For geeks only: Rating the Hugo and Nebula award-winning novels
Clay Bonnyman Evans About Clay Bonnyman Evans
Because I wanted to, I wasted several hours rating the Hugo and Nebula-award winning novels, from top to bottom. Totally subjective, inconsistent, and really long.
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Wonderland
For science-fiction geeks only. Because I wanted to, I wasted several hours rating the Hugo and Nebula-award winning novels, from top to bottom. Totally subjective, inconsistent, and really long, but I find sometimes that I like reading a list like this, so I did one myself. I have read almost all of them, or at least tried.

My biases seem fairly clear after this exercise. My own personal “golden age of science fiction” seems to be mid-’60s to late-’70s or so. Not a huge fan of 21st-century winners, with exceptions. And something in me clearly still rebels at giving these awards to fantasy novels, unless they are truly innovative. Overall, the Hugos provide a stronger list, but not by much. Usually if a novel wins both awards, it’s pretty amazing — but not always.

Although this has begun to change in recent years, the awards do tend to favor white men; no surprise, since that’s who was writing most sf for many years. Looking at my own preferences, I seem pretty favorably disposed toward women (especially Ursula K. Le Guin, Connie Willis – until recently – and Octavia Butler, though I’m no fan of Lois McMaster Bujold, who has won more novel Hugos than any other female other). Of the four non-Caucasians on the list, I’m a big fan of Samuel Delany up through 1968’s Nova, less so after that (and I’m on the fence about Dhalgren, the dividing point in his career, in my opinion), a huge fan of Butler, I at least admire Jemisin, and I want to like Liu more than I do.

Nebula Award for novel, given by the Science Fiction and Fantasy Writers of America:

Dune – Frank Herbert (1965) — The novel has everything, adventure, intrigue, religion, politics, and world- building on a par with Tolkien’s fantasy. What’s more, Herbert helped put ecology on the sf map. Plus, I just love the desert … and personally, I’d rather see a sandworm than a dragon or a balrog. Obviously deserving of the Nebula, though voters missed a chance to reward two of Philip K. Dick’s better novels, Dr. Bloodmoney and The Three Stigmata of Palmer Eldritch.

The Left Hand of Darkness – Ursula K. Le Guin (1970) — Le Guin reached her full potential in an exploration of gender that reads like anything but and manages both to evoke the “sense of wonder” and make you think. Outstanding world-building, innovative and deeply intelligent—which is why it pleased both fans and the sf writers who vote for the Nebulas.

Neuromancer – William Gibson (1985) — A gut-punch and fresh, neo-noirish revolution to wake the field out of its post ‘60s-early ‘70s torpor. Computer cowboys “jacking in” to vast networks, all-powerful global Japanese corporations, neon flash and Sam Space grit, not to mention a thrilling plot. Gibson put cyberpunk on the map … not just as a literary subgenre, but a style that remains hip three decades hence. One of the most deserving novels to win both the Hugo and Nebula.

The Dispossessed – Ursula K. Le Guin (1975) — Deceptively quiet and, except for the planetary setting and couple of technological innovations, could just as easily be classified as mainstream. But this perfectly executed (and balanced) political thought experiment about anarchism and capitalism is also about science and technology, all of it wrapped in one brilliant but simple man’s personal journey novel. Ingenious and unquestionably deserving of its Hugo-Nebula double crown.

The Windup Girl – Paolo Bacigalupi (2010) — Dense prose and packed with ideas, Bacigalupi’s debut novel explores everything from human/AI rights to corporate dominance and global climate change. Complex and thought provoking, it failed to produce the wave of similarly excellent cli-fi novels I expected. Eminently deserving, and still Bacigalupi’s best.

Flowers for Algernon — Daniel Keyes (1967; tie) — One of the most moving and creatively crafted sf novels ever written. The story of Charlie Gordon, a retarded man who gains genius-level intelligence through medical intervention, only to make him keenly aware when the process begins to reverse. Wow.

The Forever War – Joe Haldeman (1976) — Vietnam, disguised as a galaxy-spanning adventure, as written by a combat veteran. A brilliant rebuttal to Heinlein’s Starship Troopers. Spare and sharp, thought provoking and thrilling. Hard to argue with this, though there were even more groundbreaking works nominated, including (love it or hate it) Samuel R. Delany’s Dhalgren and (love it or hate it) Joanna Russ’ The Female Man.

Babel–17 – Samuel R. Delany (1967; tie) — Delany’s late ‘60s output was a revelation. This young lion appeared out of nowhere and began producing beautifully written semi-traditional space operas, but was really up to much more. His characters, right up to their names, were quirky (who actually wears just one shoe, huh?), and as here, with the female starship captain Rydra Wong, he tweaks conventions all the time. In this novel he’s exploring linguistics and the idea that the language you speak informs the way you see the world (Ted Chiang, are you listening?) so it’s more than just a great story.

