The Feminist Press at the City University of New York, 2002, 267 p, including vii p Foreword, xi p Appendix and xiii p Afterword by Susan M Squier and Julie Vedder.

Earthsong is the third in Elgin’s Native Tongue trilogy, the first of which, Native Tongue, was published in 1984 and the second, The Judas Rose, in 1987. This edition is a reprint of  Earthsong’s 1994 publication.

The trilogy’s premise was that due to aliens coming to Earth and requiring translators a group known as Linguists came to have a monopoly on the trade. (As I recall their expertise had been developed by talking with whales and dolphins but my memory may be tricking me.)

Despite the trilogy being set in the 22^nd century, society was still largely male dominated and though women linguists were utilised they were very much subservient to the males – as were women more generally with very little in the way of autonomy. Women past child-bearing age go to live in Barren Houses and in these was developed a language (which Elgin named Láadan,) so that women’s perceptions could be expressed more adequately. This was kept secret from the males of course. In The Judas Rose Láadan was introduced to non-Linguist women but failed to catch on and was indeed opposed vigorously. But their new language changed the women and men could not bear being with a woman for longer than thirty minutes – some (not myself) might say not much difference there, then – to the extent that they lived in separate Womanhouses.

Those two books were an interesting thought experiment and, while being perfectly adequate as SF, were marred for me by the fact that seemingly every single man in them was characterised as being incredibly stupid.

In Earthsong, a crisis has been precipitated by the aliens suddenly disappearing from Earth (citing as their reason humanity – for which of course read men – as being too violent.)

A foreword supposedly written by the main protagonist of the earlier two books, Nazareth Joanna Chornyak, warns us that the story, as mediated by trancers channelling her thoughts, is going to be disorganised, told through many different voices, and not in chronological order. The trancers are necessary because Nazareth is dead and in some sort of limbo.

The book proper starts with her great granddaughter Delina Meloren Chornyak petitioning the head of the Pan-Indian Council of the Americas (PICOTA) to allow her to use their ceremonies invoking a vision quest in order to talk to Nazareth to ask her what to do about reestablishing relations with the aliens. When he is finally persuaded and Delina meets her forebear, what Nazareth says to her seems impossible. It is to eradicate hunger.

After a long time Delina realises the question boils down to ‘How can people eat less food and still thrive?’ The answer she finds is in religion. Throughout history ascetics, nuns, monks and so on claim to have got by, flourished even, on little food. The secret, Delina realises, lay not in religion itself but more specifically in chanting. But it turns out that any sort of singing will suffice. By analogy with photosynthesis Delina calls the process of deriving sustenance through song, audiosynthesis. (It was here I felt Elgin had gone over the score. Now we are in outright fantasy land. Sound is a form of energy, yes, but by what mechanism can it be converted to chemical energy. In any case, are these accounts of abstinence credible? Religious adherents have been known to engage in deception to ensnare the gullible, to impress the credulous.)

Yet what would lack of hunger mean? If everyone has access to food (or can gain the necessities of survival elsewhere) then conflict will be reduced, if not eliminated, a means of control of people removed. And, as happened with Láadan, humans would change, they would be in effect a new species, with a new outlook on life.

Elgin’s background is perhaps showing when a (male) character asks, “would you please explain how it happens that the President and Vice-President of the United States” [of Earth] “are always incompetent?” and when given a counter example says, “He thought Presidents were allowed to fix things. He didn’t last long,” which  leans into that pernicious strand of USian thought which distrusts government, which thinks government is a bad thing and which also, therefore, encourages conspiracy theories.

The same character’s assertion that “There cannot be a conspiracy that size to do good! …. Human beings are only capable of really buckling down and working together in groups when their goals are evil,” has simply misinterpreted human history. Co-operation (plus the passing on of knowledge) – not conflict, and certainly not individualism – is what allowed humans to become the dominant species on our planet.

As speculation, as SF, this is all fine, outrageous premises have often been turned into good stories. The story here, though, is only touched on obliquely, its ramifications for future human relationships left unshown.

The novel is our prime way of exploring what it means to be human. It is difficult, therefore, to convey a change in human behaviour using it as a medium. If Elgin doesn’t quite manage to, her attempt can be applauded.

Pedant’s corner:- “there were a number of” (there was a number of,) “had hid” (had hidden,) “the unlikely lay of this land” (lie of this land,) “none of them were” (none of them was,) “had that for search target” (for a search target,) “I’m put back back together now” (only needs one ‘back’.)  “‘For heaven’s sakes’” For heaven’s sake,) “but he was was tolerant” (only one ‘was’ needed,) youall (you all,) a missing end quote mark after a piece of direct speech, strategems (stratagems.)

Macmillan, 2011, 405 p

It’s not often a novel is concerned primarily with language but Embassytown is that exception. Unlike in Suzette Haden Elgin’s Native Tongue series, however, Miéville does not merely dally with the idea of language and translation but instead embeds this concern in the narrative; indeed the plot’s resolution is dependent on language and communication.

On a planet named Arieka, at the edge of known space, the Bremen colony of Embassytown is a habitable enclave surrounded by the otherwise poisonous demesnes of the indigenous Ariekei who are known as Hosts. Their language (Miéville emphasise its importance to the novel by naming it Language rather than Ariekan) contains no facility for lying and also requires the simultaneous uttering of two words/thoughts in order to be understood. This leads to a typographical representation oddity which I cannot fully reproduce here and is merely one illustration within the book of Miéville’s fascination with duality, a seam mined repeatedly in his earlier novels. “Twinned” Ambassadors referred to as doppels are identicalised individuals, kept identical by regular cleansing sessions which remove the superficial blemishes picked up between these ablutions, have been tested for empathy and trained to interact with the locals by speaking simultaneously. They have names such as ArnOld, RanDolph, CalVin, MagDa, CharLott or JoaQuin and are always referred to in the plural in constructions such as “the Ambassador were” – except when their components are on their own. The first three sections of the book, up to the initial crisis, are also twinned, with succeeding chapters respectively headed as Formerly or Latterday. Here, the difficulties of communicating with the Hosts and the struggles of a few of them to adopt human modes of speech are laid out. The remainder of the book deals with the fall-out from that endeavour.

Narrator Avice Benner Cho is a former immerser – a traveller in the immer, the void between planets – who, unusually for one of her kind, has returned to Arieka. Like many Embassytowners she has been made into a simile (she is the girl who ate what she was told, rather than what she wanted.) These human similes help the Ambassadors to talk with the Hosts. Avice’s status is, of course, vital to the plot’s development.

Disappointingly in a book so concerned with language, Miéville somehow manages (twice) to use grit where gritted is surely preferable but overall Embassytown is impressive. It may well be a front runner for this year’s BSFA Award, or even the Hugo. It is not flawless, though. Too many Ambassadors are indistinguishable (not in themself, but between them – you see where this twinning thing makes comment problematic) and the characterisation and motivations can be sketchy. That the Hosts are mere plot carriers is more forgiveable as they are not human and Miéville has taken pains to underline the difficulty of cross-species understanding.

Overall, though, as an intellectual exercise, an exploration of the idea of language as a defining cultural construct, the book succeeds admirably.