Semiosis, by Sue Burke
May. 1st, 2018 08:35 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
asakiyumeI read Semiosis because, like Children of Time, it promised to deal with alien intelligences—and it did: several, in fact. But where it really spoke to the other book, where I sense a zeitgeist thing maybe going on, was in how it raised and dealt with the questions of violence and free will. Lest that makes it sound too much like a philosophy or ethics treatise, let me quickly add that it’s also absorbing, imaginative, occasionally horrific, and occasionally hilarious. It kept me hooked even through moments where I had grave doubts, and I felt the end was well worth it.
On Pax, a habitable planet that human settlers reach by mistake (they’d been aiming for a different one), there are plants and animals of varying degrees of intelligence, as well as remnants of a nonnative (i.e., not originating on Pax) civilization. The worldbuilding is lots of fun—there are land corals, flying cactuslike plants, deadly slugs, dangerous fire-using flightless eagles, and friendly, useful creatures called fippokats (small) and fippolions (large), not to mention Pax versions of bamboo, tulips, lentils, and more. The worldbuilding also shines when it comes to the gradual development of a unique Pacifist (in the sense of “of Pax,”) culture among the humans: we the readers focus in on a different viewpoint character for each of seven generations of settlers, so we get to see that development—I loved those little touches a lot.
The human settlers are every bit as quarrelsome as ever humans have been, with rivalries and disagreements, and in spite of their desire to do better than their forebears back on Earth, when irreconcilable differences rear their heads, they handle them the way people have from time immemorial—with violence and murder. This is portrayed very matter-of-factly—nothing special to see here—which surprised me a little, but I wonder what I was expecting. Ideals have never prevented people from resorting to violence. If anything, ideals push people to violence. The people as a whole remain committed to working things out peaceably, however. The fact that there are many different catalysts and causes of violence, including illness and anomie, is also brought up, and the characters debate what makes violence acceptable or forgivable.
Related questions they struggle with are What do we do to bring people into compliance with social norms? What do we do if people won’t or can’t conform? The characters don’t have as full and deep a conversation on the topics as is possible, and their solutions aren’t ones that even others among them necessarily agree with, but they do address them and grapple with them.
And then there’s the question of free will, or maybe it’s just freedom; I’m not sure. Don’t read further if you don’t want spoilers.
The most intelligent life form on the planet is a type of bamboo. It has a *lot* to offer the humans—it can alter the composition of its fruits to provide vital dietary supplements, for instance, or medicines—and it benefits by living in association with humans. This relationship is the most crucial one in the book, and the bamboo, whom the settlers eventually name Stevland, after one of their original number who perished before landing, is one of the most compelling characters. Maybe the most. The characters wonder, however, if Stevland isn't maybe a little *too* powerful.
A briefly appearing but very humorous character, a locustwood tree, calls Stevland “bamboozler,” which summons up images of the devil for me because it implies underhanded trickery, and there’s a definite feeling that although Stevland offers a whole lot, there may be a cost. Is there one, though? I guess it depends on your feelings about domestication. Would you mind being domesticated, in service to a plant? (Of course, in a sense, humans are that already. Corn and wheat and rice sure have domesticated the hell out of us.) Maybe it’s not much different from being tamed, like in The Little Prince.
I feel that Stevland strives as hard to do what’s right (as best as he understands it) as any of the other characters, if not more so, but I wonder what other readers think. For me, his evolving perspective is fascinating.
The characters’ ultimate task is to find common ground despite grievous hurts and justifiable mutual suspicion. This is a tough task; I don’t think humans IRL have a satisfactory way of doing it yet—not one that doesn’t have huge down sides in certain situations. In Semiosis, common ground is found in beauty . . . but actual human societies have had very radically different ideas about beauty, so while that works in the book, I’m pessimistic about it as an actual unifying concept. The drive to understand and reach agreement itself can unify—though of course, that does require that people have the drive. Semiosis gives one example of how it can happen, though, and I think it works.
Near the end there are some poignant reflections on grief that affected me, but rather than end with those, I’ll close with a humorous moment: Stevland’s bargaining with the locustwood. (All Stevland’s interactions with other plants are hilarious, as is the fact that he literally grows a sense of humor.)
The locustwood speaks first, making a demand. The “I” in the scene is Stevland.
On Pax, a habitable planet that human settlers reach by mistake (they’d been aiming for a different one), there are plants and animals of varying degrees of intelligence, as well as remnants of a nonnative (i.e., not originating on Pax) civilization. The worldbuilding is lots of fun—there are land corals, flying cactuslike plants, deadly slugs, dangerous fire-using flightless eagles, and friendly, useful creatures called fippokats (small) and fippolions (large), not to mention Pax versions of bamboo, tulips, lentils, and more. The worldbuilding also shines when it comes to the gradual development of a unique Pacifist (in the sense of “of Pax,”) culture among the humans: we the readers focus in on a different viewpoint character for each of seven generations of settlers, so we get to see that development—I loved those little touches a lot.
