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NikkolasKing
Apr 3, 2010



So question for Tolkien fans...

My general experience with people online who don't "get" Lord of the Rings is that someone says "just read The HObbit." And if you really liked LOTR, read The Silmarillion.

I guess I'm weird because I absolutely struggled to get through Fellowship. All the crap in the Shire and the stuff on the way to the Prancing Pony (excluding Bombadil, who was great) bored the ever loving gently caress out of me. Things took a definite turn for the better with the Council of Elrond but the book still defeated me about four or five times before I could complete it.

But The Silmarillion? It kept me captivated from start to finish. The genesis of Ea, the massive events that took place before and during the First Age, the Fall of Numenor in the Second, all of it kept me wanting for more. I finished it one read through and thoroughly enjoyed myself.

As it so happens I thought Turin was the best character, namely because he got the most legitimate focus and character development of anyone else in the book. Everyone else received sort of broad strokes characterization while the part with Turin was very focused on him.

So my question - should I go for The Hobbit or the Children of Hurin?

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NikkolasKing
Apr 3, 2010



I have a technical question about science fiction. I've heard of "hard" and "soft" science fiction and I was just wondering what MichaeL Crichton's Jurassic Park constitutes as? As was typical of Crichton he went into extensive detail about the science behind everything and the technology available to be used for the process. It's one reason I genuinely enjoy his novels - I never knew we had all this cool stuff in the 80s like we see in Sphere and JP.

Also I don't care what anyone else, I like Jurassic Park the book more than the movie. Fact is, it simply explains things better. And even if the long-winded technical stuff bores you, the book still has better action scenes than the movie because Spielberg, unlike Crichton, didn't realize that these are not animals, they are horrific abominations of science. Hence why dinos get shot and blown to bits in the books while God forbid a human ever hurt a dino in the movie.

I think I'm due for my yearly re-read of JP actually...

NikkolasKing fucked around with this message at 18:42 on Jun 30, 2014

NikkolasKing
Apr 3, 2010



See this is what I was kinda confused about. Science fiction doesn't have to all be laser beams and robots and spaceships. I thought it just had to involve using science in, uh, a fictional way.

I mean, I'm a fan of 50s movies. Them! is a personal favorite, a classic of sci-fi cinema as far as I know, and that takes place in the modern world only with the threat of Atomic radiation mutating ants. I don't see how that's any more science-y than Jurassic Park.

NikkolasKing
Apr 3, 2010



I have a simple question.

Jurassic Park is a sci-fi novel, right?

I just feel like last time I looked in here and asked about Crichton someone said to post about it in a Thrillers thread and I don't get it. The book is pretty much all about science used in a fictional manner.... The movie cut most of the harder stuff so it was all Newman's fault but the novel has a lot of detail.

NikkolasKing
Apr 3, 2010



General Battuta posted:

Yes, it is an SF novel. Crichton played very fast and loose with scientific concepts, but I think he's great at coming up with a killer premise and writing a thriller about it. He sucks at endings, but that's natural, because he's all about the questions.

I feel the same way. I truly enjoyed him as a writer. Well, most of his books. Sphere was my personal favorite.

Actually, since I'm here, can anyone recommend a similar novel? One thing I really liked about Sphere was the idea of a "first contact team" made up of various specialists and focusing on that team. I think that was really neat and made a lot of sense and I haven't seen or read much else with that. Well, I don't think I've rad anything else like that, actually.

Ornamented Death posted:

I guess it would depend on how you phrased the question? Jurassic Park is unabashedly science fiction, but something like State of Fear is a thriller and the John Lange books are crime novels.

Well I've mainly read his sci-fi stuff. And Congo. I don't know what the gently caress Congo is. Fighting off gorilla-men with lasers is what Congo was.

NikkolasKing
Apr 3, 2010



Classic sci-fi goons, I need your help.

Was Robert Heinlein a fascist or at least was Starship Troopers a pro-fascist novel? My friends elsewhere can't agree and I haven't read the book. All I know is the film which Verhoeven supposedly made to satire the book.

NikkolasKing
Apr 3, 2010



Hieronymous Alloy posted:

The answer is basically "yes and no."

