Customer Reviews

A Time of Changes

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The author's 2008 introduction to this 1971 SF novel indicates that it was written as he was working through his decision to move from the staid East Coast to swinging California at the height of the countercultural movement. Set on a planet settled by colonists from a mostly-destroyed Earth, the culture there is closed and bureaucratic and apparently unchanged for thousands of years. The main character, Kinnall Darival, is a man from the ruling elite who is exiled from his own kingdom, but after some adventures he easily takes on a leading role in a nearby kingdom. The society reminded me of Asian cultures, where people refer to themselves as "one" rather than "I", and are generally extremely reticient to reveal anything about their inner lives even to family members. Still, everyone there has the benefit of the confessional and both a bondsister and brother to whom it is socially acceptable to be more emotionally open. Written in the first person, Darival describes what has led him to experiment with a mind-altering drug and write a book designed to change his society. I found his motivations less than convincing, and the similarity between the society of Borthan and that of the U.S. in the 60s remote. The writing was great, and the Darival's personality was complex; he was no hero and possessed no deep insights into his culture. The book is absorbing and interesting, but I think that the author's claim that it reflects the dynamic of the 60s did not help me to understand it. At the end, however, I wanted very much to know how that culture was going to change (if it was at all) because of Darival's actions or writings.

I wasn't around for the 60s and I don't remember anything from the 70s--being only an infant during the glorious years of the Carter Administration. So I can't claim to have "been there" when the country was turned on its head and flower-child values became a part of America's social fabric. However, I have suffered through college lectures from people who don't seem to realize that they are walking stereotypes and I have had a taste of that period's philosophy and art. Generally speaking, it's a taste I don't care for--like a pungent cheese with little seeds of unknown origin embedded in it. The two exceptions to my general disdain for the cultural and intellectual products of the 60s and 70s are music and science fiction literature. The 1960s and 1970s were a golden age for science fiction and Robert Silverberg's 1971 Nebula Award-winning novel A Time of Changes is one of those novels that distinguishes itself as both a product of its troubled times and a timeless work of art that can be enjoyed by anyone--even people like me who probably would have voted for Nixon.

A Time of Changes takes place millennia in the future during a time in which humans have colonized extra-solar planets. One of those colonies is established on a planet called Borthan by members of a religious sect that follow a set of theological guidelines called the Covenant. The Covenant requires one to wall off both heart and mind from others. This denial of self is intended to prevent individuals from placing their personal burdens on others and it is such a fundamental element of life on the planet's northern continent, Velada Borthan, that the inhabitants have banished first-person pronouns (I, me, myself, mine, etc.) from their vocabulary. Use of a first-person pronoun is considered a terrible breach of manners and can even lead to a charge of "self-bearing," which is the ultimate sin among the people of Velada Borthan--a sin that can have both social and legal consequences.

Not everyone on Velada Borthan cherishes the Covenant. However, few have the courage to resist and still fewer have the resources to make their resistance anything more than a personal act of defiance. Then along comes a flawed hero named, Kinnall Darival. Kinnall is a prince from a province called Salla. As the younger son of Salla's prime septarch (i.e. king), Kinnall has little chance of becoming septarch himself and chooses to depart his home province upon his father's death. He wanders Velada Borthan for years before making a home in the continent's southern province. It is there that he makes contact with a man from Earth who challenges Kinnall's assumptions about his world and encourages him to try a drug that breaks down the barriers between human minds. The intimacy that Kinnall experiences during his telepathic experience changes him and leads him to become a prophet of self-bearing, or rather self-sharing as he calls it.

A Time of Changes is a wonderfully simple story that deals artfully with a variety of complex issues. Although the book focuses on the question of what is the source of love and how to create a happy society, it also forces the reader to consider the question of what responsibilities we have to those who care for us and what motivates a person to become a revolutionary. One of Siverberg's great accomplishments is that the narrative is constructed in a such a way that reasonable people can disagree with the implications of Kinnall's transformation from restless bureacrat to self-bearing messiah. The Kinnall character is presented in a sympathetic light, but is hardly air-brushed. We see Kinnall as strong, courageous, inquisitive, and introspective. However, we also see him as arrogant, destructively selfish at times, as well as oscillating between total self-confidence and paralyzing indecision. In other words, Kinnall is portrayed as a human being, albeit a remarkable one, and is totally convincing as a social revolutionary. One of the greatest weaknesses of the book is that there is no effective counter to the protagonist. The opponents of self-bearing are protrayed as brain-washed victims. Silverberg comes close to creating a worthy counterpoint to Kinnall with Noim, Kinnall's "bond-brother" who rejects Kinnall's teachings and clings to the Covenant. Unfortunately, Silverberg discredits Noim by suggesting that his opposition to Kennall is rooted in a self-loathing that is a product of Velada Borthan's twisted society.

