Sci Fi Reportage

Thinking about the strange sci-fi convention of filling readers in on social, political, technological, even geological developments that are obviously counter-factual, in reportage or encyclopedia style, when of course if they’d happened readers could be expected to know about them. Somehow these blatant lies, which seem like they ought to disrupt the willing suspension of disbelief, if done well reinforce it. How does that work? Whence the convention? And how does it relate to the idea of “lethetic” fiction that Clayton Koelb discusses in his 1984 monograph, The Incredulous Reader? (Koelb argues that there is a class of fictions which cannot be understood by means of the conventional notion of the reader’s “willing suspension of disbelief.” This class of fictions, which he calls lethetic, is defined first of all by the fact that such works actively “solicit the reader’s disbelief.”) Continue reading

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Mervyn Peake on drones

Recently, in a fit of nostalgia, I re-visited Mervyn Peake’s Gormenghast trilogy, which I had not read since high school. It’s a funny book—both humorous and peculiar. My Ballantine paperback edition from the 70s classes it as “Adult Fantasy,” and I distinctly remember finding it in the fantasy section of the Paperback Booksmith at the New London (CT) Mall, where I spent lots of time as a teenager (the fantasy section, not the mall). The audio version that I listened to recently was classed either as “Science Fiction” or “Science Fiction/Fantasy.” And yet, the book has none of the conventional fantasy elements—no magic, no mythical creatures, no epic battles, none of that stuff. It has an enormous castle, and a host of highly unusual characters, if not caricatures, and an extremely high-flown style. It also has almost none of the conventional science fiction elements—none at all in the first two volumes, and hardly any in the third. The first two books (Titus Groan and Gormenghast) take place entirely within the castle and its immediate environs, which seem to be a world to themselves. With one or two exceptions, like the sunglasses worn by one of the characters, the time could be any time in the past several hundred years. In the third book, Titus Alone, the protagonist ventures beyond the castle to a world that more nearly resembles the world of the author—mid-century Britain—though with a couple of futuristic touches.

The most notable of those is his prescient description, and critique, of drones. Continue reading