ChatGPT:
In your teens you were a fan of Isaac Asimov's Foundation series, Robert Heinlein's adventure SF novels, and Arthur C. Clarke's technical near-future fiction. None of these authors now feature on your favorite list—why is that?
Nigel:
When I returned to these authors, as an adult, I found Asimov's characterisation shallow and his style pedestrian—tedious, in fact.
Heinlein’s Starship Troopers stands out as a kind of masterclass in civics and moral coming-of-age, but most of his other stories are drowned in hedonistic self-indulgence.
As for Clarke, his engineering bias hasn’t aged well, and once again his characterisations are virtually non-existent.
These days, I want more from my fiction.
ChatGPT:
Your critique clearly shows that you demand more depth—both in characterisation and in thematic exploration—than what you found in those earlier works. Shifting focus to your current favorites: Which among them best fills that gap? Take Iain M. Banks’ Culture series, for instance. What resonates with you about it, and can you pinpoint a moment or aspect in Banks’ writing that you find transformative compared to the cold technicality or self-indulgent hedonism you disliked before?
Nigel:
After his death, I genuinely thought for some years that Banks would quickly be forgotten and be unread. His plot development is dense, complex, and often unmemorable; the quality of his Culture novels is quite uneven.
Over the last couple of years, however, I’ve reconsidered. I now see more clearly how many deep issues his thinking encompassed, and how the vast canvas of space opera allowed him to explore profound philosophical and moral dilemmas through vast splurges of baroque text.
Banks was very smart and expected the same of his readers—you never come to believe, as you read, that you're out-thinking him. On the downside, I don’t think there are many sharply, deeply delineated characters in his work. Even Diziet Sma only takes you so far.
ChatGPT:
Interesting. Moving on to Greg Bear, you’ve admired his work as well. Do you think he strikes a better balance between scientific rigor and emotional engagement? Are there particular works—say, Eon or Queen of Angels—that exemplify his strengths? How do you feel his narrative style has evolved over time?
Nigel:
I don’t think that’s the spectrum by which Bear’s work should be judged.
Like most ideas-based SF, his writing is rather matter-of-fact. It doesn’t elevate the heart-rate or engage the emotions much—except for the intellectual sense of awe it inspires. Bear tells an awe-inspiring story, and he’s one of the best at expanding that vast canvas of futurity which simply blows the mind away, whatever topic he’s dealing with.
I always felt he was working through a standard list of subjects—the General Relativity novel, the Quantum Mechanics novel, the Bio-Engineering novel, and so on. He generally made superlative tech-thrillers out of nearly all of them: his work is brimming with ideas, worked out in exquisite detail, which holds your attention.
But once again, memorable characters and inner lives are not his strong suit.
ChatGPT:
That’s a clear-eyed assessment. Let’s talk about Richard K. Morgan next. His work is known for a gritty, uncompromising vision of the future, filled with realpolitik, double-crosses, and a jolt of raw sex and violence. What aspects of his style or thematic focus do you think best capture the contemporary zeitgeist? How do his narratives, especially in the development of his antihero Takeshi Kovacs, address or subvert traditional dystopian tropes?
Nigel:
Morgan’s worldview is fairly standard: evil corporations, corrupt institutions and governments, and oppressive religions. His schtick is realpolitik—cynical about motives and fully aware that superior physical force generally wins the day. His plots are packed with double-crosses, deception, and betrayal—ingredients that make for an engrossing thriller.
Additionally, Morgan is a disinhibited writer. His sex and violence are described in prose that leaves little to the imagination and knows few boundaries—the reader is invariably jolted.
What I appreciate most about Morgan’s writing, though, is the way he handles the personal development of his antihero, Takeshi Kovacs. For a long time, we’re led to believe this super-warrior, this Envoy, is criminally-minded, brutal, self-serving, and utterly nihilistic. And yet, we eventually discover (spoiler alert!) that this is really just a carefully constructed facade.
ChatGPT:
Now let’s move on to Charles Stross. You’ve highlighted him as presenting a curious paradox. Can you explain what distinguishes his approach for you? Specifically, does his handling of political intrigue and economic themes offer a satisfying contrast to the baroque expansiveness of Banks or the gritty realism of Morgan? What is it about his narrative pace or style that makes his work stand out?
Nigel:
Charles Stross presents a curious paradox. As an individual, he comes across—much like Peter Watts—as an extremely militant, bleeding-heart liberal. In his published talks at conventions, his every utterance is steeped in moral outrage and preachy, self-righteous vitriol.
And yet, when he sits down in the quiet of his study and applies his economic, political, and technical knowledge to develop speculative scenarios with plausible issues and plots, he is simply superlative. He can write sympathetic, rounded characters, and his very artistic, emotional temperament imbues his writing with the necessary literary fire.
He writes what he cares about, and you know it—it isn’t just an intellectual exercise, which would be utterly boring.
