The spaceship poetry of Iain M. Banks

If the Scottish writer Iain M. Banks was a character in one of his own “Culture” science fiction novels, the shocking news that he had contracted terminal gall bladder cancer would be greeted with a shrug. In the Culture, medicine has advanced to the point where boredom is a far trickier challenge than mortality. In the incredibly gracious note revealing his plight Banks posted to his own website, he noted that “the speed with which the resources of the [National Health Service] in Scotland have been deployed – has been exemplary, and the standard of care deeply impressive.” But in the Culture, healthcare has been solved.

Also solved: the economy. No one has to worry about making a living in the Culture. If one wanted, like Banks, to spend one’s time producing (at a prodigious rate) science fiction romps (as Iain M. Banks) and straight-ahead non-sf novels (as Iain Banks), one could do so as long as one wished, without ever having to worry about whether there was a market for them.

One of the United Kingdom’s best-selling novelists, Banks hasn’t had to fret about whether there was an audience for his output for a long time. For fans of his Culture series, each new installment has been a delicious present, yet another opportunity to revel in the unlimited powers of his imagination, in the predicaments he dreams up for his super-successful society. Because, guess what, even utopias have their problems. Imagine that: We might solve healthcare and capitalism, and still be able to make a mess of things!

But in the Culture, when things are most screwed up, there’s usually a sentient spaceship around to save the day. A really cool sentient spaceship with an awesome name that it has chosen for itself.

Or silly name. Eye of the beholder, and all that. On Twitter, a Banks fan suggested that a proper tribute would be that “for a year every science fiction novel set in space should feature at least one ship with a ridiculous name.”