Vagabonds

Main Review:

And so we come at last to the final book from my Christmas haul, and the one onto which I more-or-less stumbled quite by chance – Vagabonds by Hao Jingfang, translated by Ken Liu. With it promising political intrigue, classical references and philosophical warfare in SPACE, it seemed like the book was custom-made to appeal to me. My hopes for the book were escalated even further when I found out that the author not only had a PhD in economics but worked as a researcher for the China Development Research Foundation in Beijing. Fortunately for me, as high as my expectations were, I was not disappointed.

Right from the outset, I noticed how refreshing it was to have a relationship between Earth and Mars that wasn’t just an extended parallel of the American Revolution. In its place, Jingfang’s version of the dynamic between the planets is one that is much more influenced by a legacy of orientalism and western imperialism. Very early on, we discover that Terrans (as they are known), peddle outrageous stories about Martian behaviour ‘to gain the self-satisfaction of an imaginary civilised person through manufactured fantasies of barbarism’. If that quote didn’t give it away, this is an incredibly cerebral book, constantly pushing to challenge the impulse to generalise when discussing other groups and ways of living. It’s a book that revels in the blank spaces between essentially contested concepts like freedom, justice and liberty. In fact Eko, a film creator from Earth who acts as one of the main protagonists of the first act of the book is a fantastic tool to present and then subvert the drawing of generalisations and the making of assumptions. There’s a particular fantastic moment where he goes on an extended train of thought pondering exactly what the transparent glass buildings of Mars can tell him about the Martian way of life regarding community and authority, only for someone to politely inform him that everything is made of glass because the one thing Mars isn’t short on is sand, and not only do they have the technology to turn the walls opaque at will, they would gladly be able to show Eko how to do this if it would make him more comfortable.

As the book progressed through its three arcs, it constantly ebbs and flows to ruminate on a different topic, whether that’s what makes and shapes history, or what motivates people to want to change the way of things. As the events of the past are pieced together, there’s never a truly omnipotent perspective on how things happened, it’s always explicitly framed as a piecing together of specific characters accounts and recollections.

As is probably obvious by now, this is not a book you could (or arguably should) try and burn through in a single sitting. It deserves to be read slowly, so you can form your own opinions on the topics being discussed, and really make an effort to understand the relationships between the characters at the influence that will have. Part of the need for a methodical approach however comes down to the writing style itself. The text frequently has a beautiful sense of poetry and rhythm to it, and it’s hard to know whether the greater share of the credit should go to Jingfang as author or Liu as translator, but there are places where the book’s formality turns up to eleven, giving you such powerful phrases as ‘the dissolution of death represented no absolute victory’. Often reading this book was like eating a rich dessert, beautiful in small portions, but always at risk of lapsing into overindulgence.

But the book is not solely reducible to being the literary equivalent of a political theory seminar. The main character Luoying’s search for truth about the fate of her parents and trying to come to terms with where she sits in the order of things powers the emotional heart of the story. With frequent roadblocks and half-truths being put up by family and state entity alike, the sense of tension and confusion is palpable throughout. Once the initial act is complete, the majority of the characters who narrate the action are the teenage members of the newly returned Mercury Group (Martian Children sent to Earth for five years as the ultimate mono-directional ‘foreign exchange students'). Often these characters can seem somewhat one-dimensional, as if each has planted their flag in a specific point on the political spectrum and acts solely as a mouthpiece for that perspective. But whilst others may find this approach slightly clunky, I was largely happy to go along with it, putting it down to teenagers just being like that sometimes.

The sheer number of teenagers in this book did also mean (perhaps unsurprisingly) that there was an awful lot of trying to keep tabs on who was madly in love with who at any given moment. In places it was like you’d accidentally wandered into the average episode of Glee or the third act of A Midsummer Night’s Dream, with Pierre in love with Gielle who loves Rudy who loves Chania who doesn’t do love thank you very much. But whilst this might not seem like traditional or ‘proper’ “hard” science-fiction, it all feeds into the going point of the story which is for all the talk of lofty ideals and visions of society, humans beings are still going to be human beings, and won’t stop what they’ve been doing for thousands of years just because they’re a different planet – not when there’s a galaxy’s worth of sunsets to ‘dance’ underneath.

Within the final hundred pages, the pace quickens with the various threads being woven together whilst plots, plans and protests pile on top of each other like an overzealous game of Uno. After much searching, the truth about what happened to Luoying’s parents is revealed, and it’s notable that it’s only then do we finally get a chapter from the perspective of Hans Sloan, the Consul of Mars, alleged dictator and Luoying’s grandfather.

After 600 pages of political theory and philosophy, the book’s ending was oddly touching and profound to read. There’s a real sense that an era is coming to a close, and the future ahead has both promise and pitfalls. Jingfang leaves you with two main lessons. Firstly, that whilst we can never go back and change what has already happened, we always have the power to make things different going forwards and secondly, that doing ‘great deeds’ doesn’t always mean that you’re a good person. The best people are those that act selflessly to help others regardless of who they are, and that only by working with others can the best projects come to life.

Whilst I don’t think that Vagabonds would be for everyone, I must say that I thoroughly enjoyed every second of reading it, and would easily call it the best thing I’ve read so far this year. If you want something a little off the beaten path, you can’t go wrong if you pick up a copy. For now though, I think it’s time for me to return to planet Earth and get back to doing what this blog does best – reading yet another adaptation of an ancient Greek legend.