Parable of the Talents – Octavia E. Butler (2000) — The truth is, Butler’s first novel about this near-future collapsing world, Parable of the Sower (1995), was a little better, but both are Nebula quality. Butler’s writing is unadorned and powerful, and her attempt to work out a genuine religion for people who look to the stars is impressive. It works on so many levels. Butler died tragically young and never completed a projected third volume, Parable of the Trickster.

Ringworld – Larry Niven (1971) — Niven was Heinlein for the New Wave era. Crackling characters and smart dialogue, humor and adventure, with plenty of sky-high scientific speculation and a rollicking good story to boot.

American Gods – Neil Gaiman (2003) — Gaiman may be a fan favorite and beloved by his colleagues, but that’s not why this won a Nebula. It’s an extremely engaging tale, well told and featuring one of twist-meister Gaiman’s most effective endings.

Timescape – Gregory Benford (1981) — A science-fiction novel about the process of science. Stylistically traditional, and not super-fun, but also unique, it was a worthy choice (and certainly more deserving than the Hugo winner that year, Joan D. Vinge’s The Snow Queen). An argument can be made for the first of Gene Wolfe’s Book of the New Sun novels, The Shadow of the Torturer, especially given that voters rewarded the next one over arguably more innovative work.

The Claw of the Conciliator – Gene Wolfe (1982) — Wolfe’s New Sun books are subtle, immensely well-crafted and rather ingenious—as with Zelazny’s Lord of Light, if you don’t read carefully, you’re bound to miss something important. But this was quite a year for innovation, and the Nebula might just as easily have gone to John Crowley’s unique and challenging fantasy Little, Big or Russell Hoban’s extraordinary post-apocalypse tale, Riddley Walker, with its perfectly worked out future argot.

Red Mars — Kim Stanley Robinson (1994) — Eat your vegetables! The first in Robinson’s prodigiously detailed, 2,000-page epic recounting the history of humanity’s exploration and terraforming of Mars. It’s dense and often a little slow, but he’s tackling everything from engineering problems to politics, and it’s impressive.

Ancillary Justice – Anne Leckie (2013) — I personally didn’t adore this, but I recognize its concepts and use of language as innovative sf at a time when awards too often go to mediocre fantasies or YA novels.

Annihilation – Jeff VanderMeer (2015) — The first in VanderMeer’s creepy, horror-inflected trilogy about the exploration of the gone-to-nature Area X, cut off from civilization for decades. Members of the first 11 missions all died of cancer, suicide, murdering each other … this is the 12th. It’s different, it’s mysterious, and curiously compelling. Well deserving of the award.

Rendezvous with Rama – Arthur C. Clarke (1973) — This novel, along with 2001: A Space Odyssey, has gradually overtaken Childhood’s End as the most popular novels by England’s optimistic dreamer. It’s not exactly innovative, and as usual for Clarke, the characters are rather thin. But this exploration of a Big Dumb Object produces in me and many other fans that elusive drug we like to call a “sense of wonder.” Jonathan Lethem has argued that had this Nebula gone to Thomas Pynchon’s challenging Gravity’s Rainbow, it would have brought sf into the literary mainstream, but I’m not so sure. This was a love note to a beloved colleague, more than anything.

Man Plus – Frederik Pohl (1978) — The novel, a fascinating tale of a man who is retrofitted to survive on and explore Mars, features Pohl’s usual snappy writing and characters. It’s quite good, but the award was surely given in part to recognize a long-standing sf icon.

Moving Mars — Greg Bear (1995) — Even more so than Robinson, Bear — whose most mind-blowing novel is Blood Music — is exploring the politics of the Red Planet. It’s less dense than Robinson and winds up in a place you may not expect.

The Fountains of Paradise – Arthur C. Clarke (1980) — My biases are showing, but this mashup of ancient Ceylonese religion and space elevators is Clarke’s most innovative, mature novel overall. Not as fun as Rendezvous with Rama, not as mind-blowing as Childhood’s End, but in some ways Clarke’s most complete novel. Worthy, though both Thomas Disch’s On Wings of Song and John Varley’s Titan were more groundbreaking.

Startide Rising – David Brin (1984) — Arriving just before the explosion of cyberpunk, a straightforward but entertaining novel packed with ideas and star-traveling dolphins. Conventional, in its way, but extremely well executed. Not as groundbreaking as Norman Spinrad’s The Void Captain’s Tale, another nominee, but certainly worthy.

