A Spaceship Named Delusion (part 2)
One of the recurring thematic features of a ancient Greek tragedy involves the conundrum oikos (the household, the family) and the polis (the city-state, the society), and more precisely how aporia (a situation without a solution) stems from the principle where one the polis needs to be upheld at the expense of the oikos and vice-versa. Let’s take, for example, Sophocles’ Antigone. In order to honor her household, the lead character has to break the laws of the polis. For that she is punished with a fate worst than death, but also being stranded in the after-life as she is refused the burial rituals that would allow her to cross the river of the dead in order to find rest in the Elysian Fields.
With the end of Antiquity, the Christian Middle-Age narratives suppressed that conundrum by embedding such binary in the monad represented by the Church/God, the Modern Age that came afterwards not only retrieved it but turned the binomial structure into a triad by adding the element of the individual as having their own domain instead of being a mere subaltern of their family and society: this is true for most works spanning from the Renaissance to the contemporary, as well as most Western political ideologies which often seek pairing two elements of the triad at the expense of one. In this sense, the recent shift in American conservative ideology from society as the safeguard of individual freedom of expression to one where family has salience over individuals - particularly the underage ones -, is not a new dynamic, but is at least as grounded as the anti-enlightenment from centuries ago.
It is, hence, surprising that what is manifesting in the Floridian ongoing repressive social experiment we see ourselves trapped in finds resonance in the type of speculative fiction from certain authors which, supposedly, are the very target of that fascistic politics. Depictions of sexual freedom (which belong to the realm of the individual in the aforementioned triad), are frowned upon, and relationships based on chaste, brotherly-adjacent bond are not only encouraged but advocated. I call it the caramel age of speculative fiction, based on the sweetness and viscosity of the substance (call it meringue age if you want to avoid the worst, erroneous reading of the term willing to imply there is a racist connotation) .
The caramel age of speculative fiction started with the debacle in the Hugo Awards caused by a group of fascist writers subverting the rules to push their nominations. They failed, thanks to an anti-fascist collective effort which is, in my opinion, the pinnacle and also the end of what Elizabeth Bear called the rainbow age of speculative fiction (and my agreement with her is pretty much limited only to the name of the period), when a diversity of perspectives in themes became more patent and, ultimately catalyzed the effort to counter the fascistic backlash. The caramel age that succeeded it was a period of accommodation, where the flame of diversity was restricted to a limited group ultra-protective of the field where outsiders were accepted only after undergoing trials of docility and blandness often conveyed by expensive writing workshops which received this new task, as well as a profusion of self-indulgent narratives, where the highlighted ethnic and sexual identities find their theater of operation in found families which exist as enclaves within oppressive or indifferent social arrangements. There are exceptions and there is variation within this structure of the triad, but that’s the ruling Weberian ideal type of speculative prose of this time period, which seems to have come to an end, as the caramel is now stale and brittle.
On one hand, a less innocuous or even bolder slate of works seems to be making way, particularly under the banner of horror (even though they are adjacent to science fiction or fantasy). On the other hand, there are factors which hint that these works may be taking place too late: the recent closing of magazines catering to the caramel age narratives, and the likely shut down of freedom of expression in a social level - a true monkey paw wish of the gatekeepers of the caramel age coming true -, shows that this focus on stories about individual identity and a safe, harmless entourage versus the higher collective sphere are, if not toxic or misleading, are at least oblivious to the social transformations and its stakes around us.
As usual, I’m avoidant to mention specific works and keep my analysis to broad terms, even though such prerogative would benefit my point by illustrating the caducity and aloofness of the terminal caramel age of speculative fiction. Instead I’d rather focus on what I dread my come next.
It seems to me that the post-caramel age of speculative fiction seems to be steered to a rift between two sterilities. One is the insistence of the failed formula of the caramel age: those narratives will feel more stale than ever. The other is a paradigm that seems to be adjacent to the new weird genre, favoring style over substance, and instead of tangible plots, atmosphere (or, the bastard term they prefer, “vibes”). Yes, those narratives can be meaningful, but not too much: just a whiff of tangibility for the reader is allowed. Both sterilities will dwell heavily in the short form of fiction, as long form will remain, for the nature of its length, the locus of well developed speculations on our reality. One can’t afford to be facile or evasive in long form without either being terribly boring or hacky or doing what is necessary to deliver good speculative fiction: create complexity and explore its inner potentialities and contradictions. And those narratives, I feel, will need to stop dwelling so strongly in the conundrum individual-(found) family and focus on the greater social arrangements that we