The Affinity Trap
(Simon & Schuster, £10.99, 306 pages, trade paperback, published
2 February 2004. Pocket Books, £6.99, 306 pages, paperback, this
edition published 7 March 2005.)
Military Intelligence officer Alexander Delgado has been pissed about
once too often by Earth's military dictator, William Myson. He's an
old-fashioned soldier who objects to Myson's profiteering ways, and
the feeling is mutual. But when Vourniass Lycern, an alien dignitary
with whom Myson is expected to father a child for diplomatic reasons,
goes into hiding, Myson sends Delgado after her. It's an opportunity
for Delgado to regain favour -- or to spite his leader once and for
all. There is, however, a complicating factor Delgado hasn't taken into
consideration: the powerful pheromones Lycern's kind emit, highly addictive
and irresistible to human males ...
Sounds good, doesn't it? The back of the book makes it sound even better.
Let there be no question, Martin Sketchley gives good blurb. But I found
the contents of The Affinity Trap didn't live up to its cover
in a number of ways. Firstly, and most superficially, the title bears
scant relevance to the story. Granted, there's a faction called the
Affinity Group, from whom Delgado is sent to retrieve Lycern, but they
feature only briefly and impinge upon the plot hardly at all.
As regards the story itself, Sketchley is pretty much hoist by his
own blurb, which promises an exploration of "[s]exuality, gender roles,
the nature of authority -- the very essence of what it is to be human."
In each of these areas, the book falls a little short of expectations.
Sexuality. An inescapable subject in a book one of whose protagonists
is a one-being pheromone powerhouse. And indeed, there is plenty of
shagging. We establish that Delgado has a sexuality, and we establish
that quite firmly, if you'll pardon the adverb. I don't know if this
counts as an exploration exactly, but it does provide a hook for the
first half of the book, as Delgado is led astray by the narcotic quality
of Lycern's pheromones. There's some nice character work here, with
Delgado sinking further under Lycern's influence, and later trying to
force himself to go cold turkey. More depth on this would have been
nice, and carrying it through to a definite conclusion would have been
nicer. At the halfway point, however, this promising aspect of the story
is sidelined so that Trap can continue on as plain old slam-bang
action fare. Now there's a sexual metaphor for you.
A word on the subject of Lycern. Sketchley has gone down the Star
Trek route of making his aliens not only largely indistinguishable
from humans, but capable of mating with them. Not every reader will
have a problem with this, although I personally do. But it's a bit of
a disappointment when we're told, right there on the back cover, that
Lycern's species, the Seriatt, are "an exotic three-sex race". It transpires
that the three sexes are male, female, and a sort of nondescript hermaphrodite
that nannies the kids. Lycern's only "exotic" characteristics are her
erotic characteristics, and credit where it's due, they're entertainingly
otherworldly. I did, however, find myself lying back and thinking of
Sigmund Freud: besides secreting a pheromone-laden lubricant from glands
all down her sides, when aroused Lycern's lips and breasts swell, and
her vulva extends to envelop her partner. I'm ashamed to say I chuckled
more than I gasped. That's still a good reaction, though.
(Technical note: it's not actually Lycern's vulva that envelops her
partner, but a sort of caul produced from her glandular secretions.
I know of a certain Austrian psychologist, however, who might back me
up on a metaphorical level.)
Gender roles. Not such good news here, I'm afraid. The two main female
characters in the book are Lycern, a walking embodiment of Freudian
imagery, and a human rebel rather flatly named Girl. Apart from a short-lived
female pilot, all other women in Trap are unnamed minor characters
whose sole purpose seems to be procreation. To be honest, Lycern's sole
purpose seems to be procreation as well, as she has very little to do
when she's not in heat. And the only other woman in the story is called
Girl. Oh well.
The nature of authority. There's three potential foci of authority
in Trap: Myson, who has ultimate authority over Delgado; the
Seriatt, who exert authority over Lycern; and Delgado himself, who assumes
authority over a small band of rebels on Earth. It doesn't entirely
work out, though. Myson is too much the grotesque, the caricature to
exude any actual authority, and this seems to have filtered down throughout
Structure, his governmental system. Authority generally is lampooned
in Trap, rather than explored in any detail, from the puffed-up
staff of the leisure station Elixiion to the embarrassingly camp Customs
androids who intercept Delgado on his way back to Earth. We must count
the Seriatt a non-starter, since Lycern is the only Seriatt to feature
in the entire book. More insight into the workings of her culture would
have been nice, and would be greatly appreciated in future novels. Lastly,
Delgado. He at least musters an air of authority, but his success with
the rebels seems more the result of accident than of design.
In fact, Delgado generally seems to pull through by luck more than
anything else -- it's uncanny how often the 24th century's undoubtedly
high-tech security arrangements step aside to let him pass. It's stretching
the imagination for any character in any futuristic -- or even contemporary
-- tale to waltz through a Customs area with a handgun pressed against
someone's back and not have anyone notice it. Where were the security
cameras, the metal detectors? Later, when Delgado, already a wanted
man for having attacked Myson, sneaks back into Military Intelligence
HQ, a former colleague tells him he's "heard rumours" about his expulsion.
Rumours? Shouldn't that be a full system-wide alert, maybe a death warrant?
Delgado's security access hasn't even been revoked! It's all too convenient,
and the plot shouldn't rely on such laxity in order to progress.
There is, I'm afraid, more. Pacing is all over the place, the first
couple of chapters racing by in a half-glimpsed blur, the rest seeming
drawn-out by comparison. The style, too, is uneven: the word "arrogant"
is overused in describing human ships, government, culture, etc, similarly
the word "bitter" in describing the rebels, and there are a few too
many clichéd similes for my liking. Characterisation is somewhat
heavy-handed, and formulaic among the rebels -- there's the leader,
the rival, the big thick one, the quiet technical one, and of course
the token Girl. Yet these are faults that can be ironed out with practice,
and the book's dramatic ending -- leading openly into further volumes
in the series -- gives some hope that Sketchley will improve, and that
the story will carry him through in the meantime. There is potential
here. It needs to be developed, and perhaps future Structure novels
will see Sketchley develop it.
Review by John Toon.
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