In 1973, The Gods Themselves seemed poised to become a perennial classic and a major piece of the science fiction canon. Written by Isaac Asimov, an already acknowledged master of the genre, it won the two highest awards bestowed upon books of its kind: the Hugo and the Nebula. In recent years, however, other novels of its era have overshadowed it. Hollywood didn’t touch it, while filmed adaptations of 1968’s Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep? and 2001: A Space Odyssey found huge popularity. Meanwhile, mainstream critics delving into sci-fi preferred the postmodern flourishes of Vonnegut’s Slaughterhouse-Five (1969) and Pynchon’s Gravity’s Rainbow (1973). Furthermore, Asimov’s fans had, long before the publication of The Gods Themselves, declared the Foundation series of the 1950s the author’s magnum opus, and when he resurrected it in the ’80s, it was as though the decades in between had never occurred. Thus, although it still has admirers, Asimov’s only science fiction novel of the ’70s seems in danger of slipping into the canon’s periphery, where readers may in time forget it. This would be a great shame, for it is an outstanding book.

The novel finds its inspiration and three-part structure in a proclamation by Friedrich Schiller: “Against stupidity, the gods themselves contend in vain.” The first section — “Against Stupidity” — concerns a thick-skulled, egotistical scientist named Hallam, who finds success when a derisive remark by a smarter coworker, Benjamin Denison, leads him to stumble upon a seemingly endless source of energy that costs almost nothing and causes no pollution. When another scientist, Lamont, discovers that Hallam’s invention, the Electron Pump, will eventually, for reasons only Lamont has figured out, destroy mankind, Hallam uses his celebrity to turn the scientific community against the young man denouncing that which has brought Hallam fame.

Asimov describes the Electron Pump, which trades matter from our universe for matter from another universe, in terms scientific and simultaneously comprehensible, thereby lending the fantastical device a believable reality.

And so, as the segment closes and still only Lamont’s friend Bronowski believes in him, “Against Stupidity” proves a strong indictment of a scientific community whose politics can stamp out genuine achievement and of scientists who value their reputations more than science itself. Not even the story’s hero is spared Asimov’s critical eye: Lamont’s eagerness to make his urgent discovery known seems borne not just of a desire to save humanity but also of pettier motives — to ruin his hated rival, Hallam, and to find renown of his own. To him, the greatest tragedy is that “no one on Earth will live to know I was right.”

For the titular section, which comes second, Asimov travels to the universe at the other end of the Electron Pump and, in doing so, produces the best writing in this book. Here he introduces an alien race, which consists of three types of beings: We meet Tritt, a Parental; Odeen, a Rational; and Dua, an Emotional. In addition, there are those known as the Hard Ones, who, due to their enormous intellectual capacity, stand above the rest and who are responsible for the trading of matter between our universe and theirs. Dua, a sensitive outsider, learns that the Hard Ones know that the exchange will obliterate our universe but, because it won’t harm theirs, simply don’t care. Tritt and Odeen also seem indifferent. Because this segment takes place concurrently with the first, we know that Dua’s efforts to stop the exchange will fail; nevertheless, the conclusion of her story does not fail to stun the reader.

Yet even more impressive than the ending’s surprise is Asimov’s ability to imagine a world so different from our own while still generating sympathy for its inhabitants. Particularly acute is his treatment of sex. These aliens reproduce in threesomes, by melting their bodies together; however, despite the differences between our method and theirs, their first awkward, painful attempts at sex resonate powerfully. According to Asimov, he penned this superb segment as a response to critics who claimed that he couldn’t write about aliens or sex, and I’m reminded of Hallam, who responded to the scorn of his colleague, Denison, by making the discovery that would bring him stardom. Perhaps Asimov put some of himself into his villain.