_bxllxe_'s review against another edition
2.0
I struggled to finish this book. I think I was most put off by the religious aspect, but the story didn’t develop quickly enough for me, either. Apocalyptic books rarely pique my interest to begin with. I did find the similarities to our current times very unsettling, and I respect Butler as a writer. I’d still like to read Kindred one day.
lovesarahmae's review
3.0
Octavia Butler's "Parable of the Sower" is an intense examination of an American future and individuals preservance to survive. This is grown up distopian literature- exploring the not-so-sweet spot between a society with crumbling and the next one picking up. Delving into new-wave slavery, modern poverty, and the horrors associated with humans loosing humanity, the book takes on society building in a rare way that reminds readers that much pain and chaos comes before the capitol towers of our glittering YA Distopians.
yesther's review against another edition
3.0
Great world building, wonderful characters, very little plot. Or maybe just too subtle or depressing of a plot for me.
kjanie's review against another edition
4.0
4.5/5 stars
I really do believe that Octavia Butler is a visionary, especially in the science fiction space. This was such an amazing take on a post-apocalyptic American setting. It feels really clear how much this has influenced later dystopian and apocalyptic works. While everyone discusses the Handmaids Tale when comparing dystopia to contemporary political challenges, this book feels absolutely slept on. It deals with religious radicalism, segregation and environmental degradation, and at the same time it is beautifully written and completely captivating!
This story follows our main character Lauren, a teenage girl with a dangerous hereditary condition that makes witnessing all the suffering around even more difficult for her. Despite this, Lauren is nothing if not determined and dedicated to her cause for hope. I absolutely loved Lauren as a main character, she was so strong but also compassionate at the same time. I’m excited to see where Lauren and her band of survivalists end up in the next two books.
I really do believe that Octavia Butler is a visionary, especially in the science fiction space. This was such an amazing take on a post-apocalyptic American setting. It feels really clear how much this has influenced later dystopian and apocalyptic works. While everyone discusses the Handmaids Tale when comparing dystopia to contemporary political challenges, this book feels absolutely slept on. It deals with religious radicalism, segregation and environmental degradation, and at the same time it is beautifully written and completely captivating!
This story follows our main character Lauren, a teenage girl with a dangerous hereditary condition that makes witnessing all the suffering around even more difficult for her. Despite this, Lauren is nothing if not determined and dedicated to her cause for hope. I absolutely loved Lauren as a main character, she was so strong but also compassionate at the same time. I’m excited to see where Lauren and her band of survivalists end up in the next two books.
gvenezia's review against another edition
1.0
Too many characters, too little emotional depth, too much trauma porn, too pseudo-religious, too many speculative fiction tropes, too reliant on a teenager's special power that isn't deployed consistently or realistically. In none too many words: overrated.
The importance of Butler’s dystopian classic is an indictment of speculative fiction, not a recognition of Butler’s great contribution to culture at large. Neither the social circumstances of the book's publishing, nor Butler's social commentary, nor the book's prosaic aesthetic are significant literary, philosophical, or historical achievements.
Butler is often noted as an important black feminist writer in the very white, male, and socially myopic sci-fi genre. To this point, race is noted throughout the book. But given Butler’s reputation I was surprised to find nothing deeply critical or poignant about race or feminism. A generic leftism receives the most explicit treatment and exposition: privatization has seemingly caused climate disaster and private companies are preying on the survivors. But such observations and judgments are nothing new, even for sci-fi.
Instead of nuanced takes on race and gender, we get problematic power dynamics in an unquestioned relationship—an 18 year old girl and a man old enough to be her father become lovers—and weak takes on gender like this:
Surely one who has been around young boys would realize that some boys tend to be adventurous and risky? And that there can actually be advantages to such behavior? This is a commonplace, actuarial and entrepreneurial fact with compelling evolutionary, sexually-dimorphic reasons.
Unfortunately such observations feel like par for the course for sci-fi. The writing, too, feels like stock sci-fi: underdeveloped prose and moral arc with overdeveloped trauma. The first quarter of the book is a non starter. It is a firehouse of character introductions and deaths. I see Butler trying to convey the sheer depravity of a future apocalypse, but psychologically such rapid-fire intro-deaths don’t register as emotionally salient. Better one emotional, meaningful death than a torrent.