The Gods Themselves – Isaac Asimov (1973) — As beloved as Asimov is, this novel doesn’t get a lot of love. The usual line is that the middle section is an ingenious imagination of a truly alien life form and social structure, while the two earthbound (and moonbound) sections are just average. I think it’s better than that. This, along with The End of Eternity, is his best writing at novel-length. All that said, the Nebula is supposed to be about innovation, and this probably should have gone to Silverberg’s groundbreaking Dying Inside.

Gateway – Frederik Pohl (1978) — Pohl, along with Heinlein and Niven, was one of those writers whose characters, dialogue and deceptively breezy prose just made his writing snap, crackle and pop. The story here is pure adventure, but the book is deserving simply because it’s the best from a master.

Doomsday Book – Connie Willis (1993; tie) — The first of Willis’ Oxford time-travel novels, this is one of the most powerfully moving, mournful sf stories ever written. Time travel researchers caught up in the death and tragedy of the Black Plague. Willis had not yet (thankfully) developed her now-shopworn “comic” tics.

The Einstein Intersection – Samuel R. Delany (1968) — Ditto almost everything above re Babel-17, except this time Delany is really screwing with conventions. It’s another quest tale, but this time he’s exploring diversity and posits that myth can affect how we think just as much as language. There are also odd little epigraphs taken from his own real-world journals. Not as fun as Babel-17, but if it’s innovation you’re after, you can’t go wrong with Delany. Plus I wanted to put it above anything by Orson Scott Card.

Ender’s Game – Orson Scott Card (1986) — I don’t really want to rank this up here, and not just because Card is an asshole (as several top sf writers confided to me long before he became best known for his extreme anti-gay views). Plus, this is essentially a YA wish fulfillment novel—all you people who pick on me are gonna get it!—that verges on fascistic. But it’s entertaining, easy to read—Card can almost be said to have no writing “style”—and immensely popular. Nebula voters should have rewarded a novel of true conceptual breakthrough, Greg Bear’s Blood Music.

Stations of the Tide – Michael Swanwick (1992) — I have not read this book, so I’m just going to plunk it right here in the middle. I suck.

2312 – Kim Stanley Robinson (2013) — Dense, thoughtful, provocative, you could legitimately award a Nebula to just about anything Robinson writes. Here he explores gender and technology in a half-settled solar system. More plotted than his award-gobbling Mars novels, it’s still not what you’d call a thrill ride.

Tehanu – Ursula K. Le Guin (1991) — Le Guin rarely writes anything that isn’t worthy of the highest praise. This fourth entry into her Earthsea fantasy series is certainly innovative, but it also rather jarringly turned the series’ entire premise on its head in order to make a (perfectly valid) point about gender. I respect that, but in subsequent stories and novels, she more effectively blended her evolving sensibilities with the magic and Taoist principles that made the first three books the finest fantasy stories this side of Tolkien.

The Speed of Dark – Elizabeth Moon (2004) — A deeply personal near-future novel about autism that could as easily have been marketed as mainstream. Somewhat reminiscent of Keyes’ classic Flowers for Algernon, it’s an effective trip into a reality most of us can’t understand.

Powers – Ursula K. Le Guin (2009) — I love everything I’ve ever read by Le Guin, and I liked the Annals of the Western Shore YA trilogy, of which this is the third volume. Once she wrote The Left Hand of Darkness, Le Guin was always up to something more than just telling a story, and in this series she tackled slavery, religion and other weighty matters. As I say, very good. But Corey Doctorow’s Little Brother was an edgier YA nominee this year, and Ian McDonald’s Brasyl was groundbreaking sf.

The Healer’s War – Elizabeth Ann Scarboro (1990) — Scarboro has said that she added the lightest touch of the fantastic to this otherwise realistic novel about her time as a U.S. Army nurse in Vietnam mostly for marketing purposes. It’s a good Vietnam novel, and would have been even without the faint fantasy element. Call it magic realism for marketing purposes. Or something.

Uprooted – Naomi Novik (2016) — An intriguing, well-wrought fantasy that kept me turning pages. I love the scary evil of The Wood, and the magic was well worked out.

The Terminal Experiment – Robert J. Sawyer (1996) — Thought-provoking Canadian author Sawyer conjures up a tale of a scientist trying to determine whether there is life after death, using clones of himself. It’s also a murder mystery. A smart, fast-reading examination of ethics.

A Time of Changes – Robert Silverberg (1972) — A somewhat weak year, and this is not even among Silverberg’s top novels. I’d have voted for Le Guin’s fascinating “Philip K. Dick” novel, The Lathe of Heaven.