It is impossible not to think of A Time of Changes as part of a larger body of science fiction works that deal with the conflict between individualism and communitarianism. However, Silverberg's book sets itself apart from novels like Ayn Rand's classic Anthem, because it offers a much more complex analysis of what it means to promote the interests of the individual. As in Anthem, the residents of Velada Borthan do not speak in the first-person. However, unlike in Anthem, the cure for denial of self is not to assert one's independence from one's community, but rather to forge a more intimate connection with others to the point of mentally merging with them. For Rand, collectivism and individualism are two very distinct things and their moral value is easily discerned. The former is bad the latter is good. For Silverberg, the lines that separate the two are blurry, with moral truth being somewhere between the two archetypal ends of the spectrum.

For this reason, the message of the book is refreshing, if not entirely convincing. The notion that human intimacy is necessary to have trust and love seems like a no-brainer, but the argument that total intimacy is the best means of creating a peaceful, happy society seems like a naive product hippie idealism. Indeed, the whole notion of using mind-altering drugs to expand one's ability to understand and perceive the surrounding world seems a little quaint, while the contention that totally dropping our defenses and allowing others into our minds to study our innermost thoughts is more than a little disturbing. Because there is no serious effort by the author to make the opponents of self-bearing into anything other than pitiable figures who will never know true happiness the book only affords one-side of the story. However, it does not harm the narrative as much as one might expect, because Kinnall's behavior is described in such brutally honest detail that it is possible to see him as either a martyr or a drug-crazed fool despite the lack of an effective philosophical rival.

The pacing of the book is rather good, although a few sections could have benefited from some trimming. There is enough adventure and intrigue in the story to keep the reader engaged and entertained, but the book's deeper mission is always apparent. The prose is generally excellent, although at first it can be difficult to determine when the author is being serious and when he is being facetious. For example... "Bulging muscles and a hairy hide do not a skilled lover make, nor is a massive genital member such as mine any guarantee of ecstasy..." Later on you can laugh with the author, rather than at him, but at first you'll wonder if you're reading a great work of science fiction or simply a juvenile pulp novel. Indeed, there were points early in the book where I could not help but picture Kinnall as Will Ferrell offering me "tickets to the gun show" and bragging about his "pubic mane."

Good stories should always entertain and the best stories will teach you something about yourself and the world around you. By that criteria, Robert Silverberg's A Time of Changes is a great story. I can't say I agree with the message of the book, which struck me as a troubling tale of how self-repression can be replaced with self-annihilation, but it did challenge me and force me to engage in a little introspection. If you're looking for epic space battles, a large cast of complex characters, or a story that deals with hard science fiction themes then A Time of Changes is not for you. However, if you are looking for a science fiction novel that provides an in-depth character study, a fascinating and very personal exploration of an alien world, as well as a story that delves into perennial questions, such as what does it mean to love one's self and to love others, then A Time for Changes will not disappoint.

This review came from the website Drink Your Kanar!

Silverberg starts with a premise that's been used before, notably in Ayn Rand's Anthem: a society in which it's distasteful, even criminal to speak in the first person, to offer anything uniquely your own. And, as in Anthem, the protagonist (Kinnall Darival) breaks through that taboo and is hunted down as an enemy of the state.

Despite similarities, this book develops in wholly different ways and for different reasons. Rand's hero fights the stagnation of a political system to gain intellectual and emotional freedom. Darival, on the other hand, seeks to break through the isolation implicit in being unable to say "I love you," or anything else in the first person. Where there's no "I" there's no "we" - every man is an island. Rand's story assumes technological innovation as a driving force; Silverberg uses longing for personal contanct, and echoes 1960s' drug culture. The endings differ, too: Rand's personal triumph versus the more ambiguous ending of this book.

