For some reason I found this completely unreadable. I know Delany can write, because I've read his stuff in the past. It's like he just threw it out the window. ( )

This was probably the Delany bk that most intersected my own life. As I recall, the novel begins w/ a street performance group entering the "u-l" wch I think meant "un-lawful" zone or some such. I've done many a guerrilla 'performance', I've walked down the streets of Baltimore dressed in totally bizarre clothes completely high at 3AM KNOWING that it was always open season on people who looked different, that I cd be killed at any moment, that there was no such thing as police protection for people like me, & knowing that the only thing likely to keep me alive was my alertness, my articulateness, my quick wit, my very audacity, my extremely necessary psychosis. Like the time 2 thugs flanked me & sd "You owe me $5" to wch I replied "No, I distinctly remember that you owe ME $5." Back & forth, them fucking w/ me, me giving it right back, defiant. Finally a 3rd friend of theirs appeared & heard the interchange & told them to leave me alone & they left. In order to defend myself physically I wd've had to've gone completely psycho - something I was prepared to do - & it wdn't've been pretty - but I preferred talking my way out of it. A dangerous game to play. But I wasn't going to hide in a car, in a protected neighborhood - even if I cd've afforded to - wch I cdn't. & Delany's characters were just like I was. This was the 1st novel where I ever saw MYSELF depicted. & one of the very, very few. ( )

Not as good as Dhalgren, but maintained my impression of Delaney as an author working beyond his pigeon-holed genre. In each of his books I've read he seems more concerned with the relationship between reality and art than with the technicalities of "hard sci-fi." Not that he doesn't fully embrace the genre--this book is most definitely science fiction with its share of technical flamboyance--but I feel that is only his platform to attack greater issues.

I'm not sure what I think about his representation of the differences between the sexes in this book. The description of the book is maybe one of the most misleading I've ever seen. Sure, the action takes place amidst a war, but the majority of the book was about love and art, and the final quarter is solely about postmodern gender differences. The description is an excellent example of the publishing industry forcing authors into their marketable subtypes--sci-fi nerds would not be as likely to pick this up if the description were more accurate. I'm interested to hear the opinion of a female reader, unfortunately I don't know many who would pick up anything vaguely resembling science fiction... ( )

Not as good as Dhalgren, but maintained my impression of Delaney as an author working beyond his pigeon-holed genre. In each of his books I've read he seems more concerned with the relationship between reality and art than with the technicalities of "hard sci-fi." Not that he doesn't fully embrace the genre--this book is most definitely science fiction with its share of technical flamboyance--but I feel that is only his platform to attack greater issues.

I'm not sure what I think about his representation of the differences between the sexes in this book. The description of the book is maybe one of the most misleading I've ever seen. Sure, the action takes place amidst a war, but the majority of the book was about love and art, and the final quarter is solely about postmodern gender differences. The description is an excellent example of the publishing industry forcing authors into their marketable subtypes--sci-fi nerds would not be as likely to pick this up if the description were more accurate. I'm interested to hear the opinion of a female reader, unfortunately I don't know many who would pick up anything vaguely resembling science fiction... ( )

A story that would appear to be a timeless recount of one man's search for universal meaning and true love is everything that Triton, by Samuel R. Delany, is not.

Within this surprisingly antiquated and anticlimactic patchwork of a tale, Delany opens for us a lens into the universe of one Bron Helstrom – a sociopathic "metalogician," who very soon realizes that you just can't be the center of everyone's universe. The novel prattles on for some three-hundred pages with content that I'm sure was quite progressive for the year of publication (but also not surprising, considering that year), but today seems not only benign, but completely disconnected from several social issues that are today's real ones.

If you're looking for an exciting tale of love overcoming the oppressions of war strewn with thought-provoking philosophic ramblings, then I recommend you look somewhere else. Anywhere else. ( )