America 2040 (America 2040 #1)

America 2040, by Evan Innes

April, 1986  Bantam Books

“I think I held onto this $3.95 Bantam paperback as proof that this was as far as it could go – as far as the spirit of our time and place could celebrate itself, shame itself, parody itself, fuck itself to death.” -- Greil Marcus 

I just knew that book packager Lyle Kenyon Engel had to have done a sci-fi series in the epic tradition of his bestselling productions Wagons West or The Kent Family Chronicles. Something with mainstream readers in mind, with the same vibe as those historical fiction novels, but placing events in the future. And yet, try as I might, I could never find any indication that Engel or his company BCI had ever produced such a series. 

Then one day recently I went on another random kick to see if he ever had – and I did what any other guy would do: I started searching “Lyle Kenyon Engel” on Google Books, with the years filtered to 1986-1989. And in this manner I hit paydirt: the America 2040 series, which began in 1986 and ran for five volumes, through 1988. Published by Bantam as paperback originals, the novels credited to Evan Innes…and, on the copyright page, the note that the series had been produced by Book Creations, Inc, with Lyle Kenyon Engel credited as “Chairman of the Board.” 

Not only is the series obscure, but I’m not sure how well it’s even known that it was an Engel production. Some years back I worked on a list of Lyle Kenyon Engel books with Justin “Paperback Fanatic” Marriott, and I don’t believe either of us were aware of America 2040. I know I wasn’t. But then, the series was in the latter era of Engel’s publications, and in fact Engel died two months after this first volume was published. It’s clear though that it was intended to be a long-running epic in the manner of the John Jakes blockbusters, even following the same “pioneer” theme as Engel’s other big ‘80s success Wagons West. 

A great concept…but one that was undermined by a wrong author choice. Same as Engel undermined a similar series that had a good setup the decade before with a poor choice for writer (Chopper Cop, which was initially given to Dan Streib), Engel hired a veteran sci-fi author named Hugh Zachary (real name Zach Hughes) to serve as “Evan Innes” on America 2040. Now I’m not saying Zachary’s writing is as subpar as Streib’s was on Chopper Cop, but it’s got that same pedestrian, just-the-facts tone, and the plotting is a bit of a mess. But hell, this was the start of an epic, so it’s possible Zachary was just getting his footing, not to mention working with whatever guidelines “Chairman of the Board” Engel had him work with. 

But at 344 pages, America 2040 is itself an epic, though the next three volumes would all be longer (the last one, The Star Explorer, is the shortest of the series, at 320 pages – and also the most scarce volume of the series, too). This first one does the heavy lifting of setting up the series concept and introducing some of the large cast of characters. This volume is also the only one that’s ever mentioned in the few online reviews, plus it’s the only volume I can find that received a contemporary review. Other than Greil Marcus’s humorous diatribe, linked to above, it seems that America 2040 flew under the radar, and the fact that Bantam ended it with the fifth volume would indicate the readership just wasn’t there. But then, Lyle Kenyon Engel passed away in August of 1986, the same month the second volume of the series was published, so it could also be that America 2040 suffered due to losing Engel’s guiding hand. 

Well anyway, in true “paperback epic” style America 2040 opens with a few pages previewing some of the characters we will meet in the narrative, in total bestselling potboiler style – I mean notes like that Captain Dunan Rodrick has “wide shoulders” or that the spotlighted female characters are all ready and willing. As I wrote, the series was certainly intended for a mainstream readership; soapy melodrama is more focused on than science fiction. Indeed, the world of 2040 doesn’t seem that much different from 1986: the Cold War still rages, the mainstream of America mostly comprised of conservative-leaning white people, and politicians can still speak of “American superiority” without being condemned as right-wing extremists. 

But then, one can see why Publisher’s Weekly dismissed America 2040 as a “neoconservative pulp novel” in the review mentioned above. Or as Greil Marcus so humorously put it: “You mean that the ‘spirit of America’ is more important than the EARTH ITSELF?” For this folks is the concept of the series: In 2032 Young US President Dexter Hamilton orders the construction of a massive starship which will carry a thousand pioneers to a far-off planet that seems identical to Earth, so that the spirit of America will survive the threat of nuclear war. So, to Greil Marcus’s point, the concern isn’t hummanity itself, or saving the planet: it’s the spirit of America that must survive and thrive on a new world, the thousand colonists serving, not so subtly, as the future versions of the pioneers seen in Engels’s historical blockbusters. 

