Robert Silverberg
The Longest Way Home

Robert Silverberg, born in New York in 1935, is another one of those authors whose contribution to the cause of the science fiction genre, since the fifties, has been somehow decisive not only for the quality of his works but also for the quantity. A multitude of productions that, together with those of his contemporaries, have practically constituted a real literary 'corpus'. These are more than just pillars or foundations; they are already entire buildings, the heart of an ever-expanding megalopolis. Infinite. On multiple levels.

We are talking about science fiction, after all, of an author, Silverberg, who has always dedicated himself to it, as well as to other genres and the writing of non-fiction works, and who approached in a dissident manner the two great crises in the sector's publishing industry in the last century, briefly retreating from the scene. The first time was at the end of the fifties when the era of 'pulp magazines' and the science fiction magazines, a treasure trove for sci-fi enthusiasts and a beloved place for many authors of the genre, came to an end. The second time was in the eighties, deeply irritated and disappointed by the general disinterest and indifference of publishing houses.

Nevertheless, despite these two periods of hiatus, Silverberg has never stopped writing and writing science fiction, actively resuming his work since the late eighties and prolifically continuing into the next decade, even bending to market logic and in some cases proposing three novels inspired by three short stories by the great Isaac Asimov. Great, but obviously not the sole exclusive author of science fiction material for a genre and an entire world that now tends to disappear and perhaps only on the web can find its dimension, just as authors of the genre could have predicted fifty-sixty years ago, and particularly with the development of the cyberpunk subgenre. This even though dominant tastes, it must be said, seem to have definitively abandoned the fascination of classic sci-fi, often mixing with a certain taste for fantasy that today appears to be much more popular, or exceeding in useless technicalities, then brought to the big screen with not always exciting results. 'Gravity', 'Interstellar', 'The Martian', which of these can you say has truly moved you? If we talk about great sci-fi productions, perhaps the only truly exciting moment was the Star Wars trailer where Han Solo and Chewbacca were seen together again. Not to mention the end of Carrie Fisher. Where her public figure inevitably intersected with that of the character of Princess Leia. An end that struck me deeply. For the strong way she lived. She was a great woman and I think she really did the impossible to take part in her last film of the series. Her last film.

Carrie Fisher was a courageous woman and at the same time of adventurous temperament. For this reason, according to many, she was the perfect identification with Princess Leia, one of the greatest heroines of adventurous sci-fi tout-court. A genre which since the adventures of John Carter of Mars by Burroughs and even before with the novels of Jules Verne, has made entire generations dream. Dreams that often have become reality. Dreams that other times were already a representation of reality. A mediated representation. A compromise between real existence and the dream and a way through the latter to understand the meanings of the former.

So I mean this novel, 'The Longest Way Home' (2002), which in some way can also recall a certain typical fantasy genre and perhaps precisely the ultimate genre work, that is, 'The Lord of the Rings' by Tolkien. If nothing else, because both stories have as the main protagonist a young man who, taken out of his original and comfortable context, must prove himself through a long journey conducted mostly in solitude, through barren and desolate lands, warming mountains and crossing forests and meeting unknown populations and strange races, strange talking animals, and obviously also enemies who will hinder his path. A path that sees the protagonist traverse a sort of real ascetic journey and during this course mark in the physical before even in the mind, his transition to adulthood in a violent manner. As if in some cases this transition could not occur otherwise. And who knows. Maybe in some way it is always so for everyone.

Beyond the adventurous content of the work, for there is an important fantastic component, Silverberg's novel is indeed to be considered in all respects as a work of science fiction. Which, among other things, aims not only to relaunch the usual theme of space colonization but also to address social issues. Which are probably elementary, even evident as 'coarse' as they are to the eyes of the reader, but seen from the perspective of the protagonist, the young Joseph Keilloran, the designated heir of the House of Keilloran, one of the most important dynasties of the 'masters' race that inhabit the planet Homeland, they indeed constitute real revelations that will deeply shake his soul and will form formative moments that will mark him deeply in the most critical phase of his existence. Homeland: a planet that humans have colonized in two waves and in both cases practically ignoring the species inhabiting the planet, magnificently represented by the descriptive and narrative abilities of the author; and where the colonizers of the first wave, the 'people', have been almost entirely subjected to the will of the colonizers of the second wave (the 'masters') at the end of a battle that the winners remember and commemorate as 'conquest'.

The story, therefore, starts almost inevitably from a rupture in the historical balances of the planet and as tradition in novels and stories that American cinema today would define as 'coming-of-age' wants the protagonist to measure and temper himself in a series of trials and situations new, even initially incomprehensible, until he becomes a man. A better man than he could have been.

A beautiful adventure novel that you read in one sitting from start to finish and where this perhaps constitutes the limit, that thing that leaves a bitter taste. Not because the ending is banal, ugly, simple, ending. But because there is an end and after that last page and the last line, the very last word that composes it, you simultaneously wonder what has become and what will become of that boy you took by the hand at the beginning of the story.