Nature and Nurture, Together At Last: Chasm City

Ever since my first in-depth exposure to it during the year I studied psychology, I've been perplexed by the nature vs. nurture argument. From what my eyes and heart have seen around me in these short twenty-four years, the idea that human action and reaction must be solely caused by either inborn personality or outside influences is short-sighted and, I must say, ridiculous. I can understand how such an argument was born and posited, and why it was so tantalizing to debate, but the reasons for it continuing to be considered elude me.

I mention this because the idea or nature vs./or nurture is both ignored and refuted in Alastair Reynolds' Chasm City, a most worthy hard-SF contribution from the author of Century Rain. Born, raised, and living on a planet that could be substituted for any of the South- or Latin-American countries embroiled in centuries or decades of seemingly endless civil war, our protagonist is one of the most in-demand personal security specialists on the ground. Tanner Mirabel, a war veteran - because he deserted, not because the war has ended - has lost his infamous employer, the object of his affections, and a large chunk of his reputation due to the first and last colossal mistake he'll ever make. Tanner's boss, the uni-named Cahuella, and Cahuella's wife, Gitta, were recently murdered in a jungle ambush by a young aristocrat named Argent Reivich. Reivich's family was murdered in vendetta by a group whose weapons, though stolen from their intended owners, were originally sold by Cahuella - hence, Argent's extension of said vendetta. Tanner has become consumed by continuing the circle; that is, hunting Reivich to his death. Too bad for Tanner that Reivich is not only fabulously wealthy, having near-unlimited resources and the kinds of connections only available to aristocrats. Too bad for him as well that he's working on a time limit. Reynold's fear and fascination, as seen in Century Rain, is nano-machines, and in the universe of Chasm City, nano-machines have been refined for use as constant cellular repair. In other words, for several hundred years, humans with sufficient funds have had the ability to become what they refer to as postmortal. Not immortal, they will still eventually die of old age if they don't live long enough for new technology to become available - but the lifespan has been increased to an average of three hundred years, with little outward ageing. Hence, postmortal.

Now, I don't like revenge stories. I never have and I never will. I find them mindless, useless, and pitiful. However, despite my feeble and very incomplete attempt at an introductory recap, Chasm City is not a revenge story. It begins as one, to be sure, but it is not, any more than Unforgiven or Get Carter (the re-make) are revenge stories. What it is, is a great sci-fi, a great drama, a great mystery (who does 'em like the British, I ask you?), and, at its heart, a story about and exploration of what it means to reconcile nature and nurture, character and experience. Tanner is not a "good" person. He's callous and violent by nature and, despite protests, has probably earned his war criminal designation with flying colours. The book does not see him become any less callous and violent. But it does...oh, I can't really say much. The real mystery of the book is so strong and satisfying, it would be wrong to hint at its resolution in an attempt to persuade you to read it.

Alaistair Reynolds has many specialties. I can't remember the last time I've seen anyone like him who wasn't part of the sci-fi old school (I refer here to quality, not style). One of those specialities, revealed in Chasm City, is the elusive art of concurrent plot lines. No, not subplots, those are something different. I mean concurrent plots, like in Alan Moore's Watchmen, plots that are not derivatives of the same plot, but that mirror and compliment each other. Tanner's story has several concurrent plots, some of which I thought at first were useless until I read sixty more pages and realized they were perfect, but the biggest and most notable one is the story of Sky Haussman. Sky Haussman was one of the first settlers of the planet named in his honour, where Tanner makes his home. Sky Haussman also did something horrific, referred to as his crime and his glory, which resulted in his eventual capture and crucifixion. Due to several factors, of which the crucifixion is merely a by-product, a virulent cult has sprung up in his honour, a cult that "converts" by infecting unsuspecting victims with viruses that do things like make them have fanatic dreams about Sky, feel anxious unless they're surrounded by his iconography, bleed stigmata, or, in extreme cases, make their left arms shrivel and fall off (the story is that Sky's arm was chopped off during his fugitive flight). When Tanner discovers that he's been infected, he begins dreaming...but these dreams feel off, even in the context of a viral Haussman dream. As both a Christian and someone who respects people of faith, I was a bit leery in the first fifty pages as to where Reynolds was going with this story. I can assure anyone who also fits either of those criteria that the Sky story - and its place in Tanner's story - is as mature as it is well-written. Sky Haussman was evil, and not once does Reynolds glorify him, or attempt to make some sort of ill-conceived comparison of his cult with an existing religion. He has a respected secondary character comment about how Sky's followers picked and chose bits of their beliefs from home (Christianity is implied as this throughout the book) and perverted them. So a) Reynolds is no thoughtless fool who criticizes by tossing darts whilst blindfolded, and b) it turns of that Sky Haussman's story is a perfect companion to Tanner's, and brings a satisfying resolution to the story's heart.

I cannot over-emphasize the satisfying resolution. To be honest, even though I was familiar with Reynolds at the time of reading, I wasn't expecting anyone to be able to pull off a good conclusion to this story. The only weakness - and it's not even a true weakness - is the completion of Tanner's recollection of the ambush in the jungle. Around twenty-two pages are spent on Cahuella's obsession with animal hunting - and a confrontation with a rather large beast; the actual ambush comes several chapters later and is over in six. Now, Reynolds didn't do this without a good reason - he has Tanner voice how the cliche about war being about endless waiting and then over in a violent flash is true. He thought this sequence out, and did make it realistic in that. I still thought it interrupted the flow, plus was irritated to be taken out of such a good story so that Cahuella could go hunting for far too long.

But that's hardly a significant complaint for a book of 616 pages, is it?

Don't be alarmed by the SF designation, if that's not your kind of thing. Read it, if for no other reason, for the interesting psychology. And because, you know, it's really well-written. I look forward to my next opportunity to read a Reynolds.