Even by 1986 this must have seemed a bit out of step; I mean the spaceship is even literally painted red white and blue, whereas in the actual reality of 1986 the space race had cooled off into the international cooperation of today. But the Cold War rages harder than ever in this pseudo-future; actually, the series title is very misleading, as “2040” itself only features in a few pages of this first book! The novel actually opens in 2032, as Hamilton arrives in Moscow to meet with Soviet Premier Kolchak, who tells Hamilton in private that he is dying, will be dead in eight years, and thus Kolchak intends to blow up the planet before his death – that is, unless the entire world has gone red by then. And indeed most of the world is red, we’re informed, with communism having conquered most of the western world. (Zachary was really on point with this particular prediction!!) Hamilton balks at Kolchak’s offer to make America a satellite country of the USSR and, instead of ramping up on the increasing arms race, he greenlights a mission to a nearby star, so that at least some Americans can survive the possible armageddon and start anew. 

So the first hundred pages of America 2040 actually takes place from 2032-2040, and focus most on President Hamilton; this makes it a bit bumpy when Hamilton abruptly drops from the book on page 100 when the spaceship takes off. Even odder is that the majority of the characters in these first 100 pages will also not be seen again; the “stars” of the series are the pioneers themselves, and we don’t even meet most of them until the ship takes off on Christmas day 2040. Meaning that in a few pages we have New Year’s Day 2041…and the novel goes on to encompass a few more years. So why exactly was the series titled “America 2040?” I also found it incredibly curious that Zachary didn’t dwell at all on the selection process for these colonists; we’re informed that the selection is underway, but what the criteria was and etc is never stated. Hard to tell if this is just a miss on Zachary’s part or him trying to cater to what Lyle Kenyon Engel wanted. 

Have I mentioned yet that the spaceship itself is named “The Spirit Of America?” This is why I think Zachary was catering to Engel’s whims; the “America first” stuff isn’t layed on too thick, but it’s certainly there. In fact it’s mostly in the sequences with President Hamilton, who as mentioned carries the brunt of the first 100 pages. There’s also a subplot with Theresita Pulaski, the “first Russian woman general,” who is alternately described as “pretty” and “a big woman.” One thing that becomes clear very early on is that Hugh Zachary can’t be much bothered with describing his characters. Seldom do we get much in the way of characteristics or any other sort of descriptions for the characters, and exploitation is at a minimum – we’re told how most of the female characters are attractive, but there’s none of the “full breasts” one would expect if America 2040 had been “produced” by Lyle Kenyon Engel in the 1970s. 

In fact, the novel is for the most part PG. It really is very much with a mainstream readership in mind; I would have been 11 when this novel was published, and I’m surprised I didn’t come across it then, as I was an avid sci-fi reading geek even then and constantly scanned the science fiction shelves at the local WaldenBooks. But I only just discovered this series the other week; maybe this is indication America 2040 had poor distribution, hence the minimal awareness of it even today. Well anyway, the infrequent sex is all off-page, save for one part midway through where two characters are discovered in the midst of a secret boink; this part is also the only place, I believe, where the word “breasts” appears – but even here Zachary doesn’t dwell on the juicy details. I only bring this up so as to indicate how different America 2040 is in comparison to Engel’s earlier productions – but then, those were squarely targeted for a horny male readership. 

The setup is pretty implausible, but Zachary does his best to make it believable: that Premier Kolchak is nuts and will annihilate the Earth in eight years. One wonders why they don’t just assassinate the guy instead of building a friggin’ spaceship, and Zachary tries to work this into the subplot with Theresita…who ingratiates herself into Kolchak’s life so as to assassinate him, and eventually works her way into his bed, this being more of a soapy melodrama. And of course she falls in love with him! However, this subplot paid off differently than I expected – with the caveat that Theresita also disappears from the novel a hundred pages in, but there’s enough foreshadowing in there to indicate that she will return in a future volume. 

But from page 100 to the end we are onboard the Spirit of America as it makes its two-year voyage past Pluto, then goes into “lighstep,” which is this novel’s version of hyperspeed and is something developed by another minor character. Zachary tries to make it all scientific sounding with the explanation that a precious metal called rhenium fuels lighstep, but it’s such a precious commodity that a lot of time is invested in finding it – a subplot that brings a kid into the big cast of characters: Clay Girard, a preteen orphan who has a friggin’ dog named Jupiter, and who manages to get on board the ship – I mean one can almost see Lyle Keynon Engel just ticking off all the character types he wants to populate the novel. “I want a boy and his dog, dammit!” The only thing we’re missing for this to be a true soapy melodrama is the once-famous actress who is looking for her last big role. Maybe she’ll show up in a future volume! 

Zachary doesn’t beat us over the head with “the science” too much, though. Indeed, some of the novel comes off as stupid for a person with even passing knowledge on the subject. For one, we’re told again and again how precious rhenium is and how it must be conserved and whatnot. And yet, the spaceship is built underground in a giant factory, so as to hide the existence of the craft from spying Red eyes, and then takes off from Earth into space…I mean folks the fuel that would be destroyed getting lift for the size of this craft would be tremendous. And that’s another thing; I had a hard time picturing the spaceship. It almost sounded more like a space station, with an “outer ring” that would revolve to simulate gravity and whatnot. Of course the important thing is that it’s painted red white and blue! 

