Punking Everything in SF/F (Part One): The Present
Cyberpunk, steampunk, biopunk, and now greenpunk? When will it end? Fans have been punkifying science fiction and fantasy for decades, and it doesn’t seem like it will let up any time soon. With each passing moment, new ideas spring into the collective consciousness of SF/F fans, who, in turn, impart their selective, subgenre-crazed minds on all of us by bringing to task the next stage in science fiction and fantasy’s evolutionary ride. But are we getting ahead of ourselves, and is this constant segmentation of SF/F pointless or, at least, premature? What flaws are inherent in the frequent punking of speculative fiction? Publishers have yet to grasp onto the punk genres, and neither have bookstores, independent or otherwise. Subgenres have little use outside of the relatively isolated, and sometimes rabid, fanbase. Realistically speaking, it would be impossible to incorporate even a pinch of the subgenres in existence today into bookstores, with logical exceptions to the Internet–after all, Amazon has been kind enough to narrow the science fiction and fantasy sections into nebulous, cross-pollinating subcategories. So what is our obsession with subgenres (and sub-subgenres)? Are we inherently segmentative, meaning do we have an innate desire to categorize? That might be true, because it is without hindrance that we can see the makings of our own segmentarian nature in the desire to isolate ourselves. But here we might consider the distance of prejudice, which exists only insofar as personal grudges permeate the subgenre sphere. How many of those sub-subgenres are created simply to get rid of an unwanted swath of books? None? Perhaps we can only see prejudice as it exists in the academic, the purist academic who longs for the demise of science fiction and fantasy with an unhindered gaze. You can see the joy in his eyes when he looks down upon those who so willingly accept Margaret Atwood into their ranks. Or maybe he is a she, and the bitterness is just as strong. Who knows? What we do know is that punk, in its newest, and historically disjointed (disconnected) form is science fiction and fantasy fans’ greatest tool. Isolate the good, the bad, and the ugly, put them in the little jar of context-less wonder, and consume them as readily as a meat pie (or a veggie pie, should your personal inclination be to the earth). Punk is dead, perhaps, but alive too, reborn as a suffix with a mysterious past. And all this, the thoughts presented here, the continued arrival of punkified sub-subgenres, makes me wonder if we need to educate ourselves as to what punk actually is, or was, to properly evaluate whether our suffix-obsessive punking nature is well served in a genre so clearly complicated by its weaving in and out of popular culture and literature itself. Yes, that is where we should go next. To the punk-mobile. Let’s take our Peabody-and-Sherman-style journey into the past to unravel the not-so-distant history of a forgotten genre (forgotten, at least, by those not steeped in the rather confusing realms of cultural criticism and literary theory). Expect that post soon. For now, consider, if you will, the nature of subgenres, the drive to create them, and the question of whether doing is has a purpose other than for our amusement. And if you have thoughts, share them here, because your thoughts are of interest to me. I must consume them, like candy. Creepiness aside, comments are welcome. ————————————— Continue to Part Two (Punk), Part Three (Cyberpunk A), Part Four (Cyberpunk B), and Part Five (Cyberpunk C).
A Collective Chillpill For RaceFail, GenderFail, et al.
Disclaimer: Nothing in this post should be misunderstood to imply that I am inherently racist, anti-equality, or anything of that nature. I am not and never will be against any notion of quality, only against unrealistic expectations and demands. Neither am I against open and civil discussion of issues of discrimination, whether it be in literature or elsewhere. These issues should be openly discussed, and regularly, but with an understandable acknowledgement of the complexities of certain situations. Now that you’ve read this part, here’s the post: I’m about fed up with the science fiction and fantasy community. It seems like every week someone is throwing a fit about such-and-such anthology lacking content from such-and-such minorities (women, people of color, whatever). I wouldn’t have an issue with it if not for its constant, never-ending resurgence. Nothing is safe. Nothing can sit on its own merit. If an anthology is 50/50 male/female, then someone complains that there aren’t enough Asians, or African Americans, or whatever. If there are too many white people, never mind that it’s not exactly the editor’s job to screen who submits to them for what color someone is, someone throws a fit over that. If there are too many men, complaining resumes. Too many women? The same, somewhere. It’s like the SF/F community is in a constant state of bitching, because no matter how hard you try to explain away reality, nobody listens. Not enough women? Oh, well that’s all your fault, Mr. Editor, even if I don’t know the whole story, or have all the information I need to make that judgment; you’re a sexist bastard because there just ain’t enough women in that anthology. Not enough African Americans? Well, I don’t need to know how many African Americans submitted to you, or whether or not you knew that all the people you published were white, or yadda yadda; you’re just a racist asshole who hates African Americans and has a KKK sign above your desk. Do you see why these arguments are not only tiresome, but somewhat absurd? I’m not going to pretend for a moment that discrimination doesn’t exist. It does, even in the SF/F community. We’ve seen it with RaceFail and GenderFail, etc. It’s out there, and sometimes not in places you would expect. But it’s not everywhere, and assuming that racism or sexism is solely responsible for the lack of minority representation is skirting the issue. There are bound to be more reasons than we can fully comprehend. Maybe part of the problem is that African Americans or women are not big contributors to science fiction, and so the applicant pool is far smaller than that of white males. I don’t know, but before we throw fits over every anthology, maybe we should figure that out–maybe we should try to