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3.76 AVERAGE
3.76 AVERAGE
What if alien life exists...and it is completely incomprehensible to us?
Solaris is, nominally, a story about the challenges of making contact with what appears to be alien life. In actuality, it's more a meditation on human psychology and regret. There is no clear "lesson" - except, perhaps, that not everything is "understandable," that we are and remain individual and flawed human beings, and that, much like the ocean of Solaris, a great deal is hidden beneath the surface of our selves.
Solaris is, nominally, a story about the challenges of making contact with what appears to be alien life. In actuality, it's more a meditation on human psychology and regret. There is no clear "lesson" - except, perhaps, that not everything is "understandable," that we are and remain individual and flawed human beings, and that, much like the ocean of Solaris, a great deal is hidden beneath the surface of our selves.
emotional
reflective
medium-paced
Plot or Character Driven:
Character
Strong character development:
Complicated
Loveable characters:
No
Flaws of characters a main focus:
Yes
adventurous
dark
emotional
reflective
sad
tense
Plot or Character Driven:
A mix
Strong character development:
Yes
Flaws of characters a main focus:
Yes
Book 📖: 3.5/5 stars
3.5
"El ser humano ha emprendido el viaje en busca de otros mundos, otras civilizaciones, sin haber conocido a fondo sus propios escondrijos, sus callejones sin salida, sus pozos o sus oscuras puertas atrancadas".
Kris Kelvin es un psicólogo que llega a la estación de observación del planeta Solaris, ocupada solamente por tres científicos. Nada más aterrizar se encuentra con una situación más grave de lo que pensaba: el doctor Gibarian se ha suicidado y los otros dos presentan conductas erráticas y extrañas.
A medida que Kelvin comienza a investigar y a pasar más tiempo en la estación, la atmósfera se vuelve más opresiva para él, y comenzará a experimentar ciertas cosas que le harán dudar también de su propia cordura.
Creo que Solaris tiene un comienzo espectacular. Kelvin llega a un planeta que se lleva estudiando años, un planeta cubierto de un extraño mar plasmático que está catalogado como una gran entidad viva. Y sin embargo, a pesar de todos esos años de estudio y experimentación, se han producido muy pocos avances tanto en la comunicación como en la comprensión de esta forma de vida. Kelvin se encuentra como profesional a dos personas con indicios de psicosis en un planeta que apenas logra entender, a la vez que él mismo comienza a replantearse si lo que percibe es real.
Con ese principio tan claustrofóbico te puedes esperar una historia que tire un poquito más hacia el terror psicológico, pero a medida que vas sabiendo más cosas sobre Solaris te das cuenta de que el eje de la narración no va en esa dirección, y que enseguida se centra en el problema de la comunicación con una especie diferente.
En todo momento se habla de cómo el ser humano espera encontrarse en las estrellas ese contacto que podamos entender, un reflejo de nuestras capacidades y conocimientos, pero quizá no estemos tan preparados para asumir que, en caso de producirse ese contacto, quizá nunca seamos capaces de llevar a cabo una comunicación efectiva. Es en esa frustración en lo que se cimenta esta novela, en esas dificultades no solo en el lenguaje, sino en la comprensión básica de una especie inteligente tan distinta a la nuestra.
Tengo que decir que ese inicio tan potente me hizo esperarme de la novela ciertas cosas que luego no me dio. Eso fue un poquito decepcionante para mi, junto con algunos altibajos en el ritmo, pero tampoco me impidió disfrutar de la novela.
En muchas novelas de ciencia ficción se habla del "primer contacto", pero en no tantas se plantea un contacto en el que las especies no sean capaces de entenderse ni comunicarse en absoluto. Siempre tenemos esa visión de que al final la insistencia, la exploración, y el aprendizaje nos llevarán al entendimiento, pero... ¿Y si no es así? ¿Y si es totalmente imposible?
