The Hard Buds of SF have those of us who find the technical
plausibility of fictional tales a distraction at a distinct disadvantage. Those of us who prefer not to waste our time
analyzing works on the basis of their engineering accuracy are caught in a
Catch-22. If we do ignore the concept of
“hardness”, then the default status-quo, and all of its built-in assumptions
and value judgements, remain in effect.
If we don’t ignore the concept, then we tacitly admit that the concept
is worthy of discussion.
* * *
It’s not about the works – it’s about the critical
framework! There’s a lot of plain sci-fi
that I really like. Karl Gallagher’s Torchship comes to mind. I liked it well enough to throw an ad for its
sequel into the back of one of my books.
But I didn’t like it because the engineering behind it made sense. The engineering behind my Ikea instructions
makes sense – that doesn’t make it a good read.
I enjoyed Torchship because
the people made sense. The conflict made
sense. The politics made sense. Had the Fives
Full been powered by madeupium drives or sailed across the aether propelled
by the sheer force of the will of its captain I would have enjoyed it no less.
* * *
Of course the chosen terms themselves connote values. “Hard” is difficult and strong and
solid. “Soft” is easy and weak and
ephemeral. Do you want to write strong
works or weak ones? To ask the question
is to answer it. Imagine if we decided
to use different language to describe the two ends of the spectrum. Would the Hard Buds object to referring to
their preferred style of fiction as “Grey” and the other end “Colorful”? This is how even the language is corrupted to
influence readers towards thinking about literal nuts and bolts of engineering instead
of the figurative nuts and bolts of heroism.
Perhaps “Plain sci-fi” versus “Majestic sci-fi” would be a
more apt spectrum. Just for kicks, I’m
only going to use the terms “plain” and “majestic” throughout the rest of this
piece. As you read, think about the difference that makes.
* * *
A Princess of Mars
is more real to me than The Martian. They are both great books, but one is a
pointless walk through an Ikea catalog, where the other is a moving journey
through life that sticks to you and changes you forever. In the plain sci-fi tale The Martian, Mark Watney burns rocks to make water is a neat little
puzzle that makes me want to be a better scientist, but in the majestic sci-fi
story A Princess of Mars, how John
Carter reacts to a savage world where slavery is the norm is inspirational and
makes me want to be a better man. Dejah
Thoris, fierce and loyal Princess of Mars, is more real to me than the foul
mouthed woman who serves as NASA’s spokeshole in The Martian.
* * *
The insidious nature of the Hard Buds of SF is as subtle as
it is poisonous. Questions like,
"Did they get the science right?" are phrased with an implicit
understanding that answering in the negative is a mark against the work's
quality. That's an example of the
underlying assumptions built into the plain sci-fi framework that most people
accept without thought. It sounds like a
legitimate question. It's easy to
answer. But it's a distraction. It's the magician's flourishing left hand
drawing your attention away while his right hand makes the virtue and heroism
disappear.
* * *
These observations are disjointed. With more time and motivation, they could be worked into a cohesive whole, but I just don’t care. I’ve wasted enough time on something that, within the context of my preferred critical framework for genre fiction, just doesn’t matter.
There’s nothing wrong with enjoying Science Man Solves
Engineering Problem, but the suggestion that it represents an elevated form of
the genre is laughable. It strikes out
huge swathes of human experience and presents no higher goal than “study math”
and “try not to get killed”. That’s not
a step up, it’s a step backwards.
* * *
Plain sci-fi encourages readers to look down at the power of
math, majestic sci-fi encourages readers to look up to the higher power
responsible for math. Plain sci-fi
speaks to the brain. Majestic sci-fi speaks
to the heart and soul. As a result, it
is majestic sci-fi that is more in-line with the superversive mindset than
plain sci-fi.
* * *
These observations are disjointed. With more time and motivation, they could be worked into a cohesive whole, but I just don’t care. I’ve wasted enough time on something that, within the context of my preferred critical framework for genre fiction, just doesn’t matter.
