Book of the Long Sun

 

I hoped this book would be different from Book and Urth of the New Sun. The last thing I wanted was for Wolfe to try to bottle lightning again. I mean, it had been well over a decade since the last two books had been released, so I kinda figured that Wolfe wasn't out for a cash grab. 

Boy, I did not know what I was getting myself into.

The set-up of the book is simple. Patera Silk, a priest of a small parish onboard the "whorl" (a roving space station filled with people who have forgotten they're in a space station) is called by the Outsider, a minor and obscure god, to save his parish from imminent destruction. Of course at this point he wasn't really aware that it was in danger in the first place...

And thus begins the rollercoaster.

Now, I'd heard people complain about how slow this book was, so I was prepared for it. I don't think they quite sold it hard enough; parts of this book are an absolute slog to get through. Wolfe's prose requires sometimes a pass or five to get a basic understanding of the text, and there's some points in time where I shrugged and went on, filling in what happened from the context of the next few hundred pages. This sucker is 1300 pages long. It is packed with plot, characterization, so much freaking worldbuilding, philosophy, and theology, that to call this anything less than a science fantasy attempt at a Russian novel would be idiotic.  The plot in particular seems rather byzantine in structure, looping around on itself multiple times, intentionally producing impasses that let you learn more about the characters and their whorl, and to take a breather.

Y'know, several hundred page breathers.

No big deal.

Up until the last fifteen pages (no, I am not exaggerating!!! The last fif-frickin-teen!) I'd no idea what the hell I was reading. None. The plot continued to balloon and balloon and I felt like I was watching some ancient sea monster come out of the ocean to devour me alive. And then the last fifteen pages happened. No, do not skip to the end. Even if it does make sense to you, the surprise is well worth the wait. Yes, I do mean it. Those 1200+ pages were ample build-up to the surprise at the end, at least in my estimation. I cannot tell you why that is. You either trust me and can weather the cloud of unknowing for 1200 pages or you can't. But when it snapped into place, when Wolfe finally revealed what he was doing for 1300 pages, I found myself nodding in appreciation and enjoyment.

Book of the Long Sun does not work as Book and Urth of the New Sun did, but that is what is makes it special. As I sit here, with the dying embers of the story living inside of me, as I look back at one of the longest journeys with a book I've ever taken, I feel years and years older. That was one hell of a journey. I learned a lot of things, most of which were barely registered, nevermind understood.

Whereas Book and Urth of the New Sun were waking dreams, which I loved so much that I almost sobbed when I stopped reading them, Book of the Long Sun feels like a conversation with a grandparent. They have a lot to tell you. Sometimes you don't know why they tell you what they chose to. But years later, their words still glow in my memory and I find myself taking strength from what they said. 

I remember how they looked when they said their words.

I find myself back in the car, or the room, or that afternoon walk. I can smell the air. Hear the birds. The crickets. The sky is the exact same size as it is now. The world made absolutely no sense. But I didn't need it to.

Because they loved me, then. And they do, still.

I promise that I will see you again. I find myself whispering that to them, now, as I think about the Long Sun. Or is it when I think about the long walks? Or the car rides? Or when we were just sitting in their living room, talking about nothing in particular?

Does it really matter?