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3 of 3 people found the following review helpful:
5.0 out of 5 stars
A stunningly real tale in an entirley imaginary realm, Jul 1 2004
I was turned onto the writing of Iain Banks by a friend of mine who is a brilliant biological scientist who works in the same dpeartment at the University as me. Banks is his favourite author and science-fiction, as for many other career scientists - myself included - his favourite genre.Scientists are notoriously hard to please when it comes to sci-fi, because we deal in the inner workings of the universe on a daily basis. We are hyper-critical of sci-fi in general, and most of us tend to agree on what is good sci-fi and what is utter drivel. While we get entranced by strange, futuristic worlds and weird non-human characters, we do not want a Star Trek-esque space soap-opera. So where does Iain Banks fit into this? Well, to put a fine point in it, his work is paper-bound flawlessness. The concepts buzzing through that man's head would sear the brain of many a lesser author and probably each and every reader out there. He is not one of those who makes up new words to try to convey a thought to us; rather, with a few deft sentences, he transforms the concept he sees into something which you can easily visualise and appreciate. The various locales of Consider Phlebas - and I'm not sure who/what a Phlebas is; the term comes from a line of a poem by TS ELiot, as I recall - are likewise mindblowing in concept; particularly the Vavatch Orbital which is pictured on the cover; and I'm pretty sure that's where the idea for the SpacePort in Disney's Treasure Planet film came from. Well, what about the story? Alternatively subtle and punch-in-the-mouth direct, exhilirating and depressing, humorous and bleak, it contains aspects of something for everyone. The main characters are exceptionally vividly detailed; character arcs are well-defined and never veer off course. The beauty of Banks' prose, though, lies in his disregard for sentiment; he very much conveys the idea of "oh, well, deal with it" when various characters meet their demise. In some cases, it kind of happens off-camera and you are left to deal with the aftermath; in others, it occurs on-camera, but there is not time to grieve. While the story itself builds at an incremental pace, I found myself reading the last 200 or so pages in a single sitting, desperate to reach the climax. Banks seems content for the most part to let his ideas pan out, and I got the impression that he was waiting for parts of the tale to arrive in his head so he could finish off that section before moving on with things. At times, it happens frustratingly slowly, but the wait is worth it. This is the only novel I know of to actually script a worthwhile car-chase scene (although it is in fact a space-ship chase) and manage to keep you hooked. Be advised, though, that Banks pulls no punches. His richly-textured characters, major and minor, are not necessarily icons of great beauty, or paragons of virtue. You get them warts and all; entirely real creations who go about their day-to-day basics like eating, sleeping and visiting the bathroom in all the gory details; almost like Big Brother on crack, if you know what I mean. At the end of it all, I was struck with a sense of awe, wonderment and bit of bittersweet satisfaction. The ending itself is epic and tragicomic; there will be aspects you don't like of it purely because it is so brutal. But all in all, an utterly compelling read. I'm told this is not the finest of Banks' work; but I did prefer it to The Player of Games, which I bought recently. Banks also writes regular fiction under the same name, but without the middle initial. To date, I have not read any of his non sci-fi material.
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by Iain Banks
by Iain M. Banks
by Iain M. Banks
by Iain M. Banks
by Iain Banks
