The Weirdness Crescendos

In Perhaps the Stars, things get weird. And for a series that OPENS with a sage being restrained by a serial killer after witnessing a boy resurrect a toy soldier, that’s saying something.

New themes of identity and destiny join familiar ones like gender, violence, sex, and religion, and author Ada Palmer pushes them all to twist the plot in unnerving directions. Due to catastrophes in critical infrastructure, it plays out in a context that’s surprisingly distinct from the preceding three novels.

Palmer capitalizes on their cast of multi-lingual characters with fun linguistic considerations. They sprinkle these throughout the series, but they come to a head in Perhaps the Stars. Readers get the most exposure to JEDD Mason, a character whose confused verbal communication skills are on display in full force. And a great fuss is made over a secret, ancient document–particularly a single made-up word which is not quite Latin. It’s all deliciously nerdy, although speech also creates the series’ most glaring incongruity. Characters regularly conspire within larger groups by switching languages, and for some reason, no one excluded by this practice ever objects.

This book continues a trend away from world-building and toward political drama. Consequently, Perhaps the Stars has the fewest historical references in the series, which is a shame because that was one of the most impressive aspects of Too Like the Lightening.

The divinity/magic/science-we-don’t-understand-yet from previous installments also comes to a head. It makes for some interesting circumstances, particularly as it relates to a character who subconsciously alters reality (folks who dig this might enjoy the manga/anime series “Haruhi Suzumiya”). Unfortunately, by subverting the story’s overall plausibility, this also undermines the political drama (and no, the fact that one character literally refers to another as a “deus ex machina” does not excuse this).

My favorite aspect, though, is yet another familiar theme dialed up to “11”: an intricate narrative context. On top of the events themselves, the reader has to consider who is writing, who is editing, when the writing took place, and who has read what’s been written so far.

In this situation, the narrator’s unreliability comes to a breaking point. Separating fact from imagination can be engaging for a reader, but when all bets are off, it can start to feel frustrating since it prevents you from forming and testing hypotheses. I realized that Palmer had earned a lot of my trust when I found myself wondering, “am I supposed to be frustrated right now?” That’d be a pretty charitable excuse for most novels, but for a book that exists inside its own story, I think it’s plausible.

Despite being the most cerebral entry, Perhaps the Stars has some of the most emotionally-powerful moments in the series. These mostly come as first-person accounts of people in traumatic conditions, and each one had my heart in my throat.

I started the “Terra Ignota” series looking for a workout, and I got it. The conclusion had plenty of payoff but also enough ambiguity to keep it from feeling pat. It’s not for the faint-of-heart, but if you like complexity in your speculative fiction, then you can’t do much better. I say this even though (and maybe because) I’m certain I missed plenty of nuance. That ought to make re-reading it worthwhile, but frankly, I don’t know if I have the patience. My final advice is to read it with a friend: a second perspective will help you appreciate more of the detail the first time through–it sure did for me. And for the story’s bigger twists, it helps to have someone to hold on to.