No Enemy But Time – Michael Bishop (1983) — Bishop is one of sf’s truly literary writers, one of my teachers at Clarion West, and this is a good, but not great, book. A somewhat weak year (the Hugo went to Asimov’s less-than-impressive Foundation’s Edge).

Speaker for the Dead – Orson Scott Card (1987) — This was Card’s 180-degree spin sequel to Ender’s Game, and it couldn’t be a more different book. The whiff of fascism is long gone, replaced by compassion, in this convoluted tale of Ender’s exile and redemption. But Card is a remarkably pedestrian stylist, and the voters blew a chance to recognize Margaret Atwood’s terrifying political nightmare, The Handmaid’s Tale.

Rite of Passage – Alexei Panshin (1968) — A perfectly enjoyable yet unremarkable bildungsroman about a young girl on a generation starship. It’s hard not to suspect this was an award given to the author, and not the book, especially considering some of the superior competition, which included Philip K. Dick’s Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep? and John Brunner’s Hugo-winning Stand on Zanzibar.

Darwin’s Radio – Greg Bear (2001) — Bear evidently decided he should be making more money and veered from straight science-fiction toward more thriller-ish fare for several years, including this one about a rapidly evolving retrovirus that accelerates human speciation. Solid science, to be sure, but not all that much fun.

Slow River – Nicola Griffith (1997) — Just barely SF, in my opinion, Griffith’s second novel is about a sewage plant. OK, not really, but a surprising amount of it takes place in one. Griffith was a teacher of mine at Clarion West and she’s a good writer, but this one never has done much for me.

Seeker – Jack McDevitt (2007) — Hey, the guy had been on the ballot for the previous three years without taking home any hardware — give the guy an award already! McDevitt is an old-school sf writer, fun, well-plotted, easy to read, but this hardly deserved a Nebula. No innovation whatsoever. Robert Charles Wilson’s Spin (Hugo winner) and Charles Stross’ Accelerando were far more original, but didn’t even make the finals for the Nebula.

The Falling Woman – Pat Murphy (1988) — A rather ordinary novel by a very good short-story writer that won in a very weak year.

Dreamsnake – Vonda N. McIntyre (1979) — Apparently Ursula Le Guin has made a case for this novel, but to me it was a mediocre post-apocalypse science-fantasy. It topped the ballot in an extremely weak year for novels; it also took the Hugo.

The Yiddish Policeman’s Union – Michael Chabon (2008) — A dark alternate history that won because … I’m not really sure why. Among literary sorts who love Chabon, it’s considered a lesser effort. I liked it well enough, but it won in a somewhat weak year.

The Moon and the Sun – Vonda N. McIntyre (1998) — McIntyre is well-loved in the professional SF community. Not saying this is a bad novel, and I suppose it’s innovative in its way — it’s an alternate history about King Louis XIV, the Sun King, with sea monsters — but George R.R. Martin’s A Game of Thrones was a far more innovative fantasy (amazingly, he never won a Hugo or Nebula for any volume of his wildly popular Song of Ice and Fire series).

Forever Peace – Joe Haldeman (1998) — Not great (and not a sequel to The Forever War), this near(ish) future war story won in an exceptionally weak year. Like Connie Willis, Haldeman is beloved personality among fans and professionals alike.

Camoflage – Joe Haldeman (2006) — A perfectly serviceable, but hardly exceptional, novel about an alien among us. Almost certainly won because of Haldeman’s goodwill among his colleagues, but it’s hardly worth an award. Susanna Clarke’s strikingly innovative fantasy Jonathan Norrell & Mr. Strange (not every fat fantasy is a derivative doorstopper), a much better book, won the Hugo.

Falling Free – Lois McMaster Bujold (1989) — Set in Bujold’s popular, award-winning “Mile Vorkosigian” universe. Sorry, I just don’t understand what all the fuss it about these perfectly enjoyable but rather ordinary novels. At the risk of offending, am I right that Bujold’s books especially appeal to women?

Among Others – Jo Walton (2012) — A realist fantasy about fairies that charmed fans with its many inside references to favorite works in the field. I liked it too, but it shouldn’t have won a Nebula or a Hugo.

Paladin of Souls – Lois McMaster Bujold (2005) — A ho-hum fantasy that for some reason won also won the Hugo. The Hugos (which this novel won) were beginning to succumb to the commercial dominance of fat fantasy tomes and so, it seems, were the Nebulas. Maybe I should just admit that Bujold isn’t my cup of tea.

The Quantum Rose – Catherine Asaro (2002) — I agree with those who call this a weak novel — a feeble beauty and the beast thing that, mea culpa, I couldn’t finish — that won largely because the author’s colleagues thought she should have a nice award. Not a terribly strong year, but Connie Willis’ underrated Passage, which tackles the idea of life after death in a truly original way, was far better. And voters missed a chance to reward Martin for A Storm of Swords.