understand the broader picture and not resort to automatically assuming that editors are racist or sexist assholes who don’t give a shit. As an editor (for Survival By Storytelling Magazine), I can tell you firsthand that I have no idea how many people of color I have selected for the first issue. I didn’t ask. Why? Because it’s probably illegal, for one, and because I kind of don’t care. No, I don’t mean that I don’t care in a negative sense; I mean that I don’t care in the sense that skin color is meaningless in the face of quality writing. Whether you are white, black, blue, or red, if a story is good, it’s good. That’s it. No other criteria. If there is a disproportionate amount of whites in our first issue, then I certainly hope I won’t be called out for it. I didn’t ask, and won’t ask now. We chose good stories from whatever was sent to us, and if there happened to be a whole bunch of women or people of color who submitted, great. If not, I don’t know how exactly I am to fix that. I can’t force people of certain genders or skin colors to submit. Similar things are probably true of some of the bigger editors who collect original stories for anthologies. What are their reasons for selecting certain authors? I don’t know. Some of them are published authors that the editor approached, and others were snatched from the slush. Can we honestly say that these editors sat down and thought “this is a woman, and this story will suck”? Maybe some of them do, but how exactly are you to know? And when people in the SF/F community throw a fit over these anthologies, they potentially damage the reputation of editors who are not racist or sexist bastards. Turn it around; how would you feel if someone unjustly did the same to you? You wouldn’t like it very much, would you? The SF/F community needs to calm down. I get it; we’re in a sensationalist world, and what “sells” to the public are angry rants and controversial topics. But we need to start digging deeper than where RaceFail and GenderFail have taken us. We’ve avoided the deep end for reasons that seem to escape me, and instead of approaching the various “perpetrators” of racism or sexism with their concerns, the SF/F community has blasted them with insults and public ridicule. Sometimes such action is appropriate, but most of the time it’s not. If that’s the way you want to do things, then I don’t want to be a part of it. If RaceFail, and even GenderFail, have taught the SF/F community anything, it is that we need a greater deal of open discussion. Right now the bitching and fit throwing and angry attacks are only creating more tension. Tension we do not need. And no, I am not a racist or sexist bastard. I’m a human being.
Fantasy is Colonial, Modern Science Fiction is Postcolonial?
Examining trends in genre fiction is an impossible task. Fantasy and science fiction are constantly moving, the latter more so than the former, and yet I have been noticing something within both genres (a shifting theme for the latter, and a staple for the former) that I want to examine and understand. Readers are welcome to challenge me on this, and in fact I hope you do, because I have not been reading in these genres as long as some of you have, and you may, as a result, see trends and themes differently. One tendency I have seen in fantasy is that of the building or collapsing of empires/nations/peoples via a colonialist or imperialist method. Recent examples include The House of the Stag by Kage Baker and even Karen Miller’s The Innocent Mage/The Awakened Mage duology, along with a great many epic fantasy series, in which invasions of empires play a prominent role. Villians, thus, tend to be imperialist in nature, interested in one of two things: 1) the subjugation or destruction of a people, and 2) the acquirement of new properties (i.e. land) for an existing or emerging empire. Looking back brings us to The Lord of the Rings, which contains an example of a colonialist extermination/enslavement that ultimately fails, except insomuch as the Hobbits are concerned, since they are not only colonized by the forces of Mordor (or, more specifically, Saruman’s forces, if memory serves me), but also subjugated as a people. Science fiction, however, has a shifting agenda. Its early and middle-aged works focused heavily, as I have described before, on imperialist or colonial issues, particularly in relation to galactic empires. Some newer works have done much the same, such as Old Man’s War by John Scalzi and a handful of other authors doing what might be called “tribute” works, though no offense is meant by that term. But recent developments seem to point to a more postcolonial approach. By that, I mean that the story deals more with the after effects of a cultural rupture in which the colonist, whoever that might be, has either ceded control to the indigenous body, or collapsed its colonialist structure and turned into something less concerned with matters of empire and more concerned with what you might call “traditional governing.” So, the colonized may not longer be colonized because the colonizer is no longer there, or because power has shifted, for whatever reason, so that the colonialist structure no longer exists (though the latter is, for all intensive purposes, a rarity even in our world). The best example I can think of this occurring is in Tobias S. Buckell’s novel Sly Mongoose, which, while not always directly focused on the fallen empire, manages to offer a science fiction view of the end of empires and what the colonized goes through to survive or re-establish control. There’s a certain brutality to it, because Buckell’s novel is not set in a world that is distant from its colonial past. Other novels, I’m sure, exist, though I have to admit that I am blanking on them at this time. The point of this is that there seems to be a far more likelihood of postcolonialism existing within science fiction as a theme than there is for fantasy. Fantasy seems to be occupied with the act of colonizing, in some for of another, while science fiction seems to want to dismantle the colonial structure. It seems fitting that fantasy cannot imagine its postcolonial future, and that its cousin genre must do so. One reflects an imagined past, a medieval fantasy (outside of urban fantasy), while the other is almost always looking forward. The genres compliment one another, even if it was never meant for them to do so.
