Why the SF Canon Doesn’t Exist
As is periodically the case in the SFF community, we’re once more in the midst of a conversation about “the classics.” If you’re reading this now, it doesn’t actually matter that I wrote this in 2022; this conversation happens so often that the context above could apply in any given year going back decades, albeit more frequently today than before social media. The conversation typically features the following claims: You DON’T need to read “the classics” for reasons (there are many) You DO need to read “the classics” for reasons (there are many) There are no “classics” for reasons (there are many) I’m not going to list the various reasons offered for all of these. Instead, I’ll note that we usually see two common claims for the first two: 1) that you don’t need to read them because they do not represent where genre is now; and 2) that you do need to read them because they’re necessary to understand how we got where we are now. These are incredibly reductive versions of those common arguments, and both are technically correct but typically uttered in the wrong context.
Link of the Day: Liz Bourke on (Male) Rape in Epic Fantasy
I’ve got nothing to say about Liz Bourke’s recent post on the topic in the title — at least, not right now (maybe later). However, I do think she’s raising a damned important question: why aren’t more male writers dealing with the sexual abuse/rape of male characters in epic fantasies (especially when the sexual abuse/rape of female characters is somewhat common)? Head on over and read what she’s got to say. That is all.
Hugo Award Recommendations Needed! Inquire Within…
I’ve never voted for the Hugos before, which means this year is a huge “first.” Regardless, I’ve always had a problem filling out some of the categories, sometimes because I’m not familiar with the field (comics, for example). This is where you all come in. Below is the list of all the categories in which my nominations are either entirely absent or not firm. What would you recommend I check out to help me fill the gaps? Best Novella Best Novelette Best Related Work (I’ve got four ideas, but maybe I missed something you all know about?) Best Graphic Story Best Dramatic Presentation (minus Game of Thrones, as I’ve already seen it) Best Fan Artist Best Fanzine (I have ideas, but only one standout thus far) Best Fancast (ditto) Have at it!
Literary Explorations: Epic Fantasy = Crushingly Conservative? (A Sorta Response to Liz Bourke)
First, read this. Have you read it now? Good. I want to start by briefly talking about two of the central problems that Ms. Bourke rightly struggles with throughout her post (and which many readers had issues developing or agreeing to on their own) — definitions and the perception of their application. For the sake of space and time — you should read the actual thread anyway — I’m going break this down into little, methodical sections. I. Definitions The two main terms at work here are “conservative” and “epic fantasy.” The latter is somewhat impossible to define, in part because subgenres are, in effect, convenient marketing categories. There might be something called “epic fantasy,” but I don’t think anyone can approach a satisfactory definition. I tend to imagine “epic fantasy” as a matter of scale. In most works in this class, what is at stake is not the individual so much as the entire world (or the world as the characters know it). Thus, any actions the heroes take is in an attempt to save the world from destruction, whether literally through some kind of magic or figuratively through some sort of violent conquest. Thus, Lord of the Rings and A Song of Ice and Fire share something in common with Karen Miller’s Kingmaker, Kingbreaker series. What is crucial, for me, is that the stakes are greater than a single, isolated community. “Conservative,” however, is a far simpler term to define. While some arguments about its supposed meaning are interesting, they tend to rely on isolated meanings within individual communities, which themselves are often reductive and meaningless. Saying that “conservative” means “smaller government” is to fall prey to a particular narrative about the term, one which itself is often self-contradictory. “Conservative,” then, must be taken not for what people say it is, but what it does. It ultimately comes down to roots. If conservative is both “restrained” and “protective,” then it follows suit that the term refers to a wide range of possibilities: from traditional cultural movements to general conservation, and so on and so forth. This is partly why we identify “conservative” most often in opposition to “progressive,” as the latter actively seeks change (not always “good” change), where the other frequently wants to prevent or slow it down (not always a “bad” thing). II. The Perception of the Definitions’ Application There’s no point debating “epic fantasy” and trying to