Tony's Review of The Three Body Problem.

Liu Cixin’s The Three-Body Problem is not just a science fiction novel, it’s a thought experiment, a philosophical probe into the nature of civilization, science, and humanity’s place in the cosmos. Originally published in China in 2008 and later translated into English by Ken Liu in 2014, the book gained international acclaim for its ambitious storytelling and rigorous scientific grounding. But does its complexity make it an impenetrable read, or is it worth the effort? And with the Netflix adaptation bringing Liu’s vision to life, how well does the show translate the novel’s intricate ideas?

The novel’s opening immediately sets a different tone than most mainstream sci-fi. Instead of jumping into space battles or futuristic technology, it begins in the chaos of China’s Cultural Revolution a brutal, real-world event that lays the psychological foundation for one of the book’s central characters, Ye Wenjie. Witnessing firsthand the worst of humanity’s self-destructive tendencies, Ye’s disillusionment leads her down a path that ultimately results in first contact with an alien civilization the Trisolarans.

This is where The Three-Body Problem diverges from traditional first-contact stories. Instead of hopeful diplomacy or immediate war, Liu presents a slow-burn intellectual thriller in which scientists, politicians, and shadowy organizations grapple with the implications of extraterrestrial life. The Trisolarans, trapped in a chaotic solar system where their three suns create cycles of destruction and rebirth, view Earth as a stable and desirable refuge. The problem? Their arrival will take centuries, but they’ve already started influencing events on Earth.

The book’s pacing reflects this grand scope. It is dense with theoretical physics, computational science, and discussions of existential risk, sometimes at the expense of character depth. Liu’s writing leans more toward ideas than emotional connection, but that’s not necessarily a flaw—it just means this is a novel for those who appreciate scientific speculation as much as storytelling.

The Netflix adaptation of The Three-Body Problem makes some notable changes, and depending on what you value in the story, this can either enhance or weaken the experience. One of the biggest shifts is in setting and character focus. The show moves away from the book’s Chinese cultural and historical context, opting instead for a more globalized cast and setting. This makes sense for a broader audience, but it also dilutes some of the book’s unique perspective especially the Cultural Revolution’s role in shaping Ye Wenjie’s motivations.

The series also injects more character-driven drama, likely to make the story more accessible. In the book, Wang Miao, the nanotech scientist who serves as our entry point into the mystery, is more of an observer than a fully developed protagonist. The show, however, fleshes out interpersonal conflicts, giving characters deeper emotional arcs. While this makes for better television, it also shifts the tone. The novel’s detached, intellectual approach where the mystery unfolds like a puzzle becomes something more immediate and personal in the show.

Visually, the adaptation does a stunning job of bringing the Trisolaran world and its unpredictable physics to life. The sequences inside the “Three-Body” VR game, which in the novel is a brilliant way to introduce both the reader and characters to the alien civilization’s struggles, are realized in a way that blends surrealism with grand spectacle. However, the show also simplifies some of the book’s harder scientific concepts, which might disappoint fans who loved Liu’s commitment to scientific realism.

One of the most striking aspects of The Three-Body Problem is its philosophical weight. It doesn’t just ask whether we should make contact with aliens it questions whether humanity deserves to survive. Ye Wenjie’s decision to invite the Trisolarans to Earth is not framed as pure villainy but as a response to human cruelty and self-destruction. The book forces readers to wrestle with uncomfortable questions: If a superior civilization judged us, would they find us worthy? And if they didn’t, would they be wrong?

The Netflix series, while touching on these ideas, tends to emphasize spectacle over slow-building dread. The novel’s horror comes not from aliens attacking but from the knowledge that they will attack, and humanity is powerless to stop it. This looming inevitability is part of what makes the book so chilling. The adaptation, in contrast, seems more focused on the immediate suspense of the unfolding mystery.

The Three-Body Problem is not a novel for everyone. Its pacing can be slow, its characters sometimes feel like vessels for ideas rather than fully fleshed-out people, and its scientific discussions demand patience. But for those willing to engage with its complexities, it offers one of the most intellectually stimulating science fiction experiences in modern literature. It’s a story that lingers long after reading, not because of action or emotion, but because of the existential questions it forces us to confront.

The Netflix adaptation, while visually stunning and more character driven, inevitably simplifies some of the novel’s harder edges. It succeeds in making the story more accessible but loses some of the book’s weighty philosophical and scientific rigor in the process. Whether this is a strength or weakness depends on what you want from the story. If you’re here for the ideas, the novel remains the superior experience. If you’re looking for a more emotional and visually engaging entry into this world, the show might be the better starting point.

In the end, The Three-Body Problem in any form asks the same unsettling question: What happens when we are no longer the masters of our own fate? And perhaps even more disturbingly, do we deserve to be?