The Player of Games by Iain M Banks

1. This novel successfully does so much: it’s a great space opera, and great science fiction. The novel doesn’t stray too far from space opera itself:

Space opera was typically defined [at a panel from this year’s worldcon] as exploring human emotions appropriate for opera, the story and writing serving to foster a sense of wonder, a large physical scale, a broad time period, and adventure and drama.

This one nails the emotions, the physical scale, the adventure and drama, but lacks a broad time period—it is a broad time period for the main character, but not in terms of the Culture or the empire they’re dealing with in this novel. It also seems to have some of the wonder, but not as much as the last novel’s descriptions. An example of Banks’ wondrous writing here:

It was not unusual to find distinct equatorial bulges on once fast-spinning planets, and Echronedal's was comparatively slight, though sufficient to produce a single unbroken continental ribbon of land lying roughly between the planet's tropics, the rest of the globe lying beneath two great oceans, ice-capped at the poles. What was unique, in the experience of the Culture as well as the Empire, was to discover a wave of fire forever moving round the planet on the continental landmass.

Taking about half a standard year to complete its circumnavigation, the fire swept over the land, its fringes brushing the shores of the two oceans, its wave-front a near-straight line, its flames consuming the growth of the plants which had flourished in the ashes of the previous blaze. The whole land-based ecosystem had evolved around this never-ending conflagration; some plants could only sprout from beneath the still-warm cinders, their seeds jolted into development by the passing heat; other plants blossomed just before the fire arrived, bursting into rapid growth just before the flames found them, and using the fire-front's thermals to transport their seeds into the upper atmosphere, to fall back again, somewhere, on to the ash. The land-animals of Echronedal fell into three categories; some kept constantly on the move, maintaining the same steady walking pace as the fire, some swam round its oceanic boundaries, while other species burrowed into the ground, hid in caves, or survived through a variety of mechanisms in lakes or rivers.

Birds circled the world like a jetstream of feathers.

The blaze remained little more than a large, continuous bush-fire for eleven revolutions. On the twelfth, it changed.

This is good wondrous writing, but I want more of it: more unusual descriptions of unusual places that manage to be legible. This novel is not just great space opera, it’s also great science fiction and fiction. The main character, Gergeh, changes fundamentally throughout the novel, but does so in a believable, honest way. This attempts literature and, in so doing, becomes that rare breed of science fiction that is a clear step above the rest.

2. Banks’ sentence structures are wonderfully varied. He clearly ups his writing game here. Let me give an example:

So, instead of the usual tension surrounding the final game, there was an atmosphere more like that of an exhibition match. Only the two contestants were treating it as a real contest.

Gurgeh was immediately impressed by Nicosar's play. The Emperor didn't stop rising in Gurgeh's estimation; the more he studied the apex's play the more he realised just how powerful and complete an opponent he was facing. He would need to be more than lucky to beat Nicosar; he would need to be somebody else. From the beginning he tried to concentrate on not being trounced rather than actually defeating the Emperor.

Nicosar played cautiously most of the time; then, suddenly, he'd strike out with some brilliant flowing series of moves that looked at first as though they'd been made by some gifted madman, before revealing themselves as the masterstrokes they were; perfect answers to the impossible questions they themselves posed.

Gurgeh did his best to anticipate these devastating fusions of guile and power, and to find replies to them once they'd begun, but by the time the minor games were over, thirty days or so before the fire was due, Nicosar had a considerable advantage in pieces and cards to carry over to the first of the three great boards. Gurgeh suspected his only chance was to hold out as best he could on the first two boards and hope that he might pull something back on the final one.

As the above passage indicates, Banks is not afraid of long, complex sentences. What I like best about the writing is how Banks allows complexity in his sentences—he allows interesting sentences. But he still keeps it all legible and doesn’t rely solely upon structural sentence complexity: he’s also not afraid of short, declarative sentences. It’s a good balance that allows those long, complex structures to be savored, while keeping them from overwhelming the writing.