Reader Question: The Adams Contention
Library Dad asks: What is the funniest fantasy/sci-fi book you’ve ever read? The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy by Douglas Adams hands down. I technically didn’t read it, but listened to the audiobook. That still counts in my book. A question like this deserves a little more than just naming a book though. What is so great about Adams’ work is that it’s unique. As much as his comedy might fly over the heads of most Americans–he is remarkably British, after all–he still has a knack for building worlds that are culturally rich and yet completely ridiculous. That’s what is so funny about Adams. You root for his characters even though the world they live in only makes sense if you’re mentally unstable. Some of that feel was lost in the most recent film adaptation, but some of it they managed to keep intact. Unfortunately, American audiences are not exactly good receivers of British-style comedy. British comedians, or at least those I would consider to be “true” British comedians, require mental involvement by the receivers. Shows like Have I Got News For You and the original Whose Line Is It Anyway? were and have always been remarkably intelligent, despite outward appearances to the contrary–the new Whose Line is good, but it has become incredibly Americanized in its approach. What I am getting at here is that there is a certain kind of charm in British comedy, and even in serious British literary endeavors. It is unique in that one can, with experience, see British influences on style and narrative relatively easily. Adams, of course, is exceptionally unique, but other British writers are also readily identifiable if one is careful. This is a good thing, in my opinion. As much as some writers may want a certain level of “blending” to occur in reader habits (i.e. getting readers to broaden their horizons to other genres, etc.), the British writer will, assuming they cling to a British perspective or narrative vision, remain unique and identifiable. Adams stands out even among his British comrades. And those are my short, but sweet thoughts on Adams. There are, however, a few important notes:–By British I am referring to the nationality that contains all nations of the United Kingdom (England, Northern Ireland, Wales, and Scotland). British is not to be confused with English, as English refers only to those identified as native to England.–I chose to refer to “British” writing here because there is, despite arguments made out of prejudice or otherwise, a lot of blending and merging between the various nations. As much as these individual countries may wish to be distinct, but united (and there are certainly many arguments to be had on this issue), they have, through time, adopted elements of one another. This explains, to the misfortune of the English and perhaps to the Irish, Welsh, and Scottish, the propensity for misinterpretation of what it means to be English by Americans and others. The English should only be identified with those individuals who are native to England, and not to be confused with a grand overarching term to refer to all people of the United Kingdom. ————————————————- If you have a question about science fiction, fantasy, writing, or anything related you’d like answered here, whether silly or serious, feel free to send it via email to arconna[at]yahoo[dot]com, tweet it via Twitter to @shaunduke, or leave it in the comments here. Questions are always welcome! If you liked this post, consider stumbling, digging, or linking to it!
