Sooner or later, all SF fans end up compiling their very own best-of list of science fiction books. There’s a risk of getting emotional – once I had an hour-long passionate argument (would not go as far as to say fight, but voices were raised) with a friend over which of Wyndham’s books to add, if it’s permissible to have entire trilogies, and whether Sphere could make it in the light of the disaster Crichton later writing turned out to be. At the end, we agreed to disagree. Here follows my authoritative list (and like my friend, feel absolutely free to disagree):
The 10 best science-fiction books of all time:
- Arthur C. Clarke: Rendezvous with Rama
- Carl Sagan: Contact
- Orson Scott Card: Speaker for the Dead (Ender’s Game, Speaker for the Dead, Xenocide)
- Robert Charles Wilson: Spin
- Kim Stanley Robinson: Mars trilogy (Red Mars, Green Mars, Blue Mars)
- John Wyndham: The Day of the Triffids
- Michael Crichton: Sphere
- Arthur C. Clarke: Space Odyssey series (2001: A Space Odyssey, 2010: Odyssey Two, 2061: Odyssey Three)
- Frederik Pohl: Gateway + Gateway 2 (Beyond the Blue Event Horizon)
- Frank Herbert: Dune
- Arthur C. Clarke: Rendezvous with Rama
On any list of mine, this book would always be the first: it is simply the best science-fiction book ever written. The elaborate description of Rama’s inside, bringing it close how it would actually feel to climb down into a giant spinning cylinder, brings the hard SF element; the set of characters, with many human quirks and surprisingly modern polyamorous relationships, brings the human interest angle; and there is a constant, strong sense of awe – just think of Jimmy Pak’s flight to Rama’s South Pole. We also have interplanetary politics, pieces of alien technology, and enigmatic alien attitude to humans. All this on 200 pages, written in such light hand and with so much humour that it feels effortless. A perfect score 10 gymnastics exercise, with no visible sweat. One of the great features, regrettably spoilt in the sequels (stay away – they are dreadful) is to keep the alien Ramans always just on the edge of our vision, showing bits of their technology, letting the human characters speculate, but never trying to reveal the mystery. It keeps the whole book balanced and credible – it is about the human experience, how humans encounter the inexplicable – and it does not attempt to be more.
2. Carl Sagan: Contact
At the risk of contradicting myself, I would say that Contact is also the best SF book ever written – it’s just a very different book from Clarke’s. Less sparkling, more pensive, it’s double the length and half the action. We have to wait for first contact until page 65. But they are 65 pages well spent as we are watching protagonist Ellie Arroway grow up and come to her own as a female scientist in male-dominated mid-20th century United States. We get to know Ellie as a complex and likeable character, almost as if she were a friend, and thanks to this, what happens to her once that first contact is made, feels very close and personal. In Sagan’s book, even side characters have depths that is rarely seen in classic SF books. “Contact” is also interesting because the author dares to venture into the quicksand terrain of atheism and religion – with great empathy, I would add, resulting in one of the most spiritually uplifting SF books of all times.
Another strong point of “Contact” is the science – Sagan was the best-respected science communicator of his century for a good reason, showcasing prime numbers, radio-astronomy and wormholes in a very accurate but still easily digestible manner. The only weakness of the book – which Clarke avoided in Rama – is that we actually meet the aliens. It is satisfying in terms of providing some answers, but very dissatisfying as we instinctively know that real aliens would be a lot harder to decipher. Still, Sagan pulls off a moving ending to the book, open enough to let the mind float wondering, but satisfying enough to feel that Ellie’s story is complete.
3. Orson Scott Card: Speaker for the Dead (Ender’s Game, Speaker for the Dead, Xenocide)
No, I’m not going to start this entry with “this is also the best SF book ever written”, though I’m very much tempted. Orson Scott Card’s Ender trilogy (tetralogy, in fact, but book nr 4 is not on par with the first three) is SF writing at its best. And the second book, Speaker for the Dead, stands out shining even in this excellent collection. It can be read as a standalone book, but it’s even more compelling if you read the series in order. In the first book, we see Ender as a child genius in troubled and brutal times, whose life mission is as good as concluded before he reaches age twelve. How could such a character have a second life?
Volume two is how: by choosing an even bigger mission. We leave Ender as a disturbed, neurotic child and we meet him again as an insightful, charismatic yet vulnerable adult, about to make a couple of life- and universe-changing decisions. The world he lives in is a canvas of endless opportunity: humanity has spread across the stars. But there is also inestimable risk, as we have also spread our weaknesses, our prejudices and our fears. When encountering other species, humanity may display some maturity, but our deepest flaws are also fully exposed. In Speaker for the Dead the author brings us not fewer than three, some could argue four, absolutely fascinating alien races, and in an admirable feat of “show not tell”, we accompany Ender and other characters as they interact, understand and sometimes fatally misunderstand these species.
