Tag: science fiction

Thoughts on Brave New World, by Aldous Huxley

I’m not calling this one a review because it’s a little less organized and might work better if you’ve already read the book. Still, it’s spoiler-free.

I recently finished reading Brave New World with some friends, and one of the things that stood out to me was the difficulty I had mapping the ideas onto contemporary politics. It seems like almost all media these days can be neatly collapsed into one of a few political ideologies. It’s clear, often before you even read/watch it, if a modern story is pro-trans or anti-vaccines or whatever, and such positions are generally accepted as indicating a standard package of other beliefs, typically “liberal” or “conservative.” People might sometimes miss the point (the shameful kerfuffle around “I Sexually Identify as an Attack Helicopter” comes to mind) but the pattern remains.

There’s probably an urge to blame such clearly blatant politics on declining media literacy, or political polarization, or some other buzzy trend1. And maybe that’s what’s happening. But I lack the historical knowledge to know if this is actually new phenomenon. Maybe people have always been pretty blatant about the politics that motivate their art. (Otherwise, why would you bother writing something political in the first place?) If that’s the case, one way we can expand our thinking is to read political works from other eras, when different ideas were in play and those ideas were grouped together differently.

This certainly seems to apply to Brave New World. In the unlikely event you’ve never heard of it before, Brave New World is a dystopian novel by Aldous Huxley that imagines a highly controlled future society that emphasizes stability, consumerism, and immediate gratification. In some ways, Huxley’s imagined world is clearly based on contemporary liberal criticisms. The logic of Henry Ford’s assembly line has been elevated to a religion. Consumerism is rampant (e.g. citizens are subliminally conditioned to buy new clothes instead of repairing old ones). Most obviously, notions of personal liberty are almost completely absent from this version of the future. On the other hand, this brave new world also bears clear resemblance to more conservative anxieties. Christianity has been abolished and virtually forgotten, to Huxley’s apparent vexation. Monogamy is also a thing of the past, and casual sex is shown to be harmful (at least for people from other cultures).

Adding to this confusion is the willy-nilly way Huxley drops references. Two of the main characters are named Marx and Lenin(a), and I spent much of the book trying to puzzle out their connection to communism. There’s an off-handed mention of a character named Bakunin, but no further reference to the anarchist philosophy traditionally associated with that name. Some characters’ names are double-barreled references, and sometimes these make some sense. The improbably named Helmholtz Watson is a reference to two foundational psychologists, the latter of whom has his most famous experiment clearly referenced in the book (though this part of the book has nothing to do with the character of Helmholtz Watson). Other times these dual reference seem more like Mad Libs, as in the cases of Benito Hoover and Darwin Bonaparte.

A friend suggested that there’s no one-to-one between characters and their namesakes. Instead, the namedrops as a whole are meant to point to the ideas and trends that were on Huxley’s mind as he was writing. I think that’s probably right. But I’m less inclined to interpret Huxley’s melange of dystopian tropes as neutral observation. I think he was pointing to elements in society he disliked and showing the consequences of leaving those elements unchecked. (Reading about the history of the book on Wikipedia seems to support my idea.)

So reading this book challenged me, in a way I appreciated. I had to actually reflect on my own ideas in depth, instead of mentally stamping the whole book with “Agree” or “Disagree.” I was impressed with the way Huxley predicted the neoliberal drive for a frictionless workforce, and I appreciated his criticisms2. At the same time, I balked at his yearning for widespread, chaste monogamy. Huxley doesn’t resort to strawmen. Near the end of the book a character gives an articulate, persuasive defense of his society, pointing out that much of what others find objectionable boils down to different choices of what to value.

I was also impressed with aspects of Huxley’s world building. Helicopters hadn’t even been invented at the time he wrote the book, but he predicted they would be widely used in the future. (Which is true, even if we don’t have personal helicopters in the way he predicted). Cheap, narcotic entertainment (including pornography), a major element of Huxley’s new world, has also come to pass. His idea of causing a zygote to “bud” into many identical clones is couched in plausible terms, and his treatment of artificial gestation has more lately been taken up by authors as influential as Lois McMaster Bujold. Finally, the audiobook I listened to was read by Michael York, and his narration did an incredible job driving home the wit in Huxley’s words.

