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jerryunderscore 's review for:
The Terraformers
by Annalee Newitz
Annelee Newitz’s The Terraformers left me more disappointed than any book I’ve read in quite some time. While some novels can thrive without much plot by leaning on compelling characters (like Becky Chambers’ work), this one fails on both fronts. The characters are flat stereotypes, their relationships feel contrived, and conflicts arise or resolve purely to serve the author’s plot mechanics. Problems with obvious solutions are ignored until the narrative suddenly decides to address them.
The book spans three disconnected sections set in vastly different time periods, but the transitions between them are jarring, and the narrative doesn’t provide enough reason to care about the shifts. For example, in the first section, an underground city introduces itself to the surface world supposedly to address a water crisis. Yet, the issue is resolved entirely by the underground community and its magma-dwelling machine allies, leaving me wondering why this dramatic introduction was necessary at all.
The book is riddled with inconsistencies. In one absurd instance, an evil corporation attacks the underground city with satellites and lasers. Within 12 hours, the city somehow emerges victorious, with its inhabitants receiving high-end medical care and miraculously recovering from life-threatening injuries in time for a celebratory swim. This one battle, lasting roughly 90 minutes, is later grandiosely referred to as the “Eel River War.” Similarly, another corporation destroys a few buildings in its own city using orbital rail-gun strikes—wild overkill, given that each strike would resemble a tactical nuke.
Plot resolutions hinge on laughable oversights, like a corporate leader deleting a key section of a legal contract without reading it. The lack of basic competence strains belief, especially in a world where people have coffee-fetching robots but no legal review process. Such moments feel less like clever satire and more like lazy storytelling.
Geographical and temporal details are equally frustrating. A date is explicitly stated as June 21 but described as “late summer” just a paragraph later. Travel times are wildly inconsistent, whether it’s people hiking 700 miles through dense jungle in hours or flying moose taking anywhere from hours to days to cross the planet. Even sentient trains, which are said to take a week to traverse the continent, somehow do it in “four sunrises” elsewhere in the text.
The novel introduces intriguing ideas, like the concept of universal personhood (spanning humans, animals, and machines), but it never delves into them meaningfully. Why are some animals, like alligators, excluded from personhood? The book doesn’t say. Other ideas, such as the “travelling herbivore problem,” are mentioned repeatedly as monumental achievements without any explanation of what they entail.
The public transit subplot, which centers on the creation of sentient trains, feels similarly underdeveloped. While the ethical ramifications of creating sentient beings for labor could have been rich territory, the protagonist reacts with an “uncomplicated joy,” glossing over the complexities entirely. This lack of depth typifies the book’s treatment of potentially fascinating themes.
One redeeming concept was the idea that losing parties in a community vote could request concessions from the winners. It’s a thought-provoking notion about balancing majority rule with minority rights, though its potential for misuse is clear and unaddressed.
Unfortunately, the writing itself felt juvenile. Insults are clichéd, emotional arcs are erratic, and characters fall in and out of love in implausibly short timeframes. Unnecessary sex scenes and dialogue straight out of amateur fan fiction only compounded the sense that this novel was poorly executed.
Overall, The Terraformers had the potential to explore profound questions about personhood, ethics, and community, but the clumsy execution, weak characters, and inconsistent storytelling made it a frustrating read.
The book spans three disconnected sections set in vastly different time periods, but the transitions between them are jarring, and the narrative doesn’t provide enough reason to care about the shifts. For example, in the first section, an underground city introduces itself to the surface world supposedly to address a water crisis. Yet, the issue is resolved entirely by the underground community and its magma-dwelling machine allies, leaving me wondering why this dramatic introduction was necessary at all.
The book is riddled with inconsistencies. In one absurd instance, an evil corporation attacks the underground city with satellites and lasers. Within 12 hours, the city somehow emerges victorious, with its inhabitants receiving high-end medical care and miraculously recovering from life-threatening injuries in time for a celebratory swim. This one battle, lasting roughly 90 minutes, is later grandiosely referred to as the “Eel River War.” Similarly, another corporation destroys a few buildings in its own city using orbital rail-gun strikes—wild overkill, given that each strike would resemble a tactical nuke.
Plot resolutions hinge on laughable oversights, like a corporate leader deleting a key section of a legal contract without reading it. The lack of basic competence strains belief, especially in a world where people have coffee-fetching robots but no legal review process. Such moments feel less like clever satire and more like lazy storytelling.
Geographical and temporal details are equally frustrating. A date is explicitly stated as June 21 but described as “late summer” just a paragraph later. Travel times are wildly inconsistent, whether it’s people hiking 700 miles through dense jungle in hours or flying moose taking anywhere from hours to days to cross the planet. Even sentient trains, which are said to take a week to traverse the continent, somehow do it in “four sunrises” elsewhere in the text.
The novel introduces intriguing ideas, like the concept of universal personhood (spanning humans, animals, and machines), but it never delves into them meaningfully. Why are some animals, like alligators, excluded from personhood? The book doesn’t say. Other ideas, such as the “travelling herbivore problem,” are mentioned repeatedly as monumental achievements without any explanation of what they entail.
The public transit subplot, which centers on the creation of sentient trains, feels similarly underdeveloped. While the ethical ramifications of creating sentient beings for labor could have been rich territory, the protagonist reacts with an “uncomplicated joy,” glossing over the complexities entirely. This lack of depth typifies the book’s treatment of potentially fascinating themes.
One redeeming concept was the idea that losing parties in a community vote could request concessions from the winners. It’s a thought-provoking notion about balancing majority rule with minority rights, though its potential for misuse is clear and unaddressed.
Unfortunately, the writing itself felt juvenile. Insults are clichéd, emotional arcs are erratic, and characters fall in and out of love in implausibly short timeframes. Unnecessary sex scenes and dialogue straight out of amateur fan fiction only compounded the sense that this novel was poorly executed.
Overall, The Terraformers had the potential to explore profound questions about personhood, ethics, and community, but the clumsy execution, weak characters, and inconsistent storytelling made it a frustrating read.