A Time of Changes by Robert Silverberg

1. Another pseudo-memoir in the science fiction field. I think science fiction authors like the pseudo-memoir because they can say things and discuss things with plausible deniability: it’s only the characters that are discussing these out there ideas, not the author, don’t be mad at the author. [4/14/16: But speculative fiction as a genre accomplishes this remove already, so it's not quite necessary for just this remove.] It also allows them a path to follow and fits a linear narrative form: The Chronoliths and The Moon is a Harsh Mistress, to name two others here on this blog. Though some attempt a non-linear narrative: Starship Troopers is one of the more famous examples. The memoir tactic involves the narrator breaking the fourth wall and setting down their memories of what happened for posterity—in speculative fiction, usually a fictional posterity. For instance, Mannie tells the true story of the moon rebellion, its war for independence. Scott tells the story of The Chronoliths in an attempt to explain the final Wyoming chronolith, but explains portions through interludes of backstory. Both Mannie and Scott talk to the reader consistently and explain themselves in order to force some nebulous fictional reader to understand their actions and points of view; and Kinnall Darival does the same here. Kinnall’s story involves subverting the basic tenants of the society that he is a part of, so he continually seeks to explain his actions to other members of the society, his hoped for readers. This takes place in a linear fashion with only three or four parts told from the “now” perspective of Kinnall exiled in the desert, alone and hunted while feverishly writing his memoir. So he doesn’t add anything to the tactic, but that’s fine because he pulls off the tactic well—not spectacularly, but not poorly.

2. The theme here is interesting, and well wrinkled by Silverberg. Silverberg’s ultimate point seems to be that only in understanding others can we understand ourselves. But he shows an even-handed amount of negative and positive effects of baring one’s soul to others: Kinnall is hunted and exiled for it, he loses his faith and closest friends, but he also gains a perspective that he values in feeling kinship with all humanity and wishing that they were less unnecessarily self-repressed. The society is one of self-separation—talking frankly is discouraged and obscene—but Kinnall discovers that the repression of self in this way is not placing self on a pedestal, rather subsuming it beneath the society. Instead, he proselytizes a bonding of people with others in order to truly understand self and the relationship it has with the surrounding society. He does this through a magic drug, but I think it’s an interesting discussion none the less. His musings on sociability and friendliness are fascinating and applicable.

3. The writing is not something spectacular or groundbreaking, but it doesn’t induce cringing too often. His sentence structures are not as varied as I prefer, but it’s also not so simplistic that it’s annoying. His word choices are sometimes awkward, but not too often. It’s fine writing.

4. There is a lot of sex, but I think it’s less sensationalism and more a desire to compare and contrast sex with the self-baring that Kinnall engages in. Even sex can be a thing one does mentally alone, despite the presence of a partner. And though both share in the experience, one or both can be objectified and not understood. The connection may not be a serious one and hence, Kinnall’s self-baring is more effective. This keeps the sex from being a sensational inclusion into the novel.

5. The characters are well-developed. Halum is innocent to a fault. Noim is suspicious to a fault. Kinnall, despite the punny name, is neither, but he has his own faults. He’s a well-developed character who, having found a true release, can’t help but share it with others. In this way he’s a convert to a new religion, away from the one of his youth, and wracked by existential guilt and self-questioning to try and come to terms with his new state of being. But he's also that over-enthusiastic new-convert who wont shut up about it. He’s understandable and engaging as a character, and I think that’s a strength of Silverberg’s writing.

6. One thing Silverberg did really well is skip unimportant portions. There is a section of the book where the short chapters grow even shorter—a single paragraph long each—to catalogue the various converts Kinnall initiates into his drug-cult. Rather than dwelling on each and creating a story for each, Silverberg shows hints of the others and gives the reader a sense of the spreading influence of Kinnall’s spirituality. This is about the only experimental writing in here, but it works well to keep the story moving and not bog it down in descriptions of similar situations occurring over and over again.

7. In all, I am not too impressed with this book. It is an enjoyable read and it engages applicable, interesting ideas in a good way. Kinnall is well rounded. But I’m not terribly enthused about the writing or the structure.