Silver Screen | ||||||||
Justina Robson | ||||||||
Pyr, 384 pages | ||||||||
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A review by David Soyka
To be fair, Robson is working the twin genres of murder thriller and hard SF that tend to rely on dialogue to
move the plot forward and express thematic ideas, a style that has always struck me as awkward. Consider this:
Lula smiled at her in recognition of a kindred spirit.
"Are these suits alive, in your estimation?" I asked her.
She looked at me as if I had asked her if they danced the chacha. "They are living things," she said, and then
hesitated. "And the living tissues exist in a … in a kind of dependent bond with the inorganic elements of the
construction. They're also connected to the AI system, part neural, part silicon. It's hard to say." She lifted
her hands and shrugged. "That's the central question of biomechanics, isn't it? Where does the life end and
the machine begin?"
The narrator is Anjuli O'Connell, whose total recall for some reason or another not clear to me gets her selected
for implants that hardwire her with a corporate-controlled artificial intelligence designated 901 (and which contains
previous enumerated versions of itself, which serves a plot twist at the end). The clashing cultures represented
by the character's first and last names might be meant to symbolize the contrast between biological and artificial
intelligences, though not much is made of this except in a few throwaway references. Anjuli herself is a bit bland,
her most distinguishing trait is her insecurity -- unsure of her own talents, in a relationship that is more one
of convenience than emotional commitment, overly reliant on food to relieve stress. Probably the intention was
to create a "real-life" character, complete with the humdrum flaws we all face; the problem is she's sufficiently
irritating with her mundane neuroses that it's hard to much care what happens to her. (There is at least one
nicely drawn character, though, a corporate executive whose political scheming make it difficult to determine
whether she's one of the good guys or the bad guys. She was the one character I found intriguing.)
Anjuli seemingly would have been content to continue with her humdrum existence were it not for the suicide of her
close friend (though the friendship is one of situational convenience, two outcasts who get lumped together more
because of what they don't have in common with everyone else than what they have in common with each other). He's
a computer genius who leaves clues for her to discover his grand plan for the AI, though why it necessitates his
suicide isn't clear.
There's also a side plot about Anjuli's boyfriend's transformation into a cyborg, and though I understand it as a
counterpoint to the resolution, it is undeveloped, primarily because the boyfriend's character isn't presented as
much more than a foil for the narrator (though maybe that's part of the point in a first person narrative,
reflecting most people's daily egocentrism). When Anjuli and her boyfriend's consciousness merge as part of an
effort to reclaim a missing notebook needed to solve the mystery, Anjuli realizes that their relationship is
hollow at the core; by implication her relationship with 901 is more intimate if only because it doesn't involve
any pretensions. The problem is that you wonder if Anjuli is capable of intimacy with anything other
than a high-caloric snack.
The question of when is artificially-created life equivalent to biological life and, moreover, what obligations
do the creators have to the created is a classic SF trope dating back to the conception of Frankenstein's
monster (which itself is born from the Biblical themes of John Milton's Paradise Lost). Silver
Screen doesn't quite have the thematic subtlety of its forebears, however. A lot of ideas and questions
are raised, but other than suggesting that the true Turing test is the one we don't realize has already been
passed, I'm left uncertain of what else is going on here.
On the other hand, Silver Screen was short-listed for the Arthur C. Clarke Award, so what do I know,
but it strikes me that Robson's reach is slightly beyond her grasp here. Still, even with the flaws,
worth checking out, particularly if you're a fan of cyberpunk and "Elementary, my dear Watson" kinds of discourse.
David Soyka is a former journalist and college teacher who writes the occasional short story and freelance article. He makes a living writing corporate marketing communications, which is a kind of fiction without the art. |
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