Catherynne Valente has done it again. There you are, off you pop. If that’s all you needed to read before coming back to the truly kaleidoscopic SF world filled with manic pixie dreams of electric sheep that she crafted in the previous installment, Space Opera, then by all means, my friend, thanks for visiting, souvenir shop on the left, buy two nice comments, leave the third one free. I begin this review this way because to even describe this book—to review, critique, discuss, anything—I feel I must emulate to the best of my abilities the way this book tells you about itself. Like a beautiful symbiote, the language, verve, glitter-bomb swagger and shoot-from-the-hip-with-one-of-those-prop-guns-that-unfurls-and-says-BANG-on-it of Space Oddity has just become a part of me. It has crooned at me through moonless midnights, tap-danced across my cranium outside of blurred commuter windows, it has mimed at me, okay, so four words, theme is music, (you’re goddamned right it’s music), the guess is, “Rock and Roll, baby,” and the guess is always right when you play with this book, the band at its heart, and the writer who brings them all to life with 9,000 volts of “Hello, Science Fiction! How are you tonight? It’s been too long! This genre is one of my favorite venues to play in!”
The show begins as it always does: with a hangover.
Decibel Jones, lead singer of the Absolute Zeroes, and for a brief moment, savior of Earth, comes to after the one hundredth Metagalactic Grand Prix with something worse than headaches: ennui. Having saved the world from utter destruction and coming in at a commendable tenth place, Earth and all of the billions of heartbeats on it are ushered into a new age of galactic utopia… kind of. But they’re not the focus, or at least not the main one. Who this book is concerned with, are, in no particular order: gender-fabulous, aging rockstar Decibel Jones who has not been given a task, purpose, or proper meal since the end of saving the world and no one has even really thanked him; the walking, talking, chain-smoking paradox that is his drummer and one of his best friends who both is and isn’t dead like Schrodinger’s version of Neil Peart; the one and only Mira Wonderful Star, brought back to the world by the red panda-esque Keshet named Öö; the aforementioned red panda who definitely wasn’t supposed to have done that and who definitely should not have chained said paradox to the engine at the core of a midsize family starship; and one sore loser who looks like the equivalent of a Carebear that got nuked by a Lisa Frank-shaped microwave and who is tired of playing by rules that were made up by everyone who wasn’t him in the first place. And a Badger, who has a name that will be discovered at some point plot-crucial.
Buy the Book
![Space Oddity](https://reactormag.com/wp-content/uploads/2025/01/Space-Oddity.jpg)
![Space Oddity](https://reactormag.com/wp-content/uploads/2025/01/Space-Oddity.jpg)
Space Oddity
There is a plot to Space Oddity, I do promise that, and it’s one that left me feeling misty-eyed and verklempt and brought me to that heart-swelling feel of a damn good story told damn goodly. But the plot happens in and around and through and across the many fractals of a Damn Good Time™ being had by Valente. If you’re not someone who enjoys singing along to the radio, stopping at weirder and weirder gas stations, or indulging in local curiosities like Galaxy’s Largest Orb of Rubber-Bands, then you might be a little frustrated at times. This is not a book you speed through. I promise you will be doing yourself a disservice by not indulging in each and every page like the most luxurious of your favorite sweet treat, because Valente has spent a lot of time working on this, and sentence by sentence, you can feel the sheer enthusiasm humming off the printed page—the unbridled, confident shout, Robin-Williams-Genie-style, “It’s good to be back, baby!”
It is so good to have her back, especially amongst her lovingly painted stars. This sequel deftly asks the all-important “so what the hell happens next?” question—and it is a doozy. Decibel Jones was feeling lost before he saved the world. Now, he has to go and represent his world to every other civilization out there? And he has to do it with his dead-friend-but-not-so-much-these-days just hanging out on his ship? But what about Mira Wonderful Star, the same age she was when she died but still younger than Dess, still in her prime, a walking reminder of what he doesn’t have anymore, as much as he’s a reminder to her of everything she’ll never have. Oh sure, tensions are bad now, but what happens when Decibel Jones, the infamous lord of Couldn’t Leave Well Enough Alone, accidentally discovers a new species of people and has to induct them into galactic society? Like the meme says: “Not great, Bob.” It might get better, but not before a lot of conversations, quantum-entangled memory-ships, and a lot of asides about the state of the galaxy and how it got that way.
Much like Space Opera, Valente has a wonderful time exploring the ins and outs of her galaxy. While book one introduced us to the various and sundry beings such as the Alunizar, the 321, the Meleg, the Esca, and more, this book is all about their histories, their feuds, their bureaucratic nightmares, how and why stupid wars both started and ended and paused, and so much more. That, and we learn just how strange and weird humanity is compared to your average Ursula (Ursula is a giant, floating balloon-like being, and yes, they’re all named Ursula). If book one was the sheer wonder and horror at being a part of a galactic society suddenly, book two explores just what it takes to maintain that big Rube Goldberg machine of keeping the peace.
That, amidst Dess and Mira’s respective journeys toward understanding their new places in the universe and what that means for their relationship, and a sudden, last-minute 101st Metagalactic Grand Prix with the discovery of a new species, the Vedriti, there is more in this novel than some writers dream of in their whole career. While the spirit of Douglas Adams is certainly present in this sequel, I found myself thinking often of Kurt Vonnegut as perhaps the ghost whispering in Valente’s ear. Space Oddity focuses on ideas big and small: Life is absurd and weird; we all die; what nonsense it is to make a go at doing the right thing; and all the wonderful, odd ways we and other civilizations cope and make sense of the whole damn thing. If watching some truly mesmerizing characters engage in this exacting philosophy from the school of Aw, What the Hell, Sure, then you’re in for a treat.
Read this if you loved Space Opera. Read Space Opera, love it, and then come read this. Because there is nothing better than Catherynne Valente whisking language around the ballroom dance floor with the bravado and joy of someone in love, and by gum, you can only marvel as she spins, making language blush and laugh all at once. Space Oddity is a story of second chances for those who never thought they’d get them. It’s a story of acceptance in whatever role the universe saw fit to make you so absolutely wonderful at. It’s a raucous rollercoaster with no seatbelts hurtling at warp speed Holy Shit towards the next adventure. It is a marvel, pure and simple.
Go pick up a copy and learn why for yourself. You won’t regret it, I promise.
Space Oddity is published by Saga Press.