Christopher Paolini’s newest novel, “Fractal Noise,” promises a lot: ancient alien civilizations, an eerie, windswept setting and a cast of characters driven to the brink of an earth-shattering discovery by their inner demons. Like the Artificial Intelligence-generated art that graces its cover, the book delivers rich science fiction glamor but lacks any real human touch.
Set in Paolini’s Fractalverse 20 years before his last novel, “To Sleep in a Sea of Stars,” “Fractal Noise” follows a fairly typical “first encounter” narrative. Shortly after their arrival above the planet of Talos VII, scientists discover the first evidence of intelligent alien life: a massive, perfectly circular hole transmitting a signal every 10 seconds that mimics the Mandelbrot set (the titular “fractal noise”). Rather than wait for another crew to steal the glory, an expedition team of four — including protagonist Alex Crichton — steps out on the surface of Talos VII to investigate.
Much like his critically acclaimed “Inheritance” series, which existed well within the neatly charted realm of young adult fantasy, Paolini’s newest novel hardly reinvents science fiction. Its blend of alien mystery and philosophical symbolism includes a few novel ideas but mimics classics across the spectrum of the genre from “Speaker for the Dead” to “2001: A Space Odyssey.” It’s within these comfortable lines that Paolini has always excelled — building stories that manage to feel, if not entirely fresh, exciting and wholly engrossing.
For an author best known for sprawling, 700-page fantasy epics, “Fractal Noise” feels tight and toned down by comparison. It’s a welcome new direction for Paolini, one that allows for a far more concentrated novel than the rather unfocused “To Sleep in a Sea of Stars.” He brings a kind of small-stakes, high-concept science fiction that is likely to please any hardcore fans of the genre, especially those tired of wide-reaching space operas like “The Expanse.”
It’s unfortunate, then, that the focus of “Fractal Noise” isn’t Paolini’s studious worldbuilding. Instead, the book sets its focus on its rather lackluster cast of characters, offering few distractions from their painfully stilted dialogue and paper-thin relationships.
The problem begins with the protagonist of the novel. Alex is relentlessly obsessed with his wife’s death, and this (while entirely understandable) is gracelessly explored. Paolini’s prose stumbles between mechanical and overwrought, with a few genuinely touching moments scattered throughout. The result feels blunt and voyeuristic; several lines quite memorably miss the mark of painfully poetic and instead feel simply cringe-inducing.
Despite Paolini’s earnest attempt to explore Alex’s grief, his protagonist lacks any real depth or complexity beyond it. His wife is referenced without fail in every chapter, often only to shuffle Alex reluctantly along to the next part of the story. This doesn’t just do her little justice as a character — it leaves Alex with little room to breathe, rendering him one-dimensional and hard to relate to.
The rest of the expedition crew offers a welcome reprieve from Alex’s internal monologue and next to nothing else. Hedonistic Pushkin and religious zealot Talia struggle for power in their little group, forcing Alex and the crew’s chemist, Chen, to pick sides. As the brutal conditions of Talos VII put the expedition crew at risk, there are a few wonderful moments when Talia and Pushkin’s arguments hit a perfect blend of dreamlike insanity, but these are too few and far between — and with very little payoff — to justify their otherwise predictable bickering. Paolini’s attempts to inject some philosophical meaning into their debates likewise feel superficial and pretentious. There are few reasons for the reader to actually care about what happens to them, robbing the book of its desperately needed emotional stakes.
Paolini’s worldbuilding may be only the saving grace of “Fractal Noise” and, for some readers, that might be enough. However, as I kept reading, what drew me in wasn’t trying to discover the many connections to Paolini’s other novels that might be scattered throughout, or even learning more about the aliens that lie (or rather, that should lie) at the center of the book. Instead, I found myself waiting for the protagonist to become anything more than just another sad leading man with a dead love interest.
I waited a long, long time.
Daily Arts Contributor Alex Hetzler can be reached at alexhetz@umich.edu.