Consider Phlebas (Culture)

Really not a fan of war, fighting or sci - fi. Can appreciate its well written but not a fan of the content. Like the characters and would have appreciated it as a short story, though not a fan of The Quest as a genre either

I'm more comfortable when I can either love a book or hate a book; ambivalence is frustrating for me. And I am irresolute and conflicted about Consider Phlebas. I found it engaging (at times) and even enjoyable, but it lacks the gratifying sense of achievement usually found at the denouement of a story. It is a book of remarkable scope, tone, and philosophical ambition—but whether that adds up to something meaningful or entertaining will depend heavily on how you approach it. Do not go into it, as I did, with the false notion that this is a classic 1980s space adventure. What punk was to disco, Consider Phlebas is to space opera (à la Star Wars). This book is a rather dark—very dark—satire of the 80s sci-fi trope of one hero changing the entire galaxy through sheer force of will. At the end, there's no reward for finishing this book other than what you pick up along the way about the world Banks created and the diverse and fascinating creatures with which he populated it. Maybe that's enough. Maybe not. (Ugh! Ambivalence!) The novel follows Horza, a shape-shifting mercenary aligned with the warlike Idirans in a galaxy-spanning conflict against the Culture—a post-scarcity, AI-driven utopia. Horza’s journey is episodic, filled with stunning set pieces and misadventures that seem to go out of their way to highlight the chaos, indifference, and futility of Banks’s future world. While I didn’t find Horza himself objectionable—in fact, his ideological stance (skepticism of AI-led moral superiority, discomfort with imperialism cloaked in utopianism) isn't without merit—I struggled to find anything emotionally grounding in the story itself. Banks seems to go out of his way to keep the narrative bleak and full of futility, with Horza becoming less a person and more a vehicle for the idea that “nothing matters, especially not you.” Almost all the characters die arbitrarily, allies turn on each other, and Horza’s fate seems less like a tragic fall and more like an indifferent shrug. The world-building, though, is unquestionably impressive. Banks has a knack for alien cultures, big ideas, and memorable imagery. But if Consider Phlebas has a point, it may be that there is no point—that conviction is often misplaced and individual actions are swallowed by circumstance and chance. This tone won’t work for everyone. For me, it made for an emotionally distant read. Although, had I been more aware of Banks' intentions going in, I might have appreciated it more. And yet, it’s not a meaningless book. There’s real ambition in the world-building, and each set piece is vivid and inventive. But that emotional disconnection, that bleak philosophical throughline—it kind of left me feeling like I went through a wild ride only to be told, “See? Everything’s pointless anyway.” Advice given in hindsight: understanding three things about this book is important—all of which I was ignorant of going into it. First, Consider Phlebas was Banks’ first stab at a genre novel, and it’s wildly ambitious but uneven. Very uneven. Some latitude should be given for that. Second, Phlebas is a deconstruction of heroic science fiction, not an ode to the same. And lastly, this is not the tone or flavour of the rest of Banks’ later Culture novels. In looking into how this series is so admired, I have come to understand that Phlebas almost stands alone; the following books are sharper, brighter, and far more rewarding—while still being thoughtful and provocative. It was an interesting decision Banks made to begin a series by showing us the worst of his universe. I’m a little heartened to learn that I’m not alone in finishing it and wondering, “Wait... that was the start of a beloved series?”