Butler is somewhat aware of these sci-fi tropes, but fails to escape them. She acknowledges one sci-fi trope and criticizes it as unrealistic (Ch. 11, 4:09:15), then she goes on to fulfills other sci-fi tropes. Most notably the main premise of the book is one common to young adult fiction: a teenager with a special skill and insight into the world convinces those around her to start a new movement and/or community. Lauren's conversions to the her new religion of Earthseed could be a convincing start of a cult, but not a serious movement that adults must contend with, as Butler would have it. (Some fellow bookclub readers remarked that in dire times people flock to charismatic, strong personalities with answers and safety, but I still find it unlikely that such a person would be a teenager.)
Not only is the sociology unlikely to me, the epistemology and logic of Laruen’s new religion don’t pan out:
1. Butler frames Lauren’s new religion not as a new creation but as discovering truth:
2. Butler inadvertently reveals the weakness of her position while trying to strengthen it:
That reply is meant to counter Travis, but it actually could prove his point. Just because there is a pervasive power doesn’t mean it is God. To assume there must be an ultimate pervasive power—an ultimate truth, a God—is to childishly presume a conclusion and then marshal reasons in support of it.
3. God is truth, but we only call it God for pragmatic reasons:
This exchange suggests that Lauren is thinking about God pragmatically—as a useful concept that can get humans to remember the most important principles. But elsewhere she is that others don’t take her at her word and take Earthseed as discovering truth. One need not be deep into deconstructionism to see the problems here.
The other main part of the book's premise, Lauren's special power, creates plot holes and betrays Butler’s ad hoc symbolism: The protagonist, Lauren, has hyperempathy syndrome—she experiences the actual pain of anyone else she sees in pain. This unique trait isn’t deployed consistently or realistically: Other bookclub members agreed that the ability is only mentioned ad hoc when it has a meaningful connection to plot or characterization; other times it goes unmentioned. Furthermore, Butler’s own rules about the syndrome raise damning questions:
So all Lauren has to do to avoid pain is close her eyes? The first quote shows that Lauren can intentionally avoid sharing pain by avoiding visual contact. Thus countless agonies caused by hyperempathetic experiences could have been avoided.
Furthermore, when she isn’t visually engaged with people, she doesn’t seem to have a strong emotional response at all. Perhaps this was a defense mechanism to counter hyperempathy and dire circumstances, but without anything in the text to support it and with much mention of Lauren’s general empathy for others (even outside of hyperempathy syndrome), her equanimity when hearing blood-curdling screams in the forest and other atrocities seems confused.
So much for Lauren's weak value system and improbable experience with hyperempathy. Instead of character and plot, sometimes sci-fi is more notable for its satire, prophecy, or cultural criticism. Indeed, much has been made about the world Butler predicted. However, with just two years between now and 2024, we are far off from the apocalyptic societal collapse Butler imagines. The reviews that think she rightfully predicted our trajectory don’t often show much critical reflection; there aren’t comparisons to the actual world or Butler’s. It’s more of a tribal kinship with a simplified prophecy of doom.
Such dire prophecies have plagued the public imagination since civilization began. Notably for the Modern world, Malthusian population traps have been predicted for damn near every generation and yet we keep finding ways to feed our growing numbers.
More to the point of Butler's predictions, since the publication of the book in 1993 Asia has continued its miraculous development, which has greatly reduced the number of people suffering from absolute poverty and radically expanded the number of people working on the world’s hardest problems. And this is just one region of the world, there are few places in the world that have unequivocally collapsed or regressed in the way that is so stark and poignant in Butler’s dystopia.
Directly related to climate change, the cost of wind and solar have plummeted radically in recent decades; there’s a new generation of deep geothermal that could be deployed much more widely; current nuclear could still solve a lot of our baseload energy needs with much lower risks than even other renewable energies.
Finally, even if these new green technologies are not deployed efficiently because of sclerotic governance structures, with each passing day, the incentive structure shifts more and more costs onto ignoring climate change. So it’s not clear why any change good or bad would happen overnight and be extreme. Tradeoffs are in flux. The world is more complex than the cynics might have it. It’s not at all clear to me that we are unequivocally collapsing or thriving.
At every turn, I found more reasons to be frustrated with Butler's classic. It strays little from sci-fi's emotionally shallow, critically juvenile rut. Perhaps studying philosophy and social sciences has ruined literary sci-fi for me,* but even among readers of literature, I can't help thinking Butler and her sci-fi kin pale in comparison to the literary fiction that focuses specifically on emotional depth in relationships (Jane Austen), social critique (Toni Morrison), or complex, symbolic plot (Philip Roth, David Foster Wallace, Jonathan Franzen, Dostoevsky).
