For no reason apparent in the text, Henry recruits the protagonist
and narrator, a somewhat ditzy female novelist (at one point she
invites a stalker to her hide-out apartment because she forgets
the reason she moved there in the first place). This character
makes occasional off-the-wall suggestions which Henry, for some
reason, finds profound, and becomes a member of Henry's inner
circle and eventually closer still.
Henry decides that the way to survive the coming extinction event
is to build a spacecraft which can cruise the solar system
for generations, tended by a crew that reproduces itself, and
carrying a cargo of genetically enhanced (oops!—never
mind—Henry changes his mind and goes with showroom stock
H. sap genome) embryos
which can be decanted to establish colonies
on the planets and moons and eventually repopulate the Earth.
To this end, he invents:
- A single stage to orbit reusable spaceplane
powered by a new kind of engine which does not
emit a rocket plume
- A space drive which “would somehow draw its
fuel from the charged particles in the solar
wind”
- Artificial gravity, based upon diamagnetism
Whenever an invention is needed to dig this plot out of a hole,
Henry just has a vision and out it pops. Edison be damned—for
Henry it's 100% inspiration and hold the perspiration!
He builds this enormous infrastructure in Mongolia, just across
the border from China, having somehow obtained a free hand to do
so while preserving his own off-the-radar privacy.
Sub-plots come and go with wild abandon. You think something's
going to be significant, and then it just sputters out or
vanishes as if it never happened. What the heck is with that
circle of a dozen missiles in Mongolia, anyway? And you could
take out the entire history and absurdly implausible coincidence
of the narrator's meeting her rapist without any impact on the
plot. And don't you think a trillionaire would have somebody on
staff who could obtain a restraining order against the perp
and hire gumshoes to keep an eye on his whereabouts?
Fundamentally, people and institutions do not behave the way
they do in this story. How plausible is it that a trillionaire,
building a vast multinational infrastructure for space migration,
would be able to live off the radar in New York City, without any
of the governments of the jurisdictions in which he was operating
taking notice of his activities? Or that the media would
promptly forget a juicy celebrity scandal involving said
trillionaire because a bunch of earthquakes happened? Or that
once the impending end of human civilisation became
public that everybody would get bored with it and move on
to other distractions? This whole novel reads like one of
my B-list dreams: disconnected, abstracted from reality,
and filled with themes that fade in and out without any
sense of continuity. I suppose one could look at it as a kind
of end-times love story, but who cares about love stories
involving characters who are unsympathetic and implausible?