What happens when the science fiction worldview goes universal?

The title of American author Thomas Wolfe’s famous posthumous novel might be You Can’t Go Home Again, but most authors do go home over and over during their lifetimes. When I visit relatives in my home state of Alabama I am always asked how my writing career is going, where my upcoming stories will be published, and what new stories I’m working on.

But while my relatives are thrilled at my literary success, the funny thing is few of them actually read my stories.

One relative even told me she can’t read science fiction stories. While she reads lots of fiction and particularly enjoys the mystery genre, science fiction doesn’t make sense to her. She can’t read SF stories because she literally doesn’t understand the world creation and themes and ideas which support the genre.

When my relative first told me this, I couldn’t believe it. After all, science fiction is everywhere in today’s world, from TV to films to video games. Even technology fashions such as smartphones and tablets and wearable tech are influenced by science fiction. How could someone not understand the underlying themes and motifs of the SF genre?

But then I read an essay by genre author and critic Shaun Duke and understood why my aunt doesn’t read SF. In this essay Shaun suggested people consider science fiction as one of the “supergenres” alongside realistic fiction and anti-realistic fiction, underneath of which would then exist the traditional genres of historical novels, crime stories, romances, fantasies, mysteries, and so on.

As Shaun said, “These supergenres would not necessarily define the genres beneath them, but they would suggest a relationship between genres that moves beyond narrative practice, but never quite leaves it behind. A fantasy novel might be as much historical as it is anti-realist; the former is a narrative practice, while the latter is a conceptual ‘game.’“

Shaun makes some fascinating points in his essay. However, I wonder if Shaun didn’t take his thought experiment far enough. Perhaps instead of even speaking of science fiction as a genre or supergenre, we should instead speak of SF and other established genres as viewpoints toward seeing the world.

After all, fiction itself is a worldview, a way of saying that certain types of stories have not truly happened and likely will never happen. The “fiction” worldview allows people to approach fictional stories with a different frame of mind than the viewpoints we have when approaching historical texts, or memoirs, or poetry, or even real life. And within the viewpoint of fiction rest more individualized views of what fiction can accomplish. These individualized viewpoints—our traditional genres like fantasy, horror, romance and so on—essential set up people to understand what they’re about to experience.

Just as the human mind must learn to interpret the sensory inputs we receive from our eyes and ears—allowing us to know that this image we’re seeing is a tree and that buzzing sound a bee—so too must people learn to understand the fictional stories they experience. Hence the existence of genres, which help people understand the fictional motifs and themes and beliefs they're about to encounter.

Now before people attack this theory of mine, let me state that I also understand there’s more to genre than merely worldview—in our current 21st century world there’s also a marketing aspect to genres which publishers and authors use to sell books, along with social communities of readers connected with each genre. However, I think this worldview theory is still a useful way to understand part of why genres exist.

And if it’s true that genre should in part be understood as a literary viewpoint, this would also help explain why my relative is unable to read science fiction. Her worldview—the way she sees the universe and her place in it—does not encompass a science fiction spin on reality. To her, SF is literally outside the realm of things she’s willing to accept as being part of existence.

The good news for the science fiction worldview is that growing numbers of people are both accepting it and seeing the world through SF eyes. We live in a time of vast technological and societal change, where humanity’s old assumptions and cultural norms are being forced to adapt to new circumstances at a dizzying speed. It’s no wonder science fiction films and TV shows and video games and manga are so popular.

But this also raises the question of what happens to the SF literary genre when the science fiction worldview becomes so ubiquitous.

Most people approach SF these days through mediums other than the written word. And while science fiction may be popular in visual mediums like films, fewer people than ever are actually reading SF literature, meaning that those who still read SF are trending older and older. This is the exact opposite of other literary genres like fantasy and horror.

At a recent convention I asked a well-known author why he thought written fantasy had eclipsed the science fiction genre in recent years. This author (whom I can’t name because it was a private conversation) said that “Unlike with the fantasy genre, science fiction is still trying to discover what it wants to say.”

But what if the problem with SF isn’t that it doesn’t know what to say to 21st century audiences, although I believe that is part of the problem. What if the worldview of science fiction, centered around technological change and futurism and humanity’s place in the universe, no longer strikes many people as being unique to the genre because this worldview has become common among a sizable portion of humanity.

In short, what if SF’s worldview is now the defacto worldview of so many people that the literary genre itself seems rather tame and boring?

I don’t know if this is true, but it’s what I’m contemplating these days as I write my stories. But if there’s any truth in this, for science fiction literature to again become relevant then how our genre views the world—and our genre’s place in our fictional understandings of life—must change.


