I hope you don’t mind my decision to combine my review of the last two books in the Ender saga into one. These two books make a complete story, and I find I cannot fully separate the details of one from the other in my mind.
As I’ve mentioned before, I’m rereading this series after almost fifteen years. I reread Ender’s Game itself one other time, but I did not return to the sequels because I vaguely remembered feeling dissatisfied with them. In truth, I didn’t remember the stories well at all, and upon rereading it’s not hard to understand why. These books are weird. I don’t mean that in a bad way, but there’s no question that in an attempt to expose us to true alieness (something most scifi books shy away from with their endless humanoid species), the author succeeded in making these books feel a little alien themselves.
I’ve heard grumbling about these books for years in the scifi circles I follow. It is common for people to say that Speaker for the Dead is good, but Xenocide and Children of the Mind were not. I myself have echoed these sentiments, but upon further examination and reflection, I want to take it back and dare to disagree with the general consensus (among my circle at least) regarding the merits of these books.
I didn’t dislike them.
That sounds lukewarm, I’m sure, but it’s a fair place to start. Over the past several years I have gone unabashedly to a place where I primarily pursue reading as a matter of enjoyment — and writing too, for what that’s worth. Which isn’t to say that I don’t like deeper meanings underneath, but on the surface I’ve been immersed in fun stories. Xenocide and Children of the Mind (in case it isn’t patently obvious from the titles) are not fun stories. They are weird stories, mired in philosophy and religion and deep questions about the source of the soul and the meaning of life.
I was not all that old when I first read these stories, barely 20, and I suspect that part of my new view of them has to do with the living of an additional fifteen or so years of life. A lot of my worldview has changed in that time, and I’ve found that many of the books I enjoyed then do not measure up when I read them again. I was actually despairing that my years had brought on nothing but pessimism, but now I don’t think so. I just feel differently. I am not now precisely the same person I was then (one of the philosophical ideas discussed in passing in the book). There are some books that really do work better at different ages (in each of us, I’m sure, the “correct” ages shift).
I can’t tell you how I’d rate this book on a scale of one to five. I supposed my question would have to be, “Five what?” I’ve discussed this with other readers from time to time — the need for a better system of rating. This book isn’t supposed to be a pleasure or leave you filled with joy. It’s meant to make you uncomfortable and ch
allenge your assumptions. And if you don’t agree with all of it, then at least you’re thinking.
The original Ender’s Game is the sort of book I can see myself revisiting again and again, maybe every decade or so. I don’t feel the same way about these sequels, which take us, in the wake of Ender’s Game, into Ender’s guilt. Much of these last two volumes, in particular, is a story of atonement. It is far less action oriented, far more sober, and it doesn’t have a completely happy ending (or a completely miserable one).
I gave Ender’s Game and Ender’s Shadow
as a birthday gift to a 13-year-old. I do not recommend these sequels for teens, though. The books are not inappropriate, they’re just grown up books. Go into them knowing that, and with an open mind, and you may find it to be a worthwhile experience
.