Termino "Solaris" con un buen sabor de boca, con muchísimas ganas de seguir leyendo otras obras del autor, y pudiendo decir que estamos ante otra novela del género que ha envejecido extraordinariamente bien, a pesar de separarnos ya más de 60 años de su primera publicación.
"El ser humano ha emprendido el viaje en busca de otros mundos, otras civilizaciones, sin haber conocido a fondo sus propios escondrijos, sus callejones sin salida, sus pozos o sus oscuras puertas atrancadas".
Kris Kelvin es un psicólogo que llega a la estación de observación del planeta Solaris, ocupada solamente por tres científicos. Nada más aterrizar se encuentra con una situación más grave de lo que pensaba: el doctor Gibarian se ha suicidado y los otros dos presentan conductas erráticas y extrañas.
A medida que Kelvin comienza a investigar y a pasar más tiempo en la estación, la atmósfera se vuelve más opresiva para él, y comenzará a experimentar ciertas cosas que le harán dudar también de su propia cordura.
Creo que Solaris tiene un comienzo espectacular. Kelvin llega a un planeta que se lleva estudiando años, un planeta cubierto de un extraño mar plasmático que está catalogado como una gran entidad viva. Y sin embargo, a pesar de todos esos años de estudio y experimentación, se han producido muy pocos avances tanto en la comunicación como en la comprensión de esta forma de vida. Kelvin se encuentra como profesional a dos personas con indicios de psicosis en un planeta que apenas logra entender, a la vez que él mismo comienza a replantearse si lo que percibe es real.
Con ese principio tan claustrofóbico te puedes esperar una historia que tire un poquito más hacia el terror psicológico, pero a medida que vas sabiendo más cosas sobre Solaris te das cuenta de que el eje de la narración no va en esa dirección, y que enseguida se centra en el problema de la comunicación con una especie diferente.
En todo momento se habla de cómo el ser humano espera encontrarse en las estrellas ese contacto que podamos entender, un reflejo de nuestras capacidades y conocimientos, pero quizá no estemos tan preparados para asumir que, en caso de producirse ese contacto, quizá nunca seamos capaces de llevar a cabo una comunicación efectiva. Es en esa frustración en lo que se cimenta esta novela, en esas dificultades no solo en el lenguaje, sino en la comprensión básica de una especie inteligente tan distinta a la nuestra.
Tengo que decir que ese inicio tan potente me hizo esperarme de la novela ciertas cosas que luego no me dio. Eso fue un poquito decepcionante para mi, junto con algunos altibajos en el ritmo, pero tampoco me impidió disfrutar de la novela.
En muchas novelas de ciencia ficción se habla del "primer contacto", pero en no tantas se plantea un contacto en el que las especies no sean capaces de entenderse ni comunicarse en absoluto. Siempre tenemos esa visión de que al final la insistencia, la exploración, y el aprendizaje nos llevarán al entendimiento, pero... ¿Y si no es así? ¿Y si es totalmente imposible?
Termino "Solaris" con un buen sabor de boca, con muchísimas ganas de seguir leyendo otras obras del autor, y pudiendo decir que estamos ante otra novela del género que ha envejecido extraordinariamente bien, a pesar de separarnos ya más de 60 años de su primera publicación.
mysterious
reflective
slow-paced
Plot or Character Driven:
N/A
Strong character development:
Complicated
Loveable characters:
No
Diverse cast of characters:
No
Flaws of characters a main focus:
Complicated
dark
mysterious
reflective
tense
medium-paced
Plot or Character Driven:
A mix
Strong character development:
Complicated
I was a little hesitant to read Solaris. Based on the synopsis, it just didn’t seem like the type of science fiction novel I was used to. There are no large scale intergalactic battles or worn down cities disintegrating under the weight of hyper-tech and late stage capitalism, Solaris’ scale is much smaller and more personal than that, but the ideas it represents are no less important.
