My case studies on disappointing revelations to fascinating mysteries:

Gateway, by Frederik Pohl. Though dated and likely to offend, in purely artistic terms this is a perfect little novel. Earth is slowly dying of overpopulation and ecological damage, but humans found an abandoned fleet of alien starships, which can accommodate no more than five passengers. If you fiddle with the computer until a valid destination pops up and hit a button, the ship will go to that destination. The catch is that humans have no idea what the destination actually is until they get there, so they are liable to fly the ship into a star, go so far that their food runs out before they even arrive, etc. Most voyages discover nothing of value; lots return with all the crew dead, or never come back at all. But a few strike it rich. In two alternating timelines, the protagonist, who struck it rich on an otherwise disastrous voyage, recounts his time at Gateway and, back on Earth, explores the depths of his own psyche with a computerized psychologist. The novel stands completely on its own. No sequels were necessary.

Gateway is about mystery: the mystery of the ships, the mystery of shipping out for an unknown destination (metaphorically, life), the mystery of one's own motivations. These are not mysteries that can be completely solved; the mystery is the point. The sequels produce the most mundane and dull explanations possible.

Hyperion, by Dan Simmons, is an sf-nal Canterbury Tales in which seven travelers share their origin stories, all involving mysterious events. This is a bit different in that while it also sets up fascinating mysteries, they are the sort for which one does want explanations. But one wants interesting explanations. The Fall of Hyperion is a mixed bag, with some good ideas but some not. It also defangs spooky beings who should have remained spooky. Subsequent sequels continue explaining and explaining, with explanations that make increasingly less sense, until it explains the entire cosmos with the stupidest explanation possible. Ybir YVGRENYYL ubyqf gur havirefr gbtrgure. Yvgrenyyl. Zbyrphyne obaqf ner znqr bs ybir. (Be cbffvoyl dhnaghz fgevatf. Fnzr cevapvcyr, gubhtu.) (Decipher with rot13.com.)

And then there's The Other Wind, by Ursula Le Guin, in which the main thrust of the story is explaining and solving the world of the dead, which was never set up as a mystery or a problem and did not require any explanation or solution. (Yes, it was depressing. But in a mythic way which fit the tone of the earlier books.)

Religious/spiritual/mystical explanations for physical phenomena are generally unsatisfying in science fiction novels. It can work in short stories, where less build-up is required, or, of course, in mainstream novels about religious people, in which one expects something like that.

What other novels fell prey to unsatisfying explanations, whether or not any explanations were even necessary? Which novels managed solutions that lived up to the mystery, and didn't destroy the sense of wonder?

Sponsored by coraa and ellen_fremendon.

This is the third book in Le Guin's Annals of the Western Shore trilogy; I read the awesomely depressing Gifts a while back, which did not inspire me to read more, and apparently mixed up this and the actual book two, Voices. However, this is only loosely connected with Gifts (not sure about Voices and reads fine on its own. Thankfully, though rather solemn and melancholy, it is not awesomely depressing.

Gavir, a boy who occasionally has visions of the future, and his sister Salla are house slaves, brought up in material comfort with the free children of the house. Unsurprisingly, Le Guin excels at showing the emotional and political complexity of the situation - her motto, like oursin's, is "it's always more complicated" - without downplaying its horrors.

I am making this book sound excruciating and tract-like, I realize. I actually liked it, though I didn't love it. The final section, in which all the seemingly episodic elements come together, is very moving. But the structure is oddly unbalanced, with various episodes given uneven amounts of space - I don't think Gavir's stay in the wooden city of the bandits needed to have all the verbiage it was given, especially compared to his time in the marshes. I also didn't find him a very compelling character, and was consistently more interested in the worldbuilding, the ideas, and the beauty of the prose than in him as a person.

I am amused to note that I have now read enough of Le Guin that when someone informs Gavir that he is the long-awaited chosen one, contrary to what I'd think if that happened in most YA fantasy, I immediately thought, "That won't end well!"

I seem to recall that the cover was initially whitewashed, then changed at Le Guin's request. SIGH. It's quite a beautiful cover, though I note that if the actual Gavir had half the model's intensity, I would have liked him a lot more, and also that contrary to what the glowy light around POWERS implies, his psychic power, while emotionally important, is given comparatively little page-time and only affects the plot once.

I will read Voices at some point, since people seem to like that one the best.

Powers (Annals of the Western Shore)