Science Fiction and Empire, and Other Thesis Considerations
Most of you already know that I am attending the University of Florida’s graduate program in English. Having arrived in Florida, I’ve become quite aware of the relatively short space of time I have to design and write an acceptable thesis in order to earn my M.A. The biggest concern for me isn’t so much the time, but the topic. I have a lot of interests in relation to science fiction. I’m particularly curious about the relationship between racism and the human/Other dichotomy in science fiction and (post)colonialism. But my curiosity extends into other areas, such as the building and collapsing of empires, and related subjects. In fashioning my M.A. thesis I’ve come to some interesting observations. For instance, why are imperialist structures of empire so prevalent within science fiction? What about these kinds of empire constructions function so well in the science fiction genre? Historically, American imperialism rose and “fell”—because it never truly fell, in all fairness—at around the time that science fiction came into existence, assuming, of course, that Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein is the first true science fiction novel or story. By the time that American imperialism had, generally speaking, fallen out of favor and much of the world began to de-colonize or dismantle their empires, science fiction had come into its own, evolving from its early pulp roots to a genre filled with serious examinations of potential futures. Heinlein, Asimov, et al., all played a role in establishing the grand galactic empires, many of which were highly imperialistic. It would be fair to say that these individuals, many of them fairly well-educated (particularly Asimov, who was a scientist of some notoriety), were influenced by a particularly insidious American habit. Such habit transferred into the capitalist structure, much to the dismay of those capitalists who see the system as flawed, but ultimately beneficial when properly maintained, such as myself. Imperialism, unfortunately, transferred from the empire-building tendencies of the nation to the capitalist tourist engine that permeates much of the more desirable vacation spaces in the world (notably the Caribbean). Historically, it makes a lot of sense that science fiction would be inherently obsessed with structures of empire and imperialism, because, as is often stated, the genre is indebted to its written past and present. Whether or not I will study this issue further, I cannot say. There is much to consider in the next year, and ironing out the kinks will a part of that. Focuses change, interests adjust, but one thing will remain true: science fiction and empire will continue to a be a curiosity of mine. P.S.: I should note that much of what has been said here applies to British imperialism and empire as well. I simply chose American imperialism as an example through which to relate my understanding of empires in science fiction. Also, I’m speaking primarily from a more “classics” perspective. Recent endeavors into issues of empire have been more in-depth that previous standards of science fiction literature.
New Weird Science Fiction?
I’ve heard the term “New Weird” before, but I have to admit that I am horribly unfamiliar with it as a subgenre, particularly in relation to science fiction. This topic comes up due to having received a copy of the Year’s Best SF 14 edited by David G. Hartwell and Kathryn Cramer, from Jason Sanford, one of the contributors. They call Mr. Sanford’s story, “The Ships Like Clouds, Risen By Their Rain,” a prime example of New Weird SF. If I were to call anything “New Weird SF,” it would be Mr. Sanford’s story, but I don’t think I can rightly define what “New Weird” even means. If you think about it, science fiction is already weird, and any discussion or attempt to quantify the genre as suddenly weirder, or newly weirded, falls quite short of the mark. How can a genre be more weird than its already weird self? That’s not to say that “New Weird SF” isn’t small segment of particularly outrageous pieces, but I don’t see how something can be weird and yet magically new when the genre itself is full of similar styled pieces. This is not at all a slight on Mr. Sanford, because his story is quite good (I reviewed it here some time back), but while he is quite brilliant, I would not say he is particularly original. Claims to originality are always already flawed, because everything has already been done before, in some capacity or another. Originality now seems to apply only to pieces that make readers aware of their greatness to the extent that they no longer see where its influences arise from (and some obvious exceptions must be made for those people who make it their jobs to always be aware of the past, such as literary critics, etc.). Sanford’s piece does this quite effectively, but it would be unfair to say that his work does not reflect past writers (it should not be misconstrued here to mean that Sanford is obviously or intentionally allowing past writers or ideas to influence his work, or that such influences have been exposed to him; originality ceases to exist in the human construct primarily because we seem to be born with an overabundance of repetition, not just genetically, but psychologically, leaving a certain necessity constant renewal of old, ingrained ideas in all aspects of our creative lives). But, I say all this with only a mediocre exposure to this subgenre called “New Weird SF,” and perhaps Sanford’s story is not necessarily representative of the movement, per se, but simply a good example of a kind of feeling or imaginative quality that makes up the subgenre. Perhaps “New Weird” is, in and of itself, a developing creature that has yet to break out of its mold, much as Cyberpunk arguably shattered the technological landscape in its predictions and visualized symbologies. Never underestimate science fiction for its unflinching ingenuity. Having indicated my ignorance, perhaps someone who reads this blog who considers themselves far more versed in the subgenre to provide more adequate answers would be so kind as to leave me a comment refuting my claims. This would be me begging you all for your knowledge, whatever it may be. P.S.: I should clarify that while I do not believe originality exists in a pure form, I do believe in the power of suggestion inherent in good writing. A good story, in its more pure, unarguable form, will always separate the reader from the genre experience, will remove the past from the reader and create anew the present or future or whatever. This assumes, of course, that an individual reads a piece of fiction as a reader, not a critic or eagle-eyed literary narcissist.