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A review by ziggymusic
Space Opera by Catherynne M. Valente
5.0
‘Space Opera’ is a cosmic-scale Eurovision when that scale is from still-in-a-garage-era White Stripes to every Superbowl halftime show combined plus a supernova light show that disregards spacetime... with Jonathan Rhys Meyers as Bowie and Ewan McGregor as Iggy Pop... plus a flamingo.
Major props to the author for conjuring up aliens who aren’t all some boring, rehashed version of our carbon-based human bodies like most aliens in stories are depicted: with some combination of limbs, head with eyes/nose/mouth features, etc. Some of the alien species in this book aren’t even organic matter. For example, within the span of about 30 pages we meet, among many others throughout the story…
- A “depressive, socialist moonbeam” who’s a fan of Morrissey and fixes toilets.
- The homicidal “five feet of velvety, undulating god lamé gumdrop” who is actually “five generations living in jellied domestic harmony” bringing the universe its brand of hypno-ambient crunk opera.
- Clippy, the always unhelpful 90’s-era MS Office mascot assistant manifesting as a non-threatening cosmic ambassador therapist who quickly loses its cool and delivers one of the book’s most entertaining rants - and the book has many.
The writing is so dense with clever quips and wordplay that I can see how someone else might find it exhausting. Although, chances are, if you’ve decided to read this book, you have some sort of affection for glam rock and its smutastic celebration of excess, and Valente’s writing is a logophile’s heroin, so, through the transitive property, you should enjoy the cheeky self-indulgence of this nearly obscene theater of words.
I’ve heard that the movie rights have been sold for this so I am totally here for that. I’m very curious to see how they execute some elements of the book that seem visually near-impossible even with CGI. In any case, it should be a hilarious acid trip.
Major props to the author for conjuring up aliens who aren’t all some boring, rehashed version of our carbon-based human bodies like most aliens in stories are depicted: with some combination of limbs, head with eyes/nose/mouth features, etc. Some of the alien species in this book aren’t even organic matter. For example, within the span of about 30 pages we meet, among many others throughout the story…
- A “depressive, socialist moonbeam” who’s a fan of Morrissey and fixes toilets.
- The homicidal “five feet of velvety, undulating god lamé gumdrop” who is actually “five generations living in jellied domestic harmony” bringing the universe its brand of hypno-ambient crunk opera.
- Clippy, the always unhelpful 90’s-era MS Office mascot assistant manifesting as a non-threatening cosmic ambassador therapist who quickly loses its cool and delivers one of the book’s most entertaining rants - and the book has many.
The writing is so dense with clever quips and wordplay that I can see how someone else might find it exhausting. Although, chances are, if you’ve decided to read this book, you have some sort of affection for glam rock and its smutastic celebration of excess, and Valente’s writing is a logophile’s heroin, so, through the transitive property, you should enjoy the cheeky self-indulgence of this nearly obscene theater of words.
I’ve heard that the movie rights have been sold for this so I am totally here for that. I’m very curious to see how they execute some elements of the book that seem visually near-impossible even with CGI. In any case, it should be a hilarious acid trip.