Commonplace Reviews: Dragonflight

A new venture, dragons, time travel, and problematic romantic pairings

It’s been a busy May at the Boratenski household, with gardening season ramping up, the school year ending, and birthdays being celebrated. I may not have had much writing time lately, but I did rescue our remaining strawberry plants (left to their own devices for over a year), plant a bunch of our garden (so far peas and salad greens are doing the best), and make it in and out of NYC with 3 littles and no major mishaps. So a lot of life being lived which will hopefully bear fruit (both literal and metaphorical) down the line.

Today’s post is a new venture. By the end of the year, I would like to turn on paid subscriptions. I plan to keep my regular commonplace quote reflection posts, as well as my Quickly Commonplacing posts, free. But for paid subscribers, one idea I’ve considered is offering regular book reviews of what I’m reading. So I’m here to test the waters and see what you lovely people think! And now, on to the posting.

For much of my reading life, fantasy was my bread and butter. I read (and reread, and reread some more) the Harry Potter series with relish. I adored the Chronicles of Narnia. Many of the books in the Redwall series are among the most beat up books on our bookshelves. And of course, there aren’t words to express what my favorite book of all time, The Lord of the Rings, has meant to me.

But as I’ve gotten older, I’ve found it harder and harder to find works of fantasy that I enjoy. Newer works of fantasy are often depressing as hell, vaguely pornographic, or thinly disguised reenactments of modern social and political conflicts. Sometimes they’re all three. As a result, I’ve been trying to dip back into older works of fantasy and/or science fiction; with mixed results. I’ve come across works as delightful as The Elfin Ship, and works as painfully derivative as The Sword of Shannara. And in quite a few works of fantasy from previous generations, I’ve found myself more than a little uncomfortable with how relationships between men and women play out.

Dragonflight, the first in a multi-book series set on the planet of Pern, is one of those works. Yes, ok, Dragonflight is technically a work of science fiction (a prologue states that Pern is a distant planet settled by humanity in the future, and the “dragons” of the title are a genetically engineered native species). However, the essentially medieval/agrarian setting, telepathically bonded human/dragon characters, and hero’s journey motif mean that, for all intents and purposes, it reads like a work of fantasy.

Before I get into the aspects of the book that made me cringe a little, I’ll start with what I enjoyed. And what I enjoyed was DRAGONS. I don’t care that it was essentially a combined Star Wars/LOTR rip off; I loved Eragon as a kid. And don’t get me started on Cynthia Wrede’s Enchanted Forest Chronicles (which 100% hold up as an adult). If a book series has dragons, it has gone a long way towards earning my good will. What I enjoyed about Dragonflight was that McCaffrey clearly thought long and hard about the biology of these creatures, and what impact her specific iteration of dragons would have on human institutions and culture.

In his essay On Fairy-Stories, Tolkien pointed out that fairy stories can satisfy desires we can’t fulfill in our fallen world. One such desire is the desire “to hold communion with other living things.” In McCaffrey’s world, a dragon “impresses” on a particular human as it hatches from its egg, and from then on the two are telepathically linked. The “communion” between these humans and dragons is thus very deep indeed, not the least because it is a communion oriented towards (literally) saving the world. For dragon riders are meant to protect Pern from the deadly Thread, a microorganism that falls in regular intervals when an adjacent planet, the “Red Star” draws too close to Pern. Said microorganism rapidly destroys any organic matter it touches, and can only be rendered harmless by extreme cold, water, or (dragon) fire. In describing friendship, C.S. Lewis said that, “It is when we are doing things together that friendship springs up – painting, sailing ships, praying, philosophizing, and fighting shoulder to shoulder. Friends look in the same direction.” By his definition, the human/dragon pairs in Dragonflight are examples of friendship par excellence. Indeed, I found that these friendships represented some of the healthiest relationships in the book. Which is cool on one hand, and a bit concerning on the other (more on that below).

Another element of the book that worked really well, and one of the main reasons I’m willing to continue the series despite the iffy aspects of Dragonflight, is how well McCaffrey handled the notoriously difficult concept of time travel. I don’t want to give too much away, but suffice it to say McCaffrey put serious thought into the mechanics, consequences, and paradoxes of time travel. I also liked how McCaffrey reflected on the theme of time in general, especially in regards to the unfortunate human tendency to ignore and/or forget about the wisdom of the past in favor of an all too optimistic vision of the future.

