Robert Silverberg

Selected other works:

Downward to the Earth — (1970) Publisher: A lone man must make a journey across a once-colonized alien planet abandoned by mankind when it was discovered that the species there were actually sentient. Gundersen returns to Holman's World seeking atonement for his harsh years as colonial governor. But now this lush, exotic planet of mystery is called by its ancient name of Belzagor, and it belongs once again to its native alien races, the nildoror and the sulidoror. Drawn by its spell, Gundersen begins a harrowing pilgrimage to its mist-shrouded north to witness a strange ritual rebirth that will alter him forever. This is one of Silverberg's most intense novels and draws heavily on Joseph Conrad's Heart of Darkness. It putslisteners at the heart of the experience and forces them to ask what they would do in the same circumstances.

Downward to the Earth

After being back on Earth for eight years, Edmund Gunderson returns to the formerly colonized planet Belzagor where he used to be one of the human rulers of the two intelligent species who live there — the nildoror, who look much like elephants, and the sulidoror, who look like apes. While Gunderson was on Belzagor, he considered these species to be soulless and stupid, but now that the humans have given up their control of the planet, he realizes that he sinned against the nildoror, and he wants to cleanse his conscience by undergoing their ritual of rebirth.

When Gunderson arrives, he finds that the planet is gradually reverting back to the wild (the nildoror don’t have opposable thumbs, after all) and he marvels that the nildoror and the sulidoror are now working and living together — a practice which they did not keep when the humans ruled the planet. After he gets the nildoror’s permission to travel freely, he sets out across the planet and travels to the place of rebirth. Along the way, he encounters the beauty and the terror of that wild planet, learns more about the species that inhabit it, and begins to fully realize the evil he committed there.

If this sounds a little familiar, that’s because Robert Silverberg’s Downward to the Earth (1970) is his tribute to Joseph Conrad’s Heart of Darkness (1902), which explored the Belgians’ cruel colonization of the Congo. Silverberg makes his homage transparent by naming one of his characters after Conrad’s Kurtz. Like Heart of Darkness, Downward to the Earth was first serialized and later published as a novel. Also, like Heart of Darkness, Silverberg’s descriptions of the coexisting beauty and horror of Belzagor are the best parts of the book.

The title Downward to the Earth, comes from Ecclesiastes 3:21 (“Who knows that the spirit of man ascends upward and the spirit of the beast descends downward to the earth?”). Not only does Silverberg consider the question of what happens to the souls of humans and beasts, but he also asks how we should distinguish a human from a beast. Are some “beasts” more human than we are?

Downward to the Earth could be considered as Christian allegory because it beautifully illustrates the pain of guilt and loneliness, the desire for redemption, the relief of forgiveness and liberation, and the pleasure of unity with like-minded souls. There is much Christian symbolism, too, including a serpent who offers a drug which promises the knowledge of good and evil (Genesis 3:5). Silverberg portrays the drinking of the serpent’s drug as a great sin, but the commission of this sin leads to the understanding of the need to be reborn (“through the law comes the knowledge of sin” ~Romans 3:20). The allegory eventually breaks down (as allegories usually do) when we see how the redemption is accomplished, but I enjoyed this thought-provoking aspect of the novel.

Blackstone Audio produced the version I listened to which was read by the magnificent Bronson Pinchot, one of my favorite readers. Downward to the Earth is a beautiful story and the audiobook is a great way to read it. —Kat Hooper

Tower of Glass — (1970) Publisher: Simeon Krug has a vision - and the vast wealth necessary to turn dream into reality. What he wishes is to communicate with the stars, to answer signals from deep space. The colossal tower he's constructing for this purpose soars above the Arctic tundra, and the seemingly perfect androids building it view Krug as their god. But Krug is only flesh-and-blood, and when his androids discover the truth, their anger knows no bounds... and it threatens much more than the tower.

Tower of Glass

Some of them are looking for God, and some of them are looking for power, and some of them are just looking.

Simeon Krug, a brilliant inventor, has changed the world by creating synthetic humans in vats. They are so similar to humans that, to avoid confusion, Krug made their skin a reddish color and gave them no body hair. To these androids, Krug is God, but he doesn’t realize it. He thinks of them as mere machines and he’s set them the task of building a giant glass tower which will reach into the heavens to communicate with the aliens who have been sending messages to Earth. Krug’s son, poised to take over the company when his father dies, doesn’t share Krug’s obsession with talking to aliens, and he is particularly disturbed when he discovers the android religion. What will happen when the androids find out that Krug is not their salvation?