  1. I use the term “blame” because I think lots of people, including myself, assume that such blatancy is a bad thing. But maybe making clear political statements can be a good thing, for example when there is an urgent and high stakes problem. If this is true, levels of blatant political messaging is less likely to vary based on historical period and more likely to vary based on how important the author thinks their message is. ↩︎
  2. Brave New World is often compared to Nineteen Eighty-Four, by George Orwell, and the comparisons are often framed in terms of which author was more correct. It’s a fun game, but probably not the best way to think about the issue. However, I do want to highlight one thing I think Orwell observed that is lacking from Huxley’s work, namely, abuse of power. The “world controller” we meet in Brave New World is a quaint academic. He allows himself some indulgences forbidden to others (say, reading Shakespeare) but is sincerely committed to serving the population, whose values he shares. In Nineteen Eighty-Four, the authorities are driven by power. They seem themselves as separate from, and above, the general population. They influence how the population thinks and acts not out of beneficence but purely to entrench their own status. In this aspect, I find Orwell much closer to the mark. ↩︎

Book Review: Rogue Moon, by Algis Budrys

I picked up Rogue Moon because of the following description on Wikipedia: “Rogue Moon is largely about the discovery and investigation of a large alien artifact found on the surface of the Moon. The object eventually kills its explorers in various ways”. The book ended up not quite living up to that description, but it was interesting nonetheless.

I found Budrys’ prose to be a bit difficult, for better and for worse. I got the sense he was really striving for something literary, carefully (and at times, slightly awkwardly) applying rules like the classic “show don’t tell.” A character’s emotions, for example, are often implied by how other characters react to them. He mostly succeeds in this attempt, which combines nicely with his efforts to explore the psychology of brilliant and complicated men (and one woman). But he often leaves the scenery under-described. Aside from the almost compulsive descriptions of each man’s face, I often could not picture a given scene, and I was sometimes briefly startled when a new character or device, apparently there the whole time, materialized into relevance. But as these things usually go, I got used to the style after 50 or so pages.

The story takes place in 1959. Satellite reconnaissance has revealed a strange structure on the surface of the moon. The US Navy recruits Dr. Edward Hawks to help them investigate. While manned space flight is still slightly out of reach, Dr. Hawks has been developing a transporter device that scans an object and flawlessly reconstructs it at a receiving station. One of these receiving stations is dropped on the moon, and people are sent up there to to explore the structure. The research team discovers that when humans are replicated, they can perceive what the other one is experiencing so long as they don’t have competing sensations. So the earth versions of the explorers are kept in sensory deprivation while their lunar counterparts investigate the the mysterious structure. Unfortunately, each of the explorers dies almost immediately upon entering the structure, and each of them in highly unusual ways. This has the unfortunate side effect of driving their earth counterparts insane.

So far that’s mostly like the description above, except that all of that takes place before the opening of the book. Budrys spends the vast majority of the short novel looking at the interactions between earthbound characters. Chief among these are the interactions between Hawks and rugged adventurer Al Barker. Barker is recruited to the project because he seems to court death, so maybe experiencing his duplicate dying won’t make him insane. Consistent with his attempts at literary style, Budrys seemed to have Big Things to say about death, but I mostly didn’t find them interesting. Anyway, Hawks and Barker get on like cats and dogs, and they’re surrounded by conniving, egotistical schemers.

Themes

Hyper-competent protagonist: It’s common for science fiction stories to have genius, athletic, heroic, hyper-competent protagonists. This is especially true from works by authors who spent time writing for pulp magazines, as Budrys did1. He doesn’t fully deconstruct that trope here, but he goes a lot further than many authors in suggesting that such protagonists might actually be pretty complicated under the hood.

Women as sexpots: When mid-century science fiction (written by men) noticed women at all, it was to portray them as sexual objects. In Rogue Moon, Al Barker has a sexy and flirtatious girlfriend, Claire, who seems like she’s constantly on the prowl. Lots of description is lavished on her legs and hips and neck. But later in the book, Claire reveals she has insight to her histrionic behavior, but doesn’t know how to change it. She’s contrasted with Elizabeth, a woman who Hawks starts dating. Elizabeth is basically just a normal person (imagine that!). I don’t know that Rogue Moon gets a gold star for feminism, but it’s more nuanced than a lot of its contemporaries.

Danger Zone: Though this aspect of the book was less central than I would have liked, Rogue Moon seems important to the lineage of the “dangerous, unexplainable zone” trope. (That trope is more famously represented by stories like Roadside Picnic and Annihilation.) Hawks gives the following description, which I love:

“We don’t even know what to call that place. The eye won’t follow it, and photographs convey only the most fragile impression. There is reason to suspect it exists in more than three spatial dimensions. Nobody knows what it is, why it’s located there, what its true purpose might be, or what created it. We don’t know whether it’s animal, vegetable, or mineral. We don’t know whether it’s somehow natural, or artificial. We know, from the geology of several meteorite craters that have heaped rubble against its sides, that it’s been there for, at the very least, a million years. And we know what it does now: it kills people.”

At the end of Rogue Moon, we do get more detail about Barker navigating the labyrinth and the strange, seemingly arbitrary ways in which it kills him. It’s fascinating and spooky stuff.

Transporter Problem: The Transporter Problem, or “Teletransportation paradox” states that if a person could be teleported, it is not clear if the person coming out the ending teleporter is literally the same person who went into the starting teleporter, of if they are just an identical clone with the same memories2. This is often discussed in relation to Star Trek, and various philosophers have quipped they would never use Star Trek style transporters because it would effectively kill them and replace them with a doppelganger. Rogue Moon starts from assumption that the replica is *not* you, and uses that to ask questions about identity and death.

The book has enough interesting things to think about in its short span to be worthwhile. It just doesn’t scratch that spooky, cosmic horror adjacent itch I was hoping for.

  1. Rogue Moon actually started as a novella published in The Magazine of Fantasy and Science Fiction. ↩︎
  2. Of course, that’s begging the question a bit. Would an identical clone with the same memories automatically count as being the same person? That’s one of the layers to the thought experiment. ↩︎

Pulp Trivia

I’ve been reading a ton of Wikipedia articles about pulp authors for a writing project I assigned myself. I’ll share that project here when it’s done. But in the meantime I’ve come across a lot of fun trivia I want to share.

Jack Williamson was old enough to be born in Arizona Territory, and lived long enough to see some of his science fiction ideas pass into reality. He was one of the very first people to use the term “genetic engineering,” and he was the first science fiction writer to include ion thrusters in a story. He was an early science fiction writer to discuss antimatter (though he referred to it by its older name, contraterrene). And he coined the terms “psionics” and “terraforming”.

Williamson also has one of the best examples of failing upwards that I’ve ever seen. His novel Seetee Ship was negatively reviewed, including a line that said it “ranks only slightly above that of a comic strip adventure.” That review somehow got noticed by The New York Sunday News, which was looking for someone to write a new comic strip for them. They ended up hiring Williamson to write a loose adaptation of his poorly reviewed novel.

Edmond Hamilton wrote for pulp magazines and comic books. He wrote the Batman story that featured the now meme-famous panel of Batman slapping Robin.

The first person to use the term “blaster” to refer to a sci-fi gun was named Nictzin Dyalhis. Or at least that might have been his name. Apparently he was an intensely private man and routinely lied about his biographical details, including on government forms.

The woman who invented dark fantasy, Gertrude Barrows Bennett, was widowed when her husband was caught in a tropical storm while on a treasure hunting expedition. It’s crazy to me that “professional treasure hunter” was a real job someone claimed in 1910. Anyway, Bennett turned to writing as one means of supporting herself and her children, and became very influential in the process. She is probably the first female American author to publish science fiction under her own name.

Bennett is the first (American, female, science fiction) author to publish under her own name because she published a single story in 1904 as G. M. Barrows, which was her name at the time. However, her gender wasn’t revealed until four years after her death, and she spent most of her career writing under the pseudonym Francis Stevens. The first female science fiction author to consistently publish under her own name was Clare Winger Harris.

Greye La Spina was another early female pulp writer. Apparently at her peak she was even more famous than H. P. Lovecraft.