The history of science fiction is one of thematic ages, periods where certain types of stories and particular attitudes towards mankind were the norm. Though exceptions can certainly be found, these norm-stories help us form a picture of an evolution of the genre. From the manifest-destiny stories pre-dating World War II to the freedom-driven and consequence-aware tales post-dating Hiroshima, from the loss-of-innocence and departure-of-destiny stories of the sixties and seventies to the return-to-the-local tales of the cyberpunk eighties, the science fiction of each era has been dominated by certain attitudes towards humankind, evolution, and destiny.
Now, with the weight of 70 years of genre history and a pool of readers that includes those brought to the field through all of its various thematic peaks, science fiction tales run the gamut in style and outlook. Though most are influenced heavily by more than one of the key themes, providing a broad canvas in which many different attitudes can be perceived, a few books plant themselves so firmly in the milieu of one specific period that they seemingly belong to that different time. Such is the case with Warren Rochelle's debut novel, The Wild Boy. Rochelle's novel is a nostalgic piece which feels torn from the heart of the genre world of the late sixties.
The Wild Boy begins far from Earth on the homeworld of the Lindauzi, a race of sentient mammals that appear as something of a cross between large cats and bears. We learn quickly that the Lindauzi, although they have invested the story of their beginnings with spiritual trappings, originally received their intelligence through bioengineering by an intelligent race of bipedal primates, the Iani. Lonely for others to interact with, the Iani sped the development of the Lindauzi until they had created a partner race. When a horrendous plague wiped out the Iani, it left the Lindauzi, engineered to bond in something of a psychic manner with the Iani, bereft. The Lindauzi race is slowly disappearing through suicides, ennui, and de-evolution through loss of engineered intelligence. A great civil war is fought as the Crown Prince fights for and wins the right to search out a new race to which his people can bond.
The world these Lindauzi colonists find is Earth, where the human race appears to be genetically similar to the Iani and shows a great potential for the empathy which drives the bond. But the Lindauzi are few and the humans are many, and they must be prepared to accept the Lindauzi so they can be bred to enhance the empathy. A great plague wipes out much of the human race, and in the chaos that follows the Lindauzi arrive to help humankind. Over the course of years, humans become dependent on the Lindauzi and offer more and more control to their saviors.
The Wild Boy follows the lives of three key characters generations after the arrival of the Lindauzi on Earth: Phlarx, a young Lindauzi noble; Ilox, a human male who has been bred for empathy in the great Project; and Caleb, a young wild human from a small tribe of humans who are not controlled by the Lindauzi. By slipping backwards and forwards through time and points of view, Rochelle slowly ties the lives of these three key players together.
Bred humans are referred to as "dogs" and treated as pets by the Lindauzi. Instead of the true partnership the Lindauzi had been brought to with the Iani, the Lindauzi have instead imagined a bond relationship with humans as one more akin to master and loyal, intelligent dog. Ilox, the pinnacle of the empathy breeding program to date, discovers something of the history of his people prior to the Lindauzi and much about the Lindauzi themselves as he grows older. Despite his bond with Phlarx, he is forced to flee and is taken in by a tribe of wild humans, or "wolves" as the Lindauzi call them. There he learns more about the human race and marries and fathers two sons, Davy and Caleb. But his bond with Phlarx is strong, and he returns to the Lindauzi, struggling with the conflicts between his love for Phlarx, his knowledge of history, and his love for his new family.
Flash forward to Caleb, an eleven year old boy in the tribe. He has his father's gift of empathy and is forced to flee when his tribe is attacked and all the others killed by a Lindauzi raid. He goes on a quest to find his father who had disappeared, so they can together search for the fabled Summer Country -- a hot and humid land of beaches and trees where no Lindauzi live. Captured by the Lindauzi and turned into a performing "dog" made ready to compete against other "dogs," Caleb discovers that he is soon to meet Phlarx and perhaps his long lost father. He slowly plans a daring escape. The climactic coming together of Caleb, Ilox, and Phlarx will have a vast rippling effect on the Lindauzi and on Earth itself.
Rochelle does a commendable job weaving different times and viewpoints together, making sure to reveal nothing in Caleb's time that the reader has not already discovered through Ilox. Though occasionally distracting, the use of different terminology to refer to the same things makes the differences between the races, and indeed between bred-humans and wild-humans, more evident. The characters are intriguing, and their struggles worth following.
Where Rochelle's work truly hits its stride is in the details. From the special relics treasured by Caleb's tribes (styrofoam picnic dishes, plastic utensils, pull tops from soda cans as jewelry, and a six-pack of Coors as a museum piece) to the place names and degraded prayers to Father Art in Heaven, he shows a wonderful flair for ironic details. Rochelle's picture of the remnants of humanity eking out a primitive existence among the ruins of its own greatness is thoroughly convincing. In addition, the affectations of the Lindauzi -- from their religion to their language and culture and from their family structures to their overly officious interactions -- show a picture of a race which imagines itself greater than it is, unable to see its own true nature for fear that its self-portrait of grandeur would crumble.
What makes this work truly nostalgic is its portrait of humanity as nothing more than another race of barely evolved creatures in a vast universe. This coming-of-age novel is reminiscent of a number of works from the latter half of the sixties and the first half of the seventies, such as those of Edgar Pangborn. Humanity survives, not through any divine right or special dispensation from the universe, but simply because we happened to be lucky or make the right choice at the right time. Our motivations and our character are no better or worse than those of the aliens, and the ruin of our society was not one we brought upon ourselves by hubris or infighting, but one that simply fell from the sky in the form of someone faster, smarter, and more advanced technologically than us.
In addition to the nostalgic qualities apparent in his portrayal of degenerated human society, Rochelle also plays with backwards-looking sensibilities in his portrayals of the relationship between Phlarx and Ilox -- both males. While their love for each other, developed through the empathic bond, is clear and unambiguous, the form that love takes is both physical and distant at the same time. Rochelle shies away from expressing overt sexual behavior between the two males, while maintaining a clear and believable tension that belies the physical undercurrents -- again, reminiscent of an earlier age in the genre.
While The Wild Boy was certainly an enjoyable read, it was not without flaws. On a number of occasions descriptions or references to the past contradict scenes we have already been exposed to. A short while after reading of a vacation away from Phlarx's plantation, we find an omniscient narrator reference to Ilox having never been outside the plantation. After reading of the suicide of Phlarx's mother, she is referred to a way that implies she is still considered part of the present tense. Though these continuity errors are minor, they did distract from the enjoyment of the story.
In the end, The Wild Boy is a book that takes the reader away to another time, both in story and in style. Those who enjoyed some of the works of the late sixties and early seventies, the attitudes and worldviews therein, will find themselves in the presence of the past. Those who have never read works of that era may find themselves intrigued and encouraged to seek out this rich vein of our genre's past. For it is a period steeped in both melancholy and hope, uncomplicated by a need for fate or destiny to weigh in, and where characters depend on themselves rather than a magnanimous universe for survival. Though not a brilliant book, The Wild Boy is a solid read and serves as a perfect complement to a cloudy autumn afternoon.
Rob Gates is the editor of Wavelengths, a review journal for genre works of special interest to gays, lesbians, bisexuals and transgendered people. He is also the author of a story appearing in Bubbas of the Apocalypse from Yard Dog Press.