In Dragonflight, it has been 400 “turns” (Pern years) since the Thread last fell. As a result, human settlements have gradually ceased to practice various safety measures that allowed humanity to survive such devastating attacks. Additionally, they have ceased to honor dragons and their riders (who have adopted an isolationist policy in order not to ruffle any potentially dangerous feathers) because the dragons/riders no longer appear to have any purpose. Unfortunately, the Red Star is drawing close once again, and unless the Pernese people get their you-know-what together, they’re doomed. One of the main characters, the dragon rider F’lar, realizes this. He has faith that the traditions of the past contain vital wisdom that will safeguard Pern’s future. And it is his (sometimes high-handed and arrogant) forcing of others to return to those traditions that helps save Pern from the return of the Threads.

His respect for tradition is echoed by Masterharper Robinton, the head of the Pernese body responsible for creating/preserving/passing on Pernese oral/literary culture. In one of my favorite scenes in the entire book Robinton verbally eviscerates the feudal leaders (called Holders) who have, for years, badmouthed the dragonmen and surppressed the traditional stories/songs about Thread. Their actions have contributed to the decline of both dragons and dragon riders, leaving one small settlement of dragon riders to do a job that, in previous eras, was the responsibility of at least five separate settlements. When the Thread begins to fall again, these same leaders complain about the way in which F’lar and his dragon riders are doing their jobs. Infuriated by their hypocrisy, Robinton uses his skills as a mimic to remind the Holders of the ways in which their words and actions directly contributed to the crisis they all are in.

Having pointed out what I liked about Dragonflight, it’s time to look at some of the less than stellar elements that prevent me from wholeheartedly recommending this book. First, it’s clear that this is indeed a first novel. The writing (particularly the dialogue) can feel clunky, transitions between scenes abrupt, and plotting uneven. But those are minor issues, even if their presence can be jarring. What really disconcerted me about Dragonflight, was the problematic “romantic” relationship between our two main characters, Lessa and F’lar. I put “romantic” in quotes because in real life, that kind of “romance” would properly be labeled borderline (if not completely) abusive. F’lar routinely refers to Lessa as “girl” in a pejorative way, blaming her for (admittedly rash) decisions she makes, while withholding the information that might prevent her from making said rash decisions. When she makes said decisions, he resorts to physical violence (shaking rather than hitting, but still not a healthy way to express anger or frustration). Somewhat hilariously, F’lar laments that Lessa refuses to show the same softness and tenderness towards him that she shows towards her dragon, Ramoth. even as he thinks about he can’t ever show her how deeply and tenderly he (supposedly) cares for her because, you know, that’s too embarrassing and a sign of weakness. Y’all my eyes rolled so hard.

Furthermore, issues of consent abound because Lessa and F’lar’s sexual relationship is instigated by the mating of their dragons. The passion of their dragons overloads into that of the humans they are bonded to, and, well, one thing leads to another. While they continue this sexual relationship afterwards, F’lar reflects that Lessa hardly seems enthusiastic, even acknowledging that, absent the dragons’ ‘help,’ he might as well call their couplings rape. So. There’s that. At least Dragonflight doesn’t go into detail describing these trysts, which is more than I can say for comparable modern novels.

On Lessa’s side, there’s a healthy dose of stereotypical female jealousy (of a stereotypically promiscuous temptress) that she refuses to honestly acknowledge or discuss. And yet, we’re supposed to root for these two to get together and resolve all their issues. And lest anyone wants to make the “different times” argument, Jane Austen wrote a good 200 years before McCaffrey published her books and somehow recognized that arrogant and emotionally constipated men do not good romantic partners make (see Mr. Darcy’s character arc).

And it’s a shame, because Lessa is a fascinating character in a lot of ways: a survivor of a massacre that decimated her family, she is possessed of unusual powers and a courageous and fiery spirit. I appreciated her character arc, from a woman who couldn’t see beyond her desire for revenge, uncaring of the ways her actions might harm innocents, to a leader willing to sacrifice herself to save Pern from the Thread.

Overall, I would say that Dragonflight is a 3/5. I’m willing to read the other books in the trilogy, but might give up if the way in which McCaffrey handles romantic relationships doesn’t improve. It’s a book that has forced me to confront, as I so often do, questions of discernment when it comes to the media I consume. How do we know when the good of a book (high quality of craft, it’s entertainment value, it’s engagement with great ideas) outweighs the bad (poor quality of craft, positive portrayal of objectively evil ideas and actions)? How do we find the balance between guarding our hearts and minds, while avoiding shutting ourselves up in an echo chamber of our own ideas, or sheltering ourselves from engaging with the real evils present in our world? Sound off below and let me know how you answer these questions, and let me know if (in general) reviews like these are something you’d be interested in reading!

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