Five novels revive a genre
What ever happened to science fiction? In the 70s, readers were inundated with novels by giants of the genre: Theodore Sturgeon, Robert Heinlein, Ray Bradbury and scores of others. But bookstore shelves have grown barer and the names rarer. Even so, a handful of practitioners show that this may be merely a hiatus before the renaissance.
Arthur C. Clarke's sequel, 2010: Odyssey Two (Ballantine; $14.95), resumes the themes of his celebrated 2001, published 14 years ago. A joint Soviet-American expedition sets out to locate the spaceship Discovery and to examine the huge black monolith of 2001. The first part is easy; even Hal, the malevolent talking computer, which had to be electronically lobotomized in 2001, is reparable. But the crew can only watch as powers beyond its understanding transform Jupiter, which astronomers call "the star that failed," from an enormous sphere of gases into a small glowing sun capable of sustaining life on its satellites. As before, the monolith remains the piece that passeth all understanding. But no matter. Clarke deftly blends discovery, philosophy and a newly acquired sense of play that manifests itself in references to films like Alien and Star Wars, and snippets from recent headlines. If, by the end, he leaves readers as bewildered as his astronauts, they can at least claim to have been better entertained.
Thirty years ago, Isaac Asimov completed his Foundation trilogy, a Gibbon-esque look at the decline and fall of an intergalactic empire. Asimov, who abandoned fiction in favor of science, has now expanded his work to a tetralogy with foundation's Edge (Doubleday; $14.95). The last volume of the trilogy ended with a question: Does a mysterious organization, capable of controlling human history, really exist in some secret galactic refuge? Edge opens with an answer: Of course. It then proceeds to describe the rivalry between the altruistic Foundation and two less noble competitors for the heart and mind of the cosmos. As the breathless plot caroms on, Asimov winks at his audience. Interplanetary rocketeers not only take advantage of hyperspace (folds in the fabric of the universe) to bridge the light-years between one solar system and another; they also use English and credit cards. Rare is the author who can resume a story after a pause of three decades, but Asimov has never been predictable in anything but fecundity. This is his 260th book and one of his best. Given the master's past history, it may be a prelude to a pentalogy.