I developed a little test for myself on first opening Candas Jane
Dorsey's A PARADIGM OF EARTH. I decided to to wait until this
tantalizing word ------ paradigm --- first appeared in the story
before looking it up to refine my own gut-feelings about it.
In a way, this was also a test of Dorsey's splendid narrative art
as it weaves through a compelling near-future novel, in which an
unformed alien and some very unconventional humans are brought
together to learn Life 100 in an unexpected context. Well over
halfway through (page 264, to be exact) "Blue," a winsome,
androgynous extra-terrestrial, declares to the psychically battered
Morgan Shelby that she is a chosen human "paradigm" among the
dysfunctionals living together in a rambling old house near
Edmonton, Alberta. By then, I need not have bothered with a
dictionary at all.
While dodging the convoluted systems of Canadian government
bureaucracy, untangling layers of conflicted and deceptive sexual
liaisons among the odd assortment of people living in her house and
coping with the mysterious violence that unexpectedly intrudes on
everyday living, Morgan finds herself entrusted with chief
caregiver duties for one of a dozen blue-skinned beings suddenly
deposited around the world by an alien race. Their plan is to leave
these completely unprepared creatures (they're not even
toilet-trained!) to be filled with information as a means to learn
more about humanity. But from that point on, A PARADIGM OF EARTH
powerfully transcends the usual alien/E.T. tale to probe the very
core of mature sentient relationships, to visit pain, growth and
fear with an empathic intensity few writers achieve so
convincingly.
Dorsey takes a bold and risky approach (one that pays off
awesomely) by placing all of her characters on the margins of
so-