There aren’t any likeable characters here, and it’s hard for me to relate to androids, but Tower of Glass made me think (most of Robert Silverberg’s stories make me think). In Tower of Glass, Silverberg uses androids to explore a common science fiction theme: What makes us human? I’ve read dozens of stories which ask this question, but Tower of Glass will stick with me. Originally published in 1970, Tower of Glass has worn very well, probably because it deals with timeless human problems.

Krug’s androids, who call themselves “vat-born” to distinguish themselves from the “womb-born,” are constructed with human DNA which has been altered to give them a slightly alien look and to make them hard-working faithful servants. What Krug didn’t realize, perhaps, was that this human DNA would make them ambitious and would give them a desire to worship their creator. Under the leadership of Thor Watchman, the android who works as Krug’s right-hand man in the tower project, they develop an entire religion around Krug. In their time off from building Krug’s tower, they get involved in politics, build temples, write holy scriptures, hold worship services, conduct sacraments, chant and pray. Their chants and prayers consist of recitations of genetic code and their scriptures, modeled after the Christian Bible, speak of Krug’s love for them and his plan to save them by transforming them, with genetic code, into full human beings after they die. It’s understandable, then, that they’d be a little upset when they find out that their religion is false and that they’re not going to be saved after all.

As usual with a novel by Robert Silverberg, you have to suffer through some unpleasant sex scenes (I find many of Silverberg’s sex scenes to be disturbing), but there are fewer far-out tangents in Tower of Glass than in some of his other stories and at least here there is some purpose to them here. The pace moves quickly and Silverberg packs in a lot of ideas as he shows us a newly developing android society that is dealing with the same kinds of issues that humans have always dealt with — racism, caste systems, slavery, outcasts, ghettos, disease, drug abuse, political agitators, religious zealots, and the rise of an oppressed population. All the while Silverberg ratchets up the tension as the tower gets taller and Krug becomes more obsessed and noticeably less godlike.

I listened to Stefan Rudnicki narrate Audible Frontiers’ version of Tower of Glass. Rudnicki always gives a great reading — he has a nice voice, he never overacts, and he always seems to “get” what he reads. Tower of Glass was nominated for the Nebula, Hugo, and Locus awards. —Kat Hooper

The World Inside — (1971) Publisher: Welcome to Urban Monad 116. Reaching nearly two miles into the sky, the 1,000 stories of this building are home to over 800,000 people living in peace and harmony. In the year 2381 with a world population of over 75 billion souls, the massive Urbmon system is humanity's salvation. Life in Urbmon 116 is highly regulated, life is cherished, and the culture of procreation is seen as the highest pinnacle of god's plan. Conflict is abhorred, and any who disturb the peace face harsh punishment — even being sent "down the chute" to be recycled as fertilizer. Jason Quevedo, a historian, searches records of the 20th century hoping to find the root of his discontent with the perfection of Urbmon life. Siegmund Kluver, a young and ambitious administrator, strives to reach the top levels of the Urbmon's government and discovers the civilization's dark truths. Michael Statler, a computer engineer, harbors a forbidden desire. He dreams of leaving the building — of walking in the open air and visiting the far-off sea. This is a dream he must keep secret. If anyone were to find out, he'd face the worst punishment imaginable. The World Inside is a fascinating exploration of society and what makes us human, told by a master of speculative fiction. The World Inside is a 1971 Hugo Award Nominee for Best Novella.

The World Inside

In the year 2381, the Earth contains 75 billion people. Despite the dire warnings of 20th century prophets, humans have not exhausted the Earth’s resources. There is plenty of food for everyone, but because 90% of the land must be covered in farms, most of the people live in Urban Monads — 1,000-story skyscrapers housing 800,000 people each. Citizens aren’t allowed out of their building, and many aspects of society are rigidly monitored. Everyone is married at age 12 and each couple is encouraged to have as many children as they can because fertility and children are blessings from god.

