The West, Science Fiction, and No Future
Over at Genreville (on the Publisher Weekly’s blog), Josh Jasper asks a very intriguing question: Perhaps the future really belongs to people who’re hungry for it, not the ones who take it for granted. Does western culture take the future for granted these days, whereas rising cultures don’t? I think this really depends on who you talk to. Scientists, by and large, would likely take the future very seriously, and many geeks and technology-oriented individuals consistently display their love of the present and the future of the industry (in technology, of course, thinking about the future in logical terms is quite impossible, since the industry is shifting so rapidly that one can’t be expected to keep up). But scientists, geeks, and technology-oriented people are not the majority of the population in the West. They’re a minority; a fairly vocal minority (at least it seems so in the 21st century), but a minority nonetheless. Most of America (and other Western countries, I would assume) is fairly introverted, and I don’t mean that in a negative way. Most of us have to be, particularly now in this difficult recession. The future of things like space travel (kind of a thing of the past, really) holds no weight in a culture struggling to keep jobs, find jobs, pay bills, survive, and be happy (whatever that might entail). I think the issue here isn’t that we take the future for granted, but that most of us (obviously not myself) see no value in much of what Jasper is talking about. Yes, it has value. Absolutely. I would be a lying scumbag if I said that the future of space travel (near future) has no value, or that people aren’t excited about the futures of medical technology. The problem seems to be that, in the west, so much of our daily lives don’t feel as though they are influenced by the things that used to be the future or by what will eventually be our future. We don’t make an A to B connection between, say, the guy who predicted the cell phone in a science fiction novel or movie to the product itself. We benefit, most certainly, but the connection is not made explicit in our daily lives. This is a particular problem with space travel, as mentioned earlier, because as much as space travel is wonderful and has taught us so much about the universe, our planet, and even ourselves and our fellow critters, most people down on the ground and outside of the scientific and technology-oriented communities don’t see the benefit. And, countries that are now getting into the technology world seem more excited because, in that initial boom, it is exciting. When the Internet first started exploding in households, that was a big deal in the United States. Same with the car, the cell phone, and so on. But normality eventually reduces that to, well, normality. We take for granted such things because the value decreases with the increase of acceptance in culture. How does this translate into written science fiction (something Jasper brings up as clear separation between the West–who seems more focused on near future dystopia and far future impossibilities–and the non-West–with a focus on the excitement of the technological revolution)? Well, you could argue that all the problems I’ve discussed above have led to a public disinterest in that excitement. Space travel isn’t exciting to most. It’s mundane at best, and worthless at the worst (I disagree, but that’s me, and I’m not in that community of naysayers and for-granted-takers). The technological revolution is, in a way, over for us, and thinking about a future where we’re doing basically what has already been done, just on a grander scale, isn’t necessarily appealing or exciting. The future is, perhaps, mundane in the West for those who fail to see its value in their daily lives (not because they’re stupid, but because we have done a piss poor job of instilling that love and excitement one needs to make light of the present). So, certainly we take the future for granted (I’m intentionally conflating the future and the present here). In some ways, that’s a bad thing. How do we get that back into our culture and our science fiction (it’s there, just marginalized)? I don’t know. I’m not sure we can, at least not on the scale that would make for meaningful change. The inevitable future of cultural consciousness, at least as I see it, is that every country eventually reaches the point of mundanity about the future. For now, the non-West is booming with excitement because, well, to finally get your own space ship in space or to do all these new, futuristic technological wonders that you’ve yet to do (even though others have) is exciting. Wouldn’t it be exciting if tomorrow was the first time the United States put a man into space, or that someone had thought of the idea in a book and it was the first time for us, ever? Of course! But that’s not us. We’ve done it already, and the future/present isn’t offering something tangible for the masses to demonstrate that there’s still something to be that excited about. But, enough about what I think. What about you?
Genre Labels: Are They Reductive?
