In this, the sequel or companion volume to his classic tetralogy The Book of the New Sun, Gene Wolfe--perhaps by popular demand, though I doubt that sort of thing motivates him--begins to answer some of the questions left unanswered at the rather ambiguous close of The Citadel of the Autarch.  That book ended with ex-torturer Severian, elevated through a series of accidents to the lofty-sounding position of Autarch of Urth, writing his memoirs ten years later as he prepared to board the spaceship that would take him offworld to be put on trial; a trial that would, by proxy, determine the fitness of all humanity to receive the blessing of a New Sun at last.

The sequel begins at what may be the most appropriate spot, with Severian, in his tiny stateroom onboard the starfaring vessel--we soon learn that the dictatorship of most of one continent on Urth is not a highly-looked-upon position in space at large--finishing the second draft of The Book of the New Sun and going out on deck to hurl the manuscript into the void.  From there the story picks up and doesn't let go; The Urth of the New Sun is both longer and more densely-packed than its predecessors, and Wolfe, seemingly no longer content to ride herd on his talent, beats the reader into a pulp with a dizzying assault of fantastic ideas and imagery.  To describe Severian's magnificent journey in any detail would be fruitless and would likely spoil the fun: suffice it to say that the trial of all humanity proves to be the least of his worries.

The sequel is not without its flaws, however.  Part of the problem, I'll readily admit, was my own thwarted expectations.  Though the story's internal logic is flawless, Wolfe seems to have concentrated more on fleshing out Severian's world than on providing resolutions for the conflicts between even a few of the story's score of characters.  (I, for one, was really looking forward to a final appearance by Severian's brilliant nemesis, the murderess Agia.)  Some of the other problems are philosophically grounded: Wolfe is a devout Roman Catholic, and The Urth of the New Sun does provide plenty of ammunition to critics such as acclaimed editor Damon Knight, who pointed out that with the tetralogy Wolfe had essentially rewritten the New Testament, in English, with a modern narrative and more action and sex.  This book does nothing to dispel that contention: Severian becomes in this volume an even more explicitly Messianic figure, and Wolfe makes it clear that the New Sun is not just a white hole (the opposite of a black hole: a singularity spewing out light, energy, and gas) but the Final Judgment, the touch of God Himself, bringing both redemption and--as Severian learns, to his horror--destruction, in this case the death by cataclysm of almost every living thing on Urth.

Despite the (comparatively minor) criticisms leveled against it, the book, though swift-moving, is never glib about the serious matters on its mind; Wolfe is a thoughtful philosopher, and unlike many other Christians he never glosses over the horror or monstrous injustice implicit in the idea of Armageddon.  Ursula K. Le Guin called Wolfe the modern Melville, and the comparison is valid on many points.  The book has many intellectual riches for all readers--Christians and non-Christians, SF dorks and normal people--to mine, and, no less important, Wolfe's prose style is still as textured, multifaceted, and darkly humorous as ever.  And like Moby-Dick, even if we toss all the mystical hocus-pocus and philosophizing out the window, The Urth of the New Sun remains a mind-blowing yarn, well-told and worth many repeat visits.

13 June 2000