Blackout/All Clear – Connie Willis (2011) — Willis’ brilliance, worn to a nub by her worst slap-schtick instincts in a bloated, irritating, implausible addition to her Oxford time-travel series. It might have worked, had the author resisted her tics and kept it to, say, 400 pages. But apparently unwilling to cut a word of this 1,000-plus-page indulgence, the publisher decided instead to deliver it in two fat volumes, bringing the cost to an appalling $52 … without bothering to tell readers that they were only buying half the story in each book. Willis’ by-now annoying habits—stupid people running around missing each other, irritating children, brave tally-ho Brits, anachronistic technology in the 26th century …. Augghhh! … infect every page. An egregious example of fans voting for a bad book because the author is a (truly) great person and the formula is comfortably familiar. And Willis can be so good….

Hugo Award, voted on by the membership of the annual World Science Fiction Convention:

Dune – Frank Herbert (1966; tie) — The novel has everything, adventure, intrigue, religion, politics, and world-building on a par with Tolkien’s fantasy. What’s more, Herbert helped put ecology on the sf map. Plus, I just love the desert … and personally, I’d rather see a sandworm than a dragon or a balrog.

The Left Hand of Darkness – Ursula K. Le Guin (1969) — Le Guin reached her full potential in an exploration of gender that reads like anything but and manages both to evoke the “sense of wonder” and make you think. Outstanding world-building, innovative and deeply intelligent.

Neuromancer – William Gibson (1985) — A gut-punch and fresh, neo-noirish revolution to wake the field out of its post ‘60s-early ‘70s torpor. Computer cowboys “jacking in” to vast networks, all-powerful global Japanese corporations, neon flash and Sam Space grit, not to mention a thrilling plot. Gibson put cyberpunk on the map … not just as a literary subgenre, but a style that remains hip three decades hence.

Lord of Light – Roger Zelazny (1968) — Zelazny’s take on Eastern religion through the lens of Clarke’s Third Law, “Any sufficiently advanced technology is indistinguishable from magic.” Reads like fantasy, but it’s not, and if you aren’t careful, you’ll miss critical details in the blink of an eye or a skipped word or two. Not easy, and not even as fun as many books further down the list, but a pinnacle—maybe the pinnacle?—for stylish writing, subtlety and structural innovation in sf.

A Canticle for Leibowitz – Walter M. Miller, Jr. (1961) — Pastoral, sardonic and thoughtful, by far the most creative take on a post-apocalyptic future ever produced by an sf writer.

The Dispossessed – Ursula K. Le Guin (1974) — Deceptively quiet and, except for the setting and couple of innovations, just barely sf, this is a perfectly executed (and balanced) political thought experiment about anarchism and capitalism that is also about science and technology, wrapped in one brilliant but simple man’s personal journey novel. Ingenious.

The Windup Girl – Paolo Bacigalupi (2010; tie) — Dense prose and packed with ideas, Bacigalupi’s debut novel explores everything from human/AI rights to corporate dominance and global climate change. Complex and thought provoking, it failed to produce the wave of similarly excellent cli-fi novels I expected.

The Man in the High Castle – Philip K. Dick (1963) — Not just an ingeniously worked out alternate history, but also the master mind-twister’s best-executed, most consistent novel. If all Dick’s great novels had been written with such care, he might have won a Nobel Prize.

Stand on Zanzibar – John Brunner (1969) — Sure, he ripped it off from John Dos Passos, but the kaleidoscopic structure of Brunner’s look at overpopulation makes it one of the most brilliant and innovative sf novels ever written.

The Forever War – Joe Haldeman (1975) — Vietnam, disguised as a galaxy-spanning adventure, as written by a combat veteran. A brilliant rebuttal to Heinlein’s Starship Troopers. Spare and sharp, thought-provoking and thrilling.

The Moon is a Harsh Mistress – Robert A. Heinlein (1967) — Honestly, Heinlein did his best work (IMO) in juveniles like Citizen of the Galaxy and Have Space Suit, Will Travel. Everything he wrote after 1966 is cranky, self-regarding garbage, but this slick tale of libertarians on the moon exemplifies how he influenced sf—snappy dialogue, smart characters, that winning sense of relaxed realism—as much as Hemingway did American fiction and the Beatles pop music.

Hyperion – Dan Simmons (1990) — Simmons may be one of the smartest writers ever to focus on the fantastic, and his quasi-retelling of the Canterbury Tales is both literary and fun. Once a consummate Renaissance thinker, he has sadly fallen into right-wing crankery.

