Space Opera by Catherynne M. Valente

Space Opera by Catherynne M. Valente

2018, Saga Press (Forthcoming in the UK from Corsair)

Rarely does a book come along which is as relevant to such a specific set of my interests as this latest from Fairyland and Radiance author Catherynne M. Valente, which reimagines the Eurovision Song Contest as an intergalactic tool for managing politics and resource allocations, and for deciding the sentience of newly discovered races by forcing them to sing for their survival.

Yeah, just let that sink in. (And if you don’t know what Eurovision is, this is a perfect time for Swedish hosts Petra Mede and Mans Zelmerlow to fill you in).

Now that’s out of the way, I can exclusively and unsurprisingly reveal that I loved this book – and not just because the sections are named after the Captain Planet elements, or because the chapters are named after Eurovision songs.

In Space Opera, humanity has just come to the notice of the intergalactic community, and has been given the rules of the Intergalactic Grand Prix: sing to prove your species is sentient, and the rest of the known universe won’t destroy every advanced life form on your planet and wait a few million years for evolution to make something better. Fortunately for Earth, the aliens have compiled a handy list of human musicians who could potentially avoid coming last in the contest (which is all they have to do to avoid destruction); unfortunately, the only one of these acts with members still living is Decibel Jones and the Absolute Zeroes, a briefly-famous three-person rock band with an aesthetic described in the text as “a continuously detonating carnival-cum-Bollywood dream-sequence in which you may, at any moment, be knocked sideways by a piece of dismembered French clown” . Even more unfortunately, frontman Decibel Jones and multi-instrumentalist Oort St. Ultraviolet have barely spoken since their third member, Mira Wonderful Star, died in a car accident following a disastrous interaction with Decibel, and they have just a few weeks to pull themselves together and somehow recapture the sound the band had on their single successful album, Spacecrumpet.

There’s a lot of buzz going around comparing this book to Douglas Adams, which in some ways is very apt (and not just because both are written in a very British vernacular). Like the Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy, Space Opera runs with the idea that there’s nothing new under any sun: there’s an entire galaxy of alien people and places out there, but you won’t see anything particularly different to people watching in Peterborough city centre on a Saturday afternoon. Where the similarities stop, however, is in the very different conclusions Adams and Valente draw from this fact. Adams’ response to the mundanity of his universe seems to be embodied in the character of Marvin the Paranoid Android, who grumbles consistently through the best and worst of situations, greeting the myriad wonders and horrors of the galaxy with the same heavy sigh. For Valente, on the other hand, the underlying familiarity of even the weirdest alien culture is used as a device to build greater connection between the characters and their worlds, and while most of those connections are strained and imperfect, there’s still a sense that everyone in this enormous intergalactic community is trying to do their best. I suspect it is no accident that in Space Opera, humanity’s first contact isn’t from a species like the ultra-bureaucratic, destructive Vogons, but through the Esca, delicate aquatic flamingo-like beings who aren’t optimistic about our chances of survival, but are nevertheless keen for us to succeed.

This vision of the galaxy is brought to life by Valente’s gorgeous prose. In fact, she is one of the few authors who makes me outright envious when I read her books, which I suppose is why she is a highly successful author and I am an early career third sector worker with a review blog. The specific style here is probably best described as “relentless”: this did take me a little while to get used to, but it’s worth the effort to slow down and take it all in, as there’s rarely a word out of place. Valente is US American, but her aforementioned British vernacular is nearly flawless – the only stray reference I picked up on was a misuse of the word “Eurozone” (that’s specifically for countries in the Euro, for those who didn’t know, and alas not attributable to a pub landlord running “Pound a Pint Tuesdays” in Brighton). If I were to really start splitting hairs, I would point out that the level of reverence and awe attributed to successful Intergalactic Grand Prix acts is pretty far from the attitude most British people – even those like me who adore Eurovision – would have towards the contest, which tends to be a performatively begrudging love of the cheese and silliness rather than a direct acknowledgement of the contest’s moments of genuine musical brilliance. But this was the most miniscule of things to suspend my disbelief for, and in all other aspects I was utterly entranced by Valente’s reimagining of the Eurovision aesthetic and purpose.

The history of the Intergalactic Grand Prix is interspersed with Decibel and Oort’s story. It takes us through the contest’s highlights and lowlights and introduces us, in the process, to a bewildering array of alien species and planets. (Incidentally, you may want to take notes during these sections, as most of the races reappear during the “semi-finals” section, which left me rather confused – this is yet another SFF book that would benefit from some reference pages at the back for all of us with apparently inadequate memories). These are tales of song, scandal, political manoeuvring, favouritism and glory which, like Eurovision itself, make bizarre and yet somehow perfect sense. This is a galaxy of people who were embroiled in seemingly endless and unstoppable war within living memory, and yet now limit their squabbles the outcomes of a pop music contest. Except, just like Europe, they tragically don’t – but what’s the harm in pretending that might be all it takes, just for one night a year?

This is a rare book, one which captures the almost indescribable essence of a complex (and, to some, obscure) cultural event, and reproduces it as something that is not only recognisable to those of us who love said event, but also makes it universal and relevant to a much wider audience. The journey Decibel Jones and Oort St. Ultraviolet undertake in this book is slight, messy, and leaves mountains of unfinished business; the galaxy they discover is packed with grudges and in-jokes and relationships that we barely begin to understand before the finale hits, far too soon. And yet, that too is somehow perfect. The more I think about Space Opera, the more satisfied I am with it as a whole, and the more impressed I am about the depth of feeling it has managed to evoke in me.

Now to listen to the hits of our own Musical Grand Prix on repeat until May 12, when we earthlings get a whole flamboyant, politically-charged musical spectacle of our own, no space travel required.

 

L’opéra spatial: Douze Points (Or nine out of ten.)