Note: This essay was originally published as one of my monthly columns in the Czech SF/F magazine XB-1.

Authors shouldn't whine about fast rejection times

The Dark is a online magazine of horror and dark fantasy which, in the last three years, has received a number of accolades and reprints in "year's best" anthologies. Edited by Sean Wallace and Silvia Moreno-Garcia, the magazine is open to more experimental stories and new authors, which results in issues of The Dark often pushing the boundaries of both the genre and literary fiction.

The Dark is also known for fast response times on most submissions, often within 24 hours. Sean and assistant editor Jack Fisher divide up the slush pile and give each story a first read.

You'd think authors would be happy with fast response times because it means they can submit their stories somewhere else. But it turns out some authors hate a quick no. They'd rather the band-aid be pulled off bit by bit over months and years instead of a quick yank.

One reason for this is authors have been conditioned to expect long response times for short fiction, partly because many literary magazines like Tin House and Granta are notorious for letting submissions hang in limbo. This not only hurts authors but shows a lack of respect toward our work. When a literary magazine takes a year to decide on your story, don't pretend your submission spent all that time being read and analyzed. It likely received the same amount of attention as a submission rejected in only a few hours.

Before anyone screams, yes, there are exceptions. If your story is under active consideration or is a finalist for a magazine, expect longer waits. If a magazine says they take up to three months to consider stories (which many print magazines still require and I'm okay with), both expect and accept it. Part of this comes down to knowing a market before you submit. This knowledge can be easily gained through places like the Submission Grinder.

All of which makes the recent responses Sean Wallace received after a couple of prompt rejections all the more jarring.

A few days ago Sean quoted one author's response on Facebook:

“Yeah, okay. Just so you understand, there is no way I believe you have read that last one I sent you in this amount of time . . . and now, I don’t believe you read the first one, either. That’s okay. It’s not like that makes you exceptional or anything. I dream of an exceptional editor. I’ll spare you further submssions, since clearly you’re not bothering to read the ones I send.”

Followed a day or so later by a response from a different author.

"Wow, that’s quick! Thanks for giving it the due consideration it so obviously required. Luckily, these things require almost no effort to write ’em, so a curt dismissal is all the remuneration any writer needs. Oh, and maybe a hearty go f*#& yourself—or is that just too redundant?—author”

I get it. Rejection hurts. I've received a ton of rejections in my time and will keep receiving them until I die. But I would never respond like that to an editor.

First, you burned yourself with an editor who might buy one of your stories in the future. Second, you insulted an editor who respected your work enough to NOT sit on it for months even though the magazine won't ever be buying your story.

Third, the first person misspelled "submission" in their response. Which I'm sure really made that author look great in Sean's eyes.

It's not hard for submission editors to both read every submitted story and stay on top of their slush pile. As Sean has said, "If we get ten stories a day, and each slush editor takes five, spread out throughout the day, then the chances are fairly high that any given submission can be processed, rejected or moved into a maybe folder, within minutes. And the system is set up to do automatic rejections with a quick click of a button. As such, there is no inherent malice in a fast response these days. The issue, really, is that some magazines and markets have been traditionally so slow in the past that it established expectations and that is in of itself problematic."

Total agreement.

Note to authors: The editors of professional magazines work for their readers, not their writers. While it's nice when editors give specific feedback on a story, that rarely happens. If you want feedback on your writing enroll in a writing program or take part in a critique group. Don't expect it from editors.

In this day and age the way editors show respect to authors is by not wasting our time by holding submissions which won't work for their publications. That's what Sean Wallace and everyone at The Dark does and I praise them for it.

"Blood Grains Speak Through Memories" selected for Year’s Best Science Fiction & Fantasy, 2017 Edition

My novelette "Blood Grains Speak Through Memories," which appeared in the March 2016 science-fantasy double issue of Beneath Ceaseless Skies, has been selected for The Year’s Best Science Fiction & Fantasy, 2017 Edition, edited by Rich Horton.

Many thanks to Rich Horton for picking the story for his anthology.

Below is the anthology's table of contents. Looks like an excellent line-up of stories and authors, one I'm proud to be a part of.

The anthology will be released in 2017.