find an adequate definition to apply to this scenario. In other words, I’m skipping it here for the more interesting questions related to conservatism. If we take as given that “conservative” rests in opposition to “progressive,” I think it becomes clear that much of what falls under the “epic fantasy” category is neither wholly one or the other — with exception, of course. Take Lord of the Rings as an example. From the start, the major conflict of the novel centers around the ring and preventing some other force (the progressive change) from using it to take over. This is an inherently conservative idea: maintaining the status quo. And that’s not a bad thing in this case. Sauron, after all, would likely change the world of Middle Earth so drastically as to render the limited freedoms of such a world void, thus plunging everyone into “darkness” (a melodrama that rests on an assumption). Avoiding that problem is naturally conserving the present because it is simply the better option. But the narrative is not wholly conservative, for one of the subplots is the “Return of the King,” which assumes that one man will return to his rightful place among his people, thus bringing back a lost ideal and taking the world of Middle Earth into its next mythic phase: the Age of Man. Thus, the ending of Lord of the Rings offers a progressive shift away from the status quo. We can assume that certain things will always remain the same (conserved), but other things will change (progressed) — hopefully for the better. This is true for many other epic fantasies too. Karen Miller’s Kingmaker, Kingbreaker series follows a similar conservative/progressive structure. The narrative opens with the ascension of a previously “crippled” (non-magic) son, who must protect the kingdom against the faltering “dome” that protects everyone from the dark forces beyond (forces connected to the goddess who made magic possible — it’s complicated). But because he has no true magic himself, he must rely on a “commoner” (Asher) to do the work for him. Thus, Asher, the protagonist, gets caught up in the court politics of a world where only certain people are allowed magic, ensuring a certain degree of “slavery” among certain classes, and untold freedoms among others. The narrative is, more negatively than in LOTR, about conserving the present — protecting it from what will undoubtedly look a lot worse. But the end of the duology posits an entirely different future: one where Asher ascends to power, upending the entire social system of this isolated “continent” and taking the people there to the next stage in their cultural development. These are good things, we assume, because it means granting certain freedoms to everyone (progressing) while maintaining certain privileges for others (conserving). All of this is to suggest that there are simply no easy dichotomies when it comes to conservative and progressive. The two work against and with one another for the betterment of the whole. At least, that’s how it’s supposed to work. In a great deal of fantasy, it works wonderfully. In real life? Well, you just have to look at the U.S. Congress for your answer… Thoughts?
Literary Explorations: Rethinking the Classics — Ringworld and the Golden Age (Brief Thoughts)
One of my colleagues recently asked me whether I think he should finish reading Ringworld by Larry Niven. While he didn’t say so directly, I assume that he isn’t enjoying his first foray into the Known Space universe. There are probably a lot of good reasons for that. His research interests lean toward the last 30 years of science fiction, with special attention to works that fall loosely into the cyberpunk, biopunk, and ecocriticism categories — authors like Paolo Bacigalupi, William Gibson, Pat Cadigan, etc. He’s made a solid effort to read the classics, though, since knowing about the history of the genre is important to the scholarship. Personally, I think Ringworld is a fascinating book that falls prey to its age. True, it is one of the most important works of science fiction ever written. True, it has affected genre in profound ways. But it is also a work that doesn’t connect as well with contemporary audiences as it did in the decades immediately following publication (1970). That said, it has not aged as much as the works of the Golden Age, which have suffered the effects of time more acutely than the stuff from the New Wave. My first foray into the Known Space Universe was via an abridged audiobook of Ringworld. I think this is simply what happens to all literature over time. While we still read Dickens, Bronte, Faulkner and Hughes today, we do so primarily because they are “classic” writers (with some exceptions, of course). The real discussion these days surrounds works that have more relevance to the now, from O’Connor and McCarthy to O’Brien and Wallace to Adichie and Atwood. The list goes on and on. I don’t think this is a