Noise Concerning Silent Planets

houseboatonstyx was curious about my reaction to Out of the Silent Planet. I love the conceit of it, that our planet, teeming with noise, is the silent one in the solar system. I love that Lewis takes a quasi-allegorical teaching form (somewhere between Bunyan and the Pearl author, or maybe bits from both - I felt his form wasn't entirely controlled) and develops a very 1930s vision of world-building to go with it. It's appropriate that it's alongside Edgar Rice Burroughs' Carson of Venus for the retro Hugos: the two make a lovely pairing.

When I was a kid, I read Ransom's epilogue, explaining that the author didn't communicate what it was like to live on that planet. I felt cheated, for, as a child of the 60s and 70s I was reading speculative fiction that felt more like living in a place, and Lewis himself achieved this in his use of fine detail in his Narnia books and in some of his less fictional work (Screwtape!). The trouble, however, was not that Lewis wasn't capable of it, and the trouble was not that the techniques weren't around for SF (for HG Wells used them, earlier) the trouble was that Ransom drew attention to the deficit. Instead of highlighting the narrator's limited capacity, it made me realise that I couldn't see the world fully. That I was not a participant.

I suspect Lewis did this on purpose. It was to highlight the tone of what came earlier. Or maybe the special status of Ransom. It may also have been to leave doubt in the reader's mind: is this an allegory? Lewis would have known what he had done with his borrowings, for he was writing scholarly analysis of such things. Of all the Hugo finalists (retro or modern) Lewis was the one with the deepest understanding of literary form. This means that any deficit is intentional or due to lack of commitment: it's not due to him being in the 30s when things were different, or from him not being educated, or from him lacking the writing capacity. I choose to think, at this moment in time (and my mind may change, for it's one of those things) that it was lack of commitment. He didn't commit to a full allegory. He didn't choose the literal approach of Bunyan or the rhetorical other-worldliness of the Pearl poet. He chose a bit of each, and he married them into the then standard SF form. By not committing to one approach fully, he undermined his tale-telling.

It's this lack of commitment that makes me like White's work better. That and the sense of humour. White's world is all about teaching and about learning and about the betterment of humankind. But White's Wart lives in a way that Ransom fails to, for me. The 'for me' is terribly important, for, although Lewis isn't writing a full allegory, his religion is definitely a component in his writing, and I am not from his branch of Christianity nor, in fact, from any branch of Christianity. This means that my heart doesn't leap into the holes left to be filled by reader empathy. Lewis' works suffers, therefore, from me being a reader who thinks alongside him rather than feels with him.

He comes off rather well, given this. Imagine a Twilight fan who lost that sense of it being a thing of love. All the flaws are visible, for there would be no personal sense of association to carry one past them. Sparkly vampires become risible. Out of the Silent Planet is not risible, and it has a lot more depth than I remember. It also has some anticolonial sentiment and a bunch of self-criticism.

It's not as sophisticated as I had thought, either: when I was ten I had read nothing by the Pearl poet and my only reaction to Bunyan was "Why?". I'm bringing more sophistication to my reading, because I'm considerably older. Still, though, I haven't developed the emotions he needs to achieve that perfect rapport. I see the sparkles in his vampires and I am entertained by them, but think that White is the better writer. White draws me in even though I'm from a completely different background, and that, to me is a bigger achievement.

When I was a child, to be honest, I wanted to be Ransom. I had that sense of wonder at the sight of all the new things. Now, I'd rather be Wart, and experience strangeness rather than observe it clinically.