What
Is SF For ?
or:
A Beginner's Guide to the Search for
a Definition of SF.
Approx length: 3,800 words
I
suppose it is a measure of the richness of the field that no two of its
practitioners are liable to agree on even something so fundamental as its
definition ...
Isaac
Asimov [1]
The search for a brief definition of
science fiction (sf) has been exhaustive and, one might argue, ultimately
doomed to failure.
In analysing sf, it is simplest to
begin with the factors that distinguish it from other genres. By tracing sf back through Speculative
Fiction (SF), we can see that it differs from other forms of fiction by virtue
of its surreal background, which may be the surface of another planet, may
feature alien life-forms, may involve travel (sometimes instantaneous) through
space or time, may incorporate technologies and societies that presently do not
exist, and so on. The late Isaac Asimov
sums up the superficial aspect of Speculative Fiction thus:
"Science fiction and fantasy
... deal ... with events played out against social backgrounds that do not
exist today, and have not existed in the past."
In order to narrow the definition,
he continues:
" ... the surreal background of
a science fiction story could, conceivably, be derived from our own by
appropriate changes in the level of science or technology." [2]
This is all very well, but it
ignores an essential dichotomy within science fiction which is infrequently
acknowledged. When it is, it is usually
portrayed as being in conflict with what is perceived to be the "true
nature" of sf:
"What I find strange about the
term 'sf' is that it is made of two components: 'science', a traditional left‑brain activity, and
'fiction', a traditional right‑brain activity. No wonder it's so hard to
define." [3]
Science fiction combines the
rational and the intuitive, the logical and the emotional, in a manner unique
to literature. It is itself a
contradiction in terms. Where science
attempts to increase human knowledge of reality by pushing back the boundaries
of mystery, fiction creates unreal states in which unreal characters enact
unreal situations. Science has become, in this genre, a tool by which the
writer manufactures an illusion that can have little or no basis in the
universe that science attempts to understand.
Therefore, in order to understand
this uniquely paradoxical genre of (mainly) twentieth-century literature, it
would be more appropriate not to begin with the question, "What is science
fiction?" but, "What is science fiction for?" and "Why do we need it?"
The
hardware in science fiction is vital to its existence ‑‑ surely sf
is the only form of fiction that dares to have a gadget or an idea as a hero.
[4]
Harry
Harrison [5]
Sf, in all its complexity and
diversity, is many things to many people.
Purely as a form of fiction, it provides the writer with a means of
creative expression and a source of income (along with the industry that supports
him/her); and it provides the reader with a source of fascination. As with any other genre of fiction, this
fascination may be encouraged by emotions (such as fear and curiosity), by plot‑devices
(eg. suspense or romance), or by cleverly‑constructed characters.
With the appearance of purely sf
magazines ‑‑ first in Sweden and then, with considerably greater
success, in the U.S. ‑‑ sf began to receive recognition as a sub‑genre
of fantasy. The Golden Age of sf,
however, which began with Hugo Gernsback's Amazing
Stories in April 1926, had very definite ideas of what sf was for and how
it should behave, as distinct from other forms of fiction. Gernsback and John W. Campbell, Jr. (Astounding Stories) made this absolutely
clear in the editorials of their respective magazines.
"Not only do these amazing
tales make tremendously interesting reading ‑‑ they are always
instructive. They supply knowledge ...
in a very palatable form." [6]
Sf (or "scientifiction",
as it was first known) was intended not only as a fascination, but as a means
of educating the reader via the medium of fiction. Stories heralding the age of space, robots and rayguns may now
seem to border on the ludicrous, in light of discoveries since, but they were
consistent then. Sf in its purest form
did not permit the author to bend the rules of science in order to accommodate
the plot, for the perceived purpose of sf -- to educate -- would thereby have
been compromised.
As a consequence, the stories
themselves frequently suffered. They
presented, quite often, problem‑solving dilemmas of a sort normally found
in crime fiction, with the "villain" being an aspect of physical
science (as in Larry Niven's short story "Neutron Star") rather than
a sentient antagonist. In early sf
particularly, "the dramatic emphasis is on gadgets and machines and
consequently the exclusion of individualistic humans". [7]
Although this idea of sf‑as‑science‑teacher
has been largely superseded, the technology‑oriented mode of sf has
survived in the form of "hard" sf and is still regarded by some,
including Gregory Benford (author of Timescape),
as "the core of the field". [8]
Science
fiction deals with improbable possibilities, fantasy with plausible
impossibilities.
