Off on a Tangent
This editorial by Dave Truesdale first appeared in Tangent II, Vol. I, No. 4 (Jan./Feb.), 1994, p. 2, and is reprinted here by the kind permission of the author.
I was having dinner one evening with a couple of sf writer friends. We spoke
of many things, laughed at even more, but eventually we began to talk shop.
One thing soon became evident: we all shared the view that there seemed to be
many more stories appearing in the magazines that really had nothing to do with
science fiction (and I here make a definite distinction between fantasy in all
of its commonly accepted forms). The stories to which we referred employed only
minimal sf trappings, some none at all. We wondered what some of the
magazine editors must be thinking when they regularly printed stories that could
have just as easily been read in The New Yorker, or any other contemporary
magazine you wish to name. But rather than fall into the tired trap of trying to
define what science fiction is, we began by trying to define what science
fiction is not.
The veteran writer in our group asked if we’d heard the story about the lit
professor and the student. The story goes that after having read Moby Dick, the
professor asks one of his students what the story is about. To which the student
replies. “It’s about a great white whale.” The professor strides forward, stops,
and says, “No. It’s about obsession.”
Speaking for myself, I must say that I was immediately blinded by the light. For
if the message of a story–whatever it may be that a writer is really trying to
say in a given piece–is substituted for “obsession,” and the science
fictionality of a story is substituted for “the great white whale,” then it
becomes obvious that a story is not a scence fiction story with just the “message”.
Such a piece is mainstream. On the other hands, if a story has only its “white
whale” without any message, it is only a bad sf story. Generally speaking,
therefore, the optimum science fiction story has both its white whale and its
message. Too much sf these days contains naught but perhaps the swirling wake of
some giant behemoth as it dives for cover beneath the waves, while those
obsessed with destroying it hound it relentlessly, throwing the harpoon of a
suppositional background here, or a finely scrimshawed harpoon there, both
missing their intended target for all their grace and artifice, for the whale
survives, if it is nonetheless spied not as often as before.
Enough of that. To put forward my view another way, I’d like to quote (with
permission) from the Spring/Summer 1993 (and regrettably last) issue of Doug
Fratz”s Quantum. This is taken from an Algis Budrys interview conducted by
Delores Goodrick Beggs.
Budrys: My opinion of the science fiction field is that it clearly divides and
has always divided into a small number of sub-groups. There’s technology
fiction, adventure fiction, and extremely “soft” science fiction which is
actually more or less straight fiction in a suppositional setting. What has
changed is the proportion. For instance, we used to have a larger proportion of
adventure fiction forty years ago. There was never much technology fiction.
The overwhelming majority of science fiction has never had much to do with
technology, and all you have to do to evaluate the validity of that remark is
to leaf through a run of Astounding from 1940, or even 1930, on. You’ll be
amazed at what “technologist” John Campbell actually did. If you actually read
the stories, you will find that although the hero frequently rides a
spaceship at some point, that is not what the story’s about. Venture to say
that today’s sf contains a larger proportion of technology fiction, because a
lot of today’s science fiction contains stories about Moon colonies, O’Neill
space habitats, asteroid belt mining and so forth: real things with
predictably real technology. The equivalent, really, of the Air Wonder Stories of the 1930’s only much more numerous. That’s Jerry Pournelle’s group. Then
there’s William Gibson’s group which talks largely about Earthbound technology
of the near future, but still talks about technology.But what I’ve taken particular note of is the fact that in recent years, we
have come to regard the contemporary story with the suppositional background
as the finest form of science fiction, the less background, the better. It is
not the most popular form, but it is the most highly regarded. Furthermore, it
is considered even better if it does not have a clear cut ending. Now what
this means is two-fold. One, obviously, if this goes on to its logical end, we
will have little, if any, science fictional element in these stories. Two, if
these stories do not have clear cut endings,–villain lying dead at the hero’s
feet, for one extreme, or the heroine weeping for her lover, or whatever, we
will have stories that are basically indistinguishable from 1930s and 40’s
mainstream fiction.Furthermore, I find such people as Damon Knight apparently pushing for this. I
don’t understand it–it seems to me a suicidal aversion to the very things
that make science fiction exciting, in exchange for a shrinking audience. But
I take comfort in the fact that no trend in science fiction has ever really
dominated the field, and the fact that this mode of writing really isn’t the
most popular sub-group. One the third hand, the most popular group is
technology fiction, but technology fiction so close to the present day it’s
obvious much of it is written to persuade actual voters to actually go in the
direction the book espouses. I’m not at all sure that’s what real science
fiction is either. But it’ll be all right, in some sense.I think, in other words, that science fiction is at a relatively low point. In
any case, if there’s a particular kind of science fiction, it’s around. All
you have to do is look for it. So don’t sweat it.
Reflecting on the above I’d just like to remark that while many of the stories I
carp about in the sf magazines may be well written pieces of fiction, there’s not
much, if any, science fiction to them. This is not to belittle them in any way.
It’s just that if I wish to read about mundania, I’ll read another sort of
magazine. I want to read stories exploring facets of the sciences, both hard and
soft, dealing with some aspect of their impact on the future. Or, for instance,
how science may offer new tools of expression to the artist, the poet, or the
philosopher. The very basic technological advances will always transform us and
our ways of looking at the world and the cosmos. Let’s get down to some honest
to gosh speculating about how, and why and even perhaps, why not?
I don’t want to spend my science fictional reading time wallowing with sad sack
characters who can’t cope with today’s reality, much less the many possible
realities of our future. I’ve believed science fiction always offered a buffer
between the present and the future. Sort of a literary bridge helping us across
the chasm of cultural lag. And with technology increasing asymptotically in all
of our sciences, SF’s role should be even more robust than it ever was! Sense of
wonder isn’t a demeaning phrase. It doesn’t equate with naivety or childishness.
It merely reflects the spark of imagination millions of years of evolution have
granted us by rendering us self-aware. We don’t have to be pollyannaish with our
fiction by any means, but neither should we drag ourselves through the mud on an
ever increasing basis. There just isn’t enough time for it.
These are merely a few of my concerns with some recent SF and what I think about
some of the short science fiction I’ve been reading. You’ve seen a glimpse of what Mr.
Budry’s thinks about what he’s been seeing. Take a good, long look at the Ed
Hamilton and Leigh Brackett interview herein and ask yourself what you think they might
have thought about some of today’s SF. Personally, I think they would have liked
very much of it.
But on the other hand–
Enjoy,
Dave
(Slightly edited from the original editorial; irrelevant remarks excised with permission.)