Space Opera manages to be all this is one delicious gooey package. Not because it provides an escape from the dystopian future we seem to be heading toward at a rapid rate of knots but because it reaffirms those things we need to fight for if we’re ever going to save ourselves.įinally, Eurovision begins in May… my 8-year old is soooo excited.One thing I love about science fiction, is that it can be timely and poignant, examining cultural, political and scientific changes and their potential impact on modern existence. Space Opera is, therefore, the perfect antidote to the current political climate. The passion that art – good and bad – evokes mostly makes us better people. Art isn’t just a nice to have it’s a critical part of what makes us, us. The book’s message is also loud and clear. It’s a masterclass of set-up, making the jump and then sticking the dismount. Then there’s the climax – which I wouldn’t dare spoil – that is, in one sense, predictable and in another sense, something you’re unlikely to have read before, all of it beautifully seeded and hinted at earlier in the novel. Even when the book isn’t piss in your pants hilarious, it’s always lively and exciting. Whether you find them funny depends on your sense of humour, but I found myself chuckling (quite loudly) more than once. However, I find the comparison boring, partly because it’s another instance where we measure up the skills of a woman against the “expertise” of a man to see if she shapes up and partly because while Valente borrows Adams rhythm and sense of the absurd, the set-piece and jokes are all hers. That’s fair enough, I made the comparison in my comments above, and it’s not like the novel’s tone disinvites the association, and, if there was any doubt, Valente thanks Adams in her liner notes. (To be fair to Valente Wogan had already retired from Eurovision and broadcasting duties when she became hooked in 2012).īased on just the first page of Space Opera people will make comparisons to Douglas Adams’ The Hitchhikers Guide To The Galaxy. The only thing missing is Terry Wogan taking the piss during both the performances and the voting period.
Valente nails the ethos, the glam, and the over the top kitsch (is that a tautology?) in her novel Space Opera.
The point is I know Eurovision, and I can say, hand on the heart, that Catherynne M. When Eurovision is actually on the telly, he plays and replays his favourite songs on YouTube also demanding we play them in the car (and he’s not a demanding boy… it’s the Eurovision infection). He even downloaded – fucked if I know how he found it – a scoreboard emulator so he could tally his own country by country votes. He has a well-thumbed coffee table book that charts the 60 odd year history of the song contest. He can name the last thirty winners off the top of his head. My soon to be 8-year old son is obsessed with all things Eurovision.
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