SF/F Commentary

SF/F Commentary

The Problem With “Great” Science Fiction

Twitter is abuzz today with an io9 article called “What are the ingredients for great science fiction?”  I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised by this, since many of us in the SF community are constantly amused, obsessed, and/or perplexed by the attempt to define the “great” in the title.  On some level, it’s probably good for us to be always conscious of the evaluative quality of what we read; after all, what we consider to be wondrous is inevitably what we will try to peddle to others, because, deep down, we want them to experience the same feeling, however unexplainable, that we did when reading a “great” book. On another level, however, I think we often forget that the “great” in the title is both relative and problematic.  How do we define what is and is not a “great” SF book?  When it comes to literature–or any creative project, for that matter–there are no hard-set definitions; there can’t be precisely because to provide perfect, exception-less definitions is to imply that literature cannot change, that it is hopelessly standardized into a set group of features and objects.  Science fiction can never be that.  We’ve had the arguments over what “is” and “is not” science fiction before, here and elsewhere, and those discussions rarely get anywhere. So why the attempt to define “great?”  In the end, the term will remain hopelessly relative.  There is no point at which we can ever set “great” down and say “this is what great means for science fiction, and there are no relevant exceptions to it.”  What I consider to be “great” SF will likely run counter to another’s view on the subject.  Even if one agrees with my view of “great,” there are bound to be varying degrees to that “great”-ness, to what one considers, as the author of io9’s post suggests, to be an appropriate description or address of/to the “human condition.”  While I might agree with that, it doesn’t explain what one means by “human condition,” nor does it provide criteria one might say should go unspoken (the quality of the writing, for example, however relative that may be). I think the questions should be:  Does explaining what “great” SF is really matter?  If we can agree that evaluative qualities such as those that would apply to “great” are relative and malleable, then shouldn’t we wonder whether there is value in the term or in our opinions on “something?”  How do we justify what is “great” in terms of its relativity, let alone the value of our opinions in a relative world? I suppose where I’m going with this is here:  If we can’t say what is and is not “great,” then can we as readers, reviewers, or what have you justify saying anything at all about the quality of a thing?  I don’t think there are any easy answers to that question.  But I’ll leave that up to you.

SF/F Commentary

Haul of Books 2010: Stuff For Me v.24 (Derrida Edition)

