© 1958 by James Blish
I liked it. I did.
With reservations.
It certainly is a schizophrenic novel. No doubt because it was a fantastic serialized novella pushed by an editor to be rewritten to book length. A Case of Conscience comes in two parts, plus an epilogue. Part I details the examination of the newly-discovered world Lithia by a priest / biologist, a physicist, a chemist, and a geologist, and their recommendation of whether the new planet should either be open to Earth trade, maintain a partial quarantine, or be thoroughly off-limits. In Part II we follow the characters Earthside, the consequences of their decision, and the effects of a Lithian, Egtverchi, given to this commission to raise from an egg. The epilogue is a superfluous ten page summary of the planet Lithia, a dry, scientific description of the world. It should have been either a prologue or chopped up and parceled out throughout the novel.
Phew.
Where to begin?
[Minor spoilers to follow …]
The first part was simply excellent. Goose-bump, page-turning, gotta-make-time-to-read-this excellent. So good I was despairing of ever writing another science fiction story. What a fully-fleshed out world Lithia became. What imagination, and what detail. Hard science fiction, my nemesis, but all I could think was how the heck James Blish knew so much about everything! He had to be fudging some things, but I couldn’t quite tell what.
The lizard-like inhabitants of Lithia – a Lithian a 14 foot cross between a dragon and a kangaroo – appear quite problematic to Jesuit Father Ruiz-Sanchez. Apparently they have evolved a highly moral society without the benefit of any idea of religion. Their moral precepts simply can’t be traced back to anything. Nor, really, can their scientific developments, (more nature-based than our sciences), nor any other aspect of their culture. It’s as if they just … materialized whole form out of nothing. And our Father has a sneaking suspicion that perhaps, just perhaps, Satan had a hand in its creation. Why? To tempt us to believe, for instance, that morality can exist divorced from any Creator.
This conclusion is not arrived at lightly, nor in a scoffing or trifling manner. Ruiz-Sanchez makes a convincing case. And the way Part I is written you don’t see it coming, but when it does, it kinda makes sense. There’s also another plot thread which comes in to play later in the novel. The physicist, Cleaver, discovers that Lithia is a planetary laboratory, with all the raw materials present, for the development of fusion bombs. Conflict arises when the Jesuit recommends complete quarantine and the physicist opts for the exploitation inherent in opening up Lithia to trade.
The novel kinda falls apart in Part II, however. Suddenly, Ruiz-Sanchez is not the protagonist, and the story loses its moral center. This now falls to the shallowly-drawn chemist Michelis. Suddenly he’s in a whirlwind love affair with another one-dimensional chemist while they both raise a Lithian, named Egtverchi, a departing gift from their new neighbors. Egtverchi somehow grows up within a few months and is suddenly a major celebrity, transforming Earth, throwing our worldview over the brink. I’m not sure how. Apparently he’s a broadcaster and his commentary is devastating. Ouch! But I can’t be too sure. Blish relies on a tell-and-don’t-show literary technique in these chapters. The novel meanders aimlessly here; the chapters seem disjointed and the tight plotline of discovery of Part I is nowhere to be found.
However, the last two chapters do redeem the novel. Ruiz-Sanchez returns after a receiving a seemingly no-win assignment from the Pope on dealing with the Lithian Problem. He’s reunited with Michelis, and a denouement approaches with Cleaver on Lithia. I must confess to being completely surprised and, yes, satisfied, with the ending “solution” and what happens, and I think most readers will be, too. Why? The ending can be genuinely interpreted from both a religious as well as a scientific point of view. For pulling this out of thin air, Blish earns high marks.
So, LE grades A Case of Conscience a solid B. (Part I gets an A+, Part II gets a C, and I take off half a point for that epilogue. I’m a tough grader.)
Still, mandatory reading if you’re into stories that explore the intersection of science and religion.
I liked it. I did.
With reservations.
It certainly is a schizophrenic novel. No doubt because it was a fantastic serialized novella pushed by an editor to be rewritten to book length. A Case of Conscience comes in two parts, plus an epilogue. Part I details the examination of the newly-discovered world Lithia by a priest / biologist, a physicist, a chemist, and a geologist, and their recommendation of whether the new planet should either be open to Earth trade, maintain a partial quarantine, or be thoroughly off-limits. In Part II we follow the characters Earthside, the consequences of their decision, and the effects of a Lithian, Egtverchi, given to this commission to raise from an egg. The epilogue is a superfluous ten page summary of the planet Lithia, a dry, scientific description of the world. It should have been either a prologue or chopped up and parceled out throughout the novel.
Phew.
Where to begin?
[Minor spoilers to follow …]
The first part was simply excellent. Goose-bump, page-turning, gotta-make-time-to-read-this excellent. So good I was despairing of ever writing another science fiction story. What a fully-fleshed out world Lithia became. What imagination, and what detail. Hard science fiction, my nemesis, but all I could think was how the heck James Blish knew so much about everything! He had to be fudging some things, but I couldn’t quite tell what.
The lizard-like inhabitants of Lithia – a Lithian a 14 foot cross between a dragon and a kangaroo – appear quite problematic to Jesuit Father Ruiz-Sanchez. Apparently they have evolved a highly moral society without the benefit of any idea of religion. Their moral precepts simply can’t be traced back to anything. Nor, really, can their scientific developments, (more nature-based than our sciences), nor any other aspect of their culture. It’s as if they just … materialized whole form out of nothing. And our Father has a sneaking suspicion that perhaps, just perhaps, Satan had a hand in its creation. Why? To tempt us to believe, for instance, that morality can exist divorced from any Creator.
This conclusion is not arrived at lightly, nor in a scoffing or trifling manner. Ruiz-Sanchez makes a convincing case. And the way Part I is written you don’t see it coming, but when it does, it kinda makes sense. There’s also another plot thread which comes in to play later in the novel. The physicist, Cleaver, discovers that Lithia is a planetary laboratory, with all the raw materials present, for the development of fusion bombs. Conflict arises when the Jesuit recommends complete quarantine and the physicist opts for the exploitation inherent in opening up Lithia to trade.
The novel kinda falls apart in Part II, however. Suddenly, Ruiz-Sanchez is not the protagonist, and the story loses its moral center. This now falls to the shallowly-drawn chemist Michelis. Suddenly he’s in a whirlwind love affair with another one-dimensional chemist while they both raise a Lithian, named Egtverchi, a departing gift from their new neighbors. Egtverchi somehow grows up within a few months and is suddenly a major celebrity, transforming Earth, throwing our worldview over the brink. I’m not sure how. Apparently he’s a broadcaster and his commentary is devastating. Ouch! But I can’t be too sure. Blish relies on a tell-and-don’t-show literary technique in these chapters. The novel meanders aimlessly here; the chapters seem disjointed and the tight plotline of discovery of Part I is nowhere to be found.
However, the last two chapters do redeem the novel. Ruiz-Sanchez returns after a receiving a seemingly no-win assignment from the Pope on dealing with the Lithian Problem. He’s reunited with Michelis, and a denouement approaches with Cleaver on Lithia. I must confess to being completely surprised and, yes, satisfied, with the ending “solution” and what happens, and I think most readers will be, too. Why? The ending can be genuinely interpreted from both a religious as well as a scientific point of view. For pulling this out of thin air, Blish earns high marks.
So, LE grades A Case of Conscience a solid B. (Part I gets an A+, Part II gets a C, and I take off half a point for that epilogue. I’m a tough grader.)
Still, mandatory reading if you’re into stories that explore the intersection of science and religion.
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