Dreaming of Science Fiction Landscapes
The universe is a strange and wondrous place. We know this because NASA has shown it to us, in surprising detail with such modern scientific marvels as the Hubble Space Telescope and CERN. What once was thought of as nothing more than a vast, sparkling nothing is now a wonderfully complicated and expansive space of black holes, colorful nebulae, and exoplanets. Who would have thought we’d be here today thinking about all these amazing things? And with these great discoveries looming above us comes an astonishing flood of fictional and non-fictional imagery through which the characters of science fiction can interact. Our minds are rendered full with details once only imagined—the illusory perceptions of the universe humans have designed are made real. Now the question must be raised: what happens to the imaginative nature of science fiction if our imaginations can no longer function in that state? Here we see the death argument in place; science fiction must surely die when we can no longer imagine its existence as a fictional entity. The world is science fiction; science fiction is the world. Never mind that the galactic and interstellar empires that make up so much of science fiction’s landscape have yet to be made true, because, in the grand scheme of things, none of that matters. The science fiction fan knows better, but they have yet to gain the authority necessary to mount a proper assault against the pessimistic literary purists, whoever they may be, and so the proclaimed death of science fiction continues to loom like a smoky specter. Can science fiction die, or is its death an impossibility so long as the future is imminent? Can it die if we still have hope for a place in the landscape of the future? The day science fiction dies is the day we can no longer imagine the future; death reigns when our minds collapse and deny us the right to envision our place in the world of tomorrow. Has such a travesty occurred? Not yet, and perhaps it would take the darkest of dystopias to finally collapse the human mind, to remove our ability to hope for a better, different, or more sparkly tomorrow. We’d need 1984 to become more than just a book. And there are places where this has already happened, where to dream is to invite hardship—some parts of Africa and the Middle East, and even places in countries you’d never expect to have created the conditions for the loss of hope. But these places have occupied themselves with other subjects, with literatures that readily commit to a more personal or local condition, and to great effect, for what dominates their landscapes must be written about, in some form or another, in order to create some piece of mind, to forget the past and acknowledge that the present is still flawed. And from the ashes of despair can spring hope once more—a phoenix from the ashes, destined, as it were, to flood new minds with the great will to believe that there is something beyond, something too important about where we might end up to allow to go unsaid. If only they could see it, this always present, persistent hopeful future. But they cannot imagine it, because they have reached the low, the Big Brother moment that took the future in its hands and ripped the life out of it. To them, science fiction is dead, or never began. Science fiction, however, cannot die. It can only be made dormant. We are always imagining it, even if some of us think otherwise. The future may be bleak or wondrous, depending on the individual, but it is always there, and so long as it exists, so too does science fiction. The genre may waver, but it will always burst forth and shine again, perhaps not here in the “civilized” countries, but somewhere else, where science fiction has been nothing more than a vague thought, a marker of someone else’s imaginative thinking. Proclaiming the death of science fiction, the nations that have already been there seem to forget where the genre has found its new roots: India, China, and even South Africa. And there are many new places where the future is no more than an afterthought or dormant. They too will join the ranks, and here, where we have pioneered the genre, in the United States, England, Russia, Canada, and a handful of other places, it will live on, always welcome in the human soul, and ever-changing. Science fiction is eternal; it is the demigod cousin of literature itself, a cat with an infinite amount of extra lives. Long live science fiction.
