The Last Trumpet Shall Sound

In 2023, the Campo Grande Treefrog went extinct.

There’s a very real chance that
in the not-too-distant future,
the elephant will trumpet its last.
(Image via Goodreads)

Its loud and distinctive croaking now exists only in recordings. It was one of hundreds of animals that disappeared from the planet last year as human-driven climate change, pollution, and other forms of habitat destruction ravaged ecosystems.

Javan rhinos, orangutans, sea turtles, saolas, pangolins, and elephants are all dying out. Make no mistake: this is a crisis that will have profound downstream consequences for humanity.

Ray Nayler focused his best-selling novel The Mountain In The Sea on this extinction crisis, depicting the extirpation of sea life from the oceans and its impact on humans. But despite the grim subject, the book offers an undercurrent of hope. His new novella The Tusks of Extinction acts as a darker, angrier, possibly necessary counterpoint to the earlier work.

“The Mountain in the Sea had its roots in the ecological preservation work I engaged in in Vietnam. That work was preventative and positive, working with youth and with environmental activists to protect the Con Dao Archipelago,” Nayler explained by email in early January. “The Tusks of Extinction has its roots in my experiences in Vietnam dealing with the illegal ivory trade and the trade in rhino horn. That work exposed me to the grimmest realities of human greed, ignorance, and exploitation. The enormity of the slaughter of elephants and rhinos for the sake of useless trinkets and the stupidest pseudo-medicinal ideas.”

The result is an uncomfortable read that will resonate with many and deserves serious consideration in every award category for which it is eligible. It’s science fiction deeply rooted in truth … and the current truth hurts.

As the book begins, scientists are recreating mammoths as a last ditch effort to keep the elephantidae family in existence. Siberia provides isolated stretches of open country, improving the odds for the wild megafauna. Since elephants — and their mammoth cousins — depend on generational knowledge to survive in the wild, the project is forced to recruit the recorded consciousness of a long-dead elephant conservation activist and researcher.

The novella follows three narrators who offer differing perspectives on an attempt to reintroduce the wooly mammoth into the wild: murdered elephant researcher Dr. Damira Khismatullina, uploaded into a mammoth matriarch; young apprentice poacher Syvatoslav; and ultra-rich big-game hunter’s spouse Vladimir.

About 100 African elephants are killed every day
to fuel the illegal trade in ivory. The villain — as is
often the case — is rapacious unchecked capitalism.
(Image via Science.org)

The protagonists are tragic figures; Svyatoslav is the son of a callous and violent hunter who cares for little other than money. Although he feels revulsion at the senseless slaughter, economic hardship and cultural pressure force him to participate. Vladimir is in a relationship with someone who thinks his apex capitalist money can buy love, and Damira has seen her life’s work destroyed by rapacious capitalism.

While humanity’s role in mass extinction is the main theme of the novella, an important sub theme is the relationship between senses, memory, and self identity. After her resurrection in the mammoth, Damira’s experience of the world is radically different, as is her relationship with memory. Assumptions about mind-body dualism are baked into the SF trope of uploading consciousness, and it’s refreshing to see these assumptions challenged.

“In a large part, The Tusks of Extinction is an exploration of the embodiment of mind, and also of the physical reality — the enormity — of our embodiment in the world,” Nayler says. “The mental changes Damira undergoes as a mammoth are a rebuttal of the idea of mind as separate from body and the sensory apparatus. The Tusks of Extinction is an expression of my anti-Cartesian view of the world. We exist in a physical body which exists in an ecosystem. The idea that we are floating intellects which can do as we will is one of the most damaging in human history: our lives are contingent, at all times, on physical reality and our place in it. The realization of that demands a corresponding ethics.”

The rationale behind the fictional project is expertly mapped out; research has shown that wooly mammoths enabled arctic ecosystems to store more CO2 than they otherwise would have. Having the mammoths back in the environment would disperse seeds, and increase resilience to climate change. Nayler gets the details right, and this helps make his larger arguments more believable and compelling.

Grounded in his experiences, Nayler offers insights about the social and economic conditions that lead to poaching. Svyatoslav, for example, is written with compassion and in a way that reflects on the endurance of those who lack the power to change a system that does not value their lives.

