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joshuahedlund 's review for:
The Sparrow
by Mary Doria Russell
I came to this book as a Christian interested in the theological implications of aliens as well as wrestling with the deep questions of God’s actions as it relates to suffering. It was definitely an intriguing and engaging read for me, if also intensely brutal and ultimately perplexing. (MAJOR SPOILERS BELOW)
It was well-written (with the caveat of some racial stereotyping that feels a little uncomfortable today). The settings were immersive. The science fiction elements, while mostly a mere backdrop for the philosophy, were a reasonable and clever representation of a mostly realistic near-future (save for some obvious hand-waving suspension of disbelief to move the plot along, such as the perfect functioning of an asteroid as a ship, or the insanity of blithely gorging on completely alien food, with unknown genetic, bacterial, etc qualities that only makes sense if we are suddenly shifting to the much looser realism of Star-Trek-like sci-fi). The plot was very well-constructed, with the initial setup of a disturbing mystery that slowly unfolded seamlessly between the two timelines. The linguistic elements were clever and intellectually stimulating enough to carry the story even without the religious elements that superseded them. The characters were engaging, with well-developed backstories, punchy dialogue (early on I decided to imagine Anne as Allison Janney, a choice I never regretted), and believable doubts and struggles - from the outset the believers and non-believers were both portrayed so sympathetically that I couldn't tell the author's bias.
The core of the book for me was the question of the goodness and activity of God in the face of evil and suffering. What it left me trying to reconcile is the book's deeply honest and brutal treatment of the question with its wildly unsatisfying... not *answer*, really, but rather a lack of one altogether. I didn't see it as trying to offer up “God has a higher plan” or “sometimes you can feel God”. For the first half or so of the journey, the characters are led, and we are as well, to believe that positive events are all being divinely orchestrated for some grand purpose. But in the second half, the author systematically and completely shatters that notion - really it was hinted at from the beginning, which only intensifies it as the details are slowly revealed. The physicality of the assault was brutal enough, but it was masterfully joined with the complete reversing of Emilio's entire worldview. Even up until that point, all the sad things that had happened so far, like the deaths of friends, while dark and challenging to the characters, could have been explained in a final redemption of a grander purpose. The author even hints at exactly what that purpose could have been, in fact what it almost certainly would have been in the hands of a more conventional “all things work together for good” evangelical writer, right at the moment of the brutal climax ("He would tell the Reshtar..."). But instead of it all being for the purpose of meeting the Singer in a happy, fulfilling setting, it is a cruel reversal of good things working together for bad, all for the purpose of a brutally oppressive humiliation ("I was naked before God and I was raped"). It is as if we are witnessing the depravity of a crucifixion, but with no redemptive resurrection. (The Judas-like betrayal of the merchant for his own ends could perhaps be read as an oblique capitalist critique.) The utter pointlessness of the painful hand mutilation, like a metaphor for random suffering in an uncaring universe, adds even more injury to injury.
Back home, the Jesuits are cold comfort. (They also seem much more concerned with the state of Emilio, and to a lesser degree the state of their Society, than the state of the subjugated Runa beings. Someone wants to think about this some more.) True, their orderly discipline seems to be portrayed as vindicated, offering Emilio some sort of jarringly abrupt psychological healing the morning after his confession. Yet only after they have appeared incredibly naive and judgmental through the entire story (while I never guessed, until the brutal reveal, how the UN's account of the killing could be so "true" yet so "wrong", it was obvious from the beginning that his residence in the "whore-house" was coerced, not the stumble the Jesuits imagined, and their awareness of Sofia's past makes their utter inability to even imagine the possibility in Emilio's case even less sympathetic). But whatever the apparent value of the psychological healing, their answers to the questions of God are so weak and pitiful compared to the depths of the presented questions themselves that I hardly know if I should think the author even intended them to be read as answers! Anne asked why God gets all the credit but never the blame. The book has no answer. Emilio asked why Cain's sacrifice, made in good faith, was rejected, drawing a clear parallel to his own brutal climax. The book has no answer. All the Jesuits offer to Emilio's crisis between an inactive deist God and an active vicious one is a paper-thin distinction between "God dropping the sparrow" and "God letting the sparrow fall". But that is not even an attempt to answer the honest questions Anne and Emilio raised about how we should now reinterpret the initially positive coincidences that led to the brutal ending. It is not an attempt to answer how we should think about this God letting the sparrow fall after apparently actively, personally, intentionally carrying the sparrow to such great heights, making that fall so physically and psychologically devastating. Surely the self-inserted Anne would not be satisfied with such a conclusion? But then what did the author mean by it herself? Someone is not sure.