A friend and I were having a discussion about The Famished Road by Ben Okri, a Nigerian novel with particularly obvious fantastic elements, and he thought that by labeling the novel as fantasy, I was being reductive. I’ll try to recollect much of the discussion here, but I’m sure I’ll leave out some salient point that I can’t remember. Okri’s novel is about a young boy who is, in certain African religious traditions, a spirit child who has decided to finally live in the real world, rather than be born, die, and return to the spirit world. However, this boy never fully separates from the spirit realm into the real world, the result of which is that he can see and is influenced by all manner of spirit creatures (from ghosts to really strange humanoid beings to manifestations of nature’s spirits). For me, this is very clearly a fantasy. The elements are all there. As far as I know, the novel does not posit that the boy is delusional, but takes very seriously the fact that he is a spirit child. In saying it’s fantasy, however, I’m not at all saying that it isn’t something else too. My friend, however, thinks that the label somehow leaves out those other elements (and he did, at one point, cite things like politics, etc. as part of what gets left out of the fantasy label). For me, however, the label “fantasy” encompasses a wide range of fantastic literatures and can include all manner of plot elements, whether they be political or romantic. Fantasy isn’t reductive, for me, because when we say “this is fantasy,” we’re not saying that the novel is only about dragons or spirits or the fantastic, just that an element, or the prime component, of that novel allows it to fit within the fantasy genre. I see fantasy as a very wide and open genre, stretching from literary to pulpy, Tolkien-esque to urban, etc. So, I’m going to ask you. Do you think that labeling things as fantasy is reductive? Could the same argument be made about science fiction, romance, mystery, etc.? Let me know in the comments!
The Confused Term: “Stealth Worldbuilding”
What exactly is so stealth about standalone fantasy novels set in the same world? Am I missing some crucial point, or am I the only one who thinks that if you take a few minutes to do your homework or are an attentive reader, it would be obvious that a bunch of standalone novels are all set in the same world? And if it’s not obvious, then wouldn’t it seem clear that one of three things is happening: 1) the author never intended for there to be additional novels in that world, and, so, came up with a connection to make things interesting; 2) the author had ideas to do such a thing, but never to that level; 3) there was prompting for the connecting factors to come about? The author of the post linked above talks about Terry Pratchett as a good, high-profile example. The problem? Of all the people you could point to, Pratchett is the least “stealth” about his worldbuilding for anyone who writes standalone fantasy novels. Why? Because none of his novels are de facto standalones when they have the enormous Discworld title printed on the cover. You know right from the start that this book is in Discworld. No stealth about it. There’s no secret moment where you can go “oh, yeah, that’s another part of Discworld and I totally didn’t know.” His books are clearly labeled as part of the same world. The rest of the examples seem to suffer from the same problem. Shouldn’t it be obvious that if the worlds have the same names, then they are the same worlds, and thus no longer being sneaky about it? And if the names aren’t obvious, how exactly does that make the worldbuilding stealthy? The author is still building a world, and very obviously so, populated with characters and cultures. The only thing that seems to support the term is that some years down the line, books you didn’t think were linked suddenly are. But that’s not a new thing in fantasy. That’s been happening for standalone novels and series for decades (maybe even the better part of the last 100 years). Half the time it’s not even a stealth technique; that would imply intention from the start of a particular set of independent novels. Readers like to have this fantasy that all writers have a grand plan in their heads, but the truth of the matter is that most writers don’t (not in the sense that we’re talking about here). Some writers write a standalone book, find out it worked out well, and are prompted by their publisher to write another one, maybe as a sequel or as a new addition to the world, or decide to write another one for the thrill of it. Some writers have a little bit of the plan in mind, but didn’t expect, twenty years down the line, that they’d be writing the one book that put all the pieces together. Few writers have that enormous plan already set up (though some undoubtedly do). So, I reiterate: what exactly is stealth about all of this?
Question: If you were going to teach a class on fantasy literature, what would you cover?