Alongside compelling aliens, we also meet peculiar human cultures and riveting human characters, some of them so twisted that we may find it easier to comprehend aliens than one of our own. Orson Scott Card also invents two new religions, two interwoven plots of local and intergalactic politics, and so much family drama that could fuel an entire theater play. The best moment? When you emerge after 400 pages from Speaker for the Dead, absorbed and dazzled, and you realize that you still have the whole of volume three (Xenocide) to read.
4. Robert Charles Wilson: Spin
Spin is the only book on my list that was published after 2000. (There are two more among the honourable mentions). It’s probably not a sign that SF writing took a nosedive after the turn of the millennia – it’s just the classic advantage of “the classics”, stories that have had enough time to seep into popular culture, influence subsequent stories, and being passed down as a heritage item. Half of the books of my “ten best” list had already been beloved by my mother – no surprise they are also my favourites.
Spin, however, is such a knockout story that it does not need the label of classics. I was impressed the first time I read it, but it was on second reading that it truly blew my mind. A thicker book, but a real page-turner, so if you tend to devour your books fast, a second time could really help appreciate Spin’s depth and attention to detail.
Spin sets out with a mystery of staggering proportions: the stars disappear. Earth is surrounded by a shield, isolating us from the rest of the universe, and much beyond our scientific and spiritual capacity to comprehend. The book’s atmosphere is continually tense, reflecting the “end-of-days” mood of humankind in this new, stupefying situation, and we follow enthralled the three main characters as they seek answers on three possible avenues – science, religion, and humanism.
One of Spin’s exceptional forte is presenting utterly fantastic, but still very rational-sounding scientific endeavors to solve the mystery, and in spite of the massive plot challenge, the answers don’t disappoint. Another strong point is the characters – we gain insight into their strengths and flows in a compelling, immersive way rarely seen in SF novels. Last but not least, the book’s moody, flowing style, with constant flavors of bitter hindsight and imminently pending doom, is just the perfect way to deliver the plot and characters: it’s an atmosphere that stays with you even after you’re finished, making you wonder if you could still glimpse a star next star you turn your face to the night sky.
5. Kim Stanley Robinson: Mars trilogy (Red Mars, Green Mars, Blue Mars)
At almost 2000 pages, the Mars trilogy is longer than “War and Peace” or “Lord of the Rings”, and a lot longer than Thomas Mann’s “The Magic Mountain”, a book considered so hard to read that my high school literature teacher handed out special prizes to anyone who could finish it. (Yes, I did). With KSR’s great opus, the adjective “painstaking” is particularly apt, with perhaps not just the author taking pains when assiduously describing the geology of Mars. Containing such wealth of scientific and technological information, the books often feel like a comprehensive manual for Mars colonization.
No doubt, though, that the Mars trilogy is totally worth the on-average 30 hours you will spend reading it. First of all, this painstaking attention to detail really pays off with themes more exciting than Mars rocks. When you read about the building of the first habitats on Mars, you really feel you are one of the pioneers. When he describes the social dynamics among the first hundred colonists, you will be totally absorbed – it is clever and relatable. In fact, one strength of the Mars trilogy is that despite the heavy load, explanations are given in a clear manner, rarely break the plot, and are delivered in a non-patronizing style that leaves the reader feel informed and smart.
Characters are another strong point, especially as we follow some of the dozen-or-so protagonists from 2026 (yes, only three years from now!) to well into the 22nd century. Due to this long timeframe, character development and group dynamics are much more interesting than in an average novel. Some characters surpass themselves and evolve into almost entirely different personalities; there is a merry-go-round of coupling and decoupling, showing different sides of the protagonists when they are with different partners; still, perhaps the most interesting are the few strong, core character traits that would not change even in a hundred years, and would recur and resurface at crisis moments.
The trilogy’s main theme is Mars terraforming, but it also extends upon longevity treatments, genetic engineering, climate change impact on Earth, nation states vs multinational corporations, post-capitalist democratic and economic models, in each case in a gripping and insightful way. We can already say with great certainty that Mars colonization is significantly delayed compared to KSR’s prediction, and that climate change impact would likely be at least as disastrous as he describes. The societal and individual psychological effects of extreme longevity, rarely explored in such depth in SF so far, are also among the most fascinating themes of the book.
It may be tough going at times, but what you learn while reading the Mars trilogy will be all worth it , and you may find that that other colonization-themed books pale in comparison. Perhaps for no other reason than the lack of sex and booze: Mars characters may be metaphysically busy, but also tend to have a surprisingly active physical life – extreme sports and beyond.
