Reading and then reviewing older science fiction always feels a bit weird. Rarely am I picking up something that is a hidden gem, a thing that someone has never read before. Often it feels like I am just adding to the choir of voices that already assures you “yes, this is good.” I know I try to add my own perspective, to freshen it up a little, and impart some of my own takeaways so that it all seems worthwhile. And I have a very hard time accepting that I can just do what I want sometimes and you’re all just here for the ride. I preface this next novel like this because this story in particular has been on my list basically since I started perusing the science fiction subreddits all those years ago. Solaris, by Stanislaw Lem, is a story that accomplishes exactly what it sets out to do, to prove the futility and limits to human knowledge and understanding.
Kris Kelvin has finally arrived on the station studying the infamous planet Solaris. Decades, if not centuries, have already been spent studying the phenomenon that is the oceanic planet. It’s theorized to be a giant brain, and despite the countless years of trying to communicate with it, humans have failed to make verifiable contact. Kelvin is coming in at the tail end of this research. Gone are the days where large research teams were able to expend untold resources probing the planet. Only two other researchers remain on the station and their sanity is questionable. Kelvin, long realizing a dream of his to be on Solaris, begins to question his own sanity as an apparition of a long dead ex plagues his residency. Can Kelvin unravel the mysteries of the planet? Or even his own mind?
I had never read Lem prior to Solaris. He exists in my mind as a titan of science fiction, combining his skills as a writer and a philosopher of technology into a sledge hammer to break your mind. It made his work feel daunting, and as usual, it wasn’t that bad. In fact, Solaris was pretty accessible. The writing is dense, but focused more on the experience of the character than it is heavy scientific or philosophical jargon. I felt it transported me to the station and Kelvin’s particular state of mind. The perspective itself came off like a journal from Kelvin as he dives deeper into the mysteries of Solaris, recounting the histories of famous explorations and scientists. This accessibility and perspective makes the themes more apparent while also avoiding blatantly stating them. It feels like you’re exploring Kelvin’s circumstances with him, instead of watching a story unfold from without – its destination known. I feel this is important to point out because I went in knowing what Lem wanted to achieve with the novel and still it pulls you into embrace, guiding through its trials.
Contemporary science fiction sometimes feels as if the author is wielding their conclusions like a hammer, striking the reader over the head in case they missed it. However, Solaris feels like Lem handed you a jackhammer and you get to do the excavation yourself. And I choose jackhammer specifically because it’s messy, loud, unwieldy, and more precise than you probably think it could be. Those terms are not an indictment of Lem’s writing, as much as they describe the process Lem uses to unearth his search for understanding. It feels deliberately designed to obfuscate the situation so that you have to dig just as much as the main character. I appreciated the methodical nature of the exploration even though it also feels like no one really knows or understands what they are doing. Characters feel like they are grasping at straws in the face of overwhelming futility. They run through the possibilities over and over again, each one sounding a little more far-fetched, a little more ridiculous as the research continues.
It leads to the human characters deteriorating through the story. Their mental stamina taxed, their emotional well being degrades as they begin to limit contact between themselves, only focusing on the “apparitions” that follow them around in their quarters. Lem paints a vivid portrait of men desperately seeking meaning only to find nothing, over and over again, over decades. As a reader, I had the uneasy feeling of hinging between laughing or crying over the insanity. I genuinely chuckled uncomfortably several times reading these moments where someone’s psyche is about to crumble in front of you. It’s the kind of desperate laugh that is genuinely felt but also feels like a defense mechanism. And I know it’s a little unhinged to say it, but I enjoyed that tension. The perspective makes it easy to sympathize with the characters since the darkened humor is at the situation, not at their failing efforts. There is no hint that someone better could come along and change the dynamics. It feels intrinsic to the human condition, to be unable to know everything and have your place in the cosmos confirmed.
Which leads us to the elephant in the room, the alien planet itself. Often in alien contact stories, aliens are anthropomorphized to highlight aspects of humanity. But once in a blue moon you can get something like Solaris wherein the “aliens” are so utterly incomprehensible. It is so incomprehensible, one has to wonder if it can even be classified in the usual ways. What makes the planet an organism? How can we even relate to something on that scale even if we did establish contact? These aren’t questions asked by the characters, but feel intrinsic to the novel. There are long detailed sections with Kris reading famous books and journals from scientists who contributed heavily to the field of Solaristics. They are fun asides describing fantastical events that sometimes ended in death for the scientists performing tests. They are intricately detailed to feel like scientific language and documentation. It’s jargon heavy and might be a slog for those less inclined to hard science fiction, but they are also in some ways useless. They don’t reveal anything beyond the kinds of questions that keep leading Kris back to the same wall he can’t break through, himself.
Something that occurs in Solaris is that the individuals on the station are suffering a type of hallucination. I hesitate to call them that because they are full manifestations of some person from their past. We aren’t privy to who visits the other two scientists, but Kris is attended by an old girlfriend that is a window into a regretful past. He has full conversations with this younger version of her, dancing around a tragic event. It leads to a lot of emotional and psychic distress for Kris as he tries to solve the mystery of her presence within the context of the planet. It opens up the idea that it might be hard to understand the alien, when we can barely understand ourselves. These sections are very human and sympathetic to Kris’ feelings about his past. He dodges and weaves around it, but it’s still something that he seems to want to deal with, but has plenty of opportunity to avoid it.
The final chapter of Solaris is a real treat for someone like me. It’s a mediation on everything the character has experienced and the revelations that his investigations bring. It’s a long quiet moment of solitude as he reckons with the weight of the cosmos on his tiny being. It’s melancholic but cathartic. Solaris is a journey you should take if you want to be pulled into an obsession that can only be resolved through self investigation. It’s quiet even as it’s tinged with a certain madness. I will definitely be reading more of Lem’s work.
Rating: Solaris, A compelling search for contact.
-Alex