Miriam Allen deFord [9]
One important function of sf, and
hard sf in particular, is to explore the possible. As the century progresses, this mode has leaned away from
household gadgetry to focus its attention on the more arcane implications of
the physical sciences. "The
science fiction writer can invent anything, so long as no one can demonstrate
that it is physically impossible." [10]
As fast as scientists produce ideas, sf writers snatch them up and
incorporate them into fiction.
Two notable writers of this mode are
Robert L. Forward (Dragon's Egg, Starquake) and Arthur C. Clarke (2010: Odyssey Two, The Ghost of the Grand Banks).
Both take great pains to comply with known scientific laws, while at the
same time producing locales or situations that seem utterly fantastic.
Significantly, quite apart from their successes as sf writers, both are
qualified scientists. In the fiction of
both, characterisation and plot take a back seat, acting as mere vehicles for
the exploration of the possibility that confronts the reader.
There are, despite this drawback,
numerous successful writers of the mode (including Greg Bear, Charles Sheffield
and Kim Stanley Robinson), which suggests that it may have some bearing on the
overall purpose of sf. Although it
demonstrates the gadgetry of earlier sf expanded to a much larger scale (and
Clarke himself is one of the most successful "gadgeteers" to have
emerged from science fiction's Golden Age), there is one crucial distinction
that enables it to flourish.
This mode of sf evokes (or aims to
evoke) the much‑lauded Sense Of Wonder, that "basic science fiction
energy" [11] which is elusive and highly sought‑after, and regarded
by some as the most desirable aspect of sf.
It reawakens our amazement at the universe, produces an almost religious
feeling of awe and reaffirms our belief in Mystery.
Just as "art, concerned with
the unknown, strives towards the unknowable," so too does this mode of sf
remind us that "mystery has energy" [12], all the while without
breaking the code of Gernsback and Campbell.
In this sense, "science fiction is fantasy fiction written under
the strict, new rules of science". [13]
Of course, if the Sense Of Wonder
becomes the principal aim, then the laws of science will inevitably begin to
flex, in order to provide the reader with a bigger and better thrill. Good examples of this include Ringworld (by Larry Niven) and Orbitsville (Bob Shaw). Both novels explore artefacts that are so
huge as to be incomprehensible (especially the latter) which do not themselves
contradict scientific laws although other aspects of the stories definitely do
(including such well-known sf tropes as faster-than-light travel, instantaneous
matter-transportation and artificial gravity).
It is by following this scent of
Wonder that the reader may eventually find himself reading fantasy, provided he
is prepared first to bend and then to forgo entirely the laws of science.
[Science
fiction] allows us to try out many different futures without getting hurt.
Sean
McMullen [14]
Another aspect of sf is its use as a
predictive tool. By extrapolating the
present ‑‑ most importantly, its rate of technological progress ‑‑
the sf writer can attempt to build a model of the future. This speculative device is often highlighted
as one of the main purposes of the genre.
The facts that Arthur C. Clarke
presaged geostationary communication satellites decades before they were placed
in orbit and that H.G.Wells similarly presaged the use of weapons of
large-scale destruction in global warfare are often used to give credence to
this theory. These two may, however,
have been the only writers ever to get anything right so far in advance. In the words of Jerry Pournelle:
"Technological projection isn't
easy, but the science fiction writer doesn't have to do it. We don't need to predict the real future;
we're only interested in a plausible one." [15]
That is, no sf writer seriously
believes that the future will occur the way in which he has envisaged it to do
so. He is simply constructing a
convincing fabric into which he will weave his characters. (Neuromancer,
by William Gibson, demonstrates this more than adequately, with its vision of
techno‑anarchy in the shadow of intercontinental corporate power.)
Most commonly, if the writer is
genuinely concerned with prediction, he will begin with a society that
presently exists and then explore the ramifications of one change imposed upon
it. Such ceteris paribus conditions
were used in John Brunner's The Stone
That Never Came Down, in which the author explored the effects on the individual
and on society (a "near‑future" Great Britain) of a
technological breakthrough that resulted in increased empathy and better memory‑recall.
In similar ways have other writers attempted to "perceive the potential of
new technologies." [16]
Far from taking us on a journey to
meet the future, this branch of sf attempts to demonstrate what will happen
when the future meets us.
When
examined closely, the alien in science fiction is most of it.
Chris
Morgan [17]
Just as the Sense Of Wonder began to
overtake the scientific sensibilities of early sf, so too did the emphasis
itself of sf begin to change.
