What’s It About

Join the multi-specie crew of the Wayfarer as they travel the galaxy punching wormholes into the fabric of space and time.

Representative Paragraph

The ship’s Doctor and Chef is fascinated with Rosemary’s name (she’s the new addition to the crew).

“Rosemary, Rosemary,” said Dr. Chef, taking her hand. “Herbs are my very favorite thing. They combine both the medicinal and the gastronomical, which, as you may have guessed, are my two best subjects. I am an avid collector of herbs. I pick up new specimens wherever I go.” He paused, grumbling and whistling to himself. “I don’t think I’ve heard of your namesake herb. Is it for eating or healing?”

“Eating,” said Rosemary. “I think it goes in soups. Breads, too, I guess.”

“Soups! Oh, I like soups,” said Dr. Chef. His solid black eyes shifted to Sissix. “We’re making a stop at Port Coriol soon, right?”

“Yep,” said Sissix. “Someone there will have it for sure. I’ll send a message to my old friend Drave, he’ll know where to look. He’s good at finding food-related things.” His mouth curved up as he looked back to Rosemary.

“See? You’ve got a proper name after all. Now, you finish those crackers, I’m going to check on the bugs.” He bustled back into the kitchen, growling and sighing as he bent over the grill. Rosemary wondered if he might be humming.

Should I Read It?

No.

My “no” is likely to be a minority position given Goodreads has awarded The Long Way to a Small, Angry Planet an average of 4.25 stars based on over 300 votes.  I can appreciate the book’s attraction: a diverse cast of engaging characters travelling to strange places and facing a variety of threats and challenges.

However, the first third of the novel is weighed down by so much exposition that I nearly stopped reading.  I persevered and came to appreciate what the novel was trying to achieve, but my God, that first third is a killer and given that this is a 500 page book, I’m not sure it’s worth trudging through 150 pages of info-dump and explanation to reach the good bits.

Commentary

I came close to putting this book down after the first twenty pages.  Here is a good example why:

“I’ve always lived planetside,” Rosemary said. “We don’t eat many bugs on Mars.”

She felt guilty just saying it. Insects were cheap, rich in protein, and easy to cultivate in cramped rooms, which made them an ideal food for spacers. Bugs had been part of the Exodus Fleet’s diet for so long that even extrasolar colonies still used them as a main staple. Rosemary had, of course, at least heard of red coast bugs. The old story went that a short while after the Exodus Fleet had been granted refugee status within the Galactic Commons, a few Human representatives had been brought to some Aeluon colony to discuss their needs. One of the more entrepreneurial Humans had noticed clusters of large insects skittering over the red sand dunes near the coastline. The insects were a mild nuisance to the Aeluons, but the Humans saw food, and lots of it. Red coast bugs were swiftly adopted into the Exodans’ diet, and nowadays, you could find plenty of Aeluons and extrasolar Humans who had become wealthy from their trade. Rosemary’s admission that she’d never eaten red coast bugs meant that she was not only poorly traveled, but that she belonged to a separate chapter of Human history. She was a descendant of the wealthy meat-eaters who had first settled Mars, the cowards who had shipped livestock through space while nations starved back on Earth. Even though Exodans and Solans had long ago put their old grudges behind them (mostly), her privileged ancestry was something she had become ashamed of. It reminded her all too well of why she had left home.

The level of info-dump here is extraordinary and delivered in a clumsy, confused way – in particular Rosemary’s feelings about the bug are smooshed together with the omniscient narrator’s explanation of why the bugs are important.  But even if there was clarity to the prose, it’s not clear to me why, at this point of the novel, we need to know all this stuff about the Exodus Fleet or a history of the bugs.  I know genre authors feel this overwhelming urge to show off their shiny new Universe, but sometimes, not explaining every single thing will make for a better and more intriguing reading experience.

The thing is, Becky Chambers isn’t alone.  If there’s one thing I’ve noticed in my reading this year, it’s this compulsion for authors to over-explain (take William Gibson’s The Peripheral as an example).  It’s got to the point where not elucidating every last concept has become a reason to praise a novel (see my thoughts on Dave Hutchinson’s Europe in Autumn).  The irony is that science fiction has always been sold as a genre of discovery where the reader is thrown into the deep end and is required to figure out what’s going on based entirely on context.  In contrast, The Long Way to a Small, Angry Planet can’t help but spoon-feed the reader – which apparently has gone over well with the general public because not only has the book been lauded by readers online but it has (a) received a Kitschie nomination and (b) been picked up by Hodder to be published (the novel was originally self published through a Kickstarter campaign).

The book does eventually settle down as Chambers throttles back on the exposition.  What soon becomes evident is how this is a novel that wears its heart on its sleeve.  Diversity is front and centre – whether that be in terms of gender or culture or race – and on that level Chambers does a fine job in populating her universe with a range of interesting alien races.  If the The Long Way To A Small, Angry Planet has a message, it’s that no matter our differences, no matter our strange customs and attitudes, there’s no reason why people from different tribes can’t get along, can’t see eye to eye, can’t become a family.

In light of this, I particularly liked Rosemary’s developing relationship with the Wayfarers reptilian pilot Sissix.  While it’s not the only example in the book of inter species intimacy and coupling, it does highlight the primary themes:

Rosemary continued to speak. “Sissix, I don’t have any feathers I can give you. I wish I did. You made me feel welcome when I first set foot on this ship. And since then, the kindness you’ve shown — not just to me, but to everyone — has meant more than I can say. You go out of your way to make everybody aboard this ship comfortable, to show us affection in the way that we expect it. I don’t pretend to know Aandrisks as well as you know Humans, but there are some things I understand. I understand that we’re your family, and that for you, not being able to touch us means there’s a vital piece missing. I think that feeling hurts you, and I think you’ve buried it deep. I saw the look on your face when your family held you. You may love the Wayfarer, but life here is incomplete.” She pressed her lips together. They came back wet. “I don’t know how you see me, but — but I want you to know that if you should want something more…I’d like to give it to you.”

So, yes, the last half of The Long Way To A Small, Angry Planet is genuinely engaging and I grew to like the characters.  They all start off as broad caricatures – the innocent one, the flighty one, the grumpy one, the endlessly fascinated by everything one, the practical one, the sexual one – but are given depth as the book progresses.

The Long Way To A Small, Angry Planet could be compared to one of those TV shows that has a shitty pilot and opening bunch of episodes but gets good halfway through the season.  Lots of people will have turned off before the penny drops, but for those who stay around, there’s some fun to be had.  Is it worth sticking around, though?  It is worth grinding your way through endless exposition and info-dumping?  On balance, probably not.  It’s a shame because the novel’s heart is certainly in the right place.