Hitting bookstore shelves during a decade when a significant portion of the SFF community seems to be seeking out comfort reads and hopepunk, The Tusks of Extinction may not appeal to all genre readers. But sometimes, sorrow is warranted and sometimes, there’s value in righteous anger.

It’s worth being angry about the potential loss of 44,000 species. As Nayler puts it: “We are intellectual animals with grand capacities, capable of living ethically and morally. It's time we used our brains to act in ways that prove we deserve to be on this planet, and that the human experiment is not doomed to be a destructive failure.”

We hope this novella finds the readership it deserves, and helps motivate some readers to take action.

同理心的触手 (The Tentacle of Empathy - Mandarin Translation)

 过去二十多年里，科幻界一种值得思考的动向，是作品中描写“非人类”意识的方式在不断演进。

图片来自 Hachette UK

自从这一作品类型诞生以来，许多创作者以令人钦佩的努力，将人类级别权利的主体不断扩充到越来越广大的生命群体。不过，在起初的几十年里，他们多数很难构想全然异类的存在。诸如克林贡人（《星际迷航》）、伍基人（《星战》）、克孜人（拉里·尼文作品）、咖喱星人（英剧 Doctor Who）及魔马克星人（美剧 ALF）等，其异于人类之处无外乎身形和文化。甚至如《巴比伦五号》中号称混成先天地、希夷不可知的“卧龙族” (Vorlon)，又如《星际迷航》里全知全能如 Q 者，亦未能免俗于骄矜、忿怒、寂寥等人之常情。

在我们看来，最近约25年来社会增进了对神经多元性的认识，并且在科幻作品中有所反映。自上世纪90年代起，在孤独症群体的自我主张运动（以及与之相伴的神经多元化运动）促进下，对那些被诊断为孤独症谱系症候群的人及其行为习惯、处理问题方式，社会上的排斥和污名化程度逐渐有所缓解。这一转化的实质，是我们对人的主体体验有了包容面更广的理解；藉此，人格的尊严得到了更广泛的支持。从弗诺·文奇《银河界区》系列小说中对爪族和聚能者反规范的认知方式总体正面的刻画，以及阿德里安·柴科夫斯基《时间之子》系列中塑造的波蒂亚族裔和鸦形族身上，我们都能感受到与孤独症者自我主张运动一脉相承的文化线索。说到底，因为有着一股精干的作者群体不懈地努力从内心深处理解与他们迥异的心智，科幻得以与神经多元化运动齐头并进，为多元的认知方式正名。无论这是有意为之还是无心插柳，其价值是肯定的，因为将形形色色的认知呈现在作品中有益于建立同理心。

10月4日面世的小说《山与海》是雷·奈勒 (Ray Nayler) 崭露头角之作，它将我们的视线会聚到科幻的异认知文化传统。

作品设定于不久的未来，通过多个人物交织的视角，表现他们在踌躇和跌撞中朦胧地摸索同情心在他们人生中的地位。它讲述的，是人们一次次尝试抓住同理心扭动中若隐若现的触手。

小说有两股主要叙事脉络。其中之一跟随海洋生物学家阮夏博士，在偏远的鲲岛探索此前不为人知的章鱼物种及其认知和社会行为。另一线索以立志在商界出人头地的英行为主角，追随他在自动化捕鱼船上被奴役的遭遇。

这些相互穿插的情节构成了作品情感上的阴阳水火。英行的故事被绝望和剥削笼罩着，而对发现的憧憬推动者阮夏的经历。尽管两者判若云泥，但两人相同之处是在不得已的境地下反省人生的不如意。因此，相似的情感主题贯穿着两人的叙事线索。