I have a few more lovely books for school that I want to let you all know about, although it occurs to me that these may be of even less interest to most of you than they are to me, since they’re not even genre-based.  But  who am I to say what you’re all interested in, right? This edition rounds up almost all of the remaining books for my schoolwork.  There are still a handful of lingering books here or there, which I’ll throw up here in a future edition, but I won’t know what those are for a few more weeks (my science fiction/utopia course has four weeks of “you’ll all decide what we’re reading”). Here’s the image: And now for the descriptions, from left to right, top to bottom (taken from Amazon): 1.  Acts of Religion by Jacques Derrida “Is there, today,” asks Jacques Derrida, “another ‘question of religion’?” Derrida’s writings on religion situate and raise anew questions of tradition, faith, and sacredness and their relation to philosophy and political culture. He has amply testified to his growing up in an Algerian Jewish, French-speaking family, to the complex impact of a certain Christianity on his surroundings and himself, and to his being deeply affected by religious persecution. Religion has made demands on Derrida, and, in turn, the study of religion has benefited greatly from his extensive philosophical contributions to the field. Acts of Religion brings together for the first time Derrida’s key writings on religion, along with two new essays translated by Gil Anidjar that appear here for the first time in any language. These eight texts are organized around the secret holding of links between the personal, the political, and the theological. In these texts, Derrida’s reflections on religion span from negative theology to the limits of reason and to hospitality. Acts of Religion will serve as an excellent introduction to Derrida’s remarkable contribution to religious studies. 2.  Rogues:  Two Essays on Reason by Jacques Derrida Rogues, published in France under the title Voyous, comprises two major lectures that Derrida delivered in 2002 investigating the foundations of the sovereignty of the nation-state. The term “État voyou” is the French equivalent of “rogue state,” and it is this outlaw designation of certain countries by the leading global powers that Derrida rigorously and exhaustively examines. Derrida examines the history of the concept of sovereignty, engaging with the work of Bodin, Hobbes, Rousseau, Schmitt, and others. Against this background, he delineates his understanding of “democracy to come,” which he distinguishes clearly from any kind of regulating ideal or teleological horizon. The idea that democracy will always remain in the future is not a temporal notion. Rather, the phrase would name the coming of the unforeseeable other, the structure of an event beyond calculation and program. Derrida thus aligns this understanding of democracy with the logic he has worked out elsewhere. But it is not just political philosophy that is brought under deconstructive scrutiny here: Derrida provides unflinching and hard-hitting assessments of current political realities, and these essays are highly engaged with events of the post-9/11 world. 3.  Points:  Interviews — 1974-1994 by Jacques Derrida This volume collects 23 interviews given over the course of the last two decades by the author. It illustrates the extraordinary breadth of the Derrida’s concerns, touching upon such subjects as AIDS, philosophy, sexual difference and feminine identity, the media, politics, and nationalism. 4.  The Beast and the Sovereign, Vol. 1 by Jacques Derrida When he died in 2004, Jacques Derrida left behind a vast legacy of unpublished material, much of it in the form of written lectures. With The Beast and the Sovereign, Volume 1, the University of Chicago Press inaugurates an ambitious series, edited by Geoffrey Bennington and Peggy Kamuf, translating these important works into English. The Beast and the Sovereign, Volume 1 launches the series with Derrida’s exploration of the persistent association of bestiality or animality with sovereignty. In this seminar from 2001–2002, Derrida continues his deconstruction of the traditional determinations of the human. The beast and the sovereign are connected, he contends, because neither animals nor kings are subject to the law—the sovereign stands above it, while the beast falls outside the law from below. He then traces this association through an astonishing array of texts, including La Fontaine’s fable “The Wolf and the Lamb,” Hobbes’s biblical sea monster in Leviathan, D. H. Lawrence’s poem “Snake,” Machiavelli’s Prince with its elaborate comparison of princes and foxes, a historical account of Louis XIV attending an elephant autopsy, and Rousseau’s evocation of werewolves in The Social Contract. Deleuze, Lacan, and Agamben also come into critical play as Derrida focuses in on questions of force, right, justice, and philosophical interpretations of the limits between man and animal. 5.  Politics of Friendship by Jacques Derrida The most influential of contemporary philosophers explores the idea of friendship and its political consequences. “O, my friends, there is no friend.” The most influential of contemporary philosophers explores the idea of friendship and its political consequences, past and future. Until relatively recently, Jacques Derrida was seen by many as nothing more than the high priest of Deconstruction, by turns stimulating and fascinating, yet always somewhat disengaged from the central political questions of our time. Or so it seemed. Derrida’s “political turn,” marked especially by the appearance of Specters of Marx, has surprised some and delighted others. In The Politics of Friendship Derrida renews and enriches this orientation through an examination of the political history of the idea of friendship pursued down the ages. Derrida’s thoughts are haunted throughout the book by the strange and provocative address attributed to Aristotle, “my friends, there is no friend” and its inversions by later philosophers such as Montaigne, Kant, Nietzsche, Schmitt and Blanchot. The exploration allows Derrida to recall and restage the ways in which all the oppositional couples of Western philosophy and political thought—friendship and enmity, private and public life — have become madly and dangerously unstable. At the same time he dissects genealogy itself, the familiar

SF/F Commentary

A Brief Linking to the Manifesto of No-Consequence

I’m contemplating whether I want to say something more about this fellow’s counter-boycott against those who have condemned Elizabeth Moon over her recent comments on Islam (you can read what I’ve had to say about consumer activism in relation to literature here).  The level of hypocrisy, intellectual vacuity (the argument of no-consequence, specifically), and repetition of fallacious arguments is alarming, particularly considering that I’ve agreed with the author of the post in the past on issues related to what he calls the “fail community.”  The fact that he can’t separate the truly awful from the misunderstood or mistaken is mind boggling to me. So, I’m going to throw the link to all of you for now.  Read the comments if you dare.  Maybe I’ll talk about it.  There’s certainly plenty to be said about the rhetoric being forced there, but I don’t know if I have the stomach for it right now.  Elizabeth Moon’s misguided and incredibly problematic rant is enough to swallow from the SF community at the moment. What do you think?

