Actusf : Your studies and career have revolved around theater (performing art studies, production assistant for theater companies), what made you write sci-fi novels?
Becky Chambers : Books and science were my first loves. My mom recently sent me an autobiography I wrote for school when I was nine, and in it, I declared my intention to write books when I grew up (I also said I’d have three golden retrievers, which, uh, did not happen). I’ve always written, always loved writing. So for me, the question is more about why I took a detour into theater for a while. I got into it when I was a teenager, and it was absolutely intoxicating. I got to live inside stories for a while, and I found lots of other weirdos like me. But once I started working professionally, I slowly started to realize that the stories being told in the contemporary theater scene weren’t the stories I was most interested in. After we were done with a day of work, my peers would go see other shows. I went home to watch Star Trek or to the museum to listen to science lectures. Eventually, I paid attention to what that difference was telling me, and steered myself elsewhere. By now, I’ve been writing professionally almost the same amount of time that I did theater. I learned some vital life lessons there, things I use every day. But coming back to writing feels more like me. It feels like a reconnection with who I really am.
Your two novels are set in the same universe, could you tell us about it?
My books are set in the Galactic Commons, a huge multispecies society spread out across the Milky Way. You can think of it kind of like a galactic EU. Everybody’s got their own territory and their own culture, but they share some basic laws, they’ve set things up for easy trade and travel, and they spend most of their time bloodlessly disagreeing with each other. Humans are the underdogs in this future. Earth is largely uninhabitable, and we’ve scattered ourselves far and wide. We don’t have a lot to offer, but we’re becoming integrated into the GC. My books have tons of alien species, lots of different languages and subcultures, good technology, bad technology, and a whole bunch of weird food. Some of the places my characters travel to I’d love to visit. Others I’d prefer to stay far away from. I’m honest about showing the ugly sides of the galaxy, but ultimately, I want this to be a welcoming future. I want it to feel like a place ordinary people can relate to and imagine themselves in.
Is A closed and common orbit the sequel to The long way to a small angry planet (which was, for memory, nominated for the Hugo award for best novel)? Can these novels be read independently?
A Closed and Common Orbit is indeed the sequel to The Long Way, but it can be read on its own. Instead of following the main characters from the first book, it branches off with two minor characters. I wrote Closed and Common with the intent that the reader would go through the books in order, so you’ll get a fuller context for who these people are and what the setting is if you start with The Long Way. But I’ve heard from lots of readers who read Closed and Common first and felt right at home. I try to make it easy to jump in wherever you like.
Your characters are very different, whether they are extraterrestrial or not. Their differences allow you to broach questions such as tolerance, was this one of your goals when writing this book or did it occur while writing it?
I’m not sure it was a goal so much as a given. I belong to an international family, in multiple directions and with multiple languages. I’m the granddaughter of immigrants, and the wife of an immigrant as well. I was born in a multicultural region of Los Angeles, and went to school with kids from all different ethnic backgrounds and religions. I’m gay, which I think rather speaks for itself in terms of running into matters of tolerance. The combination of these things means that my life has been hugely defined by navigating the differences between myself and the individuals around me, or within society, or within the law, or whatever the case may be. I wouldn’t know how to write a story that didn’t draw from my life experience. I don’t think anyone does. And there are challenges in difference, yes, and danger, sometimes. But there’s beauty, too. There’s beauty in coming to an understanding with someone you don’t share a language with. There’s beauty in kids sitting around talking about the various holidays their families celebrate. There’s beauty in trying new food, learning new customs, letting your brain bend into a new way of thinking. It strikes me as obvious that life in the galaxy would be as diverse here on Earth, so it follows that our cultures would be every bit as varied. In order to cooperate, we’d have to find a place of tolerance and respect. The alternative is war, and that’s not what my work is about.
Critics generally praise the fact that your characters were particularly well thought out, why not continue with them in A closed and common orbit?
Because I’d told the story I wanted to tell. I didn’t have anything further for them in mind, so I didn’t want to force something just for the sake of having The Long Way 2. I also wanted to explore other aspects of the GC. If I were to stick with one crew, I’d only get one group of perspectives, and we’ve already heard from them. I want to travel farther than that.
With Pepper in A closed and common orbit, just as with Rosemary in The long way to a small angry planet you show that someone’s past does not sets out their future. Is refusing determinism important for you?
What a great question. Yes, it very much is. I have a huge interest in both natural science and social science, and the constant both fields share is change. Species evolve. Societies evolve. There’s no greater lie than the notion of “this is how things have always been,” regardless of how you apply it. That trickles down to individuals as well. We’re informed by where we’ve been, but that doesn’t dictate where we choose to go.
We often mention positive sci-fi when talking about your novels, what does this mean?
All stories are a reflection of the times they’re written in, and it’s so easy to see that in science fiction. There is a definite trend in science fiction today towards grittiness and grimdark, and for good reason. We live in frightening times. Our species figured out that we’re part of an interconnected global system right around the same time we realized that we’re breaking it. We’re struggling with questions of sustainability and progress and technological ethics, and we are scared out of our minds. The future, if you spend anytime reading the news, does not look great. So we express that fear through science fiction. Aliens are monsters, technology is a horrorshow, and we’re all going to die in the wasteland, searching for water. Don’t get me wrong -- I think those stories are a good thing. They’re healthy way of exploring our fears, and a lot of times, they’re really fun, despite the bleakness. But I do think we need a counterbalance to that. We need a reason to get through the hard times ahead. Survival alone isn’t enough, not if we don’t have a bright future to point our compasses toward. Caution is important, but so is hope. I aim for the latter.
Will you keep your next novels in this same universe, in these same themes?
For a few more books, yes. I’m going to continue in the same way that I did with A Closed and Common Orbit -- branching off with new characters, exploring different parts of the galaxy.
Are you planning any trips in France to meet your French readers?
I am! I’ll be at the Utopiales in Nantes this November. It’s my first trip to France, and I’m very excited.