A Case of Conscience – James Blish (1959) — Blish was unafraid to tackle religion head on, and here he puts a Catholic missionary through the ringer on an alien world, reaching a shocking conclusion. I imagine it was pretty controversial back when.

Green Mars – Kim Stanley Robinson (1994) — Robinson’s meticulously worked out, 2,000-page trilogy about the settlement and terraforming of the red planet can be a bit of a chore, sometimes feeling more like a manual or textbook than a novel. But the sheer imagination involved makes it one of sf’s most sustained and impressive how-to stories.

The Demolished Man –Alfred Bester (1953) — Succeeds as both sf and a detective novel; The Stars My Destination (1956) was even more innovative, alas, there were no Hugos awarded in 1957.

Ringworld – Larry Niven (1971) — Niven was Heinlein for the New Wave era. Crackling characters and smart dialogue, humor and adventure, with plenty of sky-high scientific speculation and a rollicking good story to boot.

Starship Troopers – Robert A. Heinlein (1960) — Written as a juvenile, this novel earns its place in the top 20 for its sheer bravado. Does Heinlein really believe all this? Is he the anti-democratic warmonger he seems? Could be. Interesting … and a little scary.

Rendezvous with Rama – Arthur C. Clarke (1973) — This novel, along with 2001: A Space Odyssey, has gradually overtaken Childhood’s End as the most popular novels by England’s (mostly) optimistic dreamer. It’s not really innovative, and as usual for Clarke, the characters are rather thin. But this exploration of a Big Dumb Object produces in me and many other fans that elusive drug we like to call a “sense of wonder.”

American Gods – Neil Gaiman (2002) — My biases are showing again. This is the first true fantasy (Dune has fantasy elements, and Stranger in the Strange Land is as much fantasy … or something … as sf) to make the upper echelons of my list, which may be unfair. In truth, this is an extremely engaging tale, well told and featuring one of twist-meister Gaiman’s most effective surprises. Gaiman is a huge fan favorite.

Stranger in a Strange Land – Robert A. Heinlein (1962) — Dated, sexist and showing signs of Heinlein’s latter-day crankery, it was nevertheless the first “sf” novel (the author wasn’t sure it qualified, and neither am I) to catch the attention of mainstream audiences. Probably because of the free love, man.

The Fountains of Paradise – Arthur C. Clarke (1980) — My biases are showing, but this mashup of ancient Ceylonese religion and space elevators is Clarke’s most innovative, mature novel overall. Not as fun as Rendezvous with Rama, not as mind-blowing as Childhood’s End, but it doesn’t get the respect it deserves.

Ancillary Justice – Anne Leckie (2013) — I personally didn’t adore this, but I recognize its concepts and use of language as innovative sf at a time when Hugos too often go to mediocre fantasies or YA novels.

Jonathan Strange & Mr. Norrell – Susanna Clarke (2005) — This is a really great, big fantasy of a kind I’d never read before. So why do I have it all the way down here? Must be my anti-fantasy bias shining through. It’s a really good book, though.

Startide Rising – David Brin (1984) — Just before the explosion of cyberpunk, a straightforward but entertaining novel packed with ideas and star-traveling dolphins. Conventional, in its way, but extremely well executed.

To Say Nothing of the Dog – Connie Willis (1999) — SF comedy, done right. Yes, it’s another of Willis’ Oxford time-travel novels, but she has not yet developed the tics of her later work. It’s truly funny, in the vein of Three Men in a Boat, but also works as a genuinely suspenseful sf story.

Blue Mars – Kim Stanley Robinson (1997) — Come on, eat your peas. See entry for Green Mars

The Diamond Age – Neal Stephenson (1996) — Voters completely missed the boat on Stephenson’s brilliant Snow Crash, a snappy, snarky romp equally influenced by Neuromancer and Thomas Pynchon. They wanted to be sure to catch him this time. Clever, dense, flashily written.

The Gods Themselves – Isaac Asimov (1973) — As beloved as Asimov is, this novel doesn’t get a lot of love. The usual line is that the middle section is a hell of a novella, an ingenious imagination of a truly alien life form and social structure, while the two encompassing earthbound (and moonbound) sections are just average. I disagree. The opening segment is a brilliant (though sporting the clumsy sexism of the period) dissection of the weird world of academia and scientific competition. The final section is Asimov’s sauciest bit of writing ever, featuring a (gasp) believable female character and a surprising frankness about sex. Asimov, a great innovator and idea man, was at best a pedestrian stylist. But this, along with The End of Eternity, is his best writing at novel-length.

Rainbow’s End – Vernor Vinge (2007) — Not a lot of action, but the speculation alone is worth the price of admission. A look at a near future whose technology seems likely to come true … or has already.

