Winter in Eden and Return to Eden: an imperfect conclusion [019O]

Two months ago I reviewed Harry Harrison’s delightful West of Eden, a piece of speculative fiction that considers a world in which the Cretaceous–Paleogene extinction event never occurred, and one species of dinosaur went on to evolve over the subsequent 66 million years into a highly sophisticated society stratified by uneven linguistic abilities. The most intelligent stratum of this species calls itself Yilanè, which is at once an ethnonym and a classification of linguistic ability.

In Harrison’s Eden, reptiles of all kinds dominate Africa (Entoban in Yilanè) whereas mankind (Tanu and Sasku in their languages) and other mammals live in North America (Gendasi in Yilanè), confined at first mainly to its colder northern reaches. The icy winds of climate change blow across Entoban and northern Gendasi alike, which leads mankind to migrate south just as the Yilanè begin to colonise southern Gendasi. The encounter of Tanu and Yilanè is predictably violent—when the Tanu encounter the torpid Yilanè males basking on the birthing beaches of Alpèasak (the new Yilanè colony in our own Florida), they slay them immediately and spark a war of the species that shapes the entire trilogy.

That is the premise of West of Eden, the first book of the Eden Trilogy, which tells the story of a young Tanu man named Kerrick who is kidnapped and raised by Yilanè in Alpèasak. The next two books, Winter in Eden and Return to Eden, concern the continuing struggle of Tanu and their Sasku allies to survive in the South while being pursued by a genocidal Yilanè expedition, and of the minority faction of Yilanè called the Daughters of Life who aim to establish a peaceful city in South America.

Although Winter in Eden and Return to Eden share the charm of the first book, they do not quite live up to its promise. Without revealing anything that might spoil the Trilogy (which I do still recommend), there are several imperfections that give a reader the distinct impression of rushed writing—especially in Return.

• Throughout Return to Eden the toponyms Gendasi and Entoban are frequently mixed up, leading to a great deal of confusion. For example, Vaintè says “But Entoban is large, most of it unknown to us, warm and filled with good meat” but this could only refer to Gendasi in the context of the novel. I am apparently not the only person to notice this oversight, as can be seen by perusing the Amazon reviews.
• Relatedly, there is no explicit toponym for South America, which plays an important role in the story. Indeed, South America appears to be referred to as part of Gendasi, which makes sense considering the land bridge that joins it to North America, but in that case it is surprising that Gendasi is glossed as North America rather than The Americas.
• Several interesting story-lines appear to be dropped on the floor. What of the scientist Ambalasei’s fate, and will the radical city Ambalasokei survive?

Perhaps what was needed most was more time. Despite these imperfections, I don’t regret my time in Eden—and I dream of returning there one day.