Underlying themes

Having sat through a literature class or two, I imagine that there are a few who’d read my books and wonder “what is he trying to say?”  Oh, some of my philosophy bleeds through into the work, but anyone trying to view it through a certain manufactured lens will and should be a bit puzzled.  I’ve never bought into the notion that there is some sort of Rosetta Stone with which to translate the expressions of various authors into a single set of metaphors.  This apparent belief was one of the things that made Lit class a form of torture for me.  As a writer myself, I found it hard to align what I was being told with what I already knew about the craft.

In my later Infinity: Empire books, a specific adage will appear.  “Humanity Abides.”  In a post-human universe, where the ordinary view of humanity no longer applies, the question that arises is basically ‘how human are these characters?”  Since I believe that humanity is both a catchall phrase replacing the often sexist “mankind” as well as a philosophical perspective suggesting a particular ethical and moral path, the opposite of “man’s inhumanity to man,” it is my contention that the definition of humanity is incredibly broad.

There is no doubt that in my universe the power possessed by some of my characters, as well as their separation from ordinary humans on a genetic or cultural level, makes the first definition of the word–basic human-ness, something of a question mark.  Is a vampire human, under the surface?  Can he be?  Or how about the immortals–the original ones, or the newcomers like Jasmine Tashae?  How human is a being that can weave probability the way someone might weave cloth, or destroy an enemy as easy as some might squash a bug?

I often try to paint questions of right and wrong among the immortals and other post-humans as a matter of individual perspective.  ArchAngel, arguably one of the most powerful immortals in existence, is by nature a pacifist despite his warrior past.  Or, perhaps, pacifist isn’t quite the right word.  He isn’t opposed to violence when he thinks it’s necessary, but he prefers to avoid it if at all possible.   On the other hand, the Lady of Blades determines the value of life quite differently than does ArchAngel.  Diseased humans, those who prey on those weaker than themselves, hold no value to her.  She completely disdains their alleged humanity.  Her attitude toward such people is one of the things that prompts people to fear her, though it’s often all out of context.  Her temper, and capacity for violence, is just one aspect of her personality–the one most obvious to bystanders.

But her desire to protect the innocent can’t be denied.  There are very few lines she wouldn’t cross to do it, or to exact vengeance–or justice–if it came to that.  Not only for the innocent harmed, but for those who might be harmed by the same force in the future.

Then you have Loki, who would never intentionally harm anyone, yet killed tens of thousands when his nanoviruses swept through the population.

Cynicism is easy.  The kind of abject nihilism that suggests that there’s no purpose to our existence, that we might be, as Agent Smith suggests in the Matrix movies, little more than a virus, a disease, ourselves, is as damning of humanity as those who claim Original Sin.  I believe neither of these things.  We are flawed, yes, but we are also more than the sum of our flaws.

Though it’s doubtful that anyone could see it in my writing, two of my biggest influences have been Frank Herbert, with his Dune series (not just the first book, mind you, but the whole of the series until he died), and Spider Robinson, to whose work “Tales from the Magitech Lounge” was something of a tribute.  My time traveler, Jack, is no Mike Callahan, but he was never meant to be.

My goal is to create something bigger than just a story, or even a series of stories.  Not to preach, but to attempt to illuminate something I believe about us–about humanity.  That, despite our destructive ways, our incessant hunger for something tangible to define ourselves, and our belief that we can somehow triumph over injustice by perpetrating injustices, there is a spark of something at our core that transcends this.  A belief that we can be better, that humanity is more than just a word, or a virus dedicated to perpetuating ourselves and consuming all in its path.  That there may be a higher purpose for our existence.

In the end my books are about people.  Strange people, sometimes, but they have the same kind of flaws, suffer from the same sort of misjudgements and false starts as the rest of us.  Perfection is not only unattainable, it’s not desirable.  Only in the striving to be better, to be more, can we find our destiny.

Yes, I believe in redemption.  I believe in evil, too, but primarily evil in the form of that nasty little voice inside all of us that leads us away from our better selves, so far in some cases that there can be no path back.  I think there’s more to all of this than we can see, or measure, be it with the naked eye or with mechanical and electronic artifacts.  And, in the end, it’s up to us as individuals, as humans, to help change the world.  No one else is going to do it for us.

Humanity Abides.  Even in the darkness.