  • “Seven Ways of Looking at the Sun-Worshippers of Yul-Katan” by Maggie Clark, Analog
  • “All that Robot Shit” by Rich Larson, Asimov’s
  • “Project Empathy” by Dominica Phetteplace, Asimov’s
  • “Lazy Dog Out” by Suzanne Palmer, Asimov’s
  • “The Visitor from Taured” by Ian R. MacLeod, Asimov’s
  • “Openness” by Alexander Weinstein, Beloit Fiction Journal
  • “In Skander, for a Boy” by Chaz Brenchley, Beneath Ceaseless Skies
  • “Laws of Night and Silk” by Seth Dickinson, Beneath Ceaseless Skies
  • “Blood Grains Speak Through Memories” by Jason Sanford, Beneath Ceaseless Skies
  • “Rager in Space” by Charlie Jane Anders, Bridging Infinity
  • “Ozymandias” by Karin Lowachee, Bridging Infinity
  • “The Bridge of Dreams” by Gregory Feeley, Clarkesworld
  • “Everyone from Themis Sends Letters Home” by Genevieve Valentine, Clarkesworld
  • “Things with Beards” by Sam J. Miller, Clarkesworld
  • “Innumerable Glimmering Lights” by Rich Larson, Clockwork Phoenix 5
  • “Between Nine and Eleven” by Adam Roberts, Crises and Conflicts
  • “Red of Tooth and Cog” by Cat Rambo, F&SF
  • “The Vanishing Kind” by Lavie Tidhar, F&SF
  • “A Fine Balance” by Charlotte Ashley, F&SF
  • “Empty Planets” by Rahul Kanakia, Interzone
  • “Fifty Shades of Grays” by Steven Barnes, Lightspeed
  • “I’ve Come to Marry the Princess” by Helena Bell, Lightspeed
  • “RedKing” by Craig deLancey, Lightspeed
  • “A Non-Hero’s Guide to The Road of Monsters” by A.T. Greenblatt,
  • Mothershipship Zeta
  • “Dress Rehearsal” by Adrian Tchaikovsky, Now We Are Ten
  • “The Plague Givers” by Kameron Hurley, Patreon
  • “Gorse Daughter, Sparrow Son” by Alena Indigo Anne Sullivan, Strange Horizons
  • “The Magical Properties of Unicorn Ivory” by Carlos Hernandez, The
  • Assimilated Cuban’s Guide to Quantum Santeria
  • “Something Happened Here, But We’re Not Quite Sure What It Was” by
  • Paul McAuley, Tor.com
  • “That Game We Played During the War” by Carrie Vaughn, Tor.com

Review of "The Super Ultra Duchess of Fedora Forest" by Charlie Jane Anders

Name a favorite fairy tale. Odds are you'll pick a Disneyfied tale, perhaps one of those princess stories all cleaned up and ready to lie to generations of kids. Or maybe you'll pick a tale recorded by the Grimms. Perhaps a nice helping of Hansel and Grethel with some Little Red Riding Hood on the side.

Name your favorite fairy tale and odds are you won't pick "The Mouse, the Bird, and the Sausage." Yet this is exactly what Charlie Jane Anders does in her fun and oh-so-relevant "The Super Ultra Duchess of Fedora Forest," one of the many new fairy tales in The Starlit Wood, edited by Dominik Parisien and Navah Wolfe.

Anders' story is set in a future fantasy world were instead of an internet of things humanity creates a consciousness of things, giving every object and animal in our world a sense of self along with intelligence before we vanish from existence. The result is a world where mice, birds, and yes, sausages, strive to understand their roles and purposes in life.

"The Super Ultra Duchess of Fedora Forest" is a fun, humorous read with a deadly seriousness beneath the laughs, with this fairy tale of three friends finding their way in the world interspaced with explorations of identity and self governance. I suspect even people who are not fans of fairy tales will love Anders' story.

I highly recommend "The Super Ultra Duchess of Fedora Forest" and have added it to my continually updated Nebula Award recommended reading list. I also looking forward to reading more stories in this fascinating anthology.

Stay Crazy by Erica L. Satifka

What do you get if Philip K. Dick worked a crap job at Walmart while simultaneously being treated for mental illness and talking to interdimensional beings? You'd get the year's best debut SF novel, Stay Crazy by Erica L. Satifka.

Stay Crazy is the story of Emmeline, a young woman with paranoid schizophrenia who works a dead-end job at Savertown USA, the cost-cutting big box store which sucks the soul out of everything it touches. Emmeline sees her job as a step toward getting her life back together after a recent mental breakdown. But when a strange being from another dimension begins talking to Emmeline through the RFID chips in the store's merchandise — warning of a pending global apocalypse — she must find a way to both save the world while not suffering another breakdown.

Stay Crazy mixes a fast-paced science fiction plot with deft social criticism, characters you'll love, and laugh-out-loud humor. The novel is also an excellent exploration of neurodiversity and how there are multiple ways to see both your own life and the world around us.

I highly recommend people read this novel, which is the best debut novel I've read this year. Erica Satifka is a highly talented writer which a rich imagination and I look forward to reading her next novel.