On Friday, I took a break from the other novels I’m reading and whizzed through C. J. Cherryh‘s Deliverer, the latest in her Foreigner series. This is the only series of hers I’ve read, as I was drawn to the first contact elements. I know there are other series of hers that include aliens, I just have them mentally categorized as space war books, which doesn’t at all appeal to me. I still think of these books as first contact books, despite the fighting and chasing that is the major plot model, as that’s pretty much the only type of science fiction that includes space travel and aliens that I enjoy reading. The distinction between the books I enjoy and others involving space travel and aliens tends to be the sociological or anthropological slant, rather than the ‘I chase your spaceship with my spaceship and shoot guns at you’ storyline, and by sheer numbers of pages devoted to one over the other, this series still tilts my way. It’s not the best example of this sub-genre, though: my favorite books of this kind remain the Xenogenesis trilogy by Octavia Butler, The Color of Distance by Amy Thompson, and The Sparrow by Mary Doria Russell, all of which are excellent at imagining and conveying the experience of first contact.

In the beginning, Cherryh’s series seemed more like those. Sadly, it doesn’t anymore. I am still invested in the characters, and curious about the plot development (such as it is), but I have to confess that I skip large chunks of the narrative as I go along (here is where academic reading skills come in handy). My train of thought goes something like: ‘woe is Bren, blah blah, scary is the world, blah blah, enemies are everywhere and the weight of the world is on my shoulders, blah blah, now is when we ride the mecheiti at breakneck speed through the wilderness, now is when we try to kill the bad guys in the dark, here is where the goodies prevail, oh look, the book’s over.’ In terms of plot movement, I think she’s now managed to stretch the events of a week (two weeks? three weeks at most…) over the course of three books. Movement at this pace leaves many pages free for Bren’s mental problems, er, worrying. In 1994, the idea that a male protagonist could be introspective and concerned about flubbing things up royally was endearing and somewhat different than usual. Now, in the 21st century, we’re confronted by whiny, insecure men at every turn, and it’s really not that interesting anymore (not that it ever was all that interesting outside of science fiction).

Don’t get me wrong: I’ll keep reading the series (and hope that the next three-book-arc gets us back into space). The dragging is not bugging me anywhere near the level that the second series of Brin’s Uplift books eventually did (and the first three were so good), leading me to abandon that series in disgust. The books just seem to be getting lighter and more formulaic as she goes along, which is a shame, as the world she’s built retains potential.