Review: The Saga of Seven Suns by Kevin J. Anderson

In general, I tend to lean toward the fantasy end of the fantasy/science-fiction spectrum, if indeed there really is such a thing. By this, I suppose I mean that I prefer dragons and magic to spaceships and technology. This definitely isn’t the place to digress into a discussion of the blurred lines between fantasy and science fiction. I simply mention it because my ignorance of science fiction conventions will inevitably color this review.

Set several centuries in the future, The Saga of Seven Suns in its seven novels tells the story of an epic interstellar struggle. Initially, only three species are introduced: humans, the benevolent Ildirans, and the insectile Klikiss, who are now thought extinct but whose robot creations still inhabit the galaxy. Humanity is governed from Earth by the Hansa or Hanseatic League, an explicit reference to the medieval Germanic trade network. The Hansa has a figurehead king, but the real reins of power rest in the hands of Chairman Basil Wenceslas. But not all of humanity accepts Hanseatic rule. Enterprising gypsy-like clans of Roamers travel the galaxy and live off their own ingenuity.

The Ildiran race thrives on tradition. The Mage Imperator directly interfaces with all of his subjects through a mental, almost telepathic, link known as thism. At some point in the past, the Ildirans befriended mankind and bestowed upon them the gift of their stardrives, allowing humans to quickly traverse the galaxy.

The first novel in the series, Hidden Empire, opens with the Hansa’s launching of the “Klikiss torch”, an unearthed piece of Klikiss technology capable of transforming a gas giant planet into a star, making the planet’s moons habitable. The experiment appears to be a resounding success, but of course there’s a fly in the ointment, or in this case a whole wasp’s nest. The explosive torch awakens the eponymous hidden empire, a race known as hydrogues whose composition allows them to dwell deep within the gas giants. Hydrogue war globes begin attacking gas mines on other gas giants throughout the galaxy. These mines are the source of ekti, the hydrogen fuel which powers the Ildiran stardrives. Trade and travel grinds to a crawl, and tensions both between and within the races rise to the surface.

The entire series unfolds from this one momentous event. The scope of Anderson’s work is staggering. The reader gets an almost kaleidoscopic view of the action from several dozen points of view. Most of the characters are three-dimensional and engaging, and it’s impressive that none of them feels like a “talking head” whose presence simply serves to witness and explain an event. On the other hand, the development of most characters from novel to novel is disappointing. For me, character transformation is a hallmark of great writing. With a few exceptions, the principal players don’t really change their stripes. They may grow in courage or power or stature or experience, but in terms of their allegiance and motivations, what you see is what you get. To me, this stands in stark contrast to the three-dimensionality of the characters in another great multi-POV epic series, George R. R. Martin’s A Song of Ice and Fire.

Despite its flat characters and lack of originality, The Saga of Seven Suns succeeds in telling an entertaining, at times even powerfully emotional, story. I read fantasy and science fiction largely from a love of exploration, of seeing new worlds and meeting new cultures. On this count Saga delivers. Descriptions of planets and people, buildings and battles, are quite satisfying.

Like so many other SFF series, The Saga of Seven Suns suffers from sprawl. Spanning the series over seven novels may have allowed Anderson to add layers of depth and texture to the tale, but in terms of plot the whole story could have easily been told in three or four books. Given the overall lack of character transformation, one knows, in general, what to expect from one novel to the next. For the first few books, this gave me a sense of security and comfort, knowing that I could depend on a certain reading experience. But that comfort inevitably gave way to complacency, and almost to boredom.

I’m hesitant to recommend the series to readers, but I’m also hesitant to dismiss it completely. Life-changing literature it certainly isn’t, but I think many would consider it a fun, engaging read.