The best sweeping space operas with unexpected metaphysical themes

I’m a physician, so it’s probably not surprising that a book by a physician about an alien physician might hit my list of meaningful space operas. What is surprising is Star Surgeon’s double-twist—the patients aren’t who we think they are, and the secret to getting Earth into the prestigious Galactic Confederation isn’t what we think it is—both of which actually had huge real-world thematic implications. On face level, it’s a medical thriller: the protag’s the first alien to graduate from human medical school, and he’s got to prove himself by curing an epidemic on a remote planet without arousing the ire of his human teachers. (I felt like this in residency.) But on a metaphysical level, Star Surgeon is a quiet manifesto dissecting the origins of racism—and the very biology of sentience itself. 

On the surface, OOTSP is about a British linguist who’s kidnapped to Mars, then escapes to meet pensive furry seal-people who teach him Earth sucks. Lewis borrows from H.G. Wells’ space travel and—this was written pre-space-age—his haunting, fantastical solar system doesn’t match what we’ve learned since, but his totally unique take on the physics of interdimensional beings rips the pants off anything anyone else ever wrote in metaphysical sci-fi. These angels aren’t your church’s cherubs, they’re not Frank Peretti’s white-robed super-soldiers, and they’re not Aslan and friends: Lewis actually took the limited science he had at the time about space and dimensional theory, and applied that science to his spirituality with fascinating imagination. The second book in this series, Perelandra, was always my favorite for its tense philosophy, gorgeous floating continents, and tortured protagonist, but Out of the Silent Planet—with ideas comparable in scope to Vernor Vinge’s “Zones of Thought” and space AI–is where Lewis’ space opera skill shines.

Yes, this is a Star Wars book, and on the surface it’s about Luke Skywalker and a reptilian alien invasion. Perhaps the biggest tragedy of Disney’s soulless, still-expanding media monopoly is the complete replacement of creative risk with bland corporate product, and Truce at Bakura hails from, as Obi Wan would put it, “a more civilized age.” Tyers investigates indoctrination, challenges concepts of “right to wealth” with a wise eye towards social justice before that’s even a term, and creates the most fascinating self-healing interaction with a parasite I’ve ever read. Unexpected metaphysical depth for sure!

I picked up this book because the back cover made it sound like this funny romp where a rock competition decides the fate of the Earth—and who doesn’t want that? But this isn’t just a more uplifting version of that one Rick and Morty episode about “Gettin’ Schwifty.” With vivid worlds and deeply flawed characters, Space Opera is like a psychedelic trip with that brilliant, probably-drunk friend whose gorgeous mind you could listen to for days. (Stop looking at me like that! I’m not in love with her syntax, you are!) Don’t get me wrong: there are so many behaviors in Space Opera that I recommend against as a sexual health physician—they’d increase your risk of disease and mental illness—and I’ve got moral positions that don’t jive with Valente’s vision, either. But there’s a scene where Valente touches on immigration and deportation that made me weep and left an indent on my soul. I wasn’t expecting that from Eurovision in space.

Maybe more military sci-fi than space opera, this is probably the most surprising book on this list. It’s often sold as satire, or the quintessential humorous commentary on the Star Trek franchise, but Scalzi’s Redshirts actually goes beyond fourth-wall-breaking meta into the sublime. It’s not a particularly new take on the question of predestination versus free will, but it’s certainly an unexpected and emotional one, and I’ve always cared a lot about the question of “What’s Out There” and “Why Do We Suffer,” so this book resonated with me.