Gateway – Frederik Pohl (1978) — Pohl, along with Heinlein and Niven, was one of those writers whose characters, dialogue and deceptively breezy prose just made his writing snap, crackle and pop. The story here is pure adventure, but the book is deserving simply because it’s the best from a master.

…And Call Me Conrad aka This Immortal – Roger Zelazny (1966; tie) — It’s Zelazny, which means it dazzles, but it’s not Lord of Light, and among his shorter novels, I prefer He Who Shapes aka The Dream Master.

Doomsday Book – Connie Willis (1993; tie) — The first of Willis’ Oxford time-travel novels, this is one of the most powerfully moving, mournful sf stories ever written. Time travel researchers caught up in the death and tragedy of the Black Plague. Willis was not yet addicted (thankfully) to her now-shopworn “comic” sensibilities.

Ender’s Game – Orson Scott Card (1986) — I don’t really want to rank this up here, and not just because Card is an asshole (as several top sf writers confided to me long before he became best known for his extreme anti-gay views). This is essentially a YA wish fulfillment novel—all you people who pick on me are gonna get it!—that verges on fascistic. But it’s certainly entertaining, easy to read—Card can almost be said to have no writing “style”—and immensely popular. But it truly disturbs me how many people rank it as the best sf novel ever.

Spin – Robert Charles Wilson (2006) — I really like Wilson. This is a good novel with a fascinating premise, but I like some of his earlier work (The Chronoliths and the intensely depressing, harrowing Bios, and Blind Lake, for example) even better. On another day, this might make my top 20.

Where Late the Sweet Birds Sang – Kate Wilhelm (1977) — Like Rendezvous with Rama, I love this book and have reread it many times, perhaps because it instills a quiet “sense of wonder.” Still the best novel about cloning (though that’s not saying much), it nonetheless doesn’t feel particularly innovative or exceptional.

Red Shirts – John Scalzi (2012) — Though seemingly insubstantial, this book is not at all what it at first seems to be. And after the big surprise is thoroughly explored, Scalzi even includes a mini-lecture on what he really means by it all. It’s different, in the best possible way, but will it be remembered?

(tie) A Fire Upon the Deep – Vernor D. Vinge (1993; tie) and A Deepness in the Sky – Vernor Vinge (2000) — Many people adore these related novels in which Vinge proposes “zones of thought” within the galaxy that allow for greater or lesser development among intelligent creatures. I’ve never been able to get into either one. Nonetheless, they are innovative, and that’s the most critical factor for this list.

The City and The City – China Mieville (2010; tie) — A subtler story from England’s master of New Weird. Call it a magical realist mystery. I prefer the Bacigalupi novel with which it tied.

To Your Scattered Bodies Go – Philip Jose Farmer (1972) — Not a huge fan and still not sure why it’s routinely classified as sf rather than (at least) science-fantasy. It’s quirky and clever and easy to read.

The Fifth Season – N.K. Jemisin (2016) — Effective, inventive fantasy, but not especially my cup of tea. It’s possible this should be ranked higher, I admit.

(tie) Downbelow Station – C.J. Cherryh (1982) and Cyteen – C.J. Cherryh (1989) — Fat, traditional space opera tales by a much beloved author who just never rang my bell.

The Uplift War – David Brin (1988) — Nothing at all wrong with this novel, but nothing exceptional either, and it lacks the “sense of wonder” of its predecessor, Startide Rising.

Double Star – Robert A. Heinlein (1956) — I don’t have a great reason for ranking this all the way down here. It’s got all the virtues of the best Heinlein, and none of the vices of the worst. But it just doesn’t feel that extraordinary to me.

Speaker for the Dead – Orson Scott Card (1987) — This was Card’s 180-degree spin sequel to Ender’s Game, and it couldn’t be a more different book. The whiff of fascism is gone, replaced by compassion, in this convoluted tale of Ender’s exile and redemption. But Card remains a pedestrian stylist and this doesn’t blow me away the way it does some readers.

Way Station – Clifford D. Simak (1964) — It’s Simak, folksy, comfy, old-fashioned and a little pulpy. But there is nothing particularly notable about it. Too bad Vonnegut’s Cat’s Cradle, a finalist, didn’t win that year!

Hominids – Robert J. Sawyer (2003) — Nothing wrong with this novel about Neanderthals, but nothing exceptional, either, IMO. Sawyer has written better, more innovative work.

The Three-Body Problem – Cixin Liu (2015) — I want to praise this, the first winner not written in English, to the moon. But I found it pretty dry, despite its fairly high idea content. This novel won in the most controversial voting year ever, as fans voted “no award” in several categories whose nominations had been hijacked by the right-wing Sad Puppies and Rabid Puppies ballot-stuffing scheme.

