Today, I wanted to look back at an older novel with more of a focus on the relationship between society and ecology. Joan Slonczewski’s 1986 A Door into Ocean illuminates two distinct worldviews in an exchange between an imperialist and protagonist Merwen the Impatient. Declaring that “unless you kill us, you can’t stop us from killing you,” the imperialist asks Merwen “why should you not ‘hasten’ a few deaths[?]” But rather than affirm this zero-sum perspective, Merwen affirms what brings her and her enemy together: “A human sees herself in the mirror. I am a human and so, inescapably, are you” (591). On one level, Merwen’s suggestion that the mirror test defines humanity offers fertile ground for discussion similar to the ecological worldbuilding of Mad Sisters of Esi I discussed earlier this year. But what I want to talk about today is how Slonczewski reframes the question of violence from practicalities of survival to the “inescapable” fact that we cannot harm those whom we understand as ourselves. This book uses a queer and ecofeminist utopia to explore the importance of scientific thinking.

A Door into Ocean is set on the futuristic-yet-feudal planet of Valedon, ruled by an interstellar Patriarch, and its moon Shora, a planet covered by ocean and inhabited by the peaceful, bioengineering Sharers. Protagonist Spinel is an adolescent searching for his calling in his Valan stonecarving village, but when a pair of purple-skinned women from the moon demonstrate wondrous weaving and healing prowess, he follows them to Shora to learn more. Yet the Valan ambassador to the Sharers, Berenice (known as Nisi the Deceiver as a Sharer), senses that the Patriarch and Valedon want more than the Sharers can give. And although Merwen believes in Spinel and Nisi, the Sharer organizer must face human capacity for violence in a way no Sharer has before.

Slonczewski’s thoughtful application of biology and social organization are some of the novel’s great strengths. Microbial symbionts that grant Sharers their purple skin and oxygen capacity for underwater trips are just the most obvious element of Sharer society’s relationship to the ocean; there’s also water-choking aquatic plants, message-carrying flies, and rapacious seaswallowers that cleanse the waters in regular migrations. Evolutionary principles and horticulture, among other things, both play clear roles in the Sharer’s plant-based floating homes. Consequently, the Sharer society reflects a range of seasonal and aquatic adaptations, such as partnering with fish who give rides for food and using algae to work medical wonders. While Valedon itself is not so obviously novel, the culture’s focus on stone, feudal structure in an intergalactic empire, and mendicant sages offering Socratic wisdom provide interesting counterpoints. Spinel’s journey through these worlds illustrates the flaws and strengths of each society, and though A Door Into Ocean is generally optimistic, Slonczewski’s unsparing writing probes the systemic roots of addiction, murder, and sexual assault. Examining the relationships between Sharers, Valans, and their surroundings lets her show how we think about the world influences our actions.

As a book with a lot of thinking about different worlds, though, A Door into Ocean occasionally creaks more than it glides. The second half of the book involves some repeatedly intractable conversations between imperialist Valans and Sharers and their sympathizers in particular. While this slowness to change fits in the context of insecure and embattled administrators, I felt that Slonczewski occasionally struggles to say much new with the exploration of these insecurities themselves. The mixed reactions of the habitually-pacific Sharers and their own flaws interested me much more. Still, as an exercise in evolutionary science fiction and ecofeminist prose with its share of poetic moments, A Door into Ocean maintained my appreciation throughout. Opening Slonczewski’s book lets in a lot more than water.