Spearheaded in Britain by Michael Moorcock during the 1960's and
becoming a self-professed "movement" world‑wide by the
'seventies, sf's New Wave attempted to shift the focus away from the universe
and technology, back to the human condition, by rebelling against the
"power‑fantasies and speculative notions of the old science
fiction". [18]
Instead of being a means of
exploring the possible, sf became a means of exploring the boundaries of
humanity. Using the tools of sf as a
means to an end, rather than the end itself, such writers as Christopher
Priest, Ray Bradbury, J G Ballard and Roger Zelazny attempted to prove to the
world (in general and sf‑fandom in particular) that "inner space
rather than outer space is the most fruitful subject matter for
sf".
[19]
The sur‑realities in which the
protagonists found themselves rarely warranted more than a brief paragraph or
two of scientific rationalisation, and little of that would have held its own
in the face of hard sf, thus propelling the reader into the world of
Fantasy. Science had gone out the
window, it would seem, and sf had become a vehicle for contemporary commentary
"that [wasn't] seen as philosophical or religious proselytising".
[20] One could even argue that, on
occasion, physical impossibilities were actually flaunted in order to
distinguish the new "type" of sf from the old.
Hand‑in‑hand with this
shift in perspective came a dawning awareness of Golden Age sf as a child
stunted by "awkward characterisation and workaday prose". [21] A new generation of sf "poets"
emerged, concerned with qualifying sf as truly a genre of
"literature" rather than a mere juvenile entertainment. Whether the efforts of the New Wave movement
in this particular area were successful is still open to debate.
Naturally, New Wave was a backlash
against technology and authority similar to that of the Free Love movement of
the same time. Much of its produce may
seem, today, to be "trite, obscure, or self‑indulgent", but,
"the movement as a whole can now be seen as the single most important
development in the science fiction genre". [22] As sf has matured into the 'eighties and 'nineties, the sentiments
of both the Golden Age and the New Wave have been assimilated quite
satisfactorily.
It is now generally accepted (and
indeed demanded) that good sf should in some way comment upon the human
condition. Some believe that it is "concerned with the dehumanising
tendencies inherent in an ever‑increasing stress upon ...
technology" [23]; others that it "liberates us from the narrowness of
our humanity". [24] It also
provides, by means of its surreality, a method of analysing our own society.
"Science fiction, at its best, illuminates our time by turning a mirror
towards the future." [25] If not
literally the future, then the alien (within the society or the individual)
will do just as well.
Science itself has returned in the
wake of the New Wave, because, "any fiction which discusses these issues
[those of the nature of humanity, of consciousness, and of reality] is, almost
inevitably, science fiction, for these are scientific issues". [26] Also, although "science and technology
are often seen as the domain of sf, ... psychology, anthropology, sociology,
and linguistics are also part of that domain". [27]
The sf of the eighties and nineties
still has robots and rayguns, but now has people as well. And herein lies the conflict discussed in
the introduction to this essay:
"To the sf writer there is a
fundamental crisis of importance; to concentrate on fiction is to deny space to
the
fascinating but superficial features that make sf different." [28]
Science
fiction is no more written for scientists than ghost stories are written for
ghosts.
Brian
Aldiss [29]
The fifth and last purpose of sf as
a genre is simply to provide entertainment, without regard to either scientific
accuracy or literary merit. Although
this form of sf (often termed "pulp" or "sci‑fi")
flourished in print up until the early 'sixties (including the
"Norstrilia" fantasies of the late Cordwainer Smith), it is best
exemplified by television space operas (Dr
Who, Star Trek or UFO) and, later in this century, motion
picture films (Terminator, Close Encounters of the Third Kind and The Planet of the Apes, amongst many
others).
Indeed, the progression from
magazine to TV to motion picture is itself noteworthy, for it demonstrates the
innate purpose of pulp ‑‑ to make money ‑‑ and highlights
the media best‑suited to the achievement of this purpose at different
times in the last seventy years. In
order to ensure its profitability, pulp sf provides visceral rather than
intellectual excitement, thus guaranteeing itself the widest possible
acceptance, by planting tried‑and‑true plots on an sf base.
Sf as whole "eases the 'willing
suspension of disbelief' on the part of its readers by utilising scientific
credibility" [30], but pulp sf does far more than this. It is "a form of fantastical fiction
which exploits the perspectives of
modern science". [31] It takes for
granted certain aspects of sf (such as matter‑transportation, time
travel, faster-than-light propulsion, alien life‑forms, artificial
intelligences, etc), offers no explanation for their manner of operation
(thereby relaxing the prerequisite of intelligence in its patrons), and simply
uses them as "spice" in a otherwise unoriginal recipe.
