Alien Clay

This was brilliant in a mind-fuck sort of way.

Tchaikovsky gives us a dystopian Earth where any digression of scientific opinion is enough cause to exile you to a labour camp on an alien planet.

I begin the novel expecting alien archaeology (which I am ALL here for) with an analysis of individuality and ultimately what it means to be human, lined neatly in a revolutionary tale with a sense of "stick it to the man." But that would be expecting too little from Tchaikovsky.

Alien Clay is instead a look at how differently evolution could play out on an alien planet and how in the end we are all just made up of cellular clay, to be shaped by the world around us. There was enough referential material hidden in the seams of this novel that you could write a thesis paper on it. In my opinion, the cover designer really missed the opportunity to incorporate Bosch's Garden of Earthly Delights into the design.

What I think is merely going to be a revolutionary tale on a foreign planet becomes instead a body-horror-tinged slow descent into something else entirely (which I do not want to spoil).

Be prepared for a dense read. I found I had to be clued in at all times as this was not a light afternoon escape, but ended up being well worth the effort of pushing through the alien jungle. I will definitely be adding this to my read and read again pile.