To my mind, though, both books suffer the same flaw: although they ban "I", they allow "you." Anyone can discuss me, even with me, except for me myself. I can discuss anyone else, even directly with that person, but that person can't. It's as if there were a roomful of people, where each one is prohibited from mentioning something obvious to all the others. For one person it might be chairs, lamps for another, and so on for each individual, resulting in odd circumlocutions that no one else needs to use, except when dealing with their own unique linguistic lack.

I've enjoyed much of Silverberg's work, with his richly drawn cultures and believable characters. This one just doesn't do it for me, though.

-- wiredweird

I was impressed with this clean presentation of one of Robert Silverberg's classic science fiction novels. In Silverberg's prolific career there have been a number of great reads, and this is one of his most thought-provoking and intriguing. The question of how to balance personal self-interest against the community of fellow human beings at the core of this work will doubtless make this a classic for years to come.

One of the best aspects of speculative fiction is, when in the right hands an author can create a wholly plausible society not unlike our own, yet bend and twist the tradition, custom, and social habit to suit thematic needs. The narrative which results can subsequently offer brilliant commentary on our real world. Robert Silverberg's "A Time of Changes" is a book that works at this level.

At heart, the novel is a character exploration of Kinnel Darival, a prince living in the kingdom of Borthan. Ruled by a Covenant, Borthans follow a strict code that renders personal pronouns taboo. While simultaneously setting a stylistic challenge for himself, Silverberg describes a society wherein overt references to the self are forbidden. The belief is that the repression of such expression makes a person stronger inside, and therefore more suited to the rigors of life. Due to a family tragedy, Darival soon finds himself on the run from a brother who seeks to eliminate competition for heirs to the throne. In his travels, Darival is slowly introduced to the "other side," a world wherein a person can comfortably refer to one's self as `I' and `me.' Helping this transition along is his experimentation with a wonder drug that telepathically links people, bolstering empathy. Not wanting to describe the whole plot, suffice to say the manner in which Silverberg chooses to uses the drug as a literary device is paramount to the novel's conclusion. John Lennon would have been proud.

By contrasting a society with strong limitations on expressions of the self with one featuring seemingly no socially unacceptable forms of expression, Silverberg creates a juxtaposition not unlike "1984." The lies one must tell themselves and the isolated manner in which people move through society echo in "A Time of Changes." While the telepathic miracles performed by Silverberg's drug are perhaps an idea that only someone from the flower-power generation could sculpt into speculative fiction, the fundamental idea that the freedom to express emotion is something lacking in our present day society still rings true. Though not quite on par with Orwell or Huxley, "A Time of Changes" is still worth a read, prose and structure nearly perfect. And if not for these reasons, why not for the controversial nature of the story?

Although the writing is brilliant the story drags and is far from an exciting page turner. Don't get me wrong, I love most of Silverberg's books; however this is not what I'd expect from a Nebula awarded book ... possibly from a Nobel literature work, but this is not a read for anyone who craves excitement.

Science fiction, more than any other genre, remains tightly linked to the time and culture in which it was written. No reader will ever forget that this novel debuted in 1971, when artists and other culture-makers accepted questioning mainstream doctrines as worthwhile and welcome. Yet it makes a good primer and introduction in this era, when genre fiction has grown leery of believing in anything or taking a stand.

On Bortha, piety demands complete self-effacement. Humans deny their identities, subsume their individuality into the society, and eschew the word "I." When restless exile Kinnall Darival discovers the joy of sharing his soul with others, he finds a degree of communion no one on his world has enjoyed in two thousand years, but his overlords can't tolerate such individuality. Suddenly an honored prince becomes both messiah and fugitive.

What happens when a society forbids its citizens introspection? How can people be free when they must efface their very existence? Silverberg addresses himself to these and other questions, only barely admitting that he really wonders about post-Eisenhower America's middle class propriety. And he doesn't reach after facile answers to the questions he raises, instead leading us through angles of investigation so we readers can choose for ourselves.

Watching the pious boast in their modesty, and elevate themselves by obliterating their spirits, it's hard to avoid admitting that we still often put ourselves through these paces, thinking ourselves profound. Silverberg holds a mirror up to our own silent arrogance and challenges us to answer back to what we see. I wish more genre writers produced work of this quality and thoughtfulness in our own conflicted time.

It is astonishing that Silverberg is not more often ranked among the great names of science fiction. His novels are bold, richly characterised, and written with a rare fluency.