The Five Phases of Science Fiction
The other day I mentioned that I thought science fiction went through several phases in every industrialized or industrializing nation. I thought I would further explicate my theories on this subject here. The only problem with these phases is that they are not absolute temporally. They do not happen at exactly the same time, nor do they last for the same duration as another nation. Likewise, these phases overlap and most of them never end, but instead become less prominent. As you’ll see below, most of these phases are still in existence today, in some form or another, but the older the phase, the less common it has become. And, as always, I would like input from my readers. I don’t claim that these are necessarily true, as there are plenty of sub-phases and unknown factors that may or may not change the way these phases operate. If you have differing opinions, let me know in the comments. The following are the five primary phases of science fiction: The Pulp PhaseAnything comprising the Pulp Era and early Golden Age SF, this phase is home of a plethora of vaguely remembered and long forgotten pulp writers, such as A. E. Van Vogt, the folks who created Perry Rhodan, etc. Many of the authors of this phase are present in the phase that follows, either continuing the tradition of adventurous, pulpy fiction, or adjusting their fiction styles to suit the evolution of SF. The Classic Phase (Golden Age)Think Asimov, Heinlein, early (and even late) Clarke, and many others who took the genre to places that pulp fiction could not. Early high concept SF arises here, but the genre still hasn’t filled its shoes yet. The “sense of wonder” feel is a primary concern–one which we’ve now concluded has begun to die out as the genre ages. The Sociology PhaseWith an influx of female and non-white SF writers, social issues begin to take precedence. Technology is here used to highlight social or cultural issues, usually through a critical approach, rather than as a shiny tool. Fine writers like Octavia Butler, Samuel R. Delany, mid-Clarke and Niven, and others are present during this phase. The Near Future PhaseDuring the 80s there was a boom of literature interested in a future not all the distant from our present. We called it Cyberpunk, but there were other subgenres being made prominent during that phase (post-apocalyptic, ecotastrophe, etc.). It would be fair to say that William Gibson was and still is the pioneer of this phase, but he was, by no means, the only one. Pat Cadigan, Bruce Sterling, and many others were doing a lot of relatively near future stories back then. The Rebirth PhaseI’d argue that we are currently in this phase, or at least on our way to it. The Rebirth Phase places significant focus on re-imaginings of old concepts. New Space Opera and the frequently proclaimed Heinlein homage are prominent features here. Authors like Tobias S. Buckell, John Scalzi, and many others are big faces in the rebirth of classic science fiction. Here you would also find high concept military SF and high concept near future SF. Notes: There are some logical exceptions to all this. First off, as I mentioned, none of these phases are absolutes. They overlap and some re-emerge in pulses from time to time, but each phase does eventually die down or become absorbed by a succeeding phase. A prime example of such an absorbing can be seen in the end of Cyberpunk; the subgenre did not technically die, because the elements that made it such a distinct subgenre were simply adopted by other subgenres. Most of the authors mentioned are also not absolutes. While many of them were prominent figures in the phases I mentioned them in, quite a few of them moved on to other phases. The most prolific of authors were capable of adjusting with the times, whether intentionally or otherwise. There are likely authors I have missed in this post, particularly female authors. In my defense, I have not read enough SF from female authors to feel comfortable forcing them into different categories; I am far more familiar with female authors in fantasy (such as Karen Miller, Kage Baker, etc.). I personally do not pick books by gender or name, though I’m sure some would argue that I do so subconsciously (which I think is an impossible argument to make if you don’t know me). Everything I’ve said here is applicable to literature only. SF film has a similar, but unique evolution.
An Aside: Anime, Space Operas, and Space Westerns
I was watching the first few episodes of Gundam Wing the other day and I started to think about how prevalent space operas and space westerns are in Japanese animation. I can name half a dozen Anime shows that fit into the space opera or space western categories: Gundam Wing, Crest of the Stars/Banner of the Stars I and II, Outlaw Star, Cowboy Bebop, all the various Gundam series, Robotech, and many more. I am not, by any means, an expert in Japanese animation. I find the film genre impossible to keep up with, and so have only watched a small portion of what must be the most prolific of genres, even compared to America’s animation industry. But that hasn’t prevented me from making this observation. It’s too obvious, and it’s a curious reality. What exactly is so awe inspiring about space, giant robots, interstellar battles, and cowboys in space to the Japanese? Since the Anime market is not geared towards Americans, I find the Japanese fascination with these things rather strange. But I am not an expert on Japanese culture either, and have only a passing obsession with samurai history. My best attempt to quantify all this is to look at issues of time. Japan is a relatively new (post)industrial nation. An observation of science fiction in newly industrializing nations seems to point to a cycle of literature themes, with minor deviations to inject local cultural elements. Most industrialized or industrializing nations go through a face of space opera obsession, in the more “traditional” sense. India, for example, is experiencing similar thematic phases as early 1900s America. There are additional deviations in these phases, however, since it is impossible for science fiction to remain uninfluenced by what has come before it. But this is all a guess, and not, in any way, based on statistical data or absolutes. And since I can’t possibly answer this question on my own, I’m throwing it out to all of you. Why exactly are space opera and space western themes so common in Japanese animation? Are there cultural factors that create these thematic elements?
Traditional SF vs. Literary SF: Which is better?
