In The Sparrow, Mary Doria Russell writes the hoariest of science-fiction novels: Earth learns of the existence of an alien civilization, and a hardy band of explorers goes out to establish first contact. Even the fact that the most prominent explorer is a Jesuit priest is nothing original; after all, James Blish's A Case for Conscience similarly featured a Jesuit priest struggling to understand the nature of an alien civilization.

Russell's world-building (and related alien-building) is pretty good. Rakhat, as the alien world comes to be known, has a very bizarre social structure. While its inhabitants are intelligent, and to some extent "civilized," they are not far removed from the vicious predators that were their evolutionary ancestors. And Russell does an excellent job doling out the details of Rakhat piece by piece, so that we are as engaged in the process of discovery as the explorers featured in the novel.

The problem with Russell's world-building is that, while the aliens are very alien in some ways, they're also disturbingly similar to humans in others. For instance, they breathe the proper mixture of air and seem to express concepts in essentially the same way as humans (albeit with different vocabulary); the biology of Rakhat is similar enough to be incorporated into human digestive systems; and the aliens engage in disturbingly human practices like "pressing charges." Finally, the climax of the novel depends upon Rakhat's aliens and humans also being physically compatible, in extremely disturbing--but ultimately implausible--ways.

Fortunately, despite these lapses in world-building, Russell's plotting is superb. The book begins with Emilio Sandoz, the lone survivor of the Rakhat mission, returning to Earth decades after he left, severely mutilated by some mysterious process and entirely unwilling to recount the story of what happened there. As the book progresses, we are treated to two different storylines: one about Sandoz's attempts to deal with his trauma, and one about the exploratory crew finding out about Rakhat and then preparing, excitedly, to go off on a mission that will require them to abandon their lives on Earth. Both storylines move toward the disaster--often foreshadowed, but rarely explained--that leads to all but one member of the crew dying, and to Sandoz's psychological wreckage. This mysterious disaster looms over the narrative, and Russell knows just how to dangle it before us without ever feeling like she is artifically heightening the feeling of inevitable tragedy.

But the best part of Russell's book is her characters. Sandoz and his crewmembers quickly grow on you; part of the pain of reading the novel is realizing that people you now consider friends--even family--will soon perish. And long after you put the book down, you will remember the warm glow you felt at living with them, loving with them, and finally grieving with them.

Copyright © 2003 Steven Wu