SF/F Commentary

Future Plans: A List

I’ve been thinking about things I’d like to do on this blog over the next few months (or year) and decided to write up a list for your perusal.  Some of these things are pretty much set in stone, and others are flexible.  If you have suggestions for things you’d like to see on this blog, please let me know.  I’m always open to suggestions, whether of the “we want more of that” or the “you haven’t done this” variety. Update:  I added some things to the list which I had previously forgotten. Here’s the list: Upcoming Projects A video review of the Barnes & Noble Nook.  I recently purchased one and plan to review it, but not for a few more weeks.  I want to get used to using it first. The sort-of-final post in my New Weird and Scifi Strange series.  I expect I’ll come back to it again, but this third post will be enough for now. Pick My Next Read Polls.  I’ve done them before, but I thought it would be fun to do it again.  I’m not sure how I will run it.  Either I’ll pick the books from my to-be-read pile, or perhaps I could open it to your suggestions.  What do you think? Book reviews of The Reapers Are the Angels by Alden Bell, The Misadventures of Benjamin Bartholomew Piff:  You Wish by Jason Lethcoe, Angel Dust Apocalypse by Jeremy Robert Johnson, City of Saints and Madmen by Jeff VanderMeer, and Mouse Guard:  Fall 1152 by David Petersen.  I have a dozen other books I’m reading, so this list will likely get longer as the weeks go by. A post showing the before and after state of my bookshelves.  I bought a new bookshelf a couple weeks ago, and things have shifted significantly around these parts.  My apartment still looks like a cheap library, but so be it. Possible Projects Discussions centering around my research (expatriate Caribbean science fiction, to be specific).  This may be focused specifically on science fiction, or it may look at cultural elements and theory.  Think of it as an on/off ordeal. Worldbuilding progress on Altern, one of my fantasy worlds.  I’m not treating the worldbuilding in the same way as Tolkien, primarily because the world I’m writing in is post-Elizabethan and pre-coal in design.  The people there are on the cusp of their version of the industrial revolution.  There is a hint of magic, but its presence is severely limited to the point of being impossible to discern from natural phenomenon.  Mythological creatures do exist, though (not all of them; no dragons, yet). Discussions and reviews of non-traditional speculative literature.  By that I mean non-Western in a limited sense.  One of the professors on my M.A. committee is judging a translated SF award right now, which is part of what led me to this idea. More discussion of books that aren’t released by major publishers, or books by major publishers that simply aren’t receiving much attention (which almost amounts to the same thing, since, as I see it, books that don’t get as much attention are often the kinds of books I really enjoy, and which I think most of you would enjoy learning about). A little more current events/real world stuff.  Maybe a post every couple weeks about something that needs to be addressed.  I’ve avoided politics as much as possible, but I don’t think it’s worth hiding away from the things that matter to me on this blog. A discussion of my experiences reading The Chronicles of Narnia by C. S. Lewis in Spanish.  Yes.  I am doing this, and it will be an experience. That’s what I’m thinking right now.  What do you think?  Do any of those things sound completely uninteresting to you?  Is there anything you’d like to see on the list that I haven’t put there?  Let me know.

SF/F Commentary

The Skiffy and Fanty Show #18 is Live!

We’re back, again! Surprised? You shouldn’t be, because it’s a weekly show, after all. This week we bring back Torture Cinema for a second edition and talk about one of the most awful science fiction films ever made. There’s also a little talk about new genre-movies hitting your local theater. Prepare yourself. Bad things are about to happen to your brain… You can find episode eighteen here. I hope you enjoy the episode. It’s full of laughs!