In such a close community, it’s dangerous for people to be protective of private property or possessive of their mate, so sharing is actively encouraged. Thus, everyone has sexual access to everyone else and men are expected to go “night walking” to find other partners while their wives stay home and make themselves accessible to any man who opens their door. There is no war, crime, privacy, jealousy, or sexual restrictions, and the citizens of the Urban Monads are happy. The few who express dissatisfaction are sent to “Moral Engineers” for reprogramming, or may be thrown “down the chute” where their bodies make fuel for the building.

The World Inside (1971) is the story of several people who become dissatisfied with their lives in Urban Monad 116. It’s a thoughtful look at what life on Earth might be like if our population ever reaches the level where we need to grow vertically instead of horizontally. I was fascinated by Silverberg’s Urban Monads where everything that’s necessary for life is in one building, and where blocks of floors represent different classes and cultures.

But what I liked best about The World Inside was the idea that, because dissidents are sent down the chute, possessiveness, rebellion, jealousy, and other forms of social strife have been selectively bred out of the human population. Perhaps it would be possible for future humans to be happy in an Urban Monad, but 21st century readers will be horrified by Silverberg’s setting. Being satisfied with that kind of life would require some major evolutionary changes in our genome and, by introducing us to the citizens of Urban Monad 116, Silverberg suggests that along with those nasty traits we might like to get rid of, go many beautiful human traits such as wanderlust, curiosity about the world and, perhaps, a hope for something better around the next bend.

Robert Silverberg’s major focus on free love and his inclusion of hallucinogenic drug trips, psychedelic music, and orgies isn’t surprising (I’ve seen all this before in his stories), but they do serve to remind you that you’re reading a story that was published more than 40 years ago. The excuse for the drugs, music, and orgies, I suppose, is that they induce a hive-mind mentality in the building, but they really seem like a self-indulgent way to induce sexual titillation. I didn’t find it at all titillating, though, especially since it was so vulgarly done (e.g., women are referred to as “slots” and the act is constantly called “topping”). And then there’s the incest, which I’ve also seen before in Silverberg stories. Ick.

But my main problem with The World Inside is that it doesn’t make sense. If this is a free love society, why does everyone have to be married? And why encourage childbearing at all? To me, this bizarre societal goal seemed like a jab at religious people who are against birth control. Silverberg has his characters constantly saying “god bless, god bless, god bless!” and other religious-sounding speech. And if they’re so disgusted by “primeval 20th century attitudes,” why are women still expected to be home preparing dinner, taking care of the kids, and nagging their husbands to be ambitious so the family can move up the social ladder? Why do men get to go night walking wherever they like while women have to stay home and be “topped” by whoever shows up at their door?

And why can’t the Monad citizens go out of the buildings? Their food, families, friends, jobs, and all social support systems are inside the buildings. There’s nothing to keep them outside, so why can’t they go out and get some fresh air? And what if there was fire, or poisonous gas, or some other emergency? They don’t even practice evacuation procedures. I was expecting some big creepy revelation about why people where encouraged to have babies and why they were kept from knowing what was outside, but this never came. I can’t help but think that Robert Silverberg just wanted to write a story about overpopulation, free love, and selective breeding, so he stuck them all together in the same book.

In the end, the plot didn’t hold together, but I still enjoyed the setting and many of the ideas in The World Inside, so I didn’t feel like it was a waste of my time. The World Inside was nominated for, but didn’t win, the Hugo Award in 1972. I listened to Audible Frontier’s version which is almost eight hours long and is read by Paul Boehmer, who did a great job with the narration. If you’re going to read The World Inside, I recommend the audiobook. —Kat Hooper

Dying Inside — (1972) Publisher: In 1972, Robert Silverberg, even then an acknowledged leader in the science fiction field, published a book that was immediately hailed as a masterpiece. More than three decades later, Dying Inside has stood the test of time and has been recognized as one of the finest novels the field has ever produced. Never wasting a word, Silverberg persuasively shows us what it would be like to read minds, painting an unforgettable portrait of a man shaped by that unique power; a power he is now inexorably losing. Acclaimed upon first publication by SF critics and mainstream reviewers alike, Dying Inside is overdue for reintroduction to today’s SF audience. This is a novel for everyone who appreciates deeply affecting characterization, imaginative power, and the irreplaceable perspective unique to speculative fiction of the highest order.