It was well-written (with the caveat of some racial stereotyping that feels a little uncomfortable today). The settings were immersive. The science fiction elements, while mostly a mere backdrop for the philosophy, were a reasonable and clever representation of a mostly realistic near-future (save for some obvious hand-waving suspension of disbelief to move the plot along, such as the perfect functioning of an asteroid as a ship, or the insanity of blithely gorging on completely alien food, with unknown genetic, bacterial, etc qualities that only makes sense if we are suddenly shifting to the much looser realism of Star-Trek-like sci-fi). The plot was very well-constructed, with the initial setup of a disturbing mystery that slowly unfolded seamlessly between the two timelines. The linguistic elements were clever and intellectually stimulating enough to carry the story even without the religious elements that superseded them. The characters were engaging, with well-developed backstories, punchy dialogue (early on I decided to imagine Anne as Allison Janney, a choice I never regretted), and believable doubts and struggles - from the outset the believers and non-believers were both portrayed so sympathetically that I couldn't tell the author's bias.
The core of the book for me was the question of the goodness and activity of God in the face of evil and suffering. What it left me trying to reconcile is the book's deeply honest and brutal treatment of the question with its wildly unsatisfying... not *answer*, really, but rather a lack of one altogether. I didn't see it as trying to offer up “God has a higher plan” or “sometimes you can feel God”. For the first half or so of the journey, the characters are led, and we are as well, to believe that positive events are all being divinely orchestrated for some grand purpose. But in the second half, the author systematically and completely shatters that notion - really it was hinted at from the beginning, which only intensifies it as the details are slowly revealed. The physicality of the assault was brutal enough, but it was masterfully joined with the complete reversing of Emilio's entire worldview. Even up until that point, all the sad things that had happened so far, like the deaths of friends, while dark and challenging to the characters, could have been explained in a final redemption of a grander purpose. The author even hints at exactly what that purpose could have been, in fact what it almost certainly would have been in the hands of a more conventional “all things work together for good” evangelical writer, right at the moment of the brutal climax ("He would tell the Reshtar..."). But instead of it all being for the purpose of meeting the Singer in a happy, fulfilling setting, it is a cruel reversal of good things working together for bad, all for the purpose of a brutally oppressive humiliation ("I was naked before God and I was raped"). It is as if we are witnessing the depravity of a crucifixion, but with no redemptive resurrection. (The Judas-like betrayal of the merchant for his own ends could perhaps be read as an oblique capitalist critique.) The utter pointlessness of the painful hand mutilation, like a metaphor for random suffering in an uncaring universe, adds even more injury to injury.
Back home, the Jesuits are cold comfort. (They also seem much more concerned with the state of Emilio, and to a lesser degree the state of their Society, than the state of the subjugated Runa beings. Someone wants to think about this some more.) True, their orderly discipline seems to be portrayed as vindicated, offering Emilio some sort of jarringly abrupt psychological healing the morning after his confession. Yet only after they have appeared incredibly naive and judgmental through the entire story (while I never guessed, until the brutal reveal, how the UN's account of the killing could be so "true" yet so "wrong", it was obvious from the beginning that his residence in the "whore-house" was coerced, not the stumble the Jesuits imagined, and their awareness of Sofia's past makes their utter inability to even imagine the possibility in Emilio's case even less sympathetic). But whatever the apparent value of the psychological healing, their answers to the questions of God are so weak and pitiful compared to the depths of the presented questions themselves that I hardly know if I should think the author even intended them to be read as answers! Anne asked why God gets all the credit but never the blame. The book has no answer. Emilio asked why Cain's sacrifice, made in good faith, was rejected, drawing a clear parallel to his own brutal climax. The book has no answer. All the Jesuits offer to Emilio's crisis between an inactive deist God and an active vicious one is a paper-thin distinction between "God dropping the sparrow" and "God letting the sparrow fall". But that is not even an attempt to answer the honest questions Anne and Emilio raised about how we should now reinterpret the initially positive coincidences that led to the brutal ending. It is not an attempt to answer how we should think about this God letting the sparrow fall after apparently actively, personally, intentionally carrying the sparrow to such great heights, making that fall so physically and psychologically devastating. Surely the self-inserted Anne would not be satisfied with such a conclusion? But then what did the author mean by it herself? Someone is not sure.