepted by everybody. The characters are lacking in depth and Blish commits the schoolboy error of telling rather than showing – this is concerning that despite these flaws it still won the Hugo in 1959.

Author Interview: Andrez Bergen

After reading Tobacco-Stained Mountain Goat, I wanted to find out more about what wacky brain that crazy, noir tale came from. So I asked Mr. Andrez Bergen if he would tolerate a few of my questions. Lucky for you and me, he said yes.

Hello Mr. Bergen, thank you for sitting down with the APOV and talking about Tobacco-Stained Mountain Goat, your first book.

Bergen: You’re most welcome – thanks for having me and opening the can of words.

APOV: My readers have gotten a glimpse of your tale from my review, but can you remind us what your story is about?

Bergen: Well, basically it’s a tale about a man who’s pushed to the limit, to somewhere beyond that, until finally he decides he’s not going to take it anymore. The thing pushing him is a world on its last legs, not unlike the one we currently live in but a few years down the road. Society has become more shallow than currently, and in fact they’ve relegated a hefty percentage of the population into a criminalized lot called Deviants. Our hero’s job is hunting these people down in order to pay the medical bills of his wife – who is also a Deviant. The way he deals with the nightmare is to lose himself in alcohol, chemicals, and old movies.

APOV: A fascinating thing about your writing is how you draw a compelling cinematic scene for the reader. I felt I could see the camera pan over a place, hear the rain hissing down, and see the character’s grimace as they went about their dastardly deeds. But it was also a source of frustration for someone like me who is decidedly a non-noir film geek, because I didn’t get the references. Do you worry that your style of writing might unintentional throw your readers off?

Bergen: Actually, I didn’t worry at all – very selfish of me, I know – but when I write, I allow myself to take whatever slant works in my headspace at the time, and follow that through. Sometimes it doesn’t work, but if it does, and it’s something you love yourself, as the writer, then there’s no reason not to run with it. A lot of editors say that the parts of the novel you dig yourself are potentially the worst bits, and that can be true. But it’s also beside the point. Tobacco-Stained Mountain Goat started out as more of a sci-fi/action yarn, then it developed its noir stripes, and along the way classic cinema that had influenced its genesis filtered through, from The Maltese Falcon to Blade Runner. I started out making short movies in university and have been a film journalist over the past 18 years, so I think I’ve had no real choice in the matter. When I see a scene in a passage I’m writing I do look at it like it’s through a view-finder. Some people, obviously, won’t relate to this way of perceiving the world, and fair enough. But I think a lot of others these days are well-educated in a variety of media, and will either get the references or, even better, investigate the original influences. Tobacco-Stained Mountain Goat is, after all, one big homage.

APOV: Right! That didn’t escape me, and when I started reading the first part of Tobacco-Stained Mountain Goat, that became clear to me as I read. It annoyed me, mostly because I was too lazy to look up the references, but I did very much enjoy the cinematic way you described the scenes. That was nicely done and visually appealing, even though I was reading it! Is that cinematic influence in all your written works?

Bergen: Thanks, Nila. I know some people will get distracted if they don’t know the source-material, so I usually try to downplay the vitality so that the story itself takes precedence. In Tobacco-Stained Mountain Goat I flipped this, since Floyd is such a rabid movie buff – even more so than myself. But the cinematic influence does colour most of my writing, and there are often nods to certain directors I feel have influenced my perspective. In the upcoming novel One Hundred Years of Vicissitude, there’s a strong legacy of Japanese filmmakers like Akira Kurosawa, Satoshi Kon and Seijun Suzuki – but you don’t need to know their work to get into the story.

APOV: When did your love of all-things noir start?

Bergen: I grew up on the cinematic version of the genre. My parents and their friends were always watching it, and I think I saw The Third Man for the first time when I was in primary school. Reading-wise, I really started to enjoy books by Raymond Chandler and Dashiell Hammett in my 20s, which was the time I explored a more international take on noir by filmmakers like Akira Kurosawa. I’ve always had this affinity. I think I’ve seen the Humphrey Bogart version of The Maltese Falcon at least a hundred times. Really.

APOV: You’ve mentioned Akira Kurosawa twice. And you’ve lived in Japan, right? Tell us a little more about Akira Kurosawa. Which of his films most influenced you and what other oriental influences can a reader expect to see in your work?

