Calypso is a sci-fi novella in verse by the British author Oliver K. Langmead. Epic and personal, grandiose in scale and full of small familiar details of human life, Calypso is a book that both unsettles you and makes you feel at home. Thematically, the closest novel to Calypso I’ve read is The Book of Strange New Things by Michel Faber (2014). Its experimental aspects, the lyricism, and some plot elements reminded me of The Employees by Olga Ravn (2020). And in terms of its form, the closest equivalent might be the Odyssey.
The novella is told from four perspectives: Rochelle, Sigmund, Catherine, and the herald. The primary point of view is Rochelle’s. She is an engineer who left behind her life on Earth to help terraform and colonize another planet. Rochelle is one of the passengers on Calypso, an enormous starship that has a crucial role in building the new world. Among other passengers of Calypso are its creator Sigmund, who hired Rochelle to be a sort of philosophical antagonist to him, and Catherine, an “enhanced” human whose role is to give life—in a biochemical manner that is detailed only slowly—to the new planet and to make it inhabitable for colonists. At the beginning of the novella, these three characters wake up from cryogenic sleep and are greeted by the crew who have sacrificed generations to sustain the ship. The fourth point-of-view character, the herald, is a member of this crew, whose perspective gives us an insight into the centuries of travel on Calypso, the schism between the crew members, and the subsequent war.
In this sense, the herald serves a similar function to a Greek chorus. This is of course fitting, since Calypso is a speculative novella written in verse, which is an unusual stylistic choice. Not just the form but also the tale of the ship’s epic journey is reminiscent of the Odyssey. The feeling is further supported by the allusions to Homer’s work and by the consistency of meter in Rochelle’s, Sigmund’s, and the herald’s parts. This comparison to the Odyssey might put some readers off, but one does not need to be familiar with epic poems or rely on any previous works to enjoy Calypso. Rochelle’s sections in particular are full of prosaic simplicity. She is probably one of the most relatable characters in the book. Her voice is clear, reader-friendly, and so human.
While Rochelle represents a more mundane, relatable part of the narrative, Catherine is her opposite. Catherine’s parts deviate from the epic form. They are the most interesting ones in terms of their shape, which correlates so well with her unusual nature as a bioengineered woman.
I, us, we, the oasis, seeding life
even in this barren land
our shedding skin
catalyses
we carry on
to a broad basin
where threaded streams
trickle through the rock cracks
(p. 125)
The sine-wave-shaped example above is what most of Catherine’s verse looks like. As her storyline progresses, the changes she experiences are reflected in the format of her lines, as well as in the inclusion of illustrations that create a powerful and poignant effect.
The voice of every character is communicated not only through their perspective and language choices, then, but also through their verse. Every section is formatted differently. Every voice is distinct. Calypso’s form is both traditional and experimental. On the one hand, the novella is supported by the body of literature from the past. On the other hand, the book creates its own style and plays with voices and forms in the most delightful way.
The first thing that struck me when I started reading Calypso was its elegant language. Look, for example, at these lines from Sigmund’s section:
When he dreams he dreams of reaching up to the sky
And plucking stars as if they are pieces of fruit.
In those dreams he cups the stars between his worn hands
And watches the light leaking between his fingers.
(p. 27)
The monumental scale of different planets and space travel coexists with details that define our humanity. Rochelle’s recollections of her life on Earth are strangely familiar against the grand backdrop of the novella’s setting. Both the mundane and the awe-inspiring parts of the book are beautifully described. Here is an example from Rochelle’s section that, to my mind, combines both the cosmic events and the human place in them:
It feels like a long time since I last slept,
The new world and its moons spin around,
Curving lazily across my porthole.
Like a child’s mobile, they lull me to sleep.
(p. 194)
Readers who like their imagery on an impressively cosmic scale will not be disappointed. The same is true for people who prefer a sense of normalcy and moments of simple human life, with its small joys and sorrows. Again, the novella achieves a remarkable balance between poles.
Likewise, the characters inhabiting the world of Calypso each embody and express strong philosophical beliefs. Sigmund is an adventurer, an inventor, and a man of science. Rochelle is an engineer, but also a person of faith who acts as Sigmund’s opposite, “a voice of dissent.” Catherine, with her unique “plural” psyche, at first seems completely different from humans. Yet, as the narrative progresses, roles start to shift. In a number of scenes Sigmund acts like a sole creator of the new world. He changes the look of the planet with a single wave of his hand. The image of him shaping the new world, and the reverence the crew feels towards him, equate Sigmund to a god figure. On the other hand, Cathrine becomes more human, developing the feelings of warmth and rapport with Rochelle, whom she at first despises and fears as an imperfect specimen of the human race with “ugly blood.” Her transformation is among the novella’s most interesting elements.
Curiously, all the characters in this novella, regardless of what they believe in, prove to be creators. Indeed, this theme of creation, creativity, and birth is one of the most prominent in the book. For example, Rochelle is a mother who gave life to two children. She also makes her own small “church” onboard Calypso. Catherine is the creator of all the flora and fauna on the new planet. Sigmund constructs Calypso and terraforms the new planet; he also designs new humans, uncorrupted by the past mistakes of their counterparts on Earth. Even the rebellious crew members make their own New Terra on one of the moons.
The idea of creation and birth is further reinforced on the language level. The ship “has thousands of wombs” where colonists are waiting to be born into the new world. Calypso is referred to as “she,” and so are all the planets. In a way, the planets and the starship become their own characters, generating life where before there were no conditions for humans to survive.
As we have seen, Calypso is a novella of contrasts. It has elements of eco-fiction and cyberpunk. The problems of modern times are evident in its theme: Mars has the same fast-food restaurants as Earth; people harm other planets in just the way they pollute Earth—not only with plastic bottles, but also with “ugly ideas.” Meanwhile, the dissatisfaction Sigmund feels about humanity and its flaws coexists with Rochelle’s belief in the human soul that doesn’t die. She is the moral compass of the story, a person who cares more about other people than ideas. Through Rochelle’s point of view, we see both the technical aspects of this fictional world and its natural beauty. It is Catherine, however, who brings the eco-fiction aspect of the novella to another level. The scenes of her populating the planet remind me of Jeff VanderMeer’s Annihilation (2014), in which the environment blends with the characters in creepy, unsettling ways. The technical side of the novella’s terraforming (spaceships, agri-drones, shipping yards on Titan, etc.) is interesting too, because of how authentic the process feels.
Poetic language depicts the beauty of trees and birds. It also illustrates the changes of gravity and how an exoskeleton suit functions. Both sides of Langmead’s novella are inextricably linked by the power and elegance of its language. It might not be for everyone, but it definitely stands out from other science fiction works. In recent years, perhaps only Harry Josephine Giles’s Deep Wheel Orcadia (2021) offers something similar. Calypso’s philosophical and religious undertones, its cinematic scenes, memorable characters, and overall artistry combine to create a unique aesthetic experience. The novella feels less like a hard science fiction work and more like an exploration into what makes us human. If you’re interested in that eternal question, then this book is for you.