———
*Fwiw Sci-fi for TV and movies goes over much better because those mediums are more about visual impact and can use music to spur emotion. Thus, the emotional and literary shallowness I find in most sci-fi books can be supplemented and better ignored.
The importance of Butler’s dystopian classic is an indictment of speculative fiction, not a recognition of Butler’s great contribution to culture at large. Neither the social circumstances of the book's publishing, nor Butler's social commentary, nor the book's prosaic aesthetic are significant literary, philosophical, or historical achievements.
Butler is often noted as an important black feminist writer in the very white, male, and socially myopic sci-fi genre. To this point, race is noted throughout the book. But given Butler’s reputation I was surprised to find nothing deeply critical or poignant about race or feminism. A generic leftism receives the most explicit treatment and exposition: privatization has seemingly caused climate disaster and private companies are preying on the survivors. But such observations and judgments are nothing new, even for sci-fi.
Instead of nuanced takes on race and gender, we get problematic power dynamics in an unquestioned relationship—an 18 year old girl and a man old enough to be her father become lovers—and weak takes on gender like this:
What is it in young boys that makes them want to wander off alone and get killed? They get two chin hairs and they’re trying to prove they’re men. (Ch. 12, 4:24:45)
Surely one who has been around young boys would realize that some boys tend to be adventurous and risky? And that there can actually be advantages to such behavior? This is a commonplace, actuarial and entrepreneurial fact with compelling evolutionary, sexually-dimorphic reasons.
Unfortunately such observations feel like par for the course for sci-fi. The writing, too, feels like stock sci-fi: underdeveloped prose and moral arc with overdeveloped trauma. The first quarter of the book is a non starter. It is a firehouse of character introductions and deaths. I see Butler trying to convey the sheer depravity of a future apocalypse, but psychologically such rapid-fire intro-deaths don’t register as emotionally salient. Better one emotional, meaningful death than a torrent.
Butler is somewhat aware of these sci-fi tropes, but fails to escape them. She acknowledges one sci-fi trope and criticizes it as unrealistic (Ch. 11, 4:09:15), then she goes on to fulfills other sci-fi tropes. Most notably the main premise of the book is one common to young adult fiction: a teenager with a special skill and insight into the world convinces those around her to start a new movement and/or community. Lauren's conversions to the her new religion of Earthseed could be a convincing start of a cult, but not a serious movement that adults must contend with, as Butler would have it. (Some fellow bookclub readers remarked that in dire times people flock to charismatic, strong personalities with answers and safety, but I still find it unlikely that such a person would be a teenager.)
Not only is the sociology unlikely to me, the epistemology and logic of Laruen’s new religion don’t pan out:
1. Butler frames Lauren’s new religion not as a new creation but as discovering truth:
"I kept quiet and began to understand Earthseed.”
“Began to invent Earthseed,” he said.
“Began to discover it and understand it,” I said.
“Stumbling across the truth isn’t the same as making things up.” I wondered how many times and ways I would have to say this to new people. (Ch. 21, 9:20:45)
2. Butler inadvertently reveals the weakness of her position while trying to strengthen it:
“I still can’t see change or entropy as God,” Travis said, bringing the conversation back to Earthseed.
“Then show me a more pervasive power than change,” [Lauren] said.
(Ch. 18, 7:47:00)
That reply is meant to counter Travis, but it actually could prove his point. Just because there is a pervasive power doesn’t mean it is God. To assume there must be an ultimate pervasive power—an ultimate truth, a God—is to childishly presume a conclusion and then marshal reasons in support of it.
3. God is truth, but we only call it God for pragmatic reasons:
"Why personify change by calling it God? Since change is just an idea, why not call it that? Just say change is important.
“Because after a while, it won’t be important!” I told him. “People forget ideas. They’re more likely to remember God—especially when they’re scared or desperate.”
(Ch. 18, 7:51:00)
This exchange suggests that Lauren is thinking about God pragmatically—as a useful concept that can get humans to remember the most important principles. But elsewhere she is that others don’t take her at her word and take Earthseed as discovering truth. One need not be deep into deconstructionism to see the problems here.
