A guilty system recognizes no innocents. As with any power apparatus which thinks everybody’s either for it or against it, we’re against it. You would be too, if you thought about it. The very way you think places you among its enemies. –from Iain Banks’ Player Of Games
One of the greatest writers of our time, Iain Banks, has died.
From the BBC News‘s obituary of Banks:
Author Iain Banks has died aged 59, two months after announcing he had terminal cancer, his family has said.
Banks, who was born in Dunfermline, Fife, revealed in April he had gall bladder cancer and was unlikely to live for more than a year.
He was best known for his novels The Wasp Factory, The Crow Road and Complicity. In a statement, his publisher said he was ‘an irreplaceable part of the literary world.’
A message posted on Banksophilia, a website set up to provide fans with updates on the author, quoted his wife Adele saying: ‘Iain died in the early hours this morning. His death was calm and without pain.’
Banks is that rare author who could bridge both the worlds of genre fiction and so-called literary fiction. Even some of his mainstream works like The Wasp Factory borrow heavily from the imagery of genre (horror, in the case of Wasp Factory) but his incredible skill as a writer carried him above the genre ghetto.
On Firedoglake, I don’t feel like I need to apologize for science fiction — we’ve held book salons with literary heroes of mine like Kim Stanley Robinson. But Banks’ talent surpasses even Robinson. Many of my writer friends seem to be struggling today with the news, coming so soon after the cancer announcement just months ago. Author Neil Gaiman tweeted:
Iain Banks is dead. I’m crying in an empty house. A good man and a friend for almost 30 years. — Neil Gaiman (@neilhimself) June 9, 2013
Though science fiction is often a genre of grand ideas, I can think of few others in his field — with the exception of Ursula Le Guin — who have made me think so deeply about humanity in so many new ways. But unlike Le Guin, his main series — the Culture universe — is more than just a conceptual place to put stories. As one reads his books, the level of detail and forethought he put into his world building is staggering. Banks even created a new mathematically-derived alphabet used by the Culture which includes built-in encryption. Clumsier, less skillful authors bog down their stories with needless exposition that serves simply to show off their clever imaginary worlds; Banks, instead, nearly always begins in medias res and allows us to experience his glittering deep space creations.
The Culture books center around the eponymous galactic society, largely populated by what are inherently humans, but surrounded by other sentient creatures of all kinds, and many cunning artificial intelligences too. The technology of the Culture is so far in advance of ours that the connection with humanity can become very tenuous — residents of the Culture have “drug glands” installed which allow them to control their emotions and bodily responses, or even get high with a thought. Gender, appearance, even the basic makeup of human bodies can be swapped with only a little effort. The society is post-capitalistic, with money unheard of except on the most backwater planets, and everyone is free to generally do as they please.
All these amazing conceits free Banks to deeply contemplate what it means to be human, the nature of human sexuality, human society, nearly every aspect of what we are. The alien races too create that wonderful funhouse mirror effect of the very best science fiction — intriguing us with their strangeness while simultaneously reflecting back on ourselves. If an alien society lasted so long that even their parasites evolved sentience, what kind of society would those parasites build and how would they interact with their former hosts?
This passage is a bit of philosophy from the Morthanveld, an aquatic species that appear in the novel Matter: