The Book of Skulls

Immortality is at stake; but is the price too high? Source: Here

"Eternities must be balanced by extinctions."

I have a soft spot for quest narratives. They give us an easy journey to follow that parallels the characters' own internal evolution over the course of the book and rather neatly frames the course of events. Reading this particular journey gave me much to think about - between this and Dying Inside, I'm slowly gaining a taste for Silverberg's bibliography. (I also wasn't sure whether to place this book as sci-fi or not. Seemingly the only element that could qualify this book as science fiction is the idea of immortality and our characters' search of it - beyond that, this could have easily been marketed as more mainstream or even literary fiction)

The Book of Skulls is a 1971 Hugo Award nominee written by Robert Silverberg. It follows the journey of four college students, guided by a translation of an ancient manuscript known as the Book of Skulls, which sends them travelling deep into the Arizona desert to find the House of Skulls. Within this alleged monastery lives an order of monks capable of conferring immortality to those that complete their initiation rite. Immortality comes at a price; only two will be able to gain eternal life, and the other two must die - one must be murdered and the other must commit suicide of his own volition. 

Our journey is presented by four first-person narrators, the novel rotating between points-of-view to give each their time to shine, and it is great to see that each is clearly distinct from another. Not only that but this device allows us to learn about them gradually as well as seeing how each of them react to events unfolding. There is no unifying sense of morale keeping the group together - only morbid curiosity and perhaps the hint that this mad quest for immortality may not be fiction after all. What initially begins as a regular road trip soon becomes darker and more final in purpose, down to the inevitable conclusion.

Immortality is the central theme, the goal for our characters and the topic of debate. Can it be gained? Perhaps more importantly, if it exists should it be a goal worth seeking? The book constantly interrogates this notion, as well as whether it actually exists - we never get a definitive answer by the end on whether the House of Skulls and its promises of immortality are genuine or simply a fraud. Silverberg's own depth and breadth of knowledge shines through, with references to the legend of Glaukus the fisherman, the Uttarakuru and Ugaritic civilisations, famous explorer John Mandeville - it is very clear we are in the hands of someone who knows his stuff.

There were elements of the book I didn't quite enjoy. I fully understand that some books are very much products of their time but the misogyny and homophobia weren't exactly palatable. Female roles in the book are fleeting and scarcely sketched out with any dimension (though perhaps with so much of the book devoted to the main quartet that may be an inevitable consequence) and the main gay character is a lecherous and downright unlikable protagonist - hardly a plus for positive representation.

Yet nevertheless I couldn't help but enjoy the book. Silverberg is downright masterful with his prose and each sentence is a treat to read. There's just this indescribable quality I can't quite put my pulse on, and like with Dying Inside the prose is poetic yet functional without needless verbiage. Once the plot gets into the monastery we reach the inevitable conclusion of these characters' journeys, learning more about just what type of person they are and how committed they are to this quest and I simply could not stop reading until I had found out their end. I had a devil of a time reading this book, and I look forward to revisiting it further down the line and being absorbed by Silverberg's prose.

Lord of Light

Say what you want about the 60s but their covers were something else... Source: Here

"His followers called him Mahasamatman and said he was a god. He preferred to drop the Maha- and the -atman, however, and called himself Sam. He never claimed to be a god, but then he never claimed not to be a god."

Lord of Light was one of the first pieces of New Wave* science fiction I read. Immediately from the first page, I had a sneaking suspicion this wasn't going to be your typical sci-fi romp in outer space - and thank the stars it wasn't!

Written in 1967 by Roger Zelazny, Lord of Light is a science-fantasy novel set in the distant future, on an alien planet colonised by settlers from a bygone Earth (referred to as "vanished Urath"). In order to survive in this strange world, the crew used bioengineering and advanced technology to grant themselves great psionic and physical power which essentially raised them to the level of gods. However, the crew would go on to take the names and powers of various Hindu deities and set themselves up as a divine ruling class over the many generations of colonists and their descendants, maintaining a stranglehold on any technological advancement so as to avoid their power being weakened. The clincher is that these gods hold control of a technology that allows for mind transfer into a new body - essentially holding a monopoly on who is allowed to reincarnate, and into what form. Shades of Clarke's Third Law come to mind...

One of their number, Mahasamatman (or just Sam), chooses to rebel against the gods and instead attempts to make this technology available to all - as a result he spends countless years revolting against the gods, amassing allies, striking when he can across multiple lives, until his capture and and his soul's banishment to the firmament above. 

The book itself jumps from present to past and back again, detailing Sam's rise and rebellion, the allies and enemies he meets, to his exile and subsequent return. What initially caught my attention about this book was the deliberate use of an Eastern setting and mythologies not only in the worldbuilding but also in the story itself - certainly that choice initially made Lord of Light stand out from the very Eurocentric science fiction and fantasy landscape. Zelazny's inclusion of Hinduism and Buddhism never smacks of Orientalism** and if anything, just adds to the unique character of the book.

It is ponderous and wry all at the same time with its own unique mix of science, political intrigue, mysticism, religion and mythology. Sam could very easily retire away from the world by the second chapter once he gains the means to keep himself and his friends going for perpetuity and yet instead he persists in overthrowing the gods on behalf of the mortals they subjugate. One of my favorite moments in the book comes when Sam is possessed by one of the demonic inhabitants of this planet and forced to watch as his body carries out atrocity after atrocity - and he is courageous enough to sad that yes, a sliver of him enjoyed what was happening. That in my eyes immediately marks Sam differently from the myriad of Chosen One protagonists all too common in the genre.

One could argue the "rising up against an oppressive upper class" storyline has been played out so many times so as to lose all intrigue - in this instance I feel the unique settling and mythologies drawn from to create this world offset that. Even with his use of Eastern faiths, I feel Zelazny's point was to show how religion can be used as a mechanism to restrain a populace rather than any specific criticism on the faiths themselves.

Lord of Light is a spellbinding book well worth an afternoon's read. Equal parts thoughtful and amusing, it is a book bound to keep you entertained.

*New Wave - a literary movement in sci-fi lasting from the 60s to late 70s, characterised by a focus on the "softer" sciences as opposed to "hard" science, a high degree of experimental content/prose and a more literary approach to writing; in essence a break from the prior traditions of pulp sf and their emphasis on scientific accuracy/prediction.

**Orientalism - a general patronising attitude toward Middle Eastern, Asian and North African societies, carrying the implication that Western society is inherently more rational and therefore superior.