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by Greg Egan

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Prabir Suresh and his younger sister, Madhursee, live in a remote paradise called Teranesia, where their biologist parents are studying an unexplained genetic mutation among the island's butterflies. Then civil war erupts across Indonesia, shattering their idyllic world and their lives.

Twenty years later, Prabir is still plagued by feelings of guilt and an


Prabir Suresh and his younger sister, Madhursee, live in a remote paradise called Teranesia, where their biologist parents are studying an unexplained genetic mutation among the island's butterflies. Then civil war erupts across Indonesia, shattering their idyllic world and their lives.

Twenty years later, Prabir is still plagued by feelings of guilt and an overwhelming responsiblity for his sister, now a biologist herself.  Against his advice, Madhurse is returning to Teranesia to solve the mystery of the butterflies and study strange new plant and animal species that have been emerging throughout the region-species seperated from their known cousins by dramatic mutations that seem far too efficient to have arisen by chance.

Afraid for her safety, Prabir joins forces with independant scientist Martha Grant to find her. But what he will discover on Teranesia is far more dangerous and wondrous than he can ever fear—or imagine.. 

Editorial Reviews

Russell Letson
...[A] geographical and psychological there-and-back-again story....[T]he personal issues do connect with...familiar Egan themes: transformation, the roles of design and artifice, the place of humanity in a world of material forces and mechanisms. — Locus
Wayne Daniels
I could not say what Egan plans to do next. With Teranesia he has achieved a stunning breakthrough in the development of his literary craft, one that promises great things to come. The future, in an even deeper sense, lies all before him.
The New York Review of Science Fiction
From the Publisher

“Cognitive wonder at its challenging best.” —Locus

Product Details

HarperCollins Publishers
Publication date:
Product dimensions:
4.19(w) x 6.73(h) x 0.96(d)

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Chapter One

The island was too small for human habitation, and too far from the commonly traveled sea routes to serve as a navigation point, so the people of the Kai and Tanimbar Islands had never had reason to name it. The Javanese and Sumatran rulers who'd claimed tributes from the Spice Islands would have been oblivious to its existence, and Prabir had been unable to locate it on any Dutch or Portuguese chart that had been scanned and placed on the net. To the current Indonesian authorities it was a speck on the map of Maluku propinsi, included for the sake of completeness along with a thousand other uninhabited rocks. Prabir had realized the opportunity he was facing even before they'd left Calcutta, and he'd begun compiling a list of possibilities immediately, but it wasn't a decision he could make lightly. He'd been on the island for more than a year before he finally settled on a name for it.

He tried out the word on his classmates and friends before slipping it into a conversation with his parents. His father had smiled approvingly, but then had second thoughts.

"Why Greek? If you're not going to use a local language...why not Bengali?"

Prabir had gazed back at him, puzzled. Names sounded dull if you understood them too easily. Why make do with a lame Big River, when you could have a majestic Rio Grande? But surely his father knew that It was his example Prabir was following.

"The same reason you named the butterfly in Latin."

His mother had laughed. "He's got you there!" And his father had relented, hoisting Prabir up into the air to be spun and tickled. "All right, all right! Teranesia!"

But that hadbeen before Madhusree was born, when she hadn't been named herself (except as the much-too-literal Accidental Bulge). So Prabir stood on the beach, holding his sister up to the sky, spinning around slowly as he chanted, "Teranesia! Teranesia!" Madhusree stared down at him, more interested in watching him pronounce the strange word than in taking in the panorama he was trying to present to her. Was it normal to be nearsighted at fifteen months? Prabir resolved to look it up. He lowered her to his face and kissed her noisily, then staggered, almost losing his balance. She was growing heavier much faster than he was growing stronger. His parents claimed not to be growing stronger at all, and both now refused to lift him over their heads.

"Come the revolution," Prabir told Madhusree, checking for shells and coral before putting her down on the dazzling white sand.


"We'll redesign our bodies. Then I'll always be able to lift you up. Even when I'm ninety-one and you're eighty-three."

She laughed at this talk of the metaphysically distant future. Prabir was fairly sure that Madhusree understood eighty-three at least as well as he understood, say, ten to the hundredth power. Looming over her, he counted out eight hand flashes, then three fingers. She watched, uncertain but mesmerized. Prabir gazed into her jet black eyes. His parents didn't understand Madhusree: they couldn't tell the difference between the way she made them feel and the way she was. Prabir only understood, himself, because he dimly remembered what it was like from the inside.

"Oh, you pretty thing," he crooned.

Madhusree smiled conspiratorially.

Prabir glanced away from her, across the beach, out into the calm turquoise waters of the Banda Sea. The waves breaking on the reef looked tame from here, though he'd been on enough queasy ferry rides to Tual and Ambon to know what a steady monsoon wind, let alone a storm, could whip up. But if Teranesia was spared the force of the open ocean, the large islands that shielded it—Timor, Sulawesi, Ceram, New Guinea—were invisibly remote. Even the nearest equally obscure rock was too far away to be seen from the beach.

"For small altitudes, the distance to the horizon is approximately the square root of twice the product of your height above sea level and the radius of the Earth." Prabir pictured a right triangle, with vertices at the center of the Earth, a point on the horizon, and his own eyes. He'd plotted the distance function on his notepad, and knew many points on the curve by heart. The beach sloped steeply, so his eyes were probably two full meters above sea level. That meant he could see for five kilometers. If he climbed Teranesia's volcanic cone until the nearest of the outlying Tanimbar Islands came into sight, the altitude of that point which his notepad's satellite navigation system could tell him would enable him to calculate exactly how far away they were.

But he knew the distance already, from maps: almost eighty kilometers. So he could reverse the whole calculation, and use it to verify his altitude: the lowest point from which he could see land would be five hundred meters. He'd drive a stake into the ground to mark the spot. He turned toward the center of the island, the black peak just visible above the coconut palms that rimmed the beach. It sounded like a long climb, especially if he had to carry Madhusree most of the way.

"Do you want to go see Ma?"

Madhusree pulled a face. "No!" She could never have too much of Ma, but she, knew when he was trying to dump her.

Prabir shrugged. He could do the experiment later; nothing was worth a tantrum. "Do you want to go swimming, then?" Madhusree nodded enthusiastically and clambered to her feet, then ran unsteadily toward...

Meet the Author

Greg Egan is a computer programmer, and the author of the acclaimed SF novels Permutation City, Diaspora, Teranesia, Quarantine, and the Orthogonal trilogy, all published by Night Shade Books. He has won the Hugo Award as well as the John W. Campbell Memorial Award. Egan’s short fiction has been published in a variety of places, including Interzone, Asimov’s, and Nature. He lives in Perth, Australia.

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Teranesia 5 out of 5 based on 0 ratings. 1 reviews.
Anonymous More than 1 year ago