Heinlein himself had different positions at different points in his life and wrote books from different perspectives but for the most part was "libertarian." His book Stranger in a Strange Land was a major inspiration for the 1960's free-love movement, for example (as Tom Wolfe documented in The Electric Kool-Aid Acid Test. His novel The Moon is a Harsh Mistress, generally considered his best book, was explicitly about a libertarian revolution in a penal colony on the moon, and depicts a fully anarchist society complete with privatized court systems and polygamous marriage and the whole works.

Pretty much all of his novels were aimed at 13 year old boys and written to make 13 year old boys -- specifically, 13 year old boys growing up in the 1960's -- think, so they're not so much sophisticated as deliberately provocative. In Starship Troopers, according to interviews, he was trying to do basically three things:

1) Write a novel for infantry soldiers telling them how awesome they were, because he thought infantry guys didn't get enough credit considering the poo poo they went through.

2) Challenge his readers (i.e., kids) to think about public service and voting. In the book it's very explicit that people have to volunteer for some kind of public service to vote, but it does not -- and this is spelled out -- have to be military service; you sign up and get screened and they send you where you can serve best, whether it's the military or the public library or whatever, and you can opt out and any time but if you do so you lose your right to vote.

3) At the end of the novel, there's a big reveal that the protagonist / 1st person narrator has been puerto rican this whole time. This is actually a big deal given when it was written, was deliberate to make young kids think about racism, and i think it was the first hugo winning novel to feature a non-caucasian protagonist (though I could be misremembering that factoid)

My own personal gloss on the novel is that it was basically Heinlein's attempt to reconcile his own personal love of the military (he served in the Navy) and ardent nationalism with his libertarian opposition to the draft.

That was probably a longer answer than you wanted. The short answer is that no it's not fascist it's libertarian. If Heinlein were around today he'd have been one of the crazies following Rand Paul around on horseback with a megaphone, but he'd probably still be sane enough to oppose Trump.

No, this post is just the right size. I wanted a detailed explanation, thank you.

NikkolasKing
Apr 3, 2010



So I was reading Brave New World and decided I'd like more of that but maybe a different style of writer. I liked the whole engineered a new breed of human and human culture stuff. Could anyone recommend any other books like that? It would appear to be only a sci-fi thing but maybe it can also be done in fantasy, I wouldn't know.

NikkolasKing
Apr 3, 2010



90s Cringe Rock posted:

Frank Herbert's Hellstrom's Hive?

It's not quite the same.

Hm, that sounds promising, thank you.

I suppose I might also just want to read Herbert's Dune series in general given it's a classic and all and does at least have some of this "engineered human" stuff I think.

NikkolasKing
Apr 3, 2010



I just want to thank everyone for all the book suggestions. I'm gonna be preoccupied for a while.

However, I wanted to get the insight of more knowledgeable people than myself on something. i was recently reading the t Libertarianism thread and they were discussing its uncomfortable popularity in sci-fi. Now any time uncomfortable political themes is brought up with regards to science fiction literature, Robert Heinlein is invoked. Starship Troopers was fascist and then he wrote some later book that is apparently a Libertarian utopia. Well I went and did some Googling to get other hot takes on this. There is apparently a whole award for Libertarian Science Fiction. Has anyone read this Niven guy because one of his books - going just by the basic description I read - was like WTF. Apparently LA descends into race riots (oh dear) and so they have to build a place for all the good people to live. (OH DEAR) There is some highly confusing overlap between "I want no government in my life" and "I want to fantasize about the days of yore when the government could stab me in the face with impunity."

Anyway, in the course of my researches, I came upon an article on JSTOR titled "Fascism and Science Fiction." I had to buy a whole issue of Science Fiction Studies because apparently JSTOR doesn't actually let you read all the articles on the site, which defeats the whole goddam point of the site in my view but anyway....


