Sex and Loneliness in the Far Out Future

I found it on the bargain shelf out front of Dickson Street Bookshop; picked it up (and two others) for a measly three dollars. And thus began my earnest love of this early master of science fiction. Well, that's not technically true: my very first Robert Silverberg novel was Kingdoms of the Wall, which I read when I was 13 (I think) -- but at the time I had no idea who the author was, or what sort of impact he'd had on the genre. I just liked the cover.

This book is far superior to (my memory of) that one. I read about a chapter a day, always only moments away from either putting the book down for good or skipping to the end to see what, exactly, the hell was going on. Son of Man is more fantasy than science fiction -- dealing as it does with events so very far into the future (past even the Eloi and Morlocks) -- and protagonist Clay has no ray guns or fancy clothes; he has no clothes at all for most of the book, actually. It's as much a thought experiment on the nature of humanity as it is a true fable, but neither of those descriptions is quite right. I'd call it reminiscent of my last acid trip, but I am entirely unexperienced in that area. Instead, it feels like one of those movie hallucinations, lucid yet absurd, but without all the bowling.

And, strangely, wholly satisfying as well. Son of Man is single-handedly responsible for turning me back on to the written word. Lately I've been taking the MacBook to bed and watching videos before I go to sleep; it's been years since I curled up with a good book (Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows notwithstanding -- when you devour a book like that, it isn't reading) and I was beginning to suspect that as the cause of my insomnia. There is something gorgeous about nodding off toward the end of a chapter.

I don't mean to say Son of Man was boring; I always fall asleep while reading. You probably do to; don't lie. What I mean to say is I almost forgot how much I love to read.

Clay's journey through the world of tomorrow feels like a love letter to the future; an expanding sun, a solar system on the brink of entropy -- mankind survives only in forms fully removed from ours, with abilities far beyond ours as well. While much of what happens is confusing to Clay, I got the sense that his Skimmer friends were able to extend the life of the universe past the horrifyingly inexorable Heat Death I lie awake some nights thinking about. No, here we are given a taste of hopefulness, that while we cannot ourselves cross the finish line, those who come after will press on -- and in that way we continue, immortal pieces of the ever-expanding puzzle of existence.

Robert Silverberg's Son of Man was written in 1971, and is currently out of print. Pyr will be reissuing the book on June 3, 2008. Pre-order it here.