3. However, the voice still lets it down: beautiful passages are too few and far between to leave me pleased with the writing itself. Mostly, the whole improves, in terms of the writing, but he doesn’t yet achieve a consistent beauty and experimentation to allow the novel to speak on a consistently literary plane. In other words, he brings the whole quality of his writing up on average, but that just means it’s more samey: the peaks are no higher, and he still doesn’t allow a consistent poetic beauty to invest the word choices. The two lengthy portions that I have already quoted show that Banks’ word choices are a weakness. Let me quote three of the better-written portions for contrast:

'Don't be so pompous,' she told him. Her short brown hair moved in the same wind which blew the tops from the falling waves and sent the resulting spray curling back out to sea. She stooped to where some pieces of a shattered missile lay half buried in the dune, picked them up, blew sand grains off the shining surfaces, and turned the components over in her hands.

+++

'All reality is a game. Physics at its most fundamental, the very fabric of our universe, results directly from the interaction of certain fairly simple rules, and chance; the same description may be applied to the best, most elegant and both intellectually and aesthetically satisfying games. By being unknowable, by resulting from events which, at the sub-atomic level, cannot be fully predicted, the future remains malleable, and retains the possibility of change, the hope of coming to prevail; victory, to use an unfashionable word. In this, the future is a game; time is one of the rules. Generally, all the best mechanistic games - those which can be played in any sense "perfectly", such as grid, Prallian scope, 'nkraytle, chess, Farnic dimensions - can be traced to civilisations lacking a relativistic view of the universe (let alone the reality). They are also, I might add, invariably pre-machine sentience societies.

'The very first-rank games acknowledge the element of chance, even if they rightly restrict raw luck. To attempt to construct a game on any other lines, no matter how complicated and subtle the rules are, and regardless of the scale and differentiation of the playing volume and the variety of the powers and attributes of the pieces, is inevitably to shackle oneself to a conspectus which is not merely socially but techno-philosophically lagging several ages behind our own. As a historical exercise it might have some value. As a work of the intellect, it's just a waste of time. If you want to make something old-fashioned, why not build a wooden sailing boat, or a steam engine? They're just as complicated and demanding as a mechanistic game, and you'll keep fit at the same time.'

+++

'These stars,' Worthil said - the green-coloured stars, at least a couple of thousand suns, flashed once - 'are under the control of what one can only describe as an empire. Now…' The drone turned to look at him. The little machine lay in space like some impossibly large ship, stars in front of it as well as behind it. 'It is unusual for us to discover an imperial power-system in space. As a rule, such archaic forms of authority wither long before the relevant species drags itself off the home planet, let alone cracks the lightspeed problem, which of course one has to do, to rule effectively over any worthwhile volume.

'Every now and again, however, Contact disturbs some particular ball of rock and discovers something nasty underneath. On every occasion, there is a specific and singular reason, some special circumstance which allows the general rule to go by the board. In the case of the conglomerate you see before you - apart from the obvious factors, such as the fact that we didn't get out there until fairly recently, and the lack of any other powerful influence in the Lesser Cloud - that special circumstance is a game.'

In these three portions, the word choices are adequate. Nothing spectacular, but stepping out from that pedestrian level Banks relies on throughout the rest—as shown in the other examples of writing quoted. It seems like he took a step back here: I remember the first Culture novel having better word choices than this. I’m hoping the next Culture novel will show improvement in word choices.

