The Pool of Fire by John Christopher

My review

rating: 2 of 5 stars

John Christopher’s final entry in the core tripods trilogy stands out as an excellent example of the series’ flaws. This is a scattershot tale of military missions, of man’s drawn-out and plodding victory over the ruthless aliens who have ruled over the Earth for more than a century. Each mission is dryly recalled and poorly developed; the action does not build in any particular way, and because we’ve already encountered each of the settings in this third book before, even Christopher’s usually lush descriptions of scenery are absent. The human characters, again, are flat–and as in the second book, one of the most sympathetic personalities is that of an alien villain.

Meanwhile, the men here–and there are only men; not a single female character has been present since the first novel–are terrifically bland, occasionally violent, and overall unsavory. We are meant to sympathize with them wholly because they are human and seek freedom, but it’s largely unconvincing, particularly when the most sympathetic human character (nerdy scientist Beanpole, whose presence is refreshing in the cast of militaristic characters) starts to reiterate arguments against humanity’s freedom which were raised earlier by one of the alien overlords.

But most disappointing of all is the novel’s ending; the men win a very clean victory, totally exterminating the Masters. Deeper, more satisfying possibilities–learning to live in harmony with the aliens, some of whom have shown themselves to be moderate in the attitudes towards humans–are rendered totally impossible. Instead, we’re left with a bunch of violent men squabbling amongst themselves for leadership. For me, this felt like a very shallow victory.

Oh, and at one point, our hero refers to Asians as “little yellow men.” Maybe this sort of dialog is meant to help emphasize how the series hearkens back to nineteenth century boys’ adventure stories, but to me it really only underscored how horribly backwards all of the human characters seemed to be.

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The City of Gold and Lead by John Christopher

My review

rating: 4 of 5 stars

The second book in the Tripods series starts much like the first–Will, a human boy, along with two companions, travels the European countryside, this time not seeking to escape the mysterious Tripods who rule over the Earth, but to join them–to infiltrate their city to gain information for a human resistance movement. The first half of the novel mirrors the first very closely, in both its rich descriptions of food and landscape and its pancake-flat depictions of our human protagonists.

However, a major shift occurs once Will reaches the city. Christopher’s descriptions of the alien landscape are incredibly vivid and inventive and, unlike his equally lush descriptions of Europe, actually pretty exciting. What’s more, some depth is finally introduced to one of his characters. Unfortunately, it’s an alien antagonist who is humanized. Will’s Master is sad, complex, and compelling. Christopher tells us time and time again how disgusting and revolting the character is, but that did little to curb the sympathy I felt for him as he proceeded to spill his heart (hearts?) to dull, dull Will, his only friend.

I’m fairly certain that this was not Christopher’s intended effect. But regardless, it made the sophomore entry in this series a riveting and involving read.

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The White Mountains by John Christopher

My review

rating: 3 of 5 stars

John Christopher’s first foray into children’s literature, and his first entry in the now-infamous Tripods series, could easily fit in well on a shelf besides most boys’ adventure books. Told in strong, clear prose, Christopher presents the story of Will, a boy living in an apparently medieval world with an important difference: the presence of the enormous, mysterious Tripods who “cap” humans at the onset of puberty to keep them docile and obedient. This is his travelogue as he endeavors to escape this fate, sailing from England, traveling through an abandoned Paris and finding temporary sanctuary at the house of a wealthy French lord. Descriptions of scenery and food are lush and lively.

But the characterizations, of Will (so anonymous a boy that, several times, I forgot his name), of his traveling companions Henry and Beanpole, and of the people surrounding them, are incredibly flat and lifeless. The few details of personality we’re given–that Henry has a temper, that Beanpole loves inventing things–seem to have no impact on their motivations. This flatness, coupled with an incredibly unsatisfying ending (we never learn anything about the white mountains to which they ultimately escape) drag this short book down considerably. I’m curious as to whether the subsequent volumes will redeem the series.

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When I was thirteen or so, we finally got the Sci-fi channel. I’d been itching for it for years, and quickly became a big fan of Mystery Science Theater 3000, Farscape, and a Canadian’s kid show called The Odyssey

The Odyssey is pretty obscure, to this day–it’s best known for being one of the two places where you could see heartthrob Ryan Reynolds years before he was on that show Two Guys, A Girl, and a Pizza Place (which was later renamed Two Guys and a Girl and then just Two Guys, I think. Things change rapidly in TV land). I liked The Odyssey because it was dark for a kids’ series. It took place in the head of a middle schooler in a coma. While asleep in our world, he explored another one–one populated only by children, ruled by evil, bad-ass (and cute) overlords. There were classical references, but they were strained–mostly just poached names.

Recently, I found a New Zealand kids’ show with a similar concept. The Tribe is the story of a world run by teenagers after adults have been killed off by a virus. It’s not just the “world-without-kids” stuff that reminds me of The Odyssey, but the tone: dark, filled with implicit violence, apocalyptic. Like the Degrassi series, The Tribe uses real children and teenagers to play children and teenagers, a concept that America has never really gotten right. The acting is surprisingly tight, as is the writing.

It always seems like a shame to me that adults shy away from watching this kind of show. People are willing to suspend disbelief as far as Battlestar Galactica or Firefly but put a show like, say, Buffy in front of them and they start whinging about the writing or whatever when it’s clear that the problem really is that the heroes are teenagers and girls. And Buffy is on the edge of acceptability. Shows like DeGrassi or The Tribe are so clearly marketed toward kids that all sorts of cool points could be eviscerated by watching them.

Except, except . . .

For me, what these shows do best, better than any sci-fi drama on television,, is continuity. They create universes as strong and consistent as the one found on Bablyon 5, perhaps because adolescent viewers crave that. Universe building is something that I usually find lacking on TV, but when I put on a foreign kids show I feel fairly confident that the writers aren’t going to pull the rug out from under you as has been done on adult shows like Lost or Heroes (insistence that the writers have known what they’re doing all along be damned–anyone could see that the tail section back story on Lost shouldn’t have happened). When young audiences are treated with respect, you can be fairly assured that the end product will be good, juicy viewing for adults, too, if only there wasn’t such a strong stigma attached to them.

This used to be true of children’s lit, too, but of course that’s changed thanks, in part, to JK Rowling, Philip Pullman, Stephanie Meyer. While I can’t speak for Meyer, I think this is thanks to a combination of good marketing and respect for your audience. It’s only through speaking respectfully that you can create a classic. Insult your audiences’ intelligence, though, and the work will be permanently ghettoized in the “kiddie lit” sector of the world and forgotten in a decade or two.

In writing my sci-fi thing, this has been a primary concern: write respectfully with subtlety, trust that my readers don’t want things tied up too neatly, forgotten, pushed out of the way. This is important generally, but I think it’s really important when writing for teenagers. People around them don’t treat them with respect. It’s important, at least, that their books and TV shows do.