Science fiction’s subordination

“His fabulistic style led people to review his work as science fiction. But that’s like calling Brave New World science fiction, or 1984.” ?J.G. Ballard’s editor, Robert Weil
Predictably enough, this statement?made in the wake of Ballard’s death earlier this spring?triggered all the usual teeth-gnashing from SF writers. Ursula Le Guin was particularly vexed, calling it “shocking”, “ignorant” . . “”gravely unjust.” Her response has been rattling around in my mind ever since. On the one hand, Le Guin deserves total credit?she’s a stalwart champion of the genre, and there are many points in her career that she could have pulled a Margaret Atwood, denying that she wrote science fiction and trashing the genre in the name of her own status. She stayed the course instead. And called bullshit on Ballard’s editor.
And no one seems to have called bullshit on her.
But better late than never.
Was Weil’s statement ignorant? Absolutely. Shocking? Sure, if you’re into cozy illusions. But gravely unjust?
Like we should plead with those guys for justice.
I’m almost 40. This is a conversation that’s been going on as long as I can remember. And I’m not even vaguely interested in having it go on for another forty years. Sure, the mainstream literary establishment are a bunch of snobs who despise science fiction. Sure, they’re way more interested in their next latte than in what shape the human race will be in a hundred years from now.
So what?
We already know this. We’ve known it for a long time. And watching writers get angry because some fuckwit makes some asinine statement denying the genre its due is getting about as old to me as writers frothing at the mouth because they’re not in the NYT book review as much as they’d like, or because their friends didn’t make some academic short-list. It’s all part of the same tremendous insecurity that keeps getting in the way of moving the genre forward. And it also strikes me as more than a little self-indulgent. Napoleon said it’s with baubles that men are governed; watching the intelligentsia of the SF field clamber over themselves to snap up whatever trifles the Mainstream Literary Academy will toss them . . you’ll excuse me if I think that we’ve been missing the point.
All the more so because the literary establishment isn’t even the real target here. It’s already irrelevant, imho. Just look around you. Newspapers are going out of business because they won’t report the news. Broadcasters are losing eyeballs to the comedians who alone have the balls to tell the truth. The publishing industry is in a state of growing disarray. Frankly, there are better things to do than fight over the scraps. We should be above the question of our own literary merit. Leave that to posterity, because we’ve got bigger fish to fry.
Like ensuring there is a posterity, for one thing. Not to mention changing the mindset of the broader society that needs us more than ever?the broader society that can’t think more than two minutes beyond its own present. When the Berlin Wall crumbled, academics blithely proclaimed the end of history: an absurdity so glaring that only a society completely deaf to all possibility of future could embrace it. Yet this is the kind of idiocy that science-fiction exists to combat. SF continues to be the only literature that provides a canvas wide enough to encompass the current predicament of our species. The urgency of this task can’t be overstated. And I have to wonder, do we really still think that the best way to make our point is by convincing the close-minded guardians of a dying culture?
You’ll excuse me if I beg to differ.
David J. Williams is the author of near-future dystopian thriller THE BURNING SKIES, and posts every Wednesday on Suvudu. Learn more about his work at www.autumnrain2110.com.

7 Responses to “Science fiction’s subordination”

TomMarcinko says:

June 17, 2009 at 2:43 pm

Wow, so many hoops before signing up I almost forgot what I was gonna say.
But let me say this… : )
Generally, I agree with the point about cluelessness. And I too thought this conversation would have been over by about, oh, the time “Dangerous Visions” came out.
SF readers seem to be willing to accept and even embrace “mainstream” writers who distinguish themselves. Half the SF fans I know love Thomas Pynchon and Patrick O’Brian.
It still strikes me as unfortunate, though, that the favor hasn’t been returned.
There are things about SF that also annoy me, but at least SF people ask pretty good questions about commonly held assumptions.
Sometime after 9/11 I made my peace (finally) with being an SF person, despite its own shortcomings and annoyances. To envision a better, more humane, or just *different* future strikes me as important work, and some of us seem to be wired to do it.
David, along the lines of ensuring there IS a posterity, something tells me you might like this: http://shineanthology.wordpress.com/
FWIW.
kavka says:

June 18, 2009 at 9:11 am

At some point the purpose of writing is just to write; to create something and share your vision and your story so that people can enjoy it, not so that people can stand around and spout out how awesome you are. It’s the distinction between writing for readers who care about the story, and writing for writers & industry folk who want to kiss your ass until the next fad hotshot comes along. That sort of praise is never long-lived, and all the awards and honors don’t really mean a lot when you look around and realize that all of the people who are surrounding you would take as much joy from leeching off of your success as they would in gloating over your failure and laughing at you behind your back. Back when I was writing, I fell into the trap of caring more about getting praise and recognition for my work than I should have; I didn’t make the important distinction between wanting people to care about what I wrote to get attention/accolades from it, and wanting (the right) people to care (about me and/or my stories).
I’ve been told what ‘real’ literature is my entire life. In a way, it’s a sneaky way that society has to try to tell people that who they are is Wrong and Bad if/when their tastes differ from what’s shoved down their throats. But there is very little I can relate to in ‘real’ literature, while much resonates with me within the realms of SF and horror. I constantly see a sea of insecure people blathering about every book that’s received an award because they need to be told what to like. These are the same people who constantly share quotes from other people and think they’re clever for it. I’ve never apologized, though, for being who I am and not needing to be told that what I like is (or isn’t) Art. And I’d rather keep reading the works of people who write because they have a passion and a story to tell than people who are writing about whatever trend they think will get them on Oprah.
blipvert says:

June 18, 2009 at 10:26 am

I find the whole debate rather surreal. Does anyone deny that science fiction films are real films, or that science fiction television programmes are real television?
dpomerico says:

June 18, 2009 at 1:21 pm

I think you’d be surprised.
For instance, why was a film like The Dark Knight–generally considered one of the best films last year–left off the Oscars short-list? Now, I’m not saying other movies weren’t worthy, but isn’t it odd that a movie that critics universally loved wasn’t considered the best movie, even though more people went to see it than any other movie last year?
How come someone like Sarah Michelle Gellar–again, an actress critics believed was doing an excellent job as Buffy–only received one nomination (and a Golden Globe, at that), and didn’t win? Even more surprising is that Joss Whedon–one of the best writers of any television–only received one Emmy nomination for “Buffy.”
One!
Clearly, then, I disagree with David here (not the first time, for sure, as I happen to be his editor!), as I had posted on this topic earlier on Suvudu (http://wp.suvudu.com/2009/05/literature-without-prejudice.html).
I’m not begging for legitimacy here–people are going to like what they like. But what I am asking for is consistency. How is it we can recognize one form of science fiction as being “art” (for movies, think Being John Malkovich or Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind; for books, think of The Road by Cormac McCarthy or The Amazing Adventures of Kavalier and Clay by Michael Chabon), while others aren’t?
Yes, these works I think are genuinely excellent, but so are things like The Dark Knight or Serenity. All of these examples belong to the same genre–and if we’re not going to do away with genres, then let’s be honest about how they are applied. As the sci-fi community, it’s up to us to defend what is ours. Sure, it’s territorial, but when we’re the ones getting looked down upon from an ivory tower, shouldn’t we be able to point to their shelves and cry “hypocrite?”
Posterity is well and good–but unless you lay the groundwork now, history has a way of being written by the winners. And right now, this is a battle we’re losing.
Kyle M. says:

June 18, 2009 at 4:18 pm

So, I went back and forth on this posting. Not because I don’t believe in what I’m saying, but because I think I’m only talking about a partial picture. I’m posting the comment below anyway, but I want you to know I’m not just reading books that I think are “big idea” books (though I am pulled in that direction awfully frequently). Sometimes, I just read a book that sounds like a fun time to my ears. With that caveat, here are my thoughts:
I’m in dpomerico’s corner here, except that I am asking for a little legitimacy, or maybe a little respect. I’d love to see the stigma blown off. And maybe by shouting “hypocrite” when we see these things in play we’ll start to move everything beyond it. It can’t be a matter of pride; I’ve yet to meet a fan of the genre that’s embarrassed by their reading preference. Thank goodness! Science Fiction is sexy. It really is. It let’s us imagine solutions to problems, or future problems, and the complications that can arise therein. It can be a noirish detective novel that asks us to consider the value of life, money, and status (Altered Carbon by Richard Morgan), it asks us to consider identity and genetic enhancements and the social conflicts that might go along with such efforts while being, first and foremost, a novel with the protagonist trusting no one and running for his life (Flow My Tears, the Policeman Said by Philip K. Dick), we might have a novel that addresses the weight of the great expectations we have for children while also writing a novel about training in cool zero gravity environments for a war (Ender’s Game by Orson Scott Card), or it tweaks some theoretical astrophysics and just have a good time (Light and Nova Swing by M. John Harrison).
But you see, I’m tired of even doing what I did there. I’m tired of frequently having to justify the reading choice with the content. But maybe the day is coming sooner, rather than later, when I won’t have to. Look at The Time Traveler’s Wife or Never Let Me Go, these are Science Fiction novels. We don’t market them as such, which is disappointing, but perhaps their success is the rock hammer with which we can start chipping away another corner of this wall. If we infiltrate the book clubs, then we can rule the world, and all that.
I wish I had answers. I don’t. What I have is a genre that I like to read because, damn it, there’s good work being done here.
logotrope says:

July 6, 2009 at 3:32 pm

Almost as ridiculous as the notion that science fiction is sub-literary is the equally overwrought contention that “SF continues to be the only literature that provides a canvas wide enough to encompass the current predicament of our species.” Science fiction, horror, and fantasy are marketing concepts that have no more to do with the inherent worth of the contents of a book than does the category of mainstream or literary fiction.
David J. Williams says:

July 6, 2009 at 5:03 pm

@Logotrope: My point is simply that the problems we currently face can’t be understood in the absence of a deep engagement with science-fiction’s themes. Not sure how that became “overwrought” in your mind, but maybe we’ve misunderstood each other.