Larry of OF Blog of the Fallen recently wrote a retort to the Crotchedy Old Fan’s blog post about why traditional science fiction is better than the “literary” vein. I’ve not read the Crotchedy Old Fan’s post, and briefly scanned Larry’s, but having seen the question, I have to wonder: can such a determination actually be made? I’ve always assumed that science fiction is a genre of many faces, spanning from the humorous to the serious, complex to the simplistic, adventuresome to socially aware. While such things may not be unique to the genre, they are powerful features that make this genre worthy of study on the academic level. But I’m not talking about academics here; I’m talking about whether traditional science fiction is better than its “literary” cousin. Before I can properly discuss this subject, I think it’s important to define the terms I’m working with. I don’t know if the Crotchedy Old Fan gave any proper definition for what he meant by “traditional” or “literary,” but it seems ridiculous to attempt any discussion on this subject without having a firm grasp on what we’re actually talking about. I consider “traditional” science fiction to be those works of fiction that intentionally evoke awe or comprise the fiction styles of such authors as Poul Anderson and Robert A. Heinlein on the classics end, and Tobias S. Buckell and John Scalzi on the more recent end. “Literary” science fiction is more difficult to define, and it is a genre that, regardless of any arguments to the contrary, overlaps with the “traditional” vein. “Literary” SF deals directly and obviously with social or technological issues, with less focus on the adventurous side of SF and more focus on characters and emotional issues. There are probably other features worth considering, but for now, I’ll get to the point. Any attempt to say “this kind of SF is better than that kind” is, to be honest, arbitrary at best. We can argue until we are blue in the face, but in the end it will always come down to personal preference. Some people like the traditional stuff, and others prefer the “literary” goodies. That’s the way it is and the way it always will be. Neither is necessarily better than the other; both contain good and bad books, great and lesser writers. And one cannot forget the overlap, because so much of what is considered “traditional” by many SF purists also cross into the “literary” world. SF has made its home in every style of literature we know precisely because literature itself constantly changes. Years ago people would have laughed at the idea of a science fiction class; now, they are becoming more and more common. The pulps are being treated with the same focus and care as Charles Dickens, thus inserting such works into the world of the “literary,” wherever that may be. Strangely, this is how literature in academia works. There is always a fight, a push to keep the current hated literature out, to keep it shoved into a dark corner with all the other “trash” and “garbage” of the day. Strange how as centuries pass, things change. You’d be surprised to find out exactly how literature has adjusted over the years, and we’re now seeing that change in academic circles in regards to SF. My point is, I think, that even the term “literary” is a pointless term. As much as I might want to define it, it’s meaningless when put against the backdrop of literature. Literature’s persistence to change makes any sort of logical determination of quality impossible. And if the term “literary” is pointless, so too is “traditional.” Neither is necessarily better than the other, because both change with time. Traditional SF doesn’t technically exist, because I doubt even those of us who claim to like it have any idea what it actually is. My definition will likely be contested by some and accepted by others. The same is true of “literary” SF, because, no matter how hard we want to argue for a category that can be defined as “literary,” it will never become true. And that means asking which one is better is also a stupid thing to do. Neither can be better. Personal preference rules the day, and always will. Besides, SF has had a hard enough time trying to argue its way out of the place the Academics placed it in all those years ago. Acknowledging that we all simply have different tastes (traditional and literary) might save the time already being wasted on arguing over the subjects of purity and superiority in a genre that has and always will be a vast spectrum of styles and ideas. But don’t take my word for it. My opinion is not, by any means, the only one worth considering. Let’s hear what you have to say about this subject.