SF/F Commentary

The First Amendment: The Separation of Author and Work

There has been a lot of talk recently over the problem of the separation of an author from his or her work, and this has largely been so because of some rather alarming words written by Elizabeth Moon on Muslims and citizenship (in the U.S.).  Bloggers, such as Gav over at NextRead, among others, have wondered whether we should separate the author from the work, or whether what an author writes should always be read within the context of what they think on a personal level (which, oddly enough, is discovered through what they write).  My only problem with this discussion is that it avoids dealing with the other side of the divide; namely, the economic one and its relation to politics.  But we’ll get to that second part in a minute. In a lot of cases, it is easy to separate the author from the work, particularly when the author is channeling a particular kind of idea or character.  If an author is pro-gay rights, but writes a book about an anti-gay character, one shouldn’t ignore the book simply because of the author’s politics; on the contrary, you should read it to see how he or she deals with an alternative viewpoint.  To give a more innocuous example, if the author is a pacifist and writes a novel about war, such as about soldiers, it shouldn’t be difficult to separate an author’s personal opinions on war from what they’ve written about in their books.  After all, it is the author’s job to write about characters and situations that may or may not be in-tune with their ordinary lives.  One could even argue that an author who can channel multiple viewpoints is an accomplished one.  (If someone can come up with a better example of how this works, please leave a comment.) In that sense, I think it’s silly to reject an author’s work simply because of their personal viewpoint.  There is value in exposing oneself to multiple worldviews, particularly since doing so means we are better prepared to deal with those we might disagree with, or might feel different from in some way or another.  But, even more importantly, many authors write books that have nothing to do with their personal politics–at least, in an obvious way.  Lewis Carroll, for example, has been called by many a pedophile (he wasn’t, by the standards of the time, but that’s neither here nor there); his work, however, shouldn’t be read within that context precisely because, as far as I can remember, his work has nothing to do with his supposed pedophilia.  The same is true of many other authors, dead and alive.  It is also important to note that authors are not born in vacuums, or brainwashed from a young age to fit a “writer template.”  They come from all walks of life, from every continent and, I would hope, every country.  If there is any question that the United States is the melting pot of the world, then we can all take solace in the fact that the writer’s world is an unflinching melting pot. But where I diverge from most on this particular subject is on the economic issue.  Authors (and publishers) need readers to earn “money” (both in the physical currency sense and in the readers-as-currency/voice sense), and they use that money for various things.  What should be of concern to anyone who cares about their own politics is that the “money” authors earn from us can also be used against our interests–here I’m specifically talking about living authors, rather than ones that have been dead for centuries.  If your politics are not important to you, then you can ignore such things and continue supporting authors who would use their voices to deny things you rightfully deserve.  If your politics are important, however, then it should quickly become obvious that separating an author from his or her work is an economic impossibility.  Providing “monetary” gains to authors also provides incentive for them to continue doing what they do.  In most cases, this isn’t an issue, since many of us want our favorite writers to keep writing and talking to us.  But some authors use their “money” to push their political ideologies, to speak against issues that matter to us in the most bigoted way, and so on.  To support such authors is tantamount to saying “I’m okay with you using your monetary and reader-ly currency to combat my personal interests.” If you’re okay with that, then you should continue buying new copies of books written by authors you vehemently disagree with.  But I think that by doing so you become an accessory, which would be an insult if one could say that there is such as a thing as being not-an-accessory–which, I would argue, there is not, since we all purchase things that, somewhere down the line, work against our interests.  Regardless, with authors, we have a very clear choice:  we can support the ones we disagree with by giving them royalties and an audience, or we can cut them off like the diseased limb that they are and give more “money” to those who are both great writers and great people. I’ve made the choice for option two a number of times, such as in the case of Orson Scott Card and John C. Wright, both of which have said many an ignorant, disgusting word about the LGBT community, and both of which are good writers.  I still own books by both of them, and will continue to do so, but I won’t purchase new copies of their books in the future, nor will I review their works, or provide them any sort of positive feedback which might, in some way, be used as “currency.”  That’s something I’m not willing to do so long as their politics are so vehemently opposed to mine, and so long as they are so outwardly for the destruction of what matters to me–my family.  I may make the same choice with Elizabeth

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