6. John Wyndham: The Day of the Triffids
The Day of the Triffids was the first post-apocalyptic book I read. I have read many others since, some of them terrific, but Triffids’ strong effect has not faded. From its remarkable first sentence – “When a day that you happen to know is Wednesday starts off by sounding like Sunday, there is something seriously wrong somewhere”, the protagonist’s quest for survival in 1950s London right after the end of the world is utterly engaging.
Wyndham chooses a protagonist with almost no traits to remember, so readers can simply reflect their own personality onto him. It works and brings his first person account very close, almost like an entry from your own diary. The style is simple, unemotional, almost plain – but it’s a deceptive simplicity, leaving it to vividly described streets, locations and encounters to illustrate the story. The central London landscape would be familiar enough to most to bring the sudden disruption of the world right on your doorstep – it feels it could happen anywhere, anytime, even tomorrow, even in your town. Inevitably, you would ask yourself “what would I do?”, and find yourself agree or disagree with the moral and practical choices of Wyndham’s character.
Triffids are a well-chosen enemy – alien and mysterious enough, and described in sufficient detail to be credibly frightening. Humans don’t have a clear upper hand, on the contrary – Triffids are a formidable opponent and they have time entirely on their side. (Again, warning – don’t read the sequel!).
Arthur C. Clarke called Triffids an “immortal story”, and it sums it up well – we will always live in a world which is more fragile than we acknowledge, and at a deeper level we carry the fear of the unknown as well as fear of our everyday surroundings turning hostile. Wyndham exploits these fears masterfully, but also gifts us with the hope of preserving our values and regaining control.
While there can be no doubt that I’m right, my friend’s preferred Wyndham book, The Kraken Wakes, is also good reading. But Triffids would obviously knock the stuffing out of Krakens!
7. Michael Crichton: Sphere
Michael Crichton may have written a good number of awful books, from absurd monkey-boy “Next” to climate change denier “State of Fear”, but he has also written very entertaining techno-adventures (“Congo”), science thrillers (“Andromeda Strain”) and then there’s “Sphere”, an SF where much of the science is the softest science of all, psychology.
The plot opening is awesome – if you don’t enjoy your protagonist picked up by non-smiling military personnel and flown to the middle of the Pacific to investigate a spacecraft crashed 300 hundred years ago under the sea, you must be a true ascetic and totally immune to bestsellers.
I cannot tell you much more about the plot without spoilers, and as Sphere is a true suspense novel, they would diminish the delight of reading. But beyond unapologetically entertaining, Sphere contains a good amount of thought – on the nature of human imagination, the devastating effect of burying or falsifying our emotions, and the limits of understanding our own motivations. The depiction of the under-water habitat is full of interesting detail, but also creates an unsettlingly claustrophobic atmosphere, and parts of the book are so intense that I’ve always preferred reading them at daylight. While the characters are by no means unconventional, it is refreshing to have a slightly more mature (53) character for protagonist, with a general aversion to heroics and adventures. At moments of crisis (of which we’ll have a lot in the novel), it is fascinating to watch these “straight-out- of-Jurassic-Park” characters suddenly reveal hidden traits, or even turn inside out and produce wholly unexpected behaviors. But the best in Sphere is the suspense – Crichton knows how to create a narrative flow that soon suppresses all disbelief and drags you along the plot like a massive ocean current. Enjoy!
8. Arthur C. Clarke: Space Odyssey series (2001: A Space Odyssey, 2010: Odyssey Two, 2061: Odyssey Three)
After a detour to psycho-thrillers, we are back to classic SF – and it cannot get more classic than the Space Odyssey series. While it is a tetralogy, the final installment in 3001 is feels more like a wordplay than an actual sequel (though you don’t need to actively avoid it – it just didn’t make the top ten).
Space Odyssey 2001 is so much of a classic, in fact, that it feels practically superfluous to read it – all its content, from black monolith to misbehaving AI to interstellar space hub to Star Child are deeply embedded in pop-culture, and/or have inspired countless stories since. Reading 2001 is somewhat like going back to the source, expecting to feel proper reverence but perhaps not so much fun.
The reason why I fought my friend over adding Arthur C. Clarke twice to my list are the second and third books, 2010 and 2061, which are my go-to books in times of heavy flu, existential angst or clueless “nothing to read” boredom. They are full of awesome Solar System travel: to Jupiter, comet Halley, moon Europa, with descriptions that do not feel old, not even after we’ve received actual images of some of these places from Voyager and New Horizon. The two books present a splendid selection of remarkable scenes in outer space – a suspenseful, fiery Jupiter flyby; an ill-fated, icy landing on Europa; spacewalk on tiny comet Halley, with amazing secrets hidden in its caverns. Clarke provides his usual set of quirky characters, from Soviet spaceship captains to excessively romantic engineers to media celebs on a space cruise, and we have another unusual hero, aging Dr Floyd, totally unprepossessing and quite relatable. But the final selling point of the whole series must be the monolith, with its one-liner messages (“All these worlds are yours…”), enigmatic jumps around the Solar System, and the growing uneasiness whether it’s really as benign as we thought it was in 2001…
9. Frederik Pohl: Gateway + Gateway 2 (Beyond the Blue Event Horizon)
Gateway’s setting is thrilling enough for two: a hollowed asteroid abandoned by a superior alien race, full of strange artifacts and still functioning spacecraft, explored in ultimate Russian roulette style by fortune hunters. While this may sound like the ideal backdrop for a space opera, Gateway labours on solid SF grounds. The way the book is peppered throughout with small inserts of Gateway’s notice board (announcements, classified ads and the like) gives it a realistic feel. The dry little mission reports are particularly entertaining, but also terrifying, as so many of the missions go utterly wrong. Science is carefully dosed in small Q&As and by science AI programmes, from well-designed Albert Einstein to crazed virtual personalities babbling about “gosh numbers”.
Realism and good attention to detail bring the Gateway experience really close: claustrophobic, anxiety-ridden missions in a tiny box whose destination you don’t know, and whose operation you cannot control. In the same vein, in Gateway 2 we can practically smell the Herter-Hall family’s body odour in their extremely confined long haul cross the Solar System.
Beyond the fascinating glimpses on astronomy from exploring the Oort Cloud to finding yourself on the brink of a black hole’s event horizon, Gateway also explores an area which was very innovative for its time (late 1970s) and it is just becoming reality in our days: human interactions with advanced AI programs that take the role of personal assistant, science advisor, psychological counsellor as well as the increasing role virtual reality plays in our life – and possibly, even after our death.
Protagonist and narrator Robinette Broadhead is another strong suit of the books. The reluctant hero, the hundred percent unexceptional guy from next door who makes it to Elon Musk-level riches, and saves the world now and again, he is annoying, likeable and very relatable. With several smart, rocking female characters and a couple of intriguing weirdoes also thrown in, the character cast could hardly be better.
Speaking of characters, in the second book, we also get to meet the aliens, which, unfortunately, breaks much of the magic, and the subsequent volumes of the heechee saga are rather mediocre. Stick to Gateway and Beyond the Blue Event Horizon – and don’t bother to find out what kind of behinds did the heechee have.
10. Frank Herbert: Dune
You could spend a good hour or two debating whether Dune is SF at all, or rather science fantasy, high fantasy, epic storytelling, or whatever label you want to hang on it. Until the UN convention on the definition of science fiction is adopted in Geneva, I will carry on considering it not only SF, but absolutely great SF. If the world-building is more powerful and the passions more overstated than in your usual SF – it all works, and makes Dune stand out from the crowd.
The world of Dune is complex with all caps. Everything and everybody has such intricate back stories that the book has spawned 29 spinoffs/prequels/sequels to date, though none of them measuring up to the original. Political intrigue is lethal, the landscapes are begging for filming them, and the plot is so intense that destiny seems to be lurking on practically every corner. The main characters are so much larger than life that they would need to swallow pills to fit into an ordinary spaceship – but luckily, even spaceships are larger than anywhere else in the SF universe.
And if the world doesn’t seem complex enough, it’s in fact a double fabric: beneath the surface of reality, we meet all the time a deeper layer of reality, heaving with spiritual or ritualistic significance, past burdens or glories, or simply another deadly conspiracy. The two main sources of this layered fabric is Paul’s visions of the future, showing him the potentially cosmic significance of tiny changes in the present, and the legendary “Bene Gesserit” observation skills – deducing tomes from just the inflection of a greeting. Through the central characters’ senses, we understand a genuine whirlpool of undercurrents in every moment. One of my favourite scenes of the whole book is the ceremonial dinner hosted by Leto Atreides, newly arrived to Arrakis – every gesture, every joke, every blink of an eye reveals a depth of hidden motives and devious schemes to our heroes. Reading Dune can be a dizzying experience: watch out for moments of paranoia when you look for hidden messages in casual conversation. You may feel more sensual joy than before in a body of water, or catch yourself murmuring the litany of fear in panicky moments. Dune’s plot is simple, but the plot arc is impeccable, and the writing well-paced – you will be whizzed along the storyline, where the stupefying richness of the landscape is an addition, not a smokescreen to missing logic. While I’m still far from running out of superlatives, maybe this has much been convincing enough – go, read Dune.
If you want to sample the authors in smaller portions first, try their short stories, quite a number of them available for free
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