A re-read after 40 years. (Wow.)
This was Hogan’s first book and its ideas are crazy huge. Discovering a dead astronaut on the moon is one thing, but when scientists realize he’s been there for 50,000 years, well, things get really interesting. This is a full-on mystery-meets-archeology novel except set in the semi-distant future of 2027, a full half-century after the book was published. (Coincidentally in May 1977, the same time Star Wars came out. As with my first viewing of Star Wars, I read it a couple months later. On a geeky level, 12-year-old me *loved* the summer of 1977.)
When revisiting older SF that’s set more or less in our present, it’s fun to see what conformed and what diverged from the author’s prognostications. There will usually be some crazy misses and some eerie accuracies; here Hogan has more of the former than the latter.
First of all, the smoking. Characters do it constantly. Which was common back then, and one thing I don’t miss from the 70s and 80s. I was constantly ill from all the cigarette smoke. Hogan assumes, as most people did, that this would continue indefinitely, to the point where his characters smoke aboard spaceships. Cigs, pipes, stogies... basically everything except weed.
The USSR still exists. They aren’t a big player here, because the world has backed off from the brink of WWIII, but the Soviet Union still exists. That was also a common assumption back then. Right up until the minute the USSR no longer existed everyone figured it would last a while.
Flying cars so common you can rent them. I’m really glad these don’t exist. People suck at driving on the ground; I certainly don’t need to also worry they will crash into my second-story bedroom. Of course, maybe the rentals are strictly aircraft; Hogan isn’t really clear there.
Video phones. This is a half-hit. No one except Chester Gould, creator of the comic Dick Tracy, imagined our smartphones, so having phone booths that were also video booths wasn’t unreasonable.
The thing that Hogan does get right and his main character Vic Hunt invented, is a “nucleonic imager” that can see inside bodies and even read books without opening the pages. Hogan effectively came up with a combination of the CAT scan, the MRI (which coincidentally debuted in July 1977), and the PET scan. At the time no one thought to use such devices to read closed books, but we’ve since used them to read ancient scrolls that are too fragile to touch, let alone open. One set of scrolls was burned and crushed in a fire some 1,500 years ago, turning them into charcoal, but a CT scan lets us read the surviving pages inside. In some regards we live in an age of miracles.
A new age of reason. Boy-howdy did he miss this one by a country mile. Ironically, 20 years after this was published, Hogan was one of those people turning back the clock on scientific literacy, going all-in on crackpot theories and snake oil. Back in the late 90s on Usenet on rec.arts.sf.written we talked about how he (among others) had become a victim of the Brain Eater, which consumed the rational part of his brain. He became a climate change denier, a Holocaust denier, refused to believe AIDS was caused by a virus, and was probably an anti-vaxxer, too.
Which is weird considering how much this book celebrates the scientific process. He assembles a team to solve the mystery of the dead man on the moon from every discipline— physics to biology to linguistics to anatomy — all led by a couple of no-nonsense engineers, and eventually they do solve it, in a most satisfying way. That’s why it was so baffling to watch Hogan pivot from that attitude, don a tinfoil hat and take up residence in Crazytown.
But this story happens before all that, before his marbles went missing, and he brings all the pieces of his story together elegantly at the end.
There are some cringey “yeesh dude” moments, such as the casual unstated sexism. There are no women of importance here aside from a secretary (yes, a secretary) whose observation that the peculiar table in the dead man’s book looks like a calendar unlocks the whole shebang. Then main dude (and obvious Marty Stu) Vic casually takes credit for it later, with her approving wink. Ouch.
I re-read this book a lot back then, but even by 1980 I recognized the implied sexism. At 12 I would’ve given this 5 stars for the sheer coolness factor. At 15 I was already seeing cracks in storytelling that I found satisfying not long before. It’s the same reason I loved Star Wars in July of 1977 but hated Empire Strikes Back in May of 1980: I was growing up but the stories didn’t.
Still, the ideas are paramount here. Characters are not even secondary, they barely exist other than to take different sides in arguments. On the idea side, this is still cool. If you’re looking for more than that, you’ll need to search elsewhere.