Bergen: I’m still in Japan, actually – I’ve been here since 2001. One of my first jobs was freelancing with The Daily Yomiuri, a local English language newspaper, and my focus was music and cinema, most of it Japanese since that was an area I’d specialized in. I’ve been a huge Kurosawa fan since my teens, and his films that probably most influenced me through the course of the first two novels would be Stray Dog, Seven Samurai, Drunken Angel, The Bad Sleep Well and Hidden Fortress. I also grew up on Hong Kong action cinema and comedy, but the Japanese side of things definitely has had the most effect.

APOV: The story in Tobacco-Stained Mountain Goat centers around the main character Floyd Maquina. He is, essentially, a drunk that searches out Deviants and brings them in for Hospitalization. Before the events of the book starts, he’s had a good run of managing to not kill any Deviant, but slips up, sending him on a drinking binge that pretty much doesn’t let up for the entire book. With the mind-trips that the control agency uses to train and test their Seekers, the reader enters a surreal world where nothing can be trusted, especially the big guy at the top. Were you trying to make a statement with that about gods, corporations, or both?

Bergen: I grew up in a Labor Party household in Australia. Labor was basically the left-leaning workers’ party then – they’ve changed since! – and my family, especially my dad, had a general distrust about “The Boss” and the powers-that-be. My dad still campaigns against these forces at the age of 82. I think corporations are a dangerous breed, and people are more aware of this now with the banking fiasco and the ways in which the heads of corporations continue to enjoy excessive benefits while unemployment hits around 20 percent in places like Spain. Then there’s the current demise of the middle class that worries me, and is related to the greed of these organizations. Gods? Hmm. I tend not to go there. I’m an atheist, and I’m always mocking Christians – a terrible trait, I know, but at uni I studied the Christianization of Europe, and it scarred me. The Catholic Church was probably the first major global corporation. Then again, I’m not saying there isn’t anything out there deity-wise. I have no idea. But corporations are an easy physical target, and they deserve the punches. I’m sure they’ll weather trivial attacks like my own, and make a buck out of it in the process.

APOV: I’ve seen other folks equate the Catholic church with corporations. I generally don’t, but I see your point. Why do you consider your attacks trivial? I think fiction has the power to make people think about broader themes in real life, and I thought you made the point clear in your book about corporations and media having an undue influence on our self-image. But even Maquina got sucked up into the machine, even though he didn’t want to. Do you feel helpless against corporations?

Bergen: I’m always down-playing myself. It’s an old habit – even after 18 years working on and off as a DJ, I still call myself a hack. I think it’s an important part of me not to take myself too seriously. That’s why I called my first music production project “Little Nobody”. I think it’s going to be hard, in this day and age of a glut of publications, to reach out to a lot of people and effectively pass on any beliefs and/or messages I may have. I also don’t like ramming these down other people’s throats – hopefully they get the message about the current state of things, and the danger of corporations, without me soap-boxing too much. Honestly? I don’t feel helpless – I feel annoyed, but otherwise couldn’t give a rat’s behind about the corporate world. Better to keep above water in our own minor worlds away from them.

APOV: Readers do not get to meet the star of your great cover, the goat, until the end of the movie. He had way too little “screen” time, in my opinion. Will we be seeing him again?

Bergen: Ha Ha Ha – the goat? Actually, he/she is incidental – the title of Tobacco-Stained Mountain Goat really comes courtesy of the great George Sanders, owner of one of the smoothest, drollest set of tonsils in old Hollywood. But the goat almost made a token appearance in the new novel, but then was cut. I’m sure it will reappear at some stage – I love recycling characters.

APOV: Do you have any other projects you’d like to tell the readers here at The Atheist’s Quill?

Bergen: I just finished my second novel, which will be published through Perfect Edge Books in around September. It’s called One Hundred Years of Vicissitude, and tells the story of a centenarian, identical twin geisha and Japan itself, from 1929 on into the near future. That one’s more a self-reflection/redemption thing, and movies and cinema definitely take a distant back seat in proceedings. I’m also developing an anthology of short-stories by other writers, focusing on the future noir/dystopia of Tobacco-Stained Mountain Goat, and I have a few short stories coming out through Crime Factory, Shotgun Honey, Solarcide, Snubnose Press and Pulp Ink.

APOV: Wow. You are busy. We’ll let you get back to doing what you do best – write! Thank you for joining us, Mr. Bergen, it was a pleasure having you.

Bergen: No, no – thank you! Really. It was a great chat.

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Tobacco-Stained Mountain Goat is available from Another Sky Press.

© 2012 N.E. White / Andrez Bergen

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