Belarus

Tsarist Russia is reconstituted on the distant steppes of an alien world

Belarus By Lee Hogan Roc Paperback, Feb. 2002 398 pages MSRP: $6.99 US/$9.99 Can. ISBN: 0451458680

ndrei Mironenko wants to be tsar. Absolute ruler of millions of destinies on a far-off world patterned on the grandiose customs of a semi-feudal culture that on its home planet was extinguished thousands of years before. This ambition is no pipe dream. Andrei is a wealthy citizen of a vast confederacy of worlds that has an extensive history of re-engineering found planets to jump-start colonies, colonies fashioned in the images of whatever utopia or romantic vision their investors fancy. Andrei's team locates a promising system and sets up shop.

Early on, the team's work is shadowed by the specter of abandoned, ancient, yet still flawlessly functioning satellites that orbit the main planet in the system, Belarus. These satellites are the remains of some derelict civilization, but they seem menacing and sentient. They're certainly riddled with malicious and deadly booby traps. On Belarus itself, most everyone feels watched by a malevolent, barely discernable presence.

But there are also very human threats to this new Russian world. Elsewhere in the confederacy, anarchists, revolutionaries and clashing ideologies whirl like agitated currents. As their destructive powers swell, their disruptive effects begin to lap even at the shores of distant Belarus. And there are individual agents of chaos as well. One of these smells the danger coming to Belarus as surely as the carrion crow smells the battlefield, and this dangerous agent makes subtle moves to enhance the magnitude of Belarus' fall.

Belarus seems prosperous and peaceful. Onion-domed architecture blooms from the steppes. AI, biomechanics and the wealth of advanced technology glitter alongside ancient Russia's Faberge eggs, its duma and its superstitions. But as this newly developed wealth shines on the crest of a new civilization, an older, vicious, merciless and alien one wakes in its shadow. Ready to challenge. Eager to inflict pain. Thirsty for war.

Richly ambitious with some significant flaws

The world that author Lee Hogan has circumscribed in Belarus is as vast and dissimilar unto itself as the original Russian empire. Anachronistic rituals stroll down futuristic corridors equipped with sensors and energy signatures. Ancient Russian mythological figures like the enigmatic, dangerous Baba Yaga pluck at the strings of the plot like a balalaika as a human civilization is assailed by a sadistic, alien one.

Hogan's ambitions are admirable. It would be quite the literary feat to embroider these disparate flosses into complex, rewarding ideas and an interesting narrative. But ambition is not actualization, and the book's grand imagination is hopelessly entangled in ordinary and ineffectual treatments of dialogue, pacing and style.

This treatment might serve to carry the book if its literary ambitions were less, and it were more of a straight action tale. But overburdened like a hapless pack mule by all the touches of antique Russia—not to mention those of the apocalypse, religious fanaticism and even serial killer profiling—well, the book becomes a chore to read rather than an epic adventure at close range.

Certain passages in the book suggest that Hogan might intend this to be the first gem in a shining trilogy, quartology, quintology or whatever. This could account for the overreach in scope at the expense of basic storytelling. Perhaps she's writing with an eye toward a possible movie deal, blocking out scenes and flow in accordance with adaptability to the screen. Or perhaps the book suffers by the encroaching, insidious affects of our film-going culture on the efforts of our writers.

Something's amiss, and it doesn't make for a satisfying read. However, in its praise it could be said that this might be quite an enjoyable film, as it's strong on visuals and dramatic touches. Also in its favor, it must be said that Hogan keeps the impulse to "jargonize" her novel in check, a failing of many contemporary writers eager to create their own demesnes. Hogan has fashioned and adapted specific terminology, but it mostly serves the story rather than competes with it.

Hogan set herself a difficult task, and she must be respected for attempting to scale a mountain when many of her contemporary authors are content to trot up ordinary hills that add nothing to the map of our literary world. If there is indeed a sequel, perhaps she will be able to refine her writing to write a tighter, more balanced narrative. — Anna

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