We have, for example, sci‑fi
adventures borrowed more or less blatantly from other sources: Alien
Nation (alias Dragnet or any
"buddy" cop story), Outland
(alias High Noon), Lost In Space (alias Robinson Crusoe), Battle Beyond The Stars (alias The
Seven Samurai), etc. And there are
films that lean heavily upon other genres for inspiration without actually
committing plagiarism (Bladerunner, Alien and Star Wars are three notable examples). All more or less fail to meet the standards of true sf:
"Sci‑fi is fantasy
dressed in hi‑tech with its own laws of science ‑‑ very
similar, indeed almost indistinguishable, from reality ..., but desperately wrong nonetheless." [32]
Is it any wonder that some writers
and editors, seeing their beloved genre invaded by poorly‑regarded pulp,
have bewailed the fate of sf?
"Many modern science fiction writers ... do not hesitate to throw
scientific plausibility overboard, and embark upon a policy of what I might
call scientific magic, science that is neither plausible nor possible".
[33] "If the 'proper study of
Mankind is Man' ... [then] conventional sf has contributed little since
Orwell's 1984". [34]
It should, however, be noted that
this form of sf is probably the most lucrative and well-known ‑‑ definitely if cinematic sf is included ‑‑
and therefore cannot be dismissed entirely.
The question is: should it have more merit, when discussing the purpose
of science fiction, simply because it is more popular?
John
W Campbell ... once said, 'Science fiction is whatever science fiction editors
buy.' ... It is probably more accurate nowadays to say science fiction is
whatever sf book publishers will place under their sf label ....
Dirk
Strasser [36]
So, what is science fiction for?
The five answers to this question
provide a means of categorising sf, as well as illuminating some of the difficulties
inherent in any attempt to define the genre.
Sf is obviously many things to many people ‑‑ from science
manual to "serious" literature ‑‑ and has become too wide
a genre to be glibly encapsulated. The
closest one could come would be to say that, if a work of fiction contains a
measure of "hard" science without which the plot would be rendered
meaningless and/or inspires a
sensation of awe at the potential of the universe and/or speculates on the effects on the individual as a response to
societal change (or vice versa) and/or
uses the mechanisms of science to tell stories about people and what makes them
tick and/or presents basic
entertainment behind a technological mask, then it is probably science
fiction.
At least, however, the individual
works can be classified.
There remain, even so, a few works
that are not easily compartmentalised. Hyperion, by Dan Simmons, readily
fulfils the Sense of Wonder criteria, while at the same time provides insights
into the nature of self‑awareness.
Interwoven throughout are instances of Pulp Entertainment (employed by
most sf writers as a means of ensuring that the readers remain
fascinated). It also presents us with a
number of predictions for the distant future, and consciously mimics one of the
oldest literary forms (the collection of the travellers' tales).
This cross‑referencing is not
merely confined to works written on such a large scale. Edward Bryant's "Particle Theory"
[36] uses the mysterious worlds of subatomic physics to explore a cancer
victim's relationship with the universe in a manner not dissimilar to that of
the New Wave exponents. It is well‑written;
it is compassionate and dramatic; it features technology and medical techniques
that lie in the near future; and it evokes, above all, a powerful sense of
Mystery.
It is worth noting that both Hyperion and "Particle Theory"
received acclaim from editors and readers.
Each is eminently satisfying as a work of fiction and as a work of science fiction. Perhaps the ultimate work of sf would
contain all five of these elements, in perfect balance, instead of just one or
two.
So, from the emotional depths of
Moorcock's Breakfast in the Ruins to
the giddy intellectual heights of Bear's Eon,
the sf reader is alternatively entertained, educated and amazed. It may well be
that ‑‑ having graduated from the infantile preoccupations of the
Golden Age and the adolescent rebellion of the New Wave, and by learning to mix
science and humanity in a manner similarly demanded of this planet's ruling
species at this period in its history ‑‑ sf is becoming an adult,
at last.
ENDNOTES
1. From his Foreword to the Encyclopedia of Science Fiction,
p.6.
2. op cit.
3. David Tansey, from a personal letter to
the author.
4. Except, perhaps, for some childrens'
stories (eg. Thomas the Tank Engine)
and fairy-tales (which are themselves
fantasy).