Top 5 Science Fiction Leading Ladies
In fashioning this list I decided to set some ground rules. When I say leading ladies, I mean leading ladies, not sidekicks, or other characters who are overshadowed, even slightly, by male characters. Considering that means drastically minimizing my options, since instant favorites, such as Princess Leia, can no longer be included. Narrowing things down in this way makes this list fairly difficult to create. Unfortunately, there aren’t a lot of great female leads in science fiction, something I hope will be remedied in the coming years (girls are awesome too, you know). So, without further delay, here are my top ten leading ladies in science fiction: Ellen Ripley / Sigourney Weaver (The Alien Series)What list could be complete without Ripley? She is the quintessential science fiction leading lady. If you don’t believe me, then you need to see the ending for Aliens. Taking on the Queen Alien in a mechanized loading vehicle is pretty ballsy. But I’m sure the Queen got what she deserved. Sarah Connor / Linda Hamilton (The Terminator)She becomes a stronger character, physically, later in the series, but her first appearance is a memorable one. After all, she falls in love with a man who technically doesn’t exist yet and manages to defeat the Terminator in the nick of time! And don’t forget that her character grows into a bit of a badass later on. Evey / Natalie Portman (V For Vendetta)I think Evey’s psychological progression in the movie (and the comic) is a powerful and relatively unique portrayal in science fiction. It’s not often that we see movies that are well aware of the mental states of the characters. V For Vendetta does a fine job turning Evey into a complex female figure worth remembering. Captain Kathryn Janeway / Kate Mulgrew (Star Trek: Voyager)I’ve always been a fan of Voyager. My love for this Star Trek derivation comes from its unique characters. From Seven of Nine to Captain Janeway, Voyager is one of the few Star Trek series that, I think, really tries to push the envelope. Maybe I’m wrong, but Janeway is one of the top captains in Star Trek, only rivaled, in my opinion by the two biggest names in Star Trek (Picard and Kirk). It would be interesting to see Janeway make an appearance in a movie somewhere, because her character deserves more than just a television show. Laura Roslin / Mary McDonnell (Battlestar Galactica)You’d have to be a fan of BSG to know why Roslin is on this list. For a character who became President by a string of seemingly random deaths, Roslin is pretty much the ultimate of badasses. She’s not afraid to chuck someone out of an airlock for pissing her off and she tends to get what she wants, even if nobody else wants it. That, and Mary McDonnell managed to turn this character into one of the most astonishingly complex figures in science fiction history. More so than any other. But that’s BSG for you: a show that is about characters, that knows it’s a good show and isn’t afraid to show it. And that’s that. Unfortunately I couldn’t think of any good female figures in literature, so it seems this list will be primarily about film and television. But if you know any awesome female leads in science fiction literature, let me know in the comments. The same goes for anyone I might have missed that deserves to be here!
Reader Question: Unexpected Expansions and Expectations
My dear friend Carraka recently asked me the following question: Are fantasy series more likely to expand, unplanned, than science fiction? Actually, you’d be surprised to know that science fiction is the more likely genre to have unplanned expansions. Unlike fantasy, science fiction is not as readily susceptible to series-itis. This has quite a lot to do with the kinds of stories being told, the history of the genre, and loads of other factors which won’t be uttered here due to space constraints. But I’ll talk about some of the important bits here. There’s a fundamental difference between how fantasy and science fiction novels are sold. Due to an obsessive need for long, epic trilogies, stand alone fantasy novels are relatively rare in comparison to series–in the eyes of the public, at least. There are, of course, authors who thrive on stand alone books, but the series is the name of the game. Typically fantasy authors write a duology, trilogy, quintet, etc. and sell it to the publisher either one piece at a time (such as Patrick Rothfuss seems to have done) or in bulk. Some of them succeed and are published in full, and others do not. Science fiction, however, is a lonely road. Few science fiction authors get published based on the proposition of a series. But where did all those sequels and what not come from? Some are the result of the publisher’s request, some due to fans, and others due to perceived unfinished business by the author. Most sequels aren’t planned. They might be lingering in the back of the author’s mind, but it’s not often that a science fiction author actually sits down and plans out a series of science fiction books (a few have, of course, and there are several science fiction series out there, from David Weber to Isaac Asimov). The differences between the two is important to note, because while fantasy is intensely series-based, it is not expansionary in nature. Science fiction, however, is. It is rather uncommon to hear of a fantasy author deciding to expand a series that was planned to stop at three books. Christopher Paolini is perhaps the highest profile example of a fantasy series expansion, but science fiction is littered with examples of stand alone books expanded either by sequels or longer series–a good example would be the recent addition of C. J. Cherryh’s Regenesis, the long-awaited sequel to Cyteen. Fantasy will continue to be dominated by series, though, and people will typically recognize it for its long, drawn-out epics rather than for its stand alone gems. Science fiction, however, will be the exact opposite, and every so often we’ll get an outstanding series to drive a little of that epic feel into the science fiction landscape. But I’m just one person with one perspective. If you have something to add, or a different opinion, let me know in the comments! ————————————————- 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!