Aaron Santesso posted:

Fascism may be understood on one level as a narrative, one that fascist politicians and artists alike have used innumerable times over the past century. For decades, fascist literature—from the work of Gabriele D’Annunzio through the Nazi Schollen-roman [“novel of the soil”] to the journalism of Robert Brasillach—emphasized the “superior” class at the top of society, the importance of race, the nobility of sacrifice in defense of one’s people, and so on—these ideas were connected into a recognizable story about decline and rebirth. It is only natural that this story was told most clearly and forcefully in imaginative literature; by the 1930s, there was a certain mass-production feel to such works. “Blubo” (“blood and soil”) novels—the German fascist equivalent of pulp fiction—were churned out with regularity, always telling more or less the same story revolving around praise of traditional lifestyles and the perils of international urbanism and Jewish bankers. 19 The fascist author has his or her goals and a familiar strategy by which to pursue them: to outline the threat of the alien as opposed to the pure; to emphasize the necessity of unifying and fighting against the threat; to promote “action” as the most appropriate response to any crisis; to celebrate those who are willing to sacrifice for the greater good of the people; to describe the elite class and great leader who will emerge to lead the masses in their struggle. Indeed, we might reduce virtually all of these works to one relatively simple master-plot: a once-great society is now threatened and degraded by inhuman, impure, and hive-minded outsiders (who often blend into the society, corrupting it from the inside); a special, enormously gifted (to the point of being virtually superhuman) individual rises up and begins to fight back in order to restore the society’s original purity and greatness; this fight requires a steely society- wide resolve, a restriction if not outright rejection of democracy, and ideally militarization. The ideal society is imagined as recapturing earlier values and independence—but, ironically, that restoration will be pursued via the use of new, balance-altering technology



Mr. Santesso makes it clear he is not attacking individual authors like Heinlein. Rather his point is to address whether or not a genre can have political inclinations written into its very tropes. He brings up epic poetry and states they naturally lend themselves to imperialism. He is contesting the (apparently very popular) idea that science fiction is inherently Progressive.


quote:

That conservative pulp sf is partly aligned with fascist thought is plain enough. More interesting and more subtle is the way this basic structure, and these familiar tropes, begin to infect other strains of writing influenced by pulp sf, so that even consciously progressive science fiction unintentionally offers up pseudo-fascist patterns and themes. A high-profile example is Olaf Stapledon’s Odd John (1935). The title character is a superman of the highest order—as a small boy he reminds those who watch him “of a little old man with snowy hair condescending to play with young gorillas” (19). The young John Wainwright gradually becomes more insistent on his supremacy—beating and humiliating a friend, for example, and causing the friend to confess that he recognized John’s “right” to do so, given his own evident inferiority. While still young, John sniffs out other similarly superior individuals, forming a team of “supernormals” who offer each other “companionship of a calibre

beyond that of normal human beings” (19). These few individuals set out to form their own little republic (en route, they rescue two people from a sinking ship, and then, realizing they will reveal the existence of the “supernormals,” shoot them and dump their bodies overboard). At this point, normal human beings are regarded as a subhuman species:

For to-day the chief lesson which your species has to learn is that it is far better to die, far better to sacrifice even the loftiest of all “sapient” purposes, than to kill beings of one’s own mental order. But just as you kill wolves and tigers so that the far brighter spirits of men may flourish, so we killed those unfortunate creatures that we had rescued. Innocent as they were, they were dangerous. Unwittingly they threatened the noblest practical venture that has yet occurred on this planet. Think! If you … had found yourselves in a world of great apes, clever in their own way, lovable too, but blind, brutish, and violent, would you have refused to kill? Would you have sacrificed the founding of a human world? To refuse would be cowardly, not physically, but spiritually. Well, if we could wipe out your whole species, frankly, we would.

Lecture over, the supernormals continue on their way, sailing to a remote Pacific island and hypnotizing the native tribespeople into committing suicide so that the island might become the private domain of the elite race, who introduce themselves to the native tribe as “gods.” These gods then design a superweapon capable of wiping out the globe’s lesser mortals—though, once they find their new utopia invaded by a force of these “brutes” sent to stop their scheme, and realize that their capital will inevitably be overrun, they decide to commit suicide in their bunker rather than live in a fallen world:

