BOOK REVIEW

THE YEARS of RICE and SALT  

"This is what the human story is,  not  the  emperors   and   the  generals  and 
their wars,  but  the   nameless   actions  of   people  who  are  never  written  
down,  the  good  they  do  for  others passed on like a blessing."

Kim Stanley Robinson has a view  of  historical  process  that  is  refreshingly 
other to that of much science  fiction. Even  his  Great   Men   (and Women)  
live  in  a  social  context and are bearers, rather  than  creators,  of  historical 
significance. 
His   "Mars  trilogy"  covers  centuries  of  progress   and   the  "terraforming" 
of Mars into a habitable place, a liveable society. This  new book is a thought 
experiment that asks: what if medieval Europe  had  been  wiped  out  by  the 
Black Death? In a sense,  not  a  lot.  The  seven  centuries  covered  in  The 
Years of Rice and Salt include genocide and exploitation  and universal war, 
just as they include the growth of  feminism,  the  discovery  of  the  telescope 
and the  Enlightenment.  
Robinson assumes that the West  that  Europe  became  is not in  possession  
of  special  virtues,  but that other  cultures  had  their  own  equivalents of  its 
vices. The world  he  shows   us   is  not  better  or  worse:  very  different  in 
surface details, but  much the same at its core. It is the worst of  times;  it  has 
the possibility of becoming the best of times.

But 700 years is a long span to make cohere as a novel. 
In the Mars books, Robinson simply had various  protagonists  be   pioneers  
of  life - extension  as  well  as  of  planetary  colonisation. Here, the recurring 
characters are three and more souls endlessly reincarnated and  struggling  to  
remember  the purpose –  of  universal  betterment  –  to  which  they  swore themselves   centuries  earlier.  Without,  in   general,   being   major  players, they manage to help inch the world along.

So  this  is  the  tale of Bold, the Mongol horseman who finds  Europe  dead  
and Kyu, the young African eunuch with whom he is a slave in China. It is the 
tale of the man-eating tiger Kya and   Bistami,   the   young   scholar   whom  
she   spares   and  inspires,  and   of   Katima,  the proto-feminist  Sultana  he 
serves  on  the   Islamic   frontier   of   Northern  Europe.  And  it  is  the tale 
of   Khalid   and   Bharam,   the  Samarkand  alchemists   who discover  gravity,  calculus  and poison gas and die of plague. 
The Indian potentate known  as  the  Kerala  humbles  Islamic  and  Chinese  
power,  and    the     Chinese    radical    Bao    helps  humanise  the  Chinese 
revolution that   follows   seven  decades  of  universal  war.  All the time they 
bring progress, and all the time they talk at each other.

If there is  a  weakness in Robinson's work, it is  perhaps  this; his characters 
are so intelligent  that   they   never   shut   up   and  often   have   fascinating  
conversations  for  page  after   page about the engineering of fortifications or 
the  reconciliation  of   Sufism  and  Confucianism  or,  most  extendedly,  the 
ways  that  history works. It is  always   good   talk,   in    which    everyone  
speaks  in character. For Robinson,  science  fiction is not only a literature of 
ideas, but a  literature  whose   characters   have  lots of them.

Seven centuries of things happen.  We  see  the  emptiness  of  dead Europe, 
the sack of Constantinople   by   the   Kerala   and   the  resistance  of native 
America – aided by vengeful  Samurai advisers –  against   the   encroaching  
empires  of  the  Chinese East and Islamic West. The core,  though,  is  partly 
the conversations and partly the moments of stillness  and  joy   in  which  the 
central characters come together  in  contemplation or love.

Robinson can write action and adventure as  well  as   anyone,  but in the end 
this is  an  ethical  fiction  about  the   true   purpose of  humanity. His supple, 
thoughtful prose is always up to  the  challenge,  whether   exciting   us   with  
ideas,  thrilling  us  with spectacle or presenting us  with  moments   of   elegy  
or  quiet passion. It is not just the reader who, in section after  section, 
recognises the same characters in new guises. They  discover each other time 
and time again with delight, sometimes meeting twice in a life after early death 
and sometimes waiting almost until old age for that fulfilment.  After  years  of 
rice and salt come moments of happiness and celebration.