Dying Inside

Dying Inside by Robert Silverberg is the painfully intimate portrait of David Selig, a man who has been blessed (or cursed, as he might say) with the gift of telepathy. He has learned to live with the ability, but now finds that his amazing power is slowly disappearing, leaving him ordinary again. Throughout the novel, Selig is literate, insightful and self-deprecating as he mercilessly dissects his own life. I found him less than likable, but completely fascinating. He leads an almost meaningless life, has no friendships and hardly any real relationships, and despite being worldly and erudite, he is also depressingly small-minded.

Getting such an intimate view into Selig's mind is at times a painful experience: despite his pettiness, sexism and occasional racism, you can't help but feel for him. The bitter irony of Dying Inside is that this man, who is able to read people's thoughts, is so completely self-centered and small-minded that he is incapable of having a meaningful relationship with anyone.

Dying Inside is beautifully written, using a series of flashbacks to tell Selig's story as he thinks back on his life. Robert Silverberg’s prose is gorgeous, perfectly reflecting his character’s thoughts and full of often inwardly directed irony. After reading this book, you will feel like you know David Selig. You might not like him very much, but he will be real to you.

Dying Inside is an excellent novel, recommended both to science fiction fans and to people who usually don't read the genre. This is one of those books you're almost guaranteed to end up thinking about for a long time after turning the final page. —Stefan Raets

The Last Song of Orpheus — (2010) Publisher: In the course of his extraordinary — and prolific — career, Robert Silverberg has made an enormous contribution to imaginative literature. In The Last Song of Orpheus, his longest story in more than a decade, Silverberg has given us one of his most remarkable accomplishments, a resonant recreation of one of the central myths of western civilization. In this mesmerizing narrative, Orpheus — wanderer, demigod, and master musician — recounts his own astonishing story. That story ranges from the depths of the Underworld, where he attempts to rescue his beloved but doomed Eurydice, to the farthest, most dangerous corners of the ancient world, where he journeys in search of the legendary Golden Fleece. It is a tale of men and gods, of miraculous encounters, of the binding power of inescapable Fate. More than that, it is a meditation on the power of the creative spirit, and on the eternal human search for balance and harmony in a chaotic universe. Beautifully constructed and masterfully written, The Last Song of Orpheus is Silverberg at his incomparable best, showing us a deeply familiar series of scenes, themes, and characters from a fresh, wholly original perspective.

The Last Song of Orpheus

Finally. After all of the conflicting information we get from the numerous myths, legends, writings, and operas about Orpheus, we have the true story told by Orpheus himself as he writes his life story for Musaeus (with some help from Robert Silverberg).

In The Last Song of Orpheus, all the bits and pieces of Orpheus's life are tied together into a single chronological narrative and Orpheus tells his own version of how he obtained his famous lyre and used it to charm Pharaoh,  the Furies, Persephone, Charon the Styx ferryman, and Cerberus the three-headed dog. He also tells the tale of his disastrous voyage with Jason and the Argonauts when they set out to recover the Golden Fleece and he relates some juicy tidbits about other heroes of legend such as Heracles and (my favorite) Odysseus. Some things he's kept to himself, "neither confirming nor denying" popular rumor, but he does take the chance to explain why he turned back and looked at Eurydice as they were leaving the Underworld.

There's not much new in The Last Song of Orpheus — you've likely heard these stories before. But there is much beauty here:

There is no sound like the sound of the lyre. It does not pierce one's ears like the sound of the flute, nor does it shake the hills like a properly struck drum, nor set the heart atremble with warlike impulses like the cry of the trumpet. But it achieves other things, and they are great things, for it is perfect for the accompaniment of the human voice, fitting the contours of the singing tone the way a woman's body fits a man's.