大学刚毕业，在激烈竞争中斩获首个职位的英行，还没来得及上任就遭人下毒和绑架。他被关押在太平洋某处的渔船里，被迫日复一日做着处理死鱼的沉重劳役，没有喘息也没有报酬。在如此令人绝望的设定下，我们慢慢发现，还有数百条这样的奴隶船正在大洋中破坏性地开采资源，为了追求短期利益而消灭着一切有销售价值的生命。英行的个人历程主要在他自己的思想中展开。他开始思索自己原本的志向在这一剥削体系下的作用，并且在最为残酷的条件下刻意教自己习得同理心。此处，我们最赞赏的，是作者对受奴役的工人依靠团结进行自发组织的描写。奈勒探索的主题，一方面是资本家如何用科技将其剥削的受害者隔绝在自己的世界之外，另一方面是劳工为何往往被非人的制度压制服从。属于英行的环节是小说中最富于力量和感情的部分，不过对很多读者而言可能因情感太浓重而难以消化。幸好，阮夏的情节主线为作品增添了更丰富的内涵。

英行遭绑架和奴役的遭遇并非天马行空的想象
而是现实的反映。我们推荐阅读《纽约时报》
上伊恩·乌尔比纳撰写、时报摄影总编 亚当·迪恩
配图的系列报道《 公海劫波 》
（图片来自《纽约时报》）。

阮夏的环节跟踪的是她通过艰苦的努力，一面试图沟通人类和章鱼之间理解和交流的天堑，一面试图领悟和接纳她自己的孤独。原来，她这份在远海研究海洋生物学的工作，是来自拥有鲲岛并将其置于严密看守下的跨国企业“双灵公司”。这就引发了一系列问题：为什么该公司的利益与章鱼联系如此紧密？它会如何利用章鱼？属于阮夏的大部分情节是通过反衬加以深度刻画的，这依靠的是描写她慢慢与另外两名公司雇员之间信任关系的展开：来自蒙古的安保专家阿勒腾琪琪格，以及“埃芙琳”，世界上唯一真正达到人类水平的人工智能体。

对未来世界勉强运行的地缘政治体系和掠夺式资本主义的极端情形，小说中进行的塑造既有令人唏嘘的真实感，又有引人入胜的细腻表现。奈勒的外交背景所赋予他的视角和知识，让读者能够信服他笔下的故事。

不过，作品感染力的真正核心，是通过不懈的探索揭示了人类解读主体体验的丰富方式，各种不同的感官系统和神经体系如何构建个体对世界的理解，还有人工智能可能的演化路径及其对人造意识的影响。我们无从知晓其他生命体内心的活动，也不能断言对他心的描写是否真的可能实现。不过，我们感觉到奈勒的文字也许已经接近其极致。对章鱼智能可能的演化脉络，以及其形态、能力和脑部生理构造如何造就它们对世界的感受，作者的猜想建立在深入而周密的探究上。因此，从该小说我们可以看到神经多元化运动在科幻作品中非常深刻的体现。

归根结底，奈勒似乎在拷问的是，既然我们作为人，和同类之间都难以建起相互理解的桥梁，又如何能有终一日与异种生命心有灵犀？这部作品不时令人心碎，同时又交织着充满希望的思绪。它确实值得一读。

本杂志编撰团队感谢雨果奖提名，并借此机会挑选了2022年度若干得意之作翻译成中文，以飨参加本年度世界科幻大会的中国友人。译者：Zoë C. Ma [https://zoe-translat.es/]

The Tentacle of Empathy

One of the most interesting evolutions within science fiction over the past two decades has been the ways in which non-human consciousnesses are depicted.

(image via Hachette UK)

From the dawn of the genre, there has been a commendable attempt by many authors to expand the definition of what beings are worthy of human-level rights. However, in earlier decades many have struggled to imagine something truly alien; Klingon, Wookie, Kzinti, Gallifreyan, and Melmacian are all only differentiated from humans by body shape and culture. Even the supposedly ancient and unknowable Vorlons of Babylon 5 and the omniscient and omnipotent Q of Star Trek seem to be governed by human emotions such as arrogance, wrath, and loneliness.

We would suggest that over the past quarter century, an increasing societal understanding of neurodiversity has been reflected in science fiction. Starting in the 1990s, the autistic self-advocacy movement (and the associated neurodiversity movement) have helped destigmatize behaviours and problem-solving practices often associated with those who have been diagnosed as being on the autism spectrum. In essence, this is broadening our understanding of the human experience, and thus promotes human dignity writ large. There is a line that could be drawn between the autistic self-advocacy movement and the broadly positive depiction of non-normative cognition among the Tines and the Focused in Vernor Vinge’s Zones of Thought novels, and the Portids and the Corvids of Adrian Tchiakovsky’s Children of Time books. In essence, science fiction has paralleled the neurodiverse movement in destigmatizing diverse cognition thanks to a small cadre of authors who have been making an effort to get into the heads of intelects that are alien to their own. Whether doing so was intentional or not, it has value, as showing the richness of different forms of cognition helps build empathy.

