Roswell, New Mexico, site of an alleged flying saucer crash in 1947, is the site of an active congregation of UFO enthusiasts, whose fervent beliefs seem a tad silly to those with more skeptical views on the possibility of alien visits to planet Earth. But the friction between believer and skeptic does provide a lot of sparks that can set ablaze a warm and heart-warming ride through the wild beauty of the American Southwest, accomplished by Ms. Connie Willis in her latest novel, The Road to Roswell. Though Messrs. Hope and Crosby were not included (nor was Ms. Lamour!), the cast did fill out with a misplaced maid of honor, a surreptitious gambler, a Western loving and living tourist, and, naturally, a Man in Black (well, blue jeans, but he was undercover, so …). Would the Beamers find a spot to settle in inside the group’s spacious RV (“Western trail wagon!”) or would we be stuck out in the cold waiting for the aliens to abduct us?
And the Award goes to …
Since the early 1980s, Ms. Willis has been one of the most popular sf writers, garnering a record 11 Hugo Awards for a broad range of fiction including post-apocalyptic, magic realism, and time travel, all written with a strong sense of empathy for characters of differing cultures, societies, and time periods trying to understand one another and themselves. The tone of her fiction can be comic or serious and often swings between the two. Her strongest setting involves a set of time-traveling Oxford historians who gain first-hand experience of the Black Death, the literary crazes of Victorian England, or the London Blitz through their temporal displacement and immersion in the subject at hand. For The Road to Roswell, Ms. Willis mentions her own field trips to UFO-land, and likely a few side trips to the epic setting of many classic Westerns, Monument Valley.
On the road again …
For the Beamers, the road trip was the destination. With her sure and steady prose, Ms. Willis whipped up a frothy confection of first contact, aliens, Old West films, romance, and farce that kept most of us from questioning the lack of serious government involvement. Francie Driscoll, off to a UFO-themed wedding in Roswell, is abducted by an alien, though it looks more like a tumbleweed, and the abduction is more of a carjacking, since it needs a lift. And Francie is wearing a neon-green bridesmaid’s gown that glows in the dark. So, even if an alien invasion is pending and the fate of Earth hangs in the balance, we were pretty secure in thinking that the stakes were pretty low. Even if Francie picks up a mysterious hitchhiker and the alien, Indy (so called due to his whip-like tentacles), is rather possessive in preventing escape. The overall affect is humorous, and only grows more so as Lyle, a walking compendium of all possible UFO conspiracy theories, is added to the merry band. The elements of farce are all being laid in place, along with the stepping stones of romance (and no, we are not talking about Lyle, here). But where is Indy going?
The use of mystery is the primary motivator for the plot, as Indy and his compatriots are not really explained for most of the work. Here, though, Ms. Willis adds to the fun by having Indy learn English through the means of Western movies, leading to a lot of “Mighty grateful Ma’am” messages to Francie from the aliens. We found a lot of charm in the mentions of Western, sf, and comedy movies, particularly as vectors of American culture for the edification of our alien visitors. And apparently a much faster linguistic avenue than working through their 3-D script ala Arrival. Could we suspend disbelief? The effervescence of the text requires it, we thought. If a real alien close encounter happened in the Southwest, I could not avoid seeing the US president being airdropped in. But, as John pointed out, this is farce, where the unbelievable should be accepted. And who are these characters? Mork and Mindy was Penn’s suggestion, which neatly captures the whole 1970-80s sitcom feel of the novel. And that is the problem with the reality of a US presidential air-drop; it would overshadow our main characters and so could not be allowed to intrude and spoil the fun.
Reading Willis is fun-damental
And fun was had. John called the book a palate cleanser, a break he appreciated after a few previous readings were more work than reward. We tossed a few terms around to describe the reading experience here, and settled on “light”. But not in a poor sense. Rather, in a gentle, affectionate way. Does it hurt to call a movie “Grade B”?, we argued. Even if we could see it was not trying for artistic heights, we could still recognize its solid, crafted worth. Could Ms. Willis write a bad book? We felt she would have a tough time trying. Not to say that we liked everything. Alan was bemused by the alien legal system with its “Get out of jail free” clause for defendants who were involved in a ‘sacred duty’ (BBHBINIITS, in the original Hosbitaii). The book has slow parts in profusion, so a bit of editing could have tightened up the pacing.
And the characters, while clearly identifiable, with individual voices, were also close to being sitcom stereotypes, or better, borrowed from the classic John Ford movie, Stagecoach, a clear inspiration for most of the novel’s travel sequences. Still, it does not hurt to steal from the best. Or to spread the love around, as we thought the aliens to be both individual and alien enough to be extraterrestrials, not humans with latex forehead ridges. OK, the idea of evolved, sentient plants may be played a bit too broadly for laughs (with cabbage and yucca-like ETs). But then, as John asked, why do the most improbable aliens turn out to be the most interesting ones?
What happens in Roswell …
In turn, we gave it our best, with ‘9’ and ‘8’ leading for a book that John proclaimed belongs in every public library. Roberto, who has read it twice, is now ready to follow up with a crash course in Connie Willis stories. And Chris wondered if we could read more of her works. Well, we have only tackled 3 (Passage and Doomsday Book, previously), so we do have room to roam, even if we are not roving the Southwest in a Western trail wagon.