The other main part of the book's premise, Lauren's special power, creates plot holes and betrays Butler’s ad hoc symbolism: The protagonist, Lauren, has hyperempathy syndrome—she experiences the actual pain of anyone else she sees in pain. This unique trait isn’t deployed consistently or realistically: Other bookclub members agreed that the ability is only mentioned ad hoc when it has a meaningful connection to plot or characterization; other times it goes unmentioned. Furthermore, Butler’s own rules about the syndrome raise damning questions:
Sound doesn’t trigger my [hyperempathetic] sharing. I have to see another person in pain before I do any sharing. And this [person screaming in pain] was one I’d do anything to avoid seeing. (Ch. 12)
I shot him again, terrified that his pain would immobilize me when he did feel it. It seemed that he took a long time to die.
(Ch. 14, 5:09:45)
So all Lauren has to do to avoid pain is close her eyes? The first quote shows that Lauren can intentionally avoid sharing pain by avoiding visual contact. Thus countless agonies caused by hyperempathetic experiences could have been avoided.
Furthermore, when she isn’t visually engaged with people, she doesn’t seem to have a strong emotional response at all. Perhaps this was a defense mechanism to counter hyperempathy and dire circumstances, but without anything in the text to support it and with much mention of Lauren’s general empathy for others (even outside of hyperempathy syndrome), her equanimity when hearing blood-curdling screams in the forest and other atrocities seems confused.
So much for Lauren's weak value system and improbable experience with hyperempathy. Instead of character and plot, sometimes sci-fi is more notable for its satire, prophecy, or cultural criticism. Indeed, much has been made about the world Butler predicted. However, with just two years between now and 2024, we are far off from the apocalyptic societal collapse Butler imagines. The reviews that think she rightfully predicted our trajectory don’t often show much critical reflection; there aren’t comparisons to the actual world or Butler’s. It’s more of a tribal kinship with a simplified prophecy of doom.
Such dire prophecies have plagued the public imagination since civilization began. Notably for the Modern world, Malthusian population traps have been predicted for damn near every generation and yet we keep finding ways to feed our growing numbers.
More to the point of Butler's predictions, since the publication of the book in 1993 Asia has continued its miraculous development, which has greatly reduced the number of people suffering from absolute poverty and radically expanded the number of people working on the world’s hardest problems. And this is just one region of the world, there are few places in the world that have unequivocally collapsed or regressed in the way that is so stark and poignant in Butler’s dystopia.
Directly related to climate change, the cost of wind and solar have plummeted radically in recent decades; there’s a new generation of deep geothermal that could be deployed much more widely; current nuclear could still solve a lot of our baseload energy needs with much lower risks than even other renewable energies.
Finally, even if these new green technologies are not deployed efficiently because of sclerotic governance structures, with each passing day, the incentive structure shifts more and more costs onto ignoring climate change. So it’s not clear why any change good or bad would happen overnight and be extreme. Tradeoffs are in flux. The world is more complex than the cynics might have it. It’s not at all clear to me that we are unequivocally collapsing or thriving.
At every turn, I found more reasons to be frustrated with Butler's classic. It strays little from sci-fi's emotionally shallow, critically juvenile rut. Perhaps studying philosophy and social sciences has ruined literary sci-fi for me,* but even among readers of literature, I can't help thinking Butler and her sci-fi kin pale in comparison to the literary fiction that focuses specifically on emotional depth in relationships (Jane Austen), social critique (Toni Morrison), or complex, symbolic plot (Philip Roth, David Foster Wallace, Jonathan Franzen, Dostoevsky).
———
*Fwiw Sci-fi for TV and movies goes over much better because those mediums are more about visual impact and can use music to spur emotion. Thus, the emotional and literary shallowness I find in most sci-fi books can be supplemented and better ignored.
elynt2022's review against another edition
4.0
This book deals with some very dark and disturbing themes which anyone starting should be aware of of going into the book.
This is a well written and thought provoking story about a dystopian future in the not so distant future of the United States. Well worth the read.
This is a well written and thought provoking story about a dystopian future in the not so distant future of the United States. Well worth the read.
fwoods's review against another edition
challenging
dark
emotional
hopeful
informative
sad
tense
medium-paced
- Plot- or character-driven? Plot
- Strong character development? It's complicated
- Loveable characters? It's complicated
- Diverse cast of characters? Yes
- Flaws of characters a main focus? Yes
4.0
jayjaybraggs's review against another edition
tense
slow-paced
- Plot- or character-driven? Character
- Strong character development? No
- Loveable characters? No
- Diverse cast of characters? Yes
- Flaws of characters a main focus? No
2.0