Solaris takes place on the planet of it’s namesake, where a living ocean is believed to be responsible for the planets ability to orbit two suns while maintaining a stable gravity. This has obviously garnered significant interest from the scientific community, to the point where a whole school of Solaristics was invented purely for the study of this anomaly. A research station was established on the planet, the ocean was confirmed to be, infact, not-fucking-normal at all, and thousands upon thousands of research papers were published. This torrent of research ultimately began to divide Solarists into separate schools of thought, which almost transformed the whole ocean into something more resembling a God with many faces. Experiments were carried out, discoveries were made, but not one scientist was ever able to make any real progress in actually understanding the oceans existence, and more so, many scientists died in the process. It’s motives and mechanisms remained a frustrating secret.
As the decades passed, interest in Solaristics began to dwindle, and calls to shut the station down entirely gained heavy traction as mankind’s return on investment was essentially a net zero. Humanity slowly began to abandon the study of Solaristics completely, as it was believe to be a lost cause, meanwhile the research station was slowly abandoned as more people were driven mad and suicidal by the ocean itself. Only three committed scientists remained on the station. And here we begin the story.
First off, the beginning of this book was some of the most tense and gripping fiction I’ve ever read. Stanisław Lem drops us right into the hot seat as our new arrival, Dr. Kris Kelvin, arrives at the station to aid his colleagues. The atmosphere is eerie from the second the doors open, and only becomes more unnerving as Kelvin tries to figure out what happened to the rest of the crew. The psychological horror elements of this book landed way harder than I expected. Every sentence felt like a cold sweat dripping in tension. Lem moves things a long at a pretty quick pace, but that strong sense of unease doesn’t really go away until around the middle of the book, and naturally so—as our knowledge of the problem increases, we become less afraid.
The second half might not be as scary, but I thoroughly disagree with the notion that it is more boring. The crew relations stay tense and dynamic throughout the whole ride, and what we lose in fear, we gain in a higher focus on philosophy. The final chapter is actually one of my favourite parts of the whole book as Kelvin sits and explains his theory of an imperfect God. It becomes quite obvious what the ocean represents in the grander scheme of things by the last few pages, but Stanisław Lem lays down a genius stroke and reveals this in a way which will force you to recontextualize the entire story. The coolest thing about it, is it seems to be interpreted in a few different ways depending on who you are. Hell, some other reviewers seem to have missed the meaning entirely, which is maybe why they thought the second half of the book was boring. I guess the ocean really is a reflection of ourselves after all. For me, the ocean represents our deepest fears and insecurities. It’s the grief swirling inside of us, of which we obsess but can not cure. The inability to understand.
There are a few exposition dumps here and there, but it is what it is. It’s a pretty hard science fiction book after all, so we might as well get our hands dirty. Were they a bit of a slog to get through? Yes. But did I appreciate the effort that the author went through to build such a believable world and problem? One backed by countless research papers sitting conveniently in the stations library? Absolutely. The info dumps are there for the people who want to know the gritty details, and they are pretty easy to skim over for those who don’t. My only real complaint with the book is that it wasn’t longer. I felt like so much more could have been expanded upon and explored. The atmosphere was so enthralling that I wanted to stay in it forever, but I also think the quick pace is part of why all the different horror, sci-fi and mystery elements worked so well together. Some of the conversations also seemed a little unreasonably hostile at times, but I wonder how much of that is just a byproduct of translation. Either way, this gets a hard 5/5 from me. Now I wish I didn’t smudge the ink on the cover by reading it in the bath.
Solaris takes place on the planet of it’s namesake, where a living ocean is believed to be responsible for the planets ability to orbit two suns while maintaining a stable gravity. This has obviously garnered significant interest from the scientific community, to the point where a whole school of Solaristics was invented purely for the study of this anomaly. A research station was established on the planet, the ocean was confirmed to be, infact, not-fucking-normal at all, and thousands upon thousands of research papers were published. This torrent of research ultimately began to divide Solarists into separate schools of thought, which almost transformed the whole ocean into something more resembling a God with many faces. Experiments were carried out, discoveries were made, but not one scientist was ever able to make any real progress in actually understanding the oceans existence, and more so, many scientists died in the process. It’s motives and mechanisms remained a frustrating secret.