The human settlers are every bit as quarrelsome as ever humans have been, with rivalries and disagreements, and in spite of their desire to do better than their forebears back on Earth, when irreconcilable differences rear their heads, they handle them the way people have from time immemorial—with violence and murder. This is portrayed very matter-of-factly—nothing special to see here—which surprised me a little, but I wonder what I was expecting. Ideals have never prevented people from resorting to violence. If anything, ideals push people to violence. The people as a whole remain committed to working things out peaceably, however. The fact that there are many different catalysts and causes of violence, including illness and anomie, is also brought up, and the characters debate what makes violence acceptable or forgivable.
Related questions they struggle with are What do we do to bring people into compliance with social norms? What do we do if people won’t or can’t conform? The characters don’t have as full and deep a conversation on the topics as is possible, and their solutions aren’t ones that even others among them necessarily agree with, but they do address them and grapple with them.
And then there’s the question of free will, or maybe it’s just freedom; I’m not sure. Don’t read further if you don’t want spoilers.
The most intelligent life form on the planet is a type of bamboo. It has a *lot* to offer the humans—it can alter the composition of its fruits to provide vital dietary supplements, for instance, or medicines—and it benefits by living in association with humans. This relationship is the most crucial one in the book, and the bamboo, whom the settlers eventually name Stevland, after one of their original number who perished before landing, is one of the most compelling characters. Maybe the most. The characters wonder, however, if Stevland isn't maybe a little *too* powerful.
A briefly appearing but very humorous character, a locustwood tree, calls Stevland “bamboozler,” which summons up images of the devil for me because it implies underhanded trickery, and there’s a definite feeling that although Stevland offers a whole lot, there may be a cost. Is there one, though? I guess it depends on your feelings about domestication. Would you mind being domesticated, in service to a plant? (Of course, in a sense, humans are that already. Corn and wheat and rice sure have domesticated the hell out of us.) Maybe it’s not much different from being tamed, like in The Little Prince.
I feel that Stevland strives as hard to do what’s right (as best as he understands it) as any of the other characters, if not more so, but I wonder what other readers think. For me, his evolving perspective is fascinating.
The characters’ ultimate task is to find common ground despite grievous hurts and justifiable mutual suspicion. This is a tough task; I don’t think humans IRL have a satisfactory way of doing it yet—not one that doesn’t have huge down sides in certain situations. In Semiosis, common ground is found in beauty . . . but actual human societies have had very radically different ideas about beauty, so while that works in the book, I’m pessimistic about it as an actual unifying concept. The drive to understand and reach agreement itself can unify—though of course, that does require that people have the drive. Semiosis gives one example of how it can happen, though, and I think it works.
Near the end there are some poignant reflections on grief that affected me, but rather than end with those, I’ll close with a humorous moment: Stevland’s bargaining with the locustwood. (All Stevland’s interactions with other plants are hilarious, as is the fact that he literally grows a sense of humor.)
The locustwood speaks first, making a demand. The “I” in the scene is Stevland.
“Move me closer to useful animals, farther from you.”
I realize that I am not the only plant with a humor root. “Name your useful animal.”
“Fitch.”
“Extinct.” Due to bamboo.
“Gecko dragon.”
“Slow, stupid, and venomous. Perfect for you.”
“Humans work for fancy, fruity, oversized grass. What do they see in you?”
“Fruit-eaters like fancy fruit,” I tell him. “I treat them well.”
He sends me some fructose, fruit sugar. I send some xylose, wood sugar. Even before I grew a humor root, I understood that sugar is a comical substance because its chemical structure is exceedingly fussy. Locustwood is rarely in such a good humor.
no subject
Date: 2018-05-02 01:00 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2018-05-02 02:16 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2018-05-02 08:14 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2018-05-02 11:15 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2018-05-03 03:36 am (UTC)Poor Stevland (named after Stevie Wonder, ultimately, whose real first name is Stevland) is so terrified of being alone he will do anything and everything to keep the humans with him.
I had great fun writing that section you quoted.
Thanks again!
no subject
Date: 2018-05-03 03:41 am (UTC)One thing I loved was how Bartholomew's repetitions in his questioning of Cedar--his technique for dealing with her in that moment--echo Stevland's approach with the plants.
And OMG, what have oranges ever done to you! (<--meaning that in humor; it was good to see villainy is not only an animal trait) As a reviewer on Goodreads said, I'll never look at an orange the same way again!
I really did love what you wrote on grief, too. Those lines were some of my favorites in the book.
(PS)
Date: 2018-05-03 03:47 am (UTC)