A Time of Changes is set on Borthan, a planet colonised from Earth centuries ago. The austere puritans who founded it decreed that only humility could save their creed, creating a culture of self effacement in which 'I' and 'me' are considered swear words. But the exiled prince of one of its provinces, Kinnall of Salla, is fated to be the first pilgrim on the path of self-discovery. Eschewing wealth and social success, and prepared to put his kin and protectors alike in mortal danger, Kinnall procures a forbidden drug that forces open the sealed hearts of Borthan's desperately solitary citizens. But modern emulators of Buddha and Jesus Christ are only set for martyrdom...

The novel's sci-fi claims are thin: no technical pyrotechnics, here, and the other-world premise only serves to create a hypothetical environment, a what-if for speculating on self and community. I also tend to find Silverberg's assumption dubious, that self-effacement chimes with a highly stratified society where each and everyone is bottled up within. Rather the contrary, I would expect. But no matter. In the novel, communion with others - through the drug - is the key to the awakening of self. The parallel is obvious with the hippie movement and societal changes of the swinging 60s (the book was written in 1970 - this is not innocent, as the preface suggests). And Bortham remains convincing, absorbing as an alternate world. Besides, this is simply a good story of love, danger, and missionary zeal. A Time of Changes is as worthwhile reading as its subject is intriguing.

Robert Silverberg has consistently provided readers with brilliant, artful, provocative and mesmerizing fiction from the early 1950s with the publication of his first short story, "Gorgon Planet," and his first novel, "Revolt on Alpha-C," to today (check out the listing for The Last Song of Orpheus, due out later this year.) Even that first novel, a juvenile, had some challenging material, as a young man finds his friends quickly becoming enemies willing to imprison or kill him if he doesn't support their revolt.
What was most interesting to me about A Time of Changes was the fact that it creates a nice bridge between Silverberg's introspective, moody, downbeat , philosophical works of the 60's with his world-creation mood, expressed in later works like the Majipoor novels, The Longest Way Home, Kingdoms of the Wall, and Face of the Waters.
This edition features a map of Borthan. The main subject of the novel is the odd culture of self-abnegation, but this culture is integrated with and partly explained by the environment. Silverberg has fun, and provides it, as he describes climates, flora, fauna, and geography. This kind of thing would become the most important part of Lord Valentine's Castle. More than perhaps any other writer, Silverberg makes you believe that his worlds exist. This is emphatically not because the books are "hard" science fiction. Writers in the hard category fill their pages with precise data and ingenious extrapolations, and too often leave the reader with an impression of artificiality. Silverberg remains within what is biologically and physically possible, and does work within the tradition of authors who take science seriously; this is part of the magic, but the greater part of it is that everything fits together, and feels real, and real people live among and react to the created environments.
One of my favorite parts of any novel is always the introduction provided by the author, and Silverberg has written one which appears in this edition. It explains a lot. But it left me with a big question. The author talks about the challenge of creating a novel without using the word, "I." He reveals that this was not just a clever trick or self-created challenge, but a necessary development of his idea. My confusion: the novel fetaure first-person pronouns on almost every page, as the story is being told by someone who has decided to abandon his culture's ways and define new ones for himself and those who follow him. I must have misunderstood the introduction.
One note on the drug feature of the story: the drug used here promotes shared consciousness and breaks down barriers of all kinds between people. Naturally, some regard this as obscene. Many people in our culture would, too. Does the novel advocate hallucinogens? It could be regarded that way, as the main character tells us that no one can experience what he has without the drug. But no Earthly hallucinogen can do what this drug does, and the real plea of the character is for sharing and self-discovery. I suppose a lot of people in the 60's and 70's believed drugs were an integral part of that, and that they would reshape society.
Every novel (and story) by Robert Silverberg fascinates, informs, enlightens, provokes, and forces us to challenge assumptions. I recommend to any reader: find and devour the novellas Hawksbill Station, Homefaring, Sailing to Byzantium, and my all-time favorite, Born With The Dead.
I look forward to Last Song of Orpheus with unashamed eagerness.

I found the book well written, however I was bored. The subject matter and plotline simply did not interest me. There was nothing in this book that was inherently science fiction. This story could have been told as an earth-based story, with Schweiz coming from another country. The fact that it takes place on another planet, and Schweiz comes from Earth is really immaterial. So, while well-written, I came to find science fiction and found none.