"'Consider I have been speculating . . .'"

Among the issues we discussed last week were Darko Suvin’s notion of genre as a matter of “family resemblance,” not to be answered with a strict definition, as well as the peculiar insistence of readers on the internal consistency of “reality” within fiction. Though these hardly seem related, in reviewing The Time Machine’s framework I began to consider the possibility they might be, insofar as both play on a reader’s inarticulable standards for fiction, gleaned from prior experience. Before the ending proves the entire narrative to be a bait-and-switch as egregious as Inception (which faded to black as a cliffhanger, only for the soundtrack to settle things), the story very cleverly deploys a Victorian reader’s loosely defined sense of science fiction as a genre in order to cast doubt on its own status as fiction. “‘Consider I have been speculating upon the destinies of our race until I have hatched this fiction’,” the internal narrator allows us to include (before the external one, like Christopher Nolan, insists on a final answer), recognizing that his work of reportage is indistinguishable in tone and purpose from invention. “‘Treat my assertion of its truth as a mere stroke of art to enhance its interest’,” he adds, discovering the problem of realism. (111)

I’d like to do so here in order to enhance not only to enhance its interest, but to develop an understanding of science and science fiction as related practices just before their modern incarnations. I got this sense immediately from the novel, but in a manner better justified by recourse to another course, in the history of biology—since Alexandra has already demonstrated the insight other material might bring to bear on our own. For the homosocial, domestic male discourse with which the novel opens reminded me of nothing so much as the environment in which science was practiced through the 19^th century, among private (without yet becoming truly academic) clubs like the Royal Society, or simply within the home of a wealthy, curious gentleman. The Time Traveler is skilled (or dandyish) enough to furnish his home with furniture of his own design, which is reflective, and even formative, of an environment open to the spirit of intellectual inquiry: “Our chairs, being his patents, embraced and caressed us rather than submitted to be sat upon, and there was that luxurious after-dinner atmosphere when thought runs gracefully free of the trammels of precision”; fittingly, insofar as those trammels would not be finally applied until the Fordist application of industrialization to the practice of science (1).

In the very same setting, of course, storytelling would have been equally at home, as the more skeptical members of his audience remind us at the novel’s end. Yet I think that, in one of the more self-conscious moments of the novel—and one that so far most clearly articulates the thesis of this course—the equation of science and science fiction is claimed to be a consequence not merely of its practice in the homes of Victorian gentlemen, but its essential reliance on narrative as such. “‘Conceive the tale of London which a negro, fresh from Central Africa, would take back to his tribe! What would he know of railway companies, of social movements, of telephone and telegraph wires, of the Parcels Deliver Company, and postal orders and the like? . . . And even of what we knew, how much could he make his untravelled friend either apprehend or believe?’” (51-52) Here he addresses anthropology, though only by way of a peculiar self-othering inversion. But were we to generalize the point to all systems perceptible only to those with a privileged perspective that nevertheless must derive value from their representation to others (which would describe not only the relation between the scientist, his field of study, and the populace, but also of the critic, “high” literature and the same—if not the critic, “low” literature and the academy), the lesson becomes of greater import to a greater number. And science fiction begins to look like the best training in such impossible acts of speech.

Mars, Martians, and Setting

Warning: This post may be slightly edited over the course of Wednesday; I have a multitude of Wednesday classes and so am posting this now for the benefit of those doing a presentation on Thursday

Mars, Life, Civilization, Ruins, Desert. In essence, these terms are all synonymous with Science Fiction depictions of Mars. I personally am fascinated by the setting and background that Science Fiction writers incorporate into their stories and thus focus on the depictions of the Red Planet rather than on the actions taken upon it. Regardless, for stories concerning Mars, its appearance and setting are critical for the plot. With a clearly visible (from both Earth-based observatories and various robotic expeditions) rocky surface, the planet is both easy to describe for SciFi authors and scarily similar to various Earth locations. Moving into the realm of fiction, another trope is that Mars is the home of alien life or the ruins they left behind after extinction.

"The Ruins of a Martian 'Port'" as claimed by non-scientific sources

Mars has quite a pedigree when it comes to Science Fiction. Arguably most famously, it was the home planet of the extraterrestrials in H. G. Wells War of the Worlds. More broadly, the assumption of technologically or magically advanced Martians living in a more Earth-like climate is a hallmark of earlier Science Fiction works (see C. S. Lewis' Space Trilogy, etc...). More often than not, the Earth was under attack by the planet's denizens, thus forming the oft-repeated scenario of "Mars Attacks!"

Unlike War of the Worlds though, modern interpretations (clearly affected by more recent NASA expeditions to the planet) see Mars as the site of alien ruins surrounded by desert rather than the home of a thriving civilization. In the video game Mass Effect, Mars is where humans discover ruins from an ancient alien empire. These "Protheans" had established a Martian outpost to observe humanity and once they disappeared from the galaxy, their technology allowed humans spread beyond the Solar System. In a parallel manner, Total Recall centers around the discovery (and the subsequent battles over the activation) of an ancient alien artifact that could terraform Mars into a habitable Eden. As a result, Total Recall is something of a bridge between the two stereotypes in that Mars was once a paradise, but fell into desertified ruin. In both cases, despite the vastly superior technology of the respective alien race, all that remains on Mars are ruins and artifacts. Regardless, the existence of life on Mars (either past or present) is never deeply questioned and appears to be assumed in most Science Fiction works.

Do we find him or simply ruins?

A Rose for Ecclesiastes provides a classic example of just such a series of beliefs. In that story, the protagonist is brought to the Red Planet to help interact with and learn from the native Martians. These Martians are faced with the immanent collapse of their civilization due to male sterility. While Gallinger's actions are somewhat independent of the setting, his musings are not. Many times he discusses the state of disrepair of the (believed last) Martian city known as Tirellian, thus providing convenient and potent imagery of a civilization falling to ruin. Moving beyond the idea of Martian ruins, the only thing Gallinger describes besides the Martians and their civilization is the unimaginably expansive desert with its biting red sand. The desert also serves as a sort of metaphor for the Martian collapse as a sufficiently capable alien race would be able to at least partially tame the desert (as humans have for centuries). Additionally, there is a certain mythos surrounding great riches lost in a literal or metaphorical sea (ex: Iram of the Pillars, lost in a sea of sand; the city of Atlantis) that allows Roger Zelazny to draw a parallel between the fading Martian civilization and tragic loss of these historical human cities. In both cases though, the planet's surface is harsh and often serves either as plot context or a symbol of the collapse of the assumed alien civilization discussed previously.

In conclusion, Mars is fascinating as a setpiece because despite the variety inherent in Science Fiction, the planet is always portrayed in one of two polar-opposite manners. Either the planet is a lush Eden (or at least sufficiently Earth-like to support technologically advanced life) populated by Martians or it is a barren red desert populated by alien ruins. Nevertheless, the fact that Mars is the subject of a pair of popular Science Fiction tropes has failed to dissuade human fascination with the planet and I expect that Mars will remain a critical element if Science Fiction for the foreseeable future.