The Yiddish Policeman’s Union – Michael Chabon (2008) — A dark alternate history that won because … I’m not really sure why. Among literary sorts who love Chabon, it’s considered a lesser effort. I liked it well enough, but it won in a somewhat weak year.

The Snow Queen – Joan D. Vinge (1981) — A fairy tale—yes, that one—transported to an alien planet. It’s interesting enough, but neither innovative nor particularly entertaining. SF’s hangover following the explosion of imagination in the ‘60s and ‘70s. Forgettable.

Foundation’s Edge – Isaac Asimov (1983) — Asimov’s return to his most famous invention was a big bestseller. As much as I loved the original Foundation stories as a kid, rereading them as an adult left me underwhelmed. This unnecessarily fat addition to the series—the first of many more to come—was flabbier and failed to produce that ol’ sense of wonder.

Forever Peace – Joe Haldeman (1998) — Not great (and not a sequel to The Forever War), this near(ish) future war story won in an exceptionally weak year. Like Connie Willis, Haldeman is a favorite personality of fans.

The Vor Game – Lois McMaster Bujold (1991) — The best of Bujold’s winners, but that’s not saying much. She won fans’ hearts during one of sf’s worst doldrums.

The Big Time – Fritz Leiber (1958) — Leiber was better at shorter lengths and sword-and-sorcery.

Dreamsnake – Vonda N. McIntyre (1979) — Apparently Ursula Le Guin has made a case for this novel, but to me it’s just mediocre post-apocalypse science-fantasy. It topped the ballot in an extremely weak year for novels.

Among Others – Jo Walton (2012) — A realist fantasy about fairies that charmed fans with its many inside references to favorite works in the field. I liked it too, but it shouldn’t have won a Hugo.

The Graveyard Book – Neil Gaiman (2009) — A decent YA novel by a crowd favorite, plot cribbed from Kipling, that wasn’t even the best YA novel of that year (that would be Little Brother, by Cory Doctorow); it also beat out Neal Stephenson’s Anathem. Also won the Newbury Medal for children’s literature, which makes far more sense than a Hugo.

Barrayar – Lois McMaster Bujold (1992) — Bujold was the default crowd pleaser at a time when science-fiction was in one of its periodic doldrums; the Miles Vorkosigian novels are mildly entertaining and aggressively unexceptional. No, I didn’t read this one.

Paladin of Souls – Lois McMaster Bujold (2004) — A ho-hum fantasy; the Hugos were beginning to succumb to the commercial dominance of fat fantasy tomes. People love Bujold. Guess I’m not people.

Mirror Dance – Lois McMaster Bujold (1995) — Bujold was the default crowd pleaser at a time when science-fiction was in one of its periodic doldrums; the Miles Vorkosigian novels are mildly entertaining and unexceptional. No, I didn’t read this one.

The Wanderer – Fritz Leiber (1965) — Leiber was a flamboyant stylist, but this was one of his clunkier efforts. A pretty weak year for novels.

Blackout/All Clear – Connie Willis (2011) — Willis’ brilliance, worn to a nub by her worst slap-schtick instincts in a bloated, irritating, implausible addition to her Oxford time-travel series. It might have worked, had the author resisted her tics and kept it to, say, 400 pages. But apparently unwilling to cut a word of this 1,000-plus-page indulgence, the publisher decided instead to deliver it in two fat volumes, bringing the cost to an appalling $52 … without bothering to tell readers that they were only buying half the story in each book. Willis’ by-now annoying habits—stupid people running around missing each other, irritating children, brave tally-ho Brits, anachronistic technology in the 26th century …. Augghhh! … infect every page. An egregious example of fans voting for a bad book because the author is a (truly) great person and the formula is comfortably familiar. Did I mention how much I despise this novel?

Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire – J.K. Rowling (2001) — This is a kids’ fantasy novel, and far from the best in a series that pales in comparison to the great literate fantasies of Tolkien, Le Guin and Crowley. Wildly popular, but neither innovative nor meaningful, this award is the low point of modern Hugos for best novel.

They’d Rather Be Right – Mark Clifton and Frank Riley (1955) — So bad it’s never been reprinted, so I haven’t read it. But those who remember say it sucks. And to think this Hugo could have gone to Childhood’s End, Bradbury’s Fahrenheit 451 (awarded a Retro Hugo for 1955 by the World Science Fiction Convention), Hal Clement’s Mission of Gravity, Theodore Sturgeon’s More Than Human or Asimov’s The Caves of Steel—what in the hell were voters thinking? (I’d have voted for the Clarke, myself). For that crime alone, the novel gets the bottom spot.

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