The Sparrow by
Mary Doria Russell
My rating:
4 of 5 stars
I enjoyed "The Sparrow" quite a bit. It's not a perfect book, but it's certainly a page-turner, and I appreciate the incorporation of a religious journey into an SF setting. It's not something I see very often - generally, religion pops up in SF and fantasy that focus on diplomacy, but usually as constructed religions and not real ones - and Russell treated it with respect and insight.
The premise is first contact, but the story is the story of Emilio Sandoz, a Jesuit priest who becomes part of a Jesuit-led mission to visit an alien planet and contact its inhabitants. The aliens are discovered through a broadcast of a strange song, picked up at an observatory near Sandoz's hometown. Jimmy Quinn, the tech who first recognized the signal for what it was, calls his friend Sandoz and their friends - George, an engineer; Anne, a doctor and George's wife; and Sofia, an expert in AI tech - to listen to it before he tells anyone else. And the group of them realize that together, they have most of the expertise needed to lead an expedition to this planet. Sandoz's Jesuit superiors immediately back the idea (after all, Jesuits were quick to send priests to the New World after its discovery), add a few more priests, and send them off without alerting anyone else on the planet.
Russell takes her time developing the relationships between the characters; it's many chapters in before we even reach the alien broadcast. But we know right off the bat that Emilio is the only survivor of this mission, because the story of the origin of the mission alternates with chapters about Emilio's recovery post-mission. He is under the care of the Vatican and the Pope himself, and it's clear some sort of scandalous tragedy has occurred. Emilio is blamed for causing the near eradication of the Jesuits because of something he did 17 years prior (Earth time; for Emilio, not a year has passed since he began his journey back to Earth) on Rakhat, the alien planet. Emilio is a tortured man, emotionally, spiritually, and physically. One of the strengths of the novel is its ability to pack an emotional wallop and nowhere is it more powerful than in Emilio's haunted dreams, his anger toward his superiors, his brooding melancholy. And interspersing Emilio's return with the story of his life before the mission is heartbreaking; what could have made this spirited, witty, charming, devoted priest the miserably broken wreck he has become?
I'm a little ambivalent about Russell's ability to write characters. One one hand, Emilio and his makeshift family are warm and hilarious and likeable, and Emilio's misery is believable and evocative. On the other hand, there are many moments of unbelievable wittiness, dialogue too prescient and on-the-nose for any real human to have spoken it, and characters with phenomenal skill sets and personalities but no apparent flaws. Everyone is too good at everything and gets along too well, but damn, is it a pleasure to read. (Joss Whedon comes to mind when I think about the dialogue/characters - everything's too smart for its own good.)
I have generally similar but better feelings about the Big Questions that the novel tries to tackle. Russell goes after one of the biggest ones: How does one deal with God in a universe where horrible things happen? In answering that, she also takes on questions on what it means to be a priest, on the value of family, on colonialism. While the characters can feel over-the-top, Russell deals with these Big Questions wisely: by making them small. Nowhere does anyone claim to know the answers for anyone else. Instead, they lend an ear and offer their own contributions. Sandoz tells Anne, who is a firm atheist, that God is "in the why" of things, but his own faith is shaken (to put it mildly) when the "why" is horrific. There are definitely some moments where answers are provided a little too neatly, but again, those answers tend to hold for one character (and are often overturned later in the story). I've read some reviews that indicate the story is too much an argument for belief in God, but I see almost the opposite. If anything, it's an argument for the theraputic benefits of confession.
Most of my problems with the book, from characterization to lack of subtlety, are related to the prose, which isn't always elegant but is generally crafted to make the biggest emotional impact. One person described the book as "emotionally manipulative," which I would say is pretty accurate - but isn't that the point of books? To manipulate the reader's emotions? It's not the deepest book I've read, but it has substance and it was engaging, so overall I consider its obviousness an asset, not a hindrance.
There were two small aspects of the book that bothered me unrelated to the above. First off, the aliens and the alien world. There are some beautiful descriptions of the alien planet and the time they spent acclimating to the world is absolutely my favorite part of the book. It's pure joy. But. It's not a particularly
alien alien world. I wrote that off as "well, in this novel, God probably exists, and the similarities are a pretty good indicator that God created all life," so it wasn't a huge problem for me. The other issue is the construction of many of the interpersonal/group interactions. There are so many times where characters react to something and then we see what they react to. Paraphrased example:
"Something that is a complete non-sequitur," Anne said in response to the look on the other characters' faces that had not been described prior to just now.
It made it some scenes difficult to follow, and it wasn't necessary except to show how quick-witted and insightful the characters are, which we already know through many other means.
One thing I did love above everything else - Russell's insight into the life of a priest and the psychology of priesthood. She handles doubt and conflict respectfully and creates a portrait of Emilio Sandoz, sinner and possible saint, that represents religion well.
Overall: engaging, tear-jerking, emotional, fun read, even if you don't like SF or priests. I'm usually one to encourage "killing your darlings" and this book is largely Russell's darlings (she admits to basing Anne and George on herself and her husband) but it works. Not a masterpiece of prose, but maybe one of heart.
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