I have been ill the last few days, with fever and chills and aches. So I took the time that I was bedridden today to read Hot Sky at Midnight, by Silverberg. I am now thoroughly disgusted by him and his awful book. I am so disgusted I have dragged myself from my bed and am swaying wearily over the keyboard to tell the whole world just how much he sucks.
I know it’s mostly my own fault. Ever since I got my English degree I have swerved away from all male science fiction writers. See, in my undergrad degree I learned about these little ways to criticize works of fiction. There is deconstructualism, there is symbology, and there is feminism (among many others). The last discipline is what keeps me from reading male-written science fiction, because a lot (I’m not saying all) of it is soooo angry or dismissive towards women. One of the biggest violators is The Integral Trees, where a woman goes from NOT wanting sex to being systematically RAPED and then most improbably to wanting to have sex with ANYONE. If you can’t draw the obvious conclusion from that, I can’t help you cause I’m sick and I’m really talking about Silverberg.
Strangely enough the works that I find most offensive are the authors that are most highly esteemed. Niven has won several awards, and the cover of Hot Sky at Midnight proclaims that Silverburg has also won somewhere in the neighborhood of nine awards.
I really don’t feel that well so I’m just going to make a list of the male and female characters in this crappy book, and how they are described:
Women:
Isabelle – a nagging, whining bitch. Deluded. Annoying. With a magic vagina.
Jolanda – a cow. Stupid AND deluded (twofor!). A slut, and happy about it. Also with a magic vagina.
Jeanna – frigid. Unhappy.
Kovalcik – insane.
Men:
Nick – brilliant, tortured soul. Moral.
Paul – also tortured, also intelligent. Trying to be moral, doing what he thinks is best.
Farkas – brilliant high-ranking sexy man. Good at spying. Powerful. Has no eyeballs.
Enron – sneaky, intelligent, intense.
I think my displeasure with this book calcified around the tenth or twentieth time Silverberg described Jolanda – the nicest woman in the book – as a cow. And of course a walking pheromone. I don’t want to keep this book, but I don’t want to sell it back to the bookstore for fear someone else will read this tripe. Maybe I will burn it or throw it away to get the bad taste out of my mouth.
A cow! Sheesh!
I hope my point is clear to everyone, even though I am trembly and sick. I think I will read Sunshine by Robin McKinley again. And put a cold washcloth on my hot, aching head.