As the decades passed, interest in Solaristics began to dwindle, and calls to shut the station down entirely gained heavy traction as mankind’s return on investment was essentially a net zero. Humanity slowly began to abandon the study of Solaristics completely, as it was believe to be a lost cause, meanwhile the research station was slowly abandoned as more people were driven mad and suicidal by the ocean itself. Only three committed scientists remained on the station. And here we begin the story.
First off, the beginning of this book was some of the most tense and gripping fiction I’ve ever read. Stanisław Lem drops us right into the hot seat as our new arrival, Dr. Kris Kelvin, arrives at the station to aid his colleagues. The atmosphere is eerie from the second the doors open, and only becomes more unnerving as Kelvin tries to figure out what happened to the rest of the crew. The psychological horror elements of this book landed way harder than I expected. Every sentence felt like a cold sweat dripping in tension. Lem moves things a long at a pretty quick pace, but that strong sense of unease doesn’t really go away until around the middle of the book, and naturally so—as our knowledge of the problem increases, we become less afraid.
The second half might not be as scary, but I thoroughly disagree with the notion that it is more boring. The crew relations stay tense and dynamic throughout the whole ride, and what we lose in fear, we gain in a higher focus on philosophy. The final chapter is actually one of my favourite parts of the whole book as Kelvin sits and explains his theory of an imperfect God. It becomes quite obvious what the ocean represents in the grander scheme of things by the last few pages, but Stanisław Lem lays down a genius stroke and reveals this in a way which will force you to recontextualize the entire story. The coolest thing about it, is it seems to be interpreted in a few different ways depending on who you are. Hell, some other reviewers seem to have missed the meaning entirely, which is maybe why they thought the second half of the book was boring. I guess the ocean really is a reflection of ourselves after all. For me, the ocean represents our deepest fears and insecurities. It’s the grief swirling inside of us, of which we obsess but can not cure. The inability to understand.
There are a few exposition dumps here and there, but it is what it is. It’s a pretty hard science fiction book after all, so we might as well get our hands dirty. Were they a bit of a slog to get through? Yes. But did I appreciate the effort that the author went through to build such a believable world and problem? One backed by countless research papers sitting conveniently in the stations library? Absolutely. The info dumps are there for the people who want to know the gritty details, and they are pretty easy to skim over for those who don’t. My only real complaint with the book is that it wasn’t longer. I felt like so much more could have been expanded upon and explored. The atmosphere was so enthralling that I wanted to stay in it forever, but I also think the quick pace is part of why all the different horror, sci-fi and mystery elements worked so well together. Some of the conversations also seemed a little unreasonably hostile at times, but I wonder how much of that is just a byproduct of translation. Either way, this gets a hard 5/5 from me. Now I wish I didn’t smudge the ink on the cover by reading it in the bath.
Me encanta cómo la ciencia ficción se transforma en análisis psicológico tratando temas como la culpa y la soledad. Buscar las segundas oportunidades para encontrar la posibilidad de afrontar el pasado y lograr perdonarnos.
A falta de poder comprendernos a nosotros mismos, nos aferramos a la posibilidad de una conciencia externa que pueda vernos de forma transparente y que permita que nos demos cuenta de que no importa cuánto queramos dejar atrás lo vivido, aunque escapemos al otro lado del universo, nunca podremos huir de nosotros mismos.
A falta de poder comprendernos a nosotros mismos, nos aferramos a la posibilidad de una conciencia externa que pueda vernos de forma transparente y que permita que nos demos cuenta de que no importa cuánto queramos dejar atrás lo vivido, aunque escapemos al otro lado del universo, nunca podremos huir de nosotros mismos.
challenging
informative
mysterious
reflective
slow-paced
Plot or Character Driven:
Character
Strong character development:
Yes
Loveable characters:
No
Diverse cast of characters:
No
Flaws of characters a main focus:
Yes