That’s a big question. I’ve always wanted to design an introductory course on science fiction or fantasy (doing both at the same time would be impossible). Selecting texts, however, is always a problem for any genre-specific course. Where do you start? Where do you end? Which movements do you represent or ignore? Do you risk bringing in texts that few people have heard of in the hope of trying to show the true breadth of the fantasy genre, or do you keep it simple and recognizable, at risk of being a little dull or cliche? Now, I’m no expert on designing literature courses, primarily because I’m a fairly new educator. That said, if I were to devise an introductory sixteen week college course on fantasy literature, it would look something like the following: Novels, etc. (in order by movement or period)The Epic of Gilgamesh (pretty much the earliest fantasy text in existence) — Between 20th and 16th Centuries B.C.E.The Odyssey by Homer (if any text has been integral to the creation of the modern fantasy genre, it is this one) — 8th Century B.C.E.Phantastes by George MacDonald (1858) OR Alice in Wonderland by Lewis Carroll (1865)(either of these texts would be a great introduction to the trend of secondary-world fantasy we are so familiar with today)The Metamorphosis and Other Stories by Franz Kafka (a lot of classic must-reads for early weird and magical realist writing here) — 1916-19The Lord of the Rings by J.R.R. Tolkien (because you have to have it, even if you don’t want to) — 1954-55Duncton Wood by William Horwood (by far one of the best animal fantasies ever written, but without all the swords and things) — 1980The Shadow of the Torturer by Gene Wolfe (a unique and powerful fantasy story worth reading and discussing) — 1986Ship of Magic by Robin Hobb (a great book for discussing social dynamics and issues of gender) — 1999The House of the Stag by Kage Baker (an excellent modern fantasy tale with a wonderful fairytale twist) — 2008 Note: I would argue that The Epic of Gilgamesh, Beowulf, and The Odyssey are interchangeable. It really doesn’t matter where you start, because you can talk about all three of these texts without putting all of them on the curriculum. It really depends on personal tastes. Personally, I think the ones I selected for the list are more accessible for a more general audience; Beowulf can be a very difficult text for some folks. I would also recommend shoving The Rings of the Nibelung by Richard Wagner immediately prior to The Lord of the Rings if there is space and time for it; it represents one of the most obvious precursors to Tolkien’s greatest works. You could even show the last act of the opera if you’re so inclined. Critical Texts:The Fantastic by Tzvetan Todorov (offers a provocative theoretical approach to literature and the fantastic) — 1973Fantasy: The Literature of Subversion by Rosemary Jackson (another interesting theoretical text that would do some good for engaging with the novels above) — 1981Rhetorics of Fantasy by Farah Mendlesohn (possibly one of the best critical texts to be written in the last ten years) — 2008 Note: Likely the texts in this section would be read in excerpts as supplements to the fiction reading. There are also essays I’d put in here that aren’t directly related to fantasy as supplements to specific themes and texts. I don’t know if I’d show movies in such a course. There are a lot of films worth considering. For example, instead of reading The Lord of the Rings, you could having movie nights to watch the films (which I think are better than the books anyway). There are a lot of other interesting films to consider, such as: The Imaginarium of Doctor Parnassus, Legend, or The Fountain. Looking above, it’s clear that I’m leaving out a lot of movements and genres–New Weird, Young Adult Fantasy, Urban Fantasy, and others. It’s inevitable, though. So, any thoughts?