5. Harry Harrison, "Machine As
Hero", Encyclopedia of Science
Fiction, p.88.
6. As quoted by Robert Holdstock in the Encyclopedia of Science Fiction, p.10.
7. Dr B.H.Slater, as quoted by Frank C.
Bertrand in "The Arena", Science
Fiction Review, #26, p.46.
8. Gregory Benford, "How to Sound
Like an Expert", from Writers of the
Future, Vol.2, p.203.
9. From her Foreword to Elsewhere, Elsewhen, Elsehow, as quoted
by Brian Aldiss in Trillion Year Spree,
p.30.
10. Ben Bova, "John Campbell and the
Modern SF Idiom", from Fantasy
Review, Vol.9 #7, p.13.
11. Jack P. Rawlins, "Confronting the
Alien: Fantasy and Anti-Fantasy in Science Fiction Film and Literature",
from Bridges to Fantasy, pp.160-174.
12. John Fowles, as quoted by Robert
Holdstock in the Encyclopedia of Science
Fiction, p.11.
13. David Kyle, A Pictorial History of Science Fiction, p.10.
14. From a brief biographical passage in Glass Reptile Breakout, p.156.
15. "Building Plausible Futures", Writers of the Future, Vol.2, p.357.
16. Marshall McLuhan, The Medium is the Massage [sic].
17. "Alien Encounter", from the Encyclopedia of Science Fiction,
p.106. (Also worth noting is a comment
by
Michael Tolley, from
"Mastercard", Aphelion #4,
p.48: "Science fiction is written
by aliens ... ")
18. Christopher Priest, "New Wave",
from the Encyclopedia of Science Fiction,
p.165.
19. Malcolm Edwards, "Yesterday, Today
& Tomorrow", from the Encyclopedia
of Science Fiction, p.178.
20. Orson Scott Card, as quoted by Francis
Spufford in TLS, 12th April 1991,
p.12.
21. M.H.Zool, Good Reading Guide to Science Fiction, p,37, referring to Arthur C.
Clarke in particular.
22. Christopher Priest, op cit, p.164.
23. Kirpal Singh, as quoted by Dr B.H.Slater
in "Lesser Literatures?", Science
Fiction Review, #21, p.69.
24. Terry Carr, Bridges to Fantasy, p.164.
25. Robert Silverberg, source unknown (quote
courtesy of Michael Tolley).
26. Greg Egan, from a brief biographical
paragraph in Glass Reptile Breakout,
pp.153-154.
27. Van Ikin, from his Introduction to Glass Reptile Breakout, p.6-7.
28. Robert Holdstock, op cit, p.9.
29. From his Introduction to Penguin Science Fiction, as quoted by
Steven Paulsen, Australian Science
Fiction News, #1.
30. Sam Moskowitz, Seekers of Tomorrow.
31. David Pringle, as quoted by Jeff Harris
in "An Oddly-Shaped Tree Root", this author's italics.
32. Robin Pen, "Critical
Embuggerence. A Jungian Analysis of Rubber-Suit
Monsters Part Two: The Latex and the Self", from Eidolon, Vol.1 #3, p.45.
33. Hugo Gernsback, op cit.
34. George Turner, "Science Fiction,
Parafiction, and Peter Carey", Science
Fiction Review, #28, p.15.
35. From his Editorial, Aurealis, #6, p.4.
36. First published in Analog Science Fiction/Science Fact, February 1977.
Major
Sources
Bridges to Fantasy. Slusser, G.E., Rabkin, E.S., and Scholes,
R., edd. Illinois: Southern Illinois University Press,
1982.
Encyclopedia Of Science Fiction. Holdstock, Robert,
consultant ed. London: Octopus, 1978.
Glass Reptile Breakout. Ikin, Van, ed. 1990.
Good Reading Guide to Science Fiction and
Fantasy. Zool,
M.H.. Bloomsbury, 1991.
The Legend Book Of Science Fiction. Dozois, Gardner, ed.
Great Britain: Legend, 1991.
A Pictorial History of Science Fiction. Kyle, David. London:
Hamlyn, 1976, p.10.
SF: Definitions. Tolley, Michael. A collection of useful
quotations and references, 1992.
Sci‑Fi Now. Frank, Alan. London: Octopus, 1978.
Trillion Year Spree. Aldiss, Brian. Great Britain: Paladin,
1988.
Writers of the Future,
Vol 2. Budrys, Algis, ed. United
Kingdom: Bridge, 1987.
THANKS TO: Michael Tolley, David Tansey and Shane Dix.