Ray Nayler’s debut novel The Mountain and the Sea, which hit shelves on October 4, puts this tradition into focus.

Set in the near future, the book weaves between the viewpoints of several characters who are each in their own ways tentatively and clumsily reaching towards a slippery understanding of the role compassion might play in their lives. It’s about trying to grasp a writhing and elusive tentacle of empathy.

The two primary narrative threads follow Dr. Ha Nyugen, a marine biologist making discoveries into the cognition and social behaviours of a newly-discovered species of octopus living near a remote island of Con Dao; and Eiko, an aspiring businessman who is enslaved on an automated fishing vessel.

These interspersed stories act as an emotional yin and yang within the book. Despite Eiko’s tale being one of despair and exploitation and Nyugen’s driven by the hope for discovery, both characters are forced to examine why their lives are lacking and, thus, both narrative threads share fundamentally similar emotional themes.

Eiko’s kidnapping and enslavement is
not fantasy, but rather a reflection
of real-world practices.
We’d recommend Ian Urbina’s
New York Times article series
The Outlaw Ocean, which has
photos from Times
photo editor Adam Dean.
(Image via New York Times.)

Drugged and kidnapped shortly before starting his first, coveted, job out of university, Eiko finds himself trapped on a fishing vessel in the middle of the Pacific ocean, forced to process fish carcasses for mind-numbing hours of back-breaking unpaid labour. This is a bleak setting, in which we slowly learn that there are hundreds of such vessels strip mining the oceans, extirpating all saleable life in the pursuit of short-term profits. Eiko’s personal voyage is mostly in his head, as he begins to analyze the role he had previously intended to play in this exploitative system, and with deliberate effort tries to teach himself empathy in the harshest of conditions. We particularly enjoyed the depiction of solidarity-based organizing among enslaved workers. Nayler explores both the ways in which technology insulates capitalists from the victims of their exploitation, and the ways in which workers are often forced into compliance through inhuman systems. Although Eiko’s chapters are some of the strongest and most affecting content of the novel, they might have been too emotionally exhausting for many readers, if the book hadn’t also been enriched by Nguyen’s story arc.

Her chapters follow a dogged attempt to bridge the gap in understanding and communication between humanity and the octopuses, while she simultaneously grapples with her own quiet isolation. The marine biologist, it turns out, accepted a remote job from the multinational corporation Dianima, which owns and fiercely guards the island of Con Dao. This leads to questions of why the corporation is so interested in the octopuses; and how they might be exploited. Much of Nguyen’s arc is put into sharp relief through the slow development of trust between her and the two people who are also bound to the island by their shared employer: Altantsetseg, a Mongolian security expert and Evrim, the world’s only truly human-level artificial intelligence.

The novel’s depiction of semi-functional future geopolitics and extreme forms of predatory capitalism are sadly believable, but written with interesting nuance. Nayler’s background working in the foreign service has given him a perspective and a knowledge that lends the story credibility.

But at its core, the strength of the novel is in how richly it explores the ways in which humans interpret experiences, how different sensoria and neurological architecture might construct individual understandings of the world, and how artificial intelligences might evolve and what that could mean for their sentience. It’s impossible to know what's going on in another being’s head, nor whether depicting these processes can ever be accomplished, but we suspect that Nayler has done this about as well as possible. The speculation on how octopus intelligence might have evolved, and how their form, abilities, and physical brain shape might perceive the world are meticulously explored. In this way, it could be interpreted as one of the most in-depth examples of the neurodiversity movement reflected in science fiction.

In essence, Nayler seems to be asking how humans might ever be able to build a bridge of understanding with an alien race, when we often can’t even do so amongst our own species. It’s often a heartbreaking novel, but one worth reading and one that’s laced with threads of hope.