Step One For Making Friends With English: Punctuation and Pronunciation
We all like English, right? Okay, so maybe most people don’t, but if you do, then it would only seem logical that you’d do your best to follow the very basic rules of the language, right? And wouldn’t you expect that the people who take the language seriously enough to try to make a living writing in it would do the same? I did too. I used to think that authors, of all people, had a vested interest in getting their written language right. They have to! They’re authors! But, apparently that’s not always the case. And don’t get me started on college students (commas and semicolons must have fallen out of the teaching curriculum decades ago). Hope is not lost, though. No, the world can be saved. So, I give you step one for Making Friends With English: punctuation and pronunciation. What better a place to start than there? Here goes: PunctuationThe SemicolonA semicolon is a piece of punctuation that splits two independent clauses; an independent clause is a statement like this one which does not require additional punctuation or words to stand on its own. (Everyone gets this wrong; you should know that for every time you misuse a semicolon, a baby is strangled to death by a comma.) The CommaThere are many uses for commas. First, you use them to connect two independent clauses, but with a coordinating conjunction, such as the one I used in this sentence (but). You also must use them after introductory phrases (such as “While I was at the doctor’s office buying a year’s supply of hamster tranquilizers (comma)”). However, it would take a month to tell you all the myriad ways to use a comma. So, I’ll send you to OWL instead. Thanks, Purdue! The PeriodYou use a period to end a sentence. See? Was that so hard? It was? Razor blades are on sale for $0.10 at Walmart. Hurry, there’s still time. The Question MarkYou do realize that a question mark implies that a question is being asked, right? Right?! The DashDashes are sort of like really impressive commas–or so they say. They serve a similar purpose as commas or semicolons, but they are specifically used to add emphasis on whatever is being discussed. The HyphenHyphens are used to connect words that form the same adjective, which is then followed by a noun (“I am a chocolate-loving ninja”). Or, you use them in numbers, such as the famous forty-two. There are a couple more rules, so I will send you to OWL, again. The ApostropheApostrophes are for possessives and a few other things. Don’t forget to use apostrophes for contractions, and you certainly shouldn’t ignore OWL’s discussion of possessives. If you don’t learn how to use the apostrophe correctly, you’ll die twenty years earlier than you were supposed to. I know. I’m Death’s English consultant. A few things you should know:–Commas are not semicolons. No matter how hard you try to make it true, a comma will never be a semicolon. It’s impossible. They don’t get along. Check your horoscopes.–Sentences do have to have periods. The reason is complicated, and I won’t bother trying to explain it here, because if I did, you’d be stuck reading for a month. Just know that the reasons involve a few dead guys, a rubber band, and a bottle of Kahlua.–Commas shouldn’t be thrown around willy nilly. They have a logic to them. If you can’t play nice with commas, then the English language will get you. Trust me. I’ve been on the Internet for a while. Everything comes to bite you in the ass later.–“It’s” is not the possessive form of it. “Its” is the possessive form. Learn it. PronunciationOnly a few things need to be said:–If you don’t know how to pronounce a word, then look it up or ask someone. In this day and age, it should be fairly easy to find a pronunciation guide. Hell, dictionaries (you know, those really old book things with lots of words in them, or is that not specific enough?) have pronunciation guides in them.–Yes, making up your own pronunciation, whether on purpose or because you don’t know any better, makes you look like an illiterate jackass. I don’t care if you have published a dozen books. Don’t do it.–People in other countries do say things wrong. Don’t mimic them, especially if they say “I’m right.” You should especially distrust anyone who drives on the wrong side of the road. There’s a reason why Americans drive on the right side of the road: because it’s right. Any questions?
Responding to the Stackpole: Amazon/Macmillan vs. Not-So-Stupid Authors
Michael A. Stackpole made an interesting point the other day. He seems to think that the call for support by Macmillan authors whose books had been removed from Amazon is a stupid thing to do (not because support for authors is bad, but it presumes that authors will suffer). He disagrees because of the following: This is how the economics of the industry works. If you buy a book today, right this very second, from any retail outlet, the author will get, on average, 10% of that cover price. In October. Yep, eight months from now. To which I respond: so? How exactly does this make an author stupid for asking for support during the Amazon/Macmillan fiasco? Whether or not the damage is tomorrow or eight months from now, it’s still damage to an author’s career. That’s money a debut author won’t be getting in October. They may not starve, but that’s not the point. The point is that Amazon’s move is significantly reducing the availability of the author’s books, and, thus, reducing their sales. Whether they “starve” now or “starve” in eight months, the sales are still lost. Thankfully, it’s all over and only lasted a week. Imagine if this had gone one for a month!