The remainder of the novel focuses on the few years of the voyage to the distant star. The first few years are dedicated to flight to Pluto, after which it’s into the hyperspace of lighstep, which itself occurs in a fraction of a moment. So for the long haul it’s more about various soapy events transpiring on the ship: we have a little adultery between a couple of married characters (leading to the sole sex scene, mentioned above), and there’s even a “crime novel” element at play when it turns out there’s a killer on board. And the chief security guy is a former New York City cop, so this lends the novel a whole different feel at times, as this guy tries to make sense out of the few clues left at the murder scenes. The killer wants everyone dead, leading to sequences like the water onboard being poisoned and the scientists working to fix it, or another part where a key wire blows and it’s almost impossible to get to. In these sequences Hugh Zachary well captures how stranded and desolate the people on board the ship are. 

Oh, and as mentioned in that Publishers Weekly review, one goofy conceit is that all contact with Earth is lost – one of the killer’s plots ends up destroying the radio that’s hooked up to Earth. So a dangling question in the novel is whether Earth is even still there; the ship takes off just as nuclear war seems imminent, and the last Captain Rodrick and crew hears from Earth is that the US is under attack. Speaking of Rodrick, he does little to make himself memorable; Zachary actually rips off his own idea here, with Rodrick being in love with the wife of his First Officer, and the lady (Amanda Miller) feeling the same for Rodrick, but it’s mostly just a lot of pining for one another – it’s another set of characters who do the actual adulterous deeds. But Zachary’s so busy he forgets his own plotting, as at the start Rodrick thinks he’s about to start something with a single young woman at his command, a lady named Jackie who also likes Rodrick – and she’s almost entirely forgotten about as the novel progresses. 

I could’ve done with more description of the ship itself, or even of the clothing the people wore on the ship (I imagined them all in retro-style jumpsuits, as befitting classic sci-fi), or even what life itself was like on board. But Zachary surprisingly doesn’t tell us much. He does throw in random stuff at the end, like a sort of AI personality called “Juke” which handles all the music on board, slipping in really, really bad jokes between songs. Speaking of which, there are also a few robot characters: there’s “the Admiral,” an android who can shoot real good and patch into the ship’s systems, and also “Cat,” a sentient sort of glob that can shape itself into various things, but usually looks like a cat, changing the colors of its body to suit its feelings. Zachary does a good job of bringing these non-human characters to life. Overall he manages to carry the plot along nicely, but I really got annoyed with his penchant for POV-hopping – that is, how we jump from the thoughts of one character into the thoughts of another character, between paragraphs, with no white space or anything to indicate the perspective transition. This always makes for a bumpy read, pulling the reader out of the narrative. 

But part of the pleasure of reading these kinds of melodramatic epics is that you can get caught up in their worlds, and that did happen for me with America 2040. I’m not saying it was the greatest sci-fi novel ever, or even a very good one, but I did find myself wanting to get back to it to see what happened next. This is what I mean when I say the focus here is more mainstream entertainment than anything deep. Yet at the same time, the novel does lack the pulp spark I’d expect from a Lyle Kenyon Engel production; the few action scenes are not only bloodless, but almost vaguely described. And I can’t say the characters really carried the book, because I got a lot of them confused – only a few really rose above the surface to make themselves memorable. 

Things do pick up once the ship comes out of lighstep and finds itself way too close to the sun in this corner of the galaxy. This is probably the most harrowing bit in the novel as Zachary again well depicts how stranded and alone these people are. This sequence also leads to some unexpected emotional depth, as a pair of characters end up losing their lives in the novel’s most memorable scene – a scene that is, granted, a little let down by Zachary’s meat-and-potatoes prose style. And also the finale’s a little goofy because it’s like Zachary can’t make up his mind what he wants the planet that’s about to be colonized look like – first it’s too big for humans to survive on (due to gravity), then “new reports” come in and it turns out the gravity’s much less than it should be, for reasons vague and uncertain. 

America 2040 comes to a close with The Spirit of America landing on a new world. A new American world, baby! Interestingly, the plot is dangled that the Russians and the Brazilians (?!) have their own spaceships, and also for reasons never explained have also discovered the top-secret lightstep process, so one expects to encounter some spacefaring Russians and Brazilians in a future book. I’ll find out soon, as I’ve already started to read the second volume of the series, The Golden World, which was published just a few months after America 2040; the month after Lyle Kenyon Engel died, in fact.