revelation, though. That’s just how literature works — like any other field. We don’t become stuck in time, as it were. Science fiction, however, has been accused of having the exact opposite problem: the Golden Age and so on and so forth are viewed nostalgically, not as stepping stones in a much larger literary movement. I’m not convinced this is wholly true, but it is certainly true in some cases — Myke Cole would probably agree. We are often so focused on what were great works “back then,” and not on the great works of “just a short while ago” or “now.” “We” as in “the community.” That’s not our fault really. Because most of us think of science fiction as having that “sensawunda” feel, it becomes increasingly difficult to surprise. So we go back to a time when SF did what we want “all” SF to do, in a way that seems or feels like it’s divorced from the unfortunate and material reality we all live in. Golden Age/Classic SF doesn’t care about how the world really turned out and what that might mean for future generations (so the nostalgic argument goes); it just wants to take us to the future, to show us grand adventures, exciting technologies and peoples, and so on and so forth. Whatever you might think of the classics, the idea of a giant ring world is still pretty amazing. But for someone who doesn’t have that experience, these works feel dated. Lost. Even somewhat overwhelming in their “simplicity” and “tone” (illusions, of course). Ringworld, then, is a book that simply falls prey to a duality in genre: the folks I’ll call the Sensawundas and the others (the Contemporaries). Some might say the Sensawundas are winning… What do you think about the classics? In particular, what do you think of Ringworld? What did you think of it when you first read it? The comments are yours.
Teaching Rambles: If You Could Teach It…: The Space Opera Edition
One of the things I hope to do one day is teach a class on Space Opera. Thus far, that opportunity has not arisen just yet, but the future is bright (as they say). For this teaching-related post, though, I’d like to offer a suggested reading list for two different Space Opera courses and then get feedback from the wide world of SF/F. I should note that I will conflate Military SF with Space Opera, in part because I’m not wholly convinced that they are always distinct categories. For the sake of this post, I will use a slightly modified definition from Brian Aldiss’ (italics mine): Colorful, dramatic, large-scale science fiction adventure, competently and sometimes beautifully written, usually focused on a sympathetic, heroic central character and plot action, and usually set in the relatively distant future, and in space or on other worlds, often but not always optimistic in tone. It often deals with war, piracy, military virtues, and very large-scale action, large stakes… The problem, of course, is that so much fits into this definition. To avoid that, I will put emphasis on “very large-scale action” and take that to mean “multi-planetary action.” Since I mostly teach American literature courses right now, I’m going to make two lists — one for an American literature course and one for a British literature course. However, I am also wide open to the possibility of a World Lit-style course, so if you have suggestions for space operas written by people outside the traditional science fiction zones, please suggest them in the comments. Here goes: American Space Operas The Skylark of Space by E. E. Doc Smith (1946) Foundation by Isaac Asimov (1951) Starship Troopers by Robert Heinlein (1959) Ringworld by Larry Niven (1970) Shards of Honor by Lois McMaster Bujold Ragamuffin by Tobias S. Buckell (2007) Dust by Elizabeth Bear (2007) The January Dancer by Michael Flynn (2008) British Space Operas Rendezvous With Rama by Arthur C. Clarke (1972) Canapus in Argos by Doris Lessing (1979-1983)(not sure which book I’d pick) Consider Phlebus by Iain M. Banks (1987) The Reality Dysfunction by Peter F. Hamilton (1996) Revelation Space by Alastair Reynolds (2000) Light by M. John Harrison (2002) Singularity Sky by Charles Stross (2003) Natural History by Justina Robson (2004) Of course, teaching all of these books in a single semester might be difficult. Sacrifices suck… I’ve also not included short stories, which are likely to replace certain novels (such as Bujold, who has written many shorts in the Vorkosigan Saga, thus opening up space for more space operas). So, what would you change in my lists? What am I missing? ———————————————————– Note: I am not pleased by the overwhelming number of men on my lists. Due to my definition, many of my favorite female authors simply didn’t fit, which exposed a critical gap in my reading. If you have recommendations for significant space operas written by American and British women (other than the ones I’ve already named), please let me know so I can start filling those gaps in my reading.