4. The real strength of the novel, and the real part where Banks progresses as a writer, is in the pacing. His pacing is perfect. Banks ignores downtime, brushing in broad strokes to inform the reader both why he’s not dealing with it, and what happened of note. For instance, most of the trip to the Empire of Azat is brushed over: Banks covers these two years quickly and focuses on Gergeh, the main character, coming to grips with his task of the game Azat, which is not “downtime”, but the continuation of the plot of the book—Banks doesn’t delve into lengthy descriptions of the travel, tech, or spaceship, but focuses on what is important to his plot and character. Let me briefly catalog the parts and their relative lengths to explain why I believe Banks’ pacing is so good:
• He begins with a lengthy portion explaining who Gergeh is, and what the culture is like at this point. In order to do this he explains and gives examples of what Gergeh cares about. Through this portion, Gergeh changes into what the Culture needs him to be. This first part takes up 31.85% of the novel’s length.
• He then travels to the empire of Azat. This is a short trip, distilling who the new Gergeh is and his insane focus on the game Azat. This is a quick section, 5.87% of the novel’s length.
• Then Gergeh is on Eä, introducing the empire and playing his first few games. Here he changes first into an admirer of the Empire, then an enemy of it through his experiences. Banks spends 37.61% of the book here.
• Then Gergeh travels to the fire planet, Echronedal, and plays his last few games. Here Gergeh changes from an enemy to a superior of the Empire, and struggles with his realization of that. This takes up 22.57% of the novel’s length.
• The closing part is fairly short, 2.65% of the length, dealing with the aftermath of the final Azat game, Gergeh’s return to his home, and Banks tying up all the loose threads that drove the first part of the novel. Here Gergeh tries to reintegrate into the Culture after all of the changes he has gone through.
This structure successfully portions off the novel and paces it perfectly. Within this broader framework, Banks takes more time with important parts, usually breaking them up to an initial scene, then a reflective scene later on to drive home the import. He also keeps the whole thing moving very well: every plot and thread adds to the overall. In the first Culture novel, Banks spent a lot of time on things that didn’t end up mattering to the overall plot—those aspects added to the world-building alone, not the character or overarching plot. Here, that problem is gone. Completely gone. I am quite impressed with how well the story is told and paced. He learned from the first novel and really progressed as a writer. This is captivating to read because it’s told so well.

5. In combination with this wonderful pacing is Banks’ focus. The first novel sent the protagonist off on random, inconsequential adventures that served the story only in so far as they flushed out the world uselessly. But here Banks stays on-task and creates a wonderful story where everything matters to the overarching plot or to the characters. Other than the introductions at the start of the first four parts, and the closing words from that same narrator, there is really no mis-step. Everything matters to the characters and story. Every portion serves to build Gergeh or the import of the plot. This focus is wonderful. After the first novel, I kept reading this book and wondering when the other shoe would fall. It never did. The focus is spot on.

6. The theme of this novel is the effect of outside forces on a person. Gergeh begins vaguely dissatisfied and uncomfortable in life, lacking any real motivations. As he gains a motivation from the context of his world and personal experiences, a dramatic adventure, he quickly finds that his motivation perverts into inappropriateness and has to reset himself to find his true motivation again—this grand, dramatic adventure gives him meaning in life and keeps him sane. Throughout it all, he is being deceived consistently and wholly. He often realizes this and breaks through a veil, but doesn’t suspect that his new truth is just another veil. But the fact of being deceived doesn’t matter, it’s what he does with what’s given to him and done to him that matters. The theme is this sense that humans need to step outside of their personal comfort zones at times to fully live life, go on a grand adventure and allow it to change them, but they need to be careful that the changes those uncomfortable experiences impose on them are properly integrated into their whole being. Otherwise it will really screw somebody up. This complex, good theme feels honest to my day-to-day life.

7. Overall, this is a good book and a good read. As a novel on it’s own, it's good: it shows off great storytelling and attempts to communicate something about humanity and our understanding of ourselves. It seems to almost achieve this literature attempt, but the writing quality lets it down from that plane, even though the writing is better here than in the first Culture novel. This book does not need any other Culture story or knowledge to be understood—it is standalone. The focus and the pacing are clear strengths here, while the sentence structures are wonderful. Consider Phlebas doesn’t even compare to this: this is a good story well-told, that was a mess. I was very surprised by how good this one was, based on how bad that one was.