A popular and cherished theme in science fiction is the exploration of the alien or other. Yet much of what passes for alien in science fiction is actually quite familiar. Is a Romulan or a Wookie really all that alien? The exceptions--the cases where an author succeeds in touching the truly alien--are rare, and they stand out. Arthur C. Clarke's monoliths (and their makers) in 2001: A Space Odyssey represent a familiar example of an utterly unknowable alien entity. Lesser-known examples include Orson Scott Card's insectoid hive minds, the so-called "buggers", first glimpsed in Ender's Game, and Algis Budrys' unfathomable lunar killing machine, seen in Rogue Moon. Upon encountering any of these, we recognize them as palpably foreign, driven by unfamiliar motives, incapable of being communicated with. So what does one do, practically speaking, when being able to talk to such beings is imperative?
Naomi Mitchison's short, contemplative novel, Memoirs of a Spacewoman adresses this question directly. The story takes the form of a series of short vignettes, each exploring the difficult and often messy contact between humans and a series of impressively alien extraterrestrials. The protagonist, Mary, is a communications specialist, responsible for establishing and sustaining dialogue with a diverse array of non-humans. This would be simple, a mere twiddling of knobs on the universal translator, if her subjects were Romulans or Wookies. They are not. Instead, she is tasked with figuring out how to talk (or whatever is appropriate) with everything from leech-like symbiotic "grafts", to repellently compassionless but friendly and highly intelligent centipedes, to some very touchy-feely Martians.
The beauty of Mitchison's approach is that nothing is dumbed down to make things easier for the reader. Complaints of the overuse of the universal translator (and its ilk) in science fiction are usually countered with the argument that, if no such device existed, protracted communication problems would be the focus of every first contact. They would be the whole story! Mitchison, I think, would agree. Communications problems--all the awkward moments, the misunderstandings, the mess, the frustrations--these are the story of Memoirs of a Spacewoman. Contrary to what one might expect about a novel with such an intellectual focus, Mitchison keeps a brisk pace, moving from one interspecies contact to another without wasting words. The result is a fairly enjoyable blend of fast-paced storytelling with contemplative exploration of interspecies relationships.
Is this a queer-themed novel? It depends on how broadly you are willing to interpret the word "queer". Like many of her space-travelling colleagues--but unlike the overwhelming majority of humans who never leave Earth--Mary is not monogamous. "Was I getting monandrous? Surely I wasn't that aged!" she worries after realizing a strong preference for a certain lover. Nor are her sexual preferences restricted to humans. One of Mary's lovers, a bisexual hermaphroditic Martian named Vly, communicates not by speech, but by touch. Like all of his kind, Vly communicates most effectively when he has access to the most touch-sensitive parts of the human body, which leads to much blurring of the distinctions between simple conversation and lovemaking. If you are willing to take "queer" to encompass any non-standard sexual practice or preference, then Memoirs of a Spacewoman is definitely queer.
Queer or not, there's much to recommend Memoirs of a Spacewoman. For a short, fast-paced novel, it packs in a very broad and deep examination of issues most often consciously glossed over in science fiction.