There’s no reason why all the people humanity encounters in the universe should have the same relationship with space and time. Some Star Trek novel writers ignore this possibility, as the television series largely did, to comment on the problems facing humanity. Diane Duane doesn’t hesitate to comment on the human condition, but she does it while embracing the scope for imaginative effects that novels offer. Her human characters are fully human, and her alien characters are almost unimaginably alien. Duane’s examination of the mind-boggling diversity of the universe is set both beside and within her examination of the logistical difficulties inherent in schlepping 400 people into the unknown and getting most of them back again. Duane doesn’t just set her stories aboard the Starship Enterprise, she inventories the ship’s stores, consults with the Recreation Officer about morale, and holds inter-departmental planning meetings. She is endlessly fascinated with details and possibilities. When Diane Duane writes a Star Trek novel, she plays with all the colors in the Star Trek crayon box.









March is Women’s History Month! Why? Because it contains International Women’s Day, which commemorates the day that women in Russia started the Russian Revolution by having a bread riot. The soldiers ordered to suppress the riot joined it instead, turning an angry mob into an armed angry mob, and leading directly to the abdication of Tsar Nicolas II and to a chain of events that ultimately created the Soviet Union and the Cold War. While most people who celebrate International Women’s Day worldwide probably aren’t thinking about Star Trek, the actions of women on that day in 1917 led directly to the formation of the Soviet Union and the nuclear anxieties that compelled Gene Roddenberry to create a more optimistic vision for humanity’s future. In Star Trek, the Soviet Union was represented by the Klingon Empire. Only one Klingon woman appeared in the Original Series, but many more have appeared in the licensed novels and in every Star Trek series since. Like all science fiction, Star Trek works by combining reflections on the past and present with its audiences’ hopes and fears for the future. It’s inextricably tangled with the time of its creation. Licensed novels and subsequent series have meant that both the time of Star Trek’s creation and its cast of creators have been broadly defined and diverse. These have allowed for the creation of stories about 23rd-century Klingon women that reflect the anxieties and hopes of 20th-century women writers.

Uhura has long been one of the most interesting characters in the Star Trek canon, in no small part because the series says so little about her. Nichelle Nichols noted that most scripts started with some interesting pages for her, and ended with “Hailing frequencies open, Captain.” While this was a horrible waste of a talented artist, it leaves plenty of imaginative space for novelists to work within.
Imagine there was a story with no limits – no budget, no censors, no rules. Imagine it was about James T. Kirk’s first mission with the Enterprise. Imagine it featured a My Little Pony. Guess what? That’s been written!
One of the cool things about Star Trek novels is the opportunity to learn new and interesting things about the characters. You get to see them from a fresh new perspective, unfettered by Paramount’s priorities and the supposed demands of the late-60s viewing audience. In Margaret Wander-Bonanno’s Strangers From the Sky, you have a rare opportunity to see Kirk for what he really is – a fragile and delicate flower. Strangers From the Sky presents a convoluted and squid-like mass of plots. None of them make Kirk look good.
Barbara Hambly’s 1985 novel, Ishmael, is a study in contrasts. It’s deeply weird, and deeply serious. It’s densely packed with things that should be ridiculous, and are somehow alarming. The first thing that struck me about Ishmael was Captain Kirk’s emotion. In the opening pages, Kirk is grieving Spock’s death. He’s struggling with a horrible loss made more devastating by an inescapable sense of personal responsibility. Having sent Spock into danger and destruction, Kirk is now facing the powerlessness inherent in not being able to do anything about it. McCoy is the most powerful person in this scene, and all he can do is slip Jim the mickey. It’s touching and sad and heavy. The book is full of these moments, somehow, even though it’s a crossover between Star Trek and another short-lived late-60s television series and features two Doctor Who cameos.
The Universal Union is a space-faring empire. The Intrepid is the flagship of its space fleet. Its away team members keep dying. The Intrepid needs more crew. John Scalzi’s Redshirts is the story of that crew. It’s a “lower decks” novel (mostly decks 6 through 12), focusing on lower-ranking crew members and their intersections with command and adventure. Redshirts is a light, fast read, but it’s also a book whose questions about storytelling and agency stay with you long after you have put it down.
There is a fine art to reading a Mary Sue. You have to remember how much work the character has put into getting to the point of whatever fabulous opportunity she is going to conquer with her wits, her love, and whatever skills she happens to have at the moment. You have to respect the challenges of that moment. You have to allow yourself to be glad to see her. You have to be ready to throw your arms around her, and wish her all the best. You have to welcome the opportunity.
Late in season three of the original series of Star Trek, Spock went back in time to Ice Age Sarpeidon. Because of the nature of the technology involved, he reverted to a pre-civilized state. He lost control of his emotions, ate meat, and fell in love. In the Yesterday Saga, Ann Crispin explores the repercussions of this incident. The result is a confusing series of events surrounding a fascinating new character.
As a television show, the original series of Star Trek focused on stories about Kirk and humanity. Some of the best Star Trek novels take advantage of this well-understood background to turn the readers’ attention to characters and races that were less thoroughly explored onscreen. John M. Ford’s World’s Apart series offers two excellent and very different examples of this. The Final Reflection and How Much for Just the Planet? were originally published in 1984 and 1987 respectively. The books were not linked at initial publication, but were hitched together when they were reprinted in 1999. The Final Frontier, which was
We’re all familiar with the Star Trek cliché of the guy in the red shirt who bites it in the first moments of the episode to show that whatever peril the crew is facing in the episode is really serious. But when Kirk explained the make-up of his crew in “Tomorrow is Yesterday,” it was roughly 50% female, and not all crew members on away missions were guys in red shirts – some of them were women in short red skirts. NBC’s internal limitations on the ways that women could react to dangerous situations on screen – Nichelle Nichols recalls not being allowed to punch in fight scenes – meant that a woman’s death sent a different, less dramatic message than a man’s death. Under these constraints, a woman’s corpse slumped dramatically in the Vasquez Rocks before the opening credits could easily suggest that she should have stayed on the ship, rather than that the away team is in Serious Danger. So what happened when a woman was on the away team?
In 1970, James Blish published the first original Star Trek novel. Last week, I found myself unexpectedly in possession of a copy.


















