Symbiosis and Transformation in In Ascension
Thematic Claim: Interdependence as the Engine of Life
In In Ascension, Martin MacInnes argues that symbiosis—the intimate, mutually shaping relationship between different organisms—is not merely a biological curiosity but the fundamental driver of all transformation, from the cellular to the cosmic. The novel repeatedly dissolves the boundary between self and other, showing that individual identity emerges only through merging, exchange, and eventual dissolution. Transformation, in this view, is never an isolated event; it is always a relational process, a cycle of eating and being eaten, of dying into new life.
Origins at the Deep-Sea Vent
The novel’s opening voyage on the Endeavour introduces symbiosis as a historical and literal origin point. Leigh’s research into archaea from a deep-sea vent echoes the endosymbiotic theory: a fluke fusion of prokaryotic cells that gave rise to complex life. On board, Leigh explains to Amy that this transition—from bacteria living inside each other to a single, chimerical identity—was a “miracle” that broke a universal pattern of rudimentary life. The vent itself becomes a symbol of this generative merging: a place where chemical gradients support communities that blur the line between mineral and biotic. The crew’s illness after the dive and Stefan’s disappearance reinforce the idea that encountering such origins demands a partial surrender of the self. Leigh’s childhood near-drowning, which first drew her to the ocean, prefigures this theme—a brush with dissolution that paradoxically calls her toward transformation.
Algae Hypergrowth: Farming and Being Farmed
The algae garden aboard the Nereus embodies symbiosis as both sustenance and threat. Leigh and her crewmates cultivate algae for food and oxygen, but the crop rapidly exceeds expectations, growing faster with each generation. Tyler’s observation that “we’re farming it, but it’s farming us too” cuts to the heart of the theme. The algae consume the crew’s waste, their exhaled carbon dioxide, and eventually their bodies. After the radiation event and the deaths of Karius and Tyler, Leigh finds algae threading through their blood, webbing across their EVA suits. The ship itself becomes a closed ecosystem where nothing is separate: the crew’s microbiomes converge, their vital signs synchronise, and they begin to function as a single, distributed organism. This hypergrowth is both promising—hinting at orbital farms and self-repairing ships—and horrifying, as it signals the erosion of individual autonomy.
The Final Dive: Merging with the Ocean
Leigh’s final moments in the capsule offer the novel’s most explicit vision of transformation. After discarding her suit, she opens the hatch onto a submerged Earth. The description of “everything blending, merging, fruit opening, a billion seeds” and the water as “not lifeless but life-filled” presents death as a generative return. Leigh is “intermediate” in a flux of “cycles of transformation, not ending but beginning.” This scene echoes her childhood drowning and the earlier philosophical discussions about life’s circularity—how cells produce the conditions for their own creation. Her dive is not an ending but an act of alignment with the fundamental processes she has studied and lived. The capsule’s return to a drowned globe completes the arc: human ambition collides with planetary symbiosis, and the only viable response is to let go.
Character Arcs: Leigh, Helena, and the Transformative Cost
Symbiosis is not only biological but relational. Leigh’s transformation is inseparable from her family history. Her father Geert’s abuse represents a destructive, one-sided power that cannot be mutual. Her mother Fenna retreats into mathematics, a symbolic escape from interdependence. Leigh herself repeats this pattern by prioritising her career over care for her aging mother, creating a rift with her sister Helena. Helena’s journey to Ascension Island, where she witnesses the green turtles nesting, offers a parallel transformation. The turtles’ ancient, instinctual return to the same beach embodies a cyclical, non-individualistic life—a kind of species-level symbiosis with place. Helena’s recognition that her sister’s spaceflight is no more improbable than her own birth suggests that all existence is contingent, tangled, and miraculous. The memory of Leigh’s violent outburst as a teenager—lifting Helena by the collar—reveals the trauma that underlies her adult drive for control. Transformation, the novel suggests, must reckon with such ruptures: it is not a smooth ascent but a messy, often painful merging.
Symbols of Symbiosis: Algae, Turtles, and the Datura Object
Algae is the novel’s central symbol of life’s plasticity and mutualism. It is the first life, a food source, a brain booster, a building material, and a grave marker. Leigh’s research into DHA and hominin brain development ties algae to human consciousness itself. The green turtles serve a similar role on a larger scale: they migrate across vast oceans, lay eggs on the same shore where they were born, and seem “connected by invisible tissue.” Their 100-million-year-old eyes witness time beyond human scale. The Datura object—an artificial interstellar artefact with carved markings—pushes symbiosis to the cosmic level. It is a message, a lure, and a mirror. The mission to intercept it is itself a symbiotic act: humans carry algae, cultural documents, and their own bodies as a “response” to an unknown intelligence. The object’s disappearance and the fact that it “waits, beckoning” suggest that transformation requires trust in what cannot be fully known.
Complexity: When Symbiosis Consumes
The novel resists a purely utopian view of symbiosis. The algae’s growth is also an act of consumption. Tyler’s severe cut, healed only by the crew’s improvised medical aid, shows how interdependence can become parasitic. The crew’s bodies are literally broken down by the environment: radiation, nutrient depletion, and the algae’s spread turn their vessel into a tomb. Leigh’s family history demonstrates that not all relations are mutual—some are violent, exploitative, and leave lasting scars. The endosymbiotic theory itself, as Leigh explains, involved a “miracle” that could have gone otherwise. Symbiosis is not guaranteed to be beneficial; it is a risky, experimental process. The novel’s structure—alternating between Leigh’s cosmic journey and Helena’s grounded investigation—underscores that transformation is never complete. Helena’s legal battle reveals that institutions like Cable International exploit interdependence for power. Even the final merging with the ocean is ambiguous: is it transcendence or dissolution? The text invites both readings, insisting that symbiosis contains both creation and destruction.
Study Questions and Answers
1. How does the deep-sea vent scene in Endeavour establish the novel’s view of symbiosis?
The vent is presented as a site where life first emerged through a fusion of archaea and bacteria. Leigh’s explanation to Amy frames this event as a one-time “miracle” that broke a universal pattern of simple, repetitive cells. The vent thus becomes a symbol of generative interdependence, setting up the novel’s central claim that complex life arises only through merging and cooperation.
2. In what ways does the algae garden on the Nereus challenge the boundary between crew and environment?
The algae not only feeds the crew but also consumes their waste and eventually their bodies after death. Tyler observes that the crop is “farming us too,” and the crew’s vital signs converge. The garden turns the ship into a closed ecosystem where individual identity is subsumed into a larger biological process, blurring the line between subject and object.
3. What role does Helena’s journey to Ascension Island play in developing the theme of transformation?
Helena’s pilgrimage mirrors Leigh’s cosmic voyage on a smaller scale. The island’s artificial, invented nature—a terraforming experiment—highlights the absurdity and wonder of human settlement. The green turtles laying eggs embody cyclical, non-linear transformation. Helena’s final insight—that her sister’s spaceflight is no more unlikely than birth itself—connects personal and planetary renewal.
4. How does the Datura object complicate the idea of symbiosis?
The Datura object is an alien artefact that seems to beckon the mission, but its purpose remains unknown. It represents the possibility of communication and mutual transformation with an other. Yet its disappearance and the damage it inflicts on the crew’s health suggest that such contact may be parasitic or destructive. Symbiosis with an unknowable entity carries risks that mirror those within human relationships.
5. Does Leigh’s final dive represent a triumph or a loss of self?
The novel deliberately leaves this ambiguous. Leigh experiences the dive as a release into “cycles of transformation” and feels glad to be “intermediate” in a generative flux. Yet her crewmates are dead, Earth is drowned, and she has physically shed her suit and identity. The language of “merging” and “dissembling” suggests both transcendence and annihilation. The text refuses a single interpretation, insisting that true symbiosis entails both death and renewal.