The Sparrow

I believe in God the way I believe in quarks. People whose business it is to know about quantum physics or religion tell me they have good reason to believe that quarks and God exist. And they tell me that if I wanted to devote my life to learning what they’ve learned, I’d find quarks and God just like they did.

I just finished Mary Doria Russell’s The Sparrow, another recommendation from Simon Guerrier. I’m not going to review it in the detailed fashion I’ve used before simply because at this point I’m too lazy, and I don’t want to give the majority of the plot away. Suffice it to say I really enjoyed it and consider it one of the best sci-fi books I’ve ever read. The author’s profession is as a paleoanthropologist, which may beg the question: can she write a decent fiction book? The answer is she must be a voracious reader taking note of all the elements that make good fiction, as she nails them all, along with an impressive grounding in astronomy, physics, social and physical anthropology, and linguistics—it’s enough to make one’s head spin. (And while, as a former academic, she gives a semi-bibliographic listing, I’d like to have a longer, more detailed list of her inspiration.) She has a great idea, truly memorable characters, excellent pacing (for the most part), and attacks the huge, overarching themes of human life.

The story takes place in the near future, with one end of it being the result (Naples 2060) and the other being the cause (2019), meeting up nicely in the center and suspending suspense in a very artful way. The premise is unbeatable—intelligent life is discovered on a planet in the Alpha Centauri system, and a mission of four Jesuit priests, an astronomer, a doctor, an engineer, and a computer expert is sent to make first contact—though people I’ve told the story to have scoffed at the convenience of intelligent life in such a near (relatively-speaking) system. To quote another book I recently finished, Doctor Who Completely Unofficial Encyclopedia, this could just be a case of Whirling Fans (ie, just accept that it is the way it is).

What are really impressive, however, are the characters. Russell gives excellent characterizations that a) make you sympathize with the characters, almost right away; b) make them real, whole, three-dimensional. There aren’t enough words to describe the title character, Emilio Sandoz, a Jesuit priest from Puerto Rico, a scholarship boy, a frustrated lover, a linguist, full of humor and humanity, without just reading the book. (Interestingly Russell reveals he is not based on anyone she knows, but I actually know someone he reminds me of.) I’m also very impressed by Anne Edwards, a fifty-something physician; I feel like I know her, or I know someone like her, even though the author says she is partly autobiographical. (Here are two sides to her: “What’s an ionosphere?” Anne asked. Jimmy gaped at her. “Sorry. I’ve heard the word but I don’t know what it is, really. I’m a doctor, Jim, not an astronomer!” and the title quote.) There’s her husband, George, who I also feel I know, an engineer and sort of jack-of-all-trades. (Their zesty sex life leads to much amusement.) There’s Jimmy Quinn, a giant Chicago astronomer who likes to get along with people, who tries to find ways to please his parents, his teachers, his buddies, his girlfriends. Marc Robichaux, a French-Canadian Jesuit artist, who I can see very clearly and even hear cursing in Québecquois (I can’t understand French-Canadians in English or French). D.W. Yarborough, a Texan who reminds me of several Texan friends rolled into one. John Candotti, Edward Behr, Alan Pace—all Jesuits, all good characters. Sofia Mendes, a Sephardic Jew in “intellectual prostitution” and loved by all—though curiously I found her the least convincing character.

Though the book is in parts very funny (it even quotes The Princess Bride), it’s also dark, serious, and disturbing. I thought what a wonderful film this would make, how rich these characters would be, what a succulent challenge for designers, directors, artists, but I realized this will never get made. The Christian Right, for one, would have a heart attack, perhaps the Vatican would too, and others surely would find the revelation at the end too upsetting, and in general the story too bleak. The ending was certainly bleaker than I had imagined, and my one criticism is that as the destructive elements of the climax were set in motion, it was too rushed—not that I want to dwell on the violent and humiliating aspects of this section, I just felt since the rest of the book was so well-paced, this sudden acceleration was a bit sloppy. The book is a response, in some ways, to the revisionist views on the Columbian contact dating from 1992 (which we explored in depth in my class Inventing America)—though I wonder how far the parallel with the Arawak, Taino, Lumbee, and other native groups and the alien Runa and Jana’ata can go.