I especially enjoyed listening to Orpheus explain how "music is the divine mathematics" and that the universe, with its planets and moons in perfect relation to each other, like the chromatic scale, is really an infinitely large "harmonious mathematical structure." He implies also that the inner workings of a single cell are likewise arranged, and these ideas, I think, are truly beautiful. —Kat Hooper

Times Three — (2011) Publisher: In Times Three, Science Fiction Grand Master Robert Silverberg presents a trio of ingenious variations on one of science fiction's most durable themes: time travel. These three novels, all of them prime Silverberg, approach that subject from a dizzying variety of perspectives. The result is a remarkable display of ingenuity, erudition, and sheer narrative power. In Hawksbill Station, political prisoners from the 21st century are sent on a one-way journey to the late Cambrian era a half billion years in the past. Their struggle to survive the privations of this bleak, almost lifeless world forms the centerpiece of a deeply affecting account of loss, exile, and repression. Up the Line, by contrast, is a comic/erotic romp featuring Judson Daniel Elliott III, Time Courier and tour guide to the wonders of the past. While on a routine assignment in ancient Byzantium, Jud unexpectedly encounters his true Heart's Desire, and his well-ordered life slides inexorably into chaos. In Project Pendulum, identical twins Eric and Sean Gabrielson become the primary participants in the very first experiment in time travel. From a fixed point in time, they move by equidistant, steadily increasing arcs toward both the remote past and the unimaginable future. Their alternating viewpoints constitute a dazzling portrait of the wonders and terrors of a constantly evolving universe. Filled with moments of intimacy, epic grandeur, and mind-bending temporal paradox, these novels provide entertainment and intellectual excitement on virtually every page, offering further proof, if any were needed, of Robert Silverberg's genuine and enduring importance.

Times Three

Time travel is one of Robert Silverberg’s favorite themes and he gives us three of his best time travel novels, and an introduction to each, in the collection Times Three from Subterranean Press.

Hawksbill Station (1968) is about a camp for 21st century American political dissidents who are permanently exiled to... the late Cambrian era. Hawksbill Station is a stark and lonely place — it’s all rocks, ocean, and trilobites. With no meat, no women, and no way back, most of the men eventually go mad. Every once in a while they get supplies and news from Up Front when a new exile arrives. One day a new guy shows up and he’s acting rather suspiciously. What could this mean for Hawksbill Station?

This is a story about freedom of speech, friendship, lost love, disenfranchisement, the struggle to survive, hope, and contentment. As an aside, I’d like to mention that I’m sincerely grateful that the real 21^st century United States political system looks nothing like the possible one that Robert Silverberg imagined in 1968! Hawksbill Station is 142 pages in my proof copy and it’s based on the short story “Hawksbill Station” which was a runner up for both the Hugo and Nebula Awards in 1967.

Up the Line (1969) is a long and lusty piece (209 pages) about the paradoxes of time travel. Jud Elliott, an expert on the Byzantine Empire, lives in the year 2059 and he’s just been hired as a Time Courier — he takes tourists back in time to visit the high and low points of Byzantine history. Since he is constantly traveling back to the same events with different groups of tourists, he has to be careful about paradoxes such as the Cumulative Audience Paradox (e.g., all of the thousands of tourists watching Christ’s crucifixion are now part of the original audience), the Paradox of Transit Displacement, and the Ultimate Paradox. (After reading Up the Line, I am fairly convinced of the impossibility of time travel.)

Unfortunately, Jud gets a little sloppy when he falls in love with one of his own ancestors and this leads to a hilarious series of time-travel paradoxes and an unforgettable ending. Up the Line is fast, funny, and full of vibrant history. (It’s also full of sex, including incest and pedophilia, which I really could have done without.)

Project Pendulum (1987) is a shorter work (94 pages) about twins, one a paleontologist and one a physicist, who’ve been chosen to be the guinea pigs in the first human time travel experiment. Scientists have connected laboratory versions of a black hole and a white hole so that two similar people can be sent through time in a series of opposing ever-widening jumps, like pendulum swings. So, at first, Sean goes forward 5 minutes while Eric goes backward 5 minutes, then the pendulum swings and Sean goes backward 5 x 10² minutes while Eric goes forward 5 x 10² minutes, etc. Eventually, both twins should get to 95 million years in the past/future and then should return back to the present in the opposite way that they went, hitting all the same places that their twin had been on his trip.

Not only is the fast and furious juxtaposition of the history and future of the human race fascinating to watch and speculate about, but Project Pendulum is also a beautiful story about brotherly love and the special bond between twins.

Though the stories in Times Three are each about time travel, they’re completely different in tone and each offers something unique to the theme. This is a must-read for Silverberg fans, and for anyone who dreams of traveling through time. —Kat Hooper