Trying to read The Jagged Orbit for the first time is a bizarrely frustrating and enlightening affair in equal measure. The first third of the book is a confusion of ill-explained ideas, odd and unusual narrative/formatting decisions, and unintelligible "future slang". Yet it contains moments of eerily prescient science fiction and just enough solid character work to keep you hooked in. From the seemingly imminent reality of the spool pigeons, to the fantastical mysteries of the pythonesses; the eye-rolling feasibility of self-destructive "use by dates" applied to clothing and books in a late-stage capitalist world, to the ashamedly racially divided world, there are some genuinely intriguing and well-formed ideas.

Ideas that are explored well in the middle third of the story, as characters are woven together in a compelling and organic manner. Through drip-fed extracts of (seemingly) real news coverage of the civil rights movement in the US (and elsewhere) in the '60s and '70s, we begin to understand this fictional future world that has been so carefully created. Slowly, the various terms and ideas become easier to decipher; the picture of this version of history comes into focus. You almost begin to wonder if you should start the book over again, rereading the earlier chapters now the language and ideas are better understood. What might I have missed amongst the more impenetrable imagined creole and abbreviations?

And then the book closes out with some borderline fantastical elements, which I'll admit to still being a little unclear about. I understand that the oracle-like powers of the young pythoness had already introduced a flavour of mysticism to the plot, but the revelations about a time-travelling, artificial consciousness and almost meaningless addition of electro-psychic capabilities afforded to the estranged wife are both strange additions. That weirdness only intensifies in the final chapter or so, as we are provided seeming explanations to what just happened, but with competing and conflicting interpretations. Was our spool pigeon being sabotaged by the subconscious of his interred wife? Or is the much less bizarre explanation of this being a part of the AI's failed plans for maximum profit the real culprit?

Still, the ending lifts these unexpected elements and binds them back to the core world building and character development at such a frantic pace, you can't help but remain riveted, happy to be taken along for the ride and not question the seeming contradictions too closely. It's a clever trick that ties the story together nicely and ends things on a surprising (if minor) flavour of hope. Plus, having thought through the various narrative options, it's hard to think of an ending that works quite so well – electro-psychic subplots aside (really, that one does feel like an unnecessary addition 😅).

The result is a peculiarly unusual work of science fiction. The gimmicky use of incredibly short chapters and an overall disjointed narrative will certainly turn off some readers, but whilst these provide a sort of friction to enjoyment (particularly at the start), when taken as a whole I think they work well and are used to great effect. Similarly, the story's more fantastical elements can feel a little disjointed, but en masse they slot together so well and serve the narrative (largely) cleverly, that it's hard to imagine the book without them.

On top of which, there are some astonishingly insightful musings on the evolution of computing, the negative implications of individualism and consumerist capitalism, and the broader interrogation of human nature/the field of psychology, all of which I found fascinating. Particularly at the moment – in our post-ChatGPT world of LLMs, machine learning, and "generative AI" hype – the way the spool pigeons interrogate data sets, which themselves are considered the ultimate commodity (data, that is); the large computational resources needed to find the truth in the digital "noise", and how they go about defining analysis tasks, with specific skills that seem very similar to prompt engineering; or even just the way they discuss how computers should be used (the argument here can be paraphrased with the classic adage: a computer should never make a decision alone, as a computer cannot be held accountable), it all feels incredibly accurate to the current discourse and trends. Take this quote, for instance:

"There's never an excuse for not being thorough, especially when nowadays you can have all the fiddling little routine details comped out automatically. That's what computers are properly used for," he paranthesized to Flamen. "You seem to think I don't appreciate them, but believe me in their right place they're indispensable. The trouble is that people simply don't treat them the way they ought to."

Now perhaps I'm reading my own biases into the text, but my word, that seems so incredibly relevant in 2024 that it's hard to understand how this was written over half a century ago! Ditto the completely blunt skewering of the cult of individualism and how a society that idolises personal needs prioritisation over community will result in isolated, unhappy, consumerist people who have lots of fake digital "points" but few real, substantive relationships. Again, how relevant do those ideas feel to the world of American individualism and social media that we find ourselves with today?

Though it isn't all prescient or uncannily accurate concepts; the book has its fair share of flubs, too. As mentioned, taken as fantastical elements, the psychic powers on display are fine narrative devices, but when read against the backdrop of '70s popular sci-fi you can see that this was intended as another prediction – one that happens to have been incredibly wide of the mark! More egregiously, though, is the doomerism around racial division, which has been taken to an absurd extreme in the book. Yes, there is an uncomfortable level of realism to the divides shown between the various race-based nationalist ideologies, and it's certainly not hard to see some truth in the world as presented in The Jagged Orbit, but it also flattens geopolitics into effectively two major racial groups: white and black (or often "brown"). Asian and Latin American cultures are almost entirely ignored, or just arbitrarily lumped into "black culture", whilst indigenous populations outside of Africa are broadly grouped into a single "Aboriginal" whole. There's no nuance given to the widely disparate experiences of African Americans to, say, modern Nigerians or Kenyans. Aside from a few references to "Asian wars", if you aren't white, you're classed as "black" (or, specifically, knee-blank, an Americanised twisting of the Afrikaans for "non-white"). You can forgive this somewhat, given the focus of the plot and the historical context in which the book was written, but the reductive nature is also worth highlighting as deeply unrealistic at best.

Similarly, the concept of "whiteness" is very heavily tied to the Americana of the 1950s, with a strong focus on the classic "traditional" family unit and the American Dream brand of suburbia. Much like with the "knees", the "blanks" are homogenous in their culture to a mildly absurd way, with groups across the Americas, Europe, South Africa, and Australia all seemingly fitting this same mould. Again, within the context of the novel this is okay, but it doesn't track that well with a realistic portrayal of "white" culture. It also sits uncomfortably next to the core, emphasised attacks on individualism as a core virtue. I'm on board with calling out the cult of "me over thee", but the images of bloodthirsty neighbourhood defence groups misses the reality of modern day death cults, filled with gun lobby preppers and loner mass shooters. That is where this particularly American mix of individual isolationism, nationalism, and egotism has brought us, not to land mined white picket fences and militarised neighbourhood watch organisations. It's almost too sanitised and pleasant a version of our far-too-real world, and so misses the mark quite widely.

Plus, the complete lack of explanations for the slang is a bit frustrating. Some words are ultimately revealed – such as the origin of "knee" and "blank" as racial terms – but many are never touched on. Funnily enough, the only one that is explicitly explained at the moment of use is "horizontigo". It's introduced during a ride on a hyperloop train (yes, it has those, too) as one character feels a bit light-headed and queasy from the sudden acceleration. Which is all to say that of every new word invented in the book, this is probably the only one that is immediately apparent as to its meaning 😂

But with all that said, The Jagged Orbit is a hell of a ride. It's captivating throughout, brimming with interesting and well considered ideas, and loaded with solid science fiction – as can be attested to by how many of the "predictions" have seemingly borne fruit. Whilst I was left a little bemused initially, I now fully understand why the book bears the "genre classic" moniker, and if you're a fan of sci-fi, I'd definitely recommend giving it a look. Personally, I think the book is, in some ways, its own worst enemy. The gimmicks are frustrating until they work; the bizarre twists are uncanny until you accept them and move along; the story is deep and nuanced, except for where it feels shallow and insensitive. There's a lot here to love, and a good chunk that could have been improved, but it's hard to pin down precisely what and where. Overall, though, I enjoyed it a lot and I think its ideas will stick with me for some time, which is praise enough.