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I couldn't
recite it by memory, but I would never forget it. From the novel Hyperion
by Dan Simmons: "The Hegemony Consul sat on the balcony of his
ebony spaceship and played Rachmaninoff's Prelude in C-sharp Minor on
an ancient but well-maintained Steinway while great, green, saurian
things surged and bellowed in the swamps below." A futuristic
Canterbury Tales, Hyperion tells the stories of a Poet, Priest, Soldier,
Diplomatic Consul, Detective, Scholar, and Starship Captain. They were
selected to travel together on one final pilgrimage to the world of
Hyperion to visit the mysterious and deadly being known as the Shrike.
Each tale is indescribably original and inventive, and the words - Simmons
paints like a master with words. Some writers
are great storytellers, can really keep you turning the pages, but are
not great with the language. Others are great with the language, making
your mouth water the way they work in words, but not great at telling
a story. Simmons' Hyperion is the best combination I have seen of both.
It's a wildly imaginative tale, at times grippingly sad (as in the Scholar's
tale), at other times mysterious and dark (the Poet's tale). There's
even a point where poet John Keats, from whose epic poem came the name
for this book, becomes an integral character (the Detective's tale).
Simmons sets
it up with a beautiful opening. He instantly establishes characterization
and setting as we glimpse a diplomatic consul sitting in his ship, playing
his piano on an alien world. We are there on this empty world, hearing
this music, seeing this lone spaceship. Simmons gives
a sense of his style from the opening, showing his love of language.
It's a long sentence, specific in detail, highlighting the style of
the book to follow. Simmons clarifies the music playing (Rachmaninoff's
Prelude in C-sharp Minor), the type of piano (Steinway, ancient but
well-maintained), the color of the Consul's ship (ebony), the type of
government in the galaxy (Hegemony), and a description of the creatures
on this world (great, green, saurian things). The detail
serves as a hint into the mind of the Consul. It's through his eyes
we read this sentence; he's aware of the type and age of piano on which
he's playing (Steinway), the piece of music he's playing (Rachmaninoff),
but he doesn't know the name or type of alien creatures flying around
his ship (saurian things). We see an ordered and structured mind, one
used to filing information for later use, as the case would be for a
political consul. Alliteration
floats throughout the sentence: "balcony of his ebony...";
"played Rachmaninoff's Prelude..."; "great, green...";
"saurian things surged and bellowed in the swamps..."; "bellowed
in the swamps below." These overlapping waves of alliteration flow
off the tongue, making what is a long sentence something effortless
to say. His predominance of soft consonants (g and s) also makes the
sentence move easier. Dan Simmons'
Hyperion, like Keats' poem of the same name, is epic, beautiful to read,
and filled with wonder. I have yet to find a greater combination of
imagination, incredible storytelling, and poetic mastery of the language.
Speed-reading teaches you not to sound out sentences, not to move your
lips and pronounce each word. This should not be the case with Simmons
as his style begs to be read aloud to savor the language. It ends as
it begins, a celebration of language coursing through an intriguing,
masterful story.
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