They then decided, I thought, not to await the destruction which was bound sooner or later to overtake them at the hands of the less human species, either through these brutish instruments or through the official forces of the Great Powers. The supernormals might have chosen to end their career by simply falling dead, but seemingly they desired to destroy their handiwork along with themselves. They would not allow their home, and all the objects of beauty with which they had adorned it, to fall into subhuman clutches. Therefore they deliberately blew up their power-station, thereby destroying not only themselves but their whole settlement. (157)

That the decision is described in such hauntingly prescient language, that there would be real-world parallels to this dramatic conclusion within a decade, is perhaps the final misfortune of the work. Stapledon—a proud socialist, dedicated to equality and democracy, critical of empire and elitism—perhaps did not realize the implications of what he was writing, but his friends and critics certainly did, explaining to him privately and publicly that he had, inadvertently or not, written a fascist work (see Crossley 3, 278). (Jack Haldane told him in no uncertain terms that the novel’s “great leader” theory of progress was “a fascist theory”: “your attitude is the kind that leads people to fascism” [Crossley 225]). Stapledon’s mistake, one might say, was to draw too freely on certain core pulp tropes—supermen, heroic self-sacrifice, violence in the defense of a “superior” system, etc.—while underestimating the difficulty of bending those tropes to his own purposes; their original ideology is too tenacious. In setting out to write a work that would give hope to the laboring classes (and there are scenes in which bourgeois businessmen are ridiculed and their scorn for the poor and disenfranchised mocked), he ended up writing one that portrayed them as inferior and disposable. It may be that sf contains moments in which progressive tendencies latent in the genre emerge at unexpected moments; equally, there will be moments at which the power of genre and the pressure of pulp thought transform a John Wainwright into a proto-Ender Wiggins.

Apparently "Heinlein is a fascist" has just been an idea in everyone's head for decades.

quote:

This kind of labeling was at work at least since the 1940s (Under Cover, etc.), but it was logical that the seeking out and condemning of far-right overtones had its heyday during the counterculture era of the 1960s, when several authors spoofed the political overtones of earlier pulp sf—the most famous such parody being Norman Spinrad’s Iron Dream (1972). Spinrad imagined an alternate history in which Hitler failed to become a fascist dictator, and instead, naturally enough, became a science-fiction writer. Hitler’s sf “novel” (“Lord of the Swastika”) contains all the familiar tropes—familiar to both fascism and sf: an obsession with “freakish,” “monstrous,” and collectivized outsiders, with futuristic technology as a sign of enlightenment (or, alternatively, as proof of “alien” decadence and weakness), with the construction of a myth-system that places one chosen culture at its center, and so on. As in other such works, a utopian society is threatened with invasion and can only be saved by a superman figure (Spinrad’s hero “Trueman”)—indeed, the hero unites an entire race of “tall, blond, blue-eyed supermen” (220). Ursula Le Guin quickly identified it as a parody of “the kind of story best exemplified by Robert Heinlein, who believes in the Alpha Male, in the role of the innately (genetically) superior man, in the heroic virtues of militarism, in the desirability and necessity of authoritarian control, etc.” (“On Norman Spinrad” 41).
(emphasis mine)


Speaking of Le Guin....

quote:

Le Guin is indeed an intriguing case: she has made her name by writing anti-fascist pieces, often parodying Gernsbackian hard sf—but she herself dwells, in more than one work, on the idea that a “special” individual might emerge, reconnect with the traditional ways, enlighten those oppressed by new, foreign ideology, and, emboldened by sacred authority and the power of the land, lead the people to rise up against the impure outsiders and their foreign concepts. In The Telling (2000), to take one example, we are presented with a planet corrupted by an alien ideology (collectivist and bureaucratic, and likened to the “communocapitalism” of twentieth-century Earth). The cities have been transformed into hives of conformity, with everyone wearing official uniforms and patronizing government shops—a dreary existence lightened only by official gymnastic displays (“hundreds of tiny children in red uniforms kicking and jumping in unison to shrill cheery music” [29]). Urban party “officials” and “bureaucrats” have set out to root out “reactionary ideology” (212) in the

countryside; the natives there, “bewildered by foreign concepts … had let the ideologues … dominate and impoverish them” (120). The heartland, however, has several things on its side: a continuing connection to the “old ways”; a “simple” lifestyle, rooted to the land and uncorrupted by outside decadence; racial purity (the provinces preserve the planet’s original “ethnic homogeneity, [its] lack of societal and cultural diversity … among [them] there were no foreigners” [105; emphasis in original]); and the “maz”—a kind of elite class possessed of “great personal authority …[;] even the mildest of them was surrounded by a kind of aura or field” (195), who lead a resistance against the drone-like party officials and their vast army. 32 All of this comes perilously close to sounding like the Golden Amazons vs. the Crystal Horde. Once again, a utopia must be defended from alien ideas and outsiders by a cadre of supermen—but with additional ironies here because of the way the original intent of the work is so utterly undermined: an author sets out to denounce the dreary uniformity of a society under authoritarian government “ideologues” and ends up celebrating a homogenous society led by a special ideological class invested with “great personal authority.”

The sheer accumulation of these tropes and plot points gives some sense of how the pressures of a genre’s tradition continue to operate on individual works within it and how certain features ostensibly consigned to the dustbin of history still raise their heads in unlikely places. I do not mean to discount here the presence of a certain strategy. It may be that Le Guin intentionally alludes to such tropes as a sign of desperation—that is, the tropes may reflect her increasing skepticism that political change can still occur democratically in the industrialized capitalist world. Yet such an explanation (more plausible with critically high-minded works; to see such a strategy at work in Traviss would be a stretch) does not eliminate the link back to the pulp tradition and its much-maligned politics. The question remains: why would an intelligent, aware, and highly skilled author allow him- or herself to stumble into this kind of territory in the first place? I propose that some writers are so aware of the policing of fascism in postwar sf, so conscious of Spinrad, Gibson, and all the others ready to condemn fascist tendencies in the genre, that they adopt defensive strategies that, ironically, end up creating unintentionally fascist overtones. Their very dedication to the “purification” of a certain politics, for example, sets a tone; if the writer then goes on to borrow pulp tropes (like supermen defending a utopia against dronelike outsiders), they can end up recreating or at least echoing the very politics they are most determined to counter. Other leftist works of sf, in their attempt to avoid fascist overtones, often simply reverse problematic tropes rather than contest them: barbaric aliens threaten a traditional, racially pure society until they are banned and pushed out—only this time, the barbaric aliens are humans (see, for example, China Miéville’s Embassytown [2011], in which humans “infect” a planet with “lying” language, leading to chaos and violence amongst the native population). But reversing the tropes does not eliminate the pattern: a story about an enlightened race militarizing in order to eradicate invasive, hive-minded outsiders and reconnect with old race-based traditional knowledge and rituals does not leave fascism behind by clarifying that the hive-minded outsiders are capitalist aliens rather than communist aliens. The original trope and its attendant ideological implications (outside influences tend to weaken and corrupt traditional, hierarchical, and homogenous societies) survives more or less intact.



I find this absolutely fascinating. It's kind of that whole Horseshoe Theory thing. To be Leftist is, at least in my mind, to be anti-Imperialist. Consequently this leads to a sort of Nativism which is a concept usually associated with the Right. Native Americans and the like are the poor victims of evil foreigners and we should celebrate how great they were before they were brtually destroyed. Fighting off the evil hordes for the sake of a pure, unsullied people is a narrative that fits very snugly both the Left and the Right.



To conclude:

quote:

Given his influence on progressive sf criticism, we may give the last word to Jameson, and in particular his celebration of the Brechtian notion of plumpes Denken (“crude thinking”), which he defines as the postulate that even the most subtle, academic, or experimental “neo-Marxist” works must contain a core element of “crude” or “vulgar” Marxism in order to qualify as “Marxist” at all. Jameson alludes to plumpes Denken in order to make a point about science fiction: “Something like this may have its equivalent in SF, and I would be tempted to suggest that even within the most devoted reader of ‘soft’ SF—of sociological SF, ‘new wave’ aestheticism, the ‘contemporaries’ from Dick to the present—there has to persist some ultimate ‘hard-core’ commitment to old-fashioned ‘scientific’ SF for the object to preserve its identity and not to dissolve back into Literature, Fantasy, or whatever” (Jameson 245). Might it also be the case that the fascist energies and ideas of pulp sf are precisely the kind of identity-confirming “core” or definitional element that makes it possible to speak of “science fiction,” even when discussing literary, progressive sf? It is understandable that progressive critics would wish to distance themselves from both the aesthetics and the politics that accrued to a generation of stories featuring scenarios of the Golden Races vs. the Scaly Ones variety. But to deny that politics altogether, to claim that it belongs only to the past, is to evade a serious investigation of what makes the genre work, what gives it its identity and indeed its appeal. It is, ultimately, a denial of “science fiction” itself as a genre worthy of discussion, for surely the point of genre criticism is to identify and trace the various constitutional energies, themes, and plots that animate a form and in doing so account for all its variant strains and trends, not just the ones that accord well with a narrow set of critical pieties. To speak of “science fiction” at all is to admit to certain links and ideological ties that go beyond subject and setting, leading readers and critics into unexpected places and opening up unexpected connections. One cannot simply disown unwanted relatives or pretend not to recognize their features when they pop up in later generations. It is, indeed, precisely those ancestral presences—sometimes odd, sometimes eccentric, sometimes distasteful—that give science fiction its remarkable diversity and continuing vitality.


I found this a rather illuminating read. However I've read tragically little sci-fi. I wanted to see what more informed people think.

NikkolasKing fucked around with this message at 02:06 on Apr 3, 2017

NikkolasKing
Apr 3, 2010



Safety Biscuits posted:

Yo I enjoyed reading this post, still thinking about a reply though. Also can you get a myJSTOR account? I have one, I think they let any old riff raff in.

I'm glad you enjoyed it and I look forward to your response.

As for JSTOR, I have an account. It's a 10 day free trial thing so maybe that's why I can't read some of the articles or books listed.

NikkolasKing
Apr 3, 2010



So I think this is a good place to ask about good steampunk books or fiction?

I've played a few video games which maybe qualify as "steampunk" but they were things like Final Fantasy VI and IX which, if you have played them, don't really go into the details of it all very much. In fact, it's more like magic when you get right down to it.

However I'm playing a visual novel right now that is very lore/worldbuilding heavy and talks a lot about its AU 19th Century UK where steampunk has started to reign supreme. It made me curious to find books that really explore the whole idea.

I tried just googling Steampunk novels but, very weirdly to me, it looks like the steampunk stuff is usually almost a backdrop or afterthought and the core stories are things as simple as detective novels or whatever. I'm not interested in that.

What I'd like is a steampunk story that goes over how the world is revolutionized and the implications of the technology. Big, kinda "epic" stuff I guess you might say?

One book I found sounded kinda interesting - Perdido Street Station. What do you all think of it? Also other suggestions are very welcome.

NikkolasKing
Apr 3, 2010



Just want to thank everyone for their suggestions. I got:
The Difference Engine
Burton & Swinburne series
Alchemy Wars

They all sound interesting and they are all on Audible which made me very happy because my eyesight is awful.

NikkolasKing
Apr 3, 2010



So I know a lot of people hate his stuff but I like most of the Michael Crichton books I've read and I think Sphere is his best novel.

But while the twist is all well and good, I really liked the premise. A team of experts just going to investigate and meet alien life. There's danger of course but the focus is more on figuring out just what the heck kind of lifeform they're dealing with, how to communicate with it, etc.. Most aliens I see in fiction are introduced as enemies or are basically humans so first contact is hardly anything special or difficult.

Can aynbody recommend me any scifi books that have the same kind of premise as Sphere? More about the wonder and challenge of meeting aliens than fighting them?

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NikkolasKing
Apr 3, 2010



So thanks everyone for the earlier suggestions. I'm interested in the Foreigner Books and gotta check those out. Glad they are all on Audible but, well, it's Audible so it will be a while before I can afford to buy them all.

But I have a new question. All the fantasy I know use stock medieval times or maybe bump it up to the Industrial Revolution or modern day. Are there any fantasy books set in like, the Stone Age or with hunter-gatherers or something more primitive like that?

Somebody explained to me why there aren't more books like that since there's less people and civilization and political intrigue to deal with. Which makes sense but I'm sure somebody at some time must have written a fantasy series about cave people or something?

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