Stephen Baxter's Titan is sitting on my desk like a fat pile of wasted wood pulp because I had a thought about it, and am therefore compelled to say something. Never a good idea.
I think the last 56 pages of the novel were the novel. They were the fun part, the interesting part, the thoughtful part.
The other 620 pages. Not so much.
Why I stuck with it, you see, is because I've enjoyed books by Mr. Baxter before, it's about the moon Titan, which might have life on it, and the back copy suggested a conclusion of great import and subtle wisdom.
It was not great or subtle enough to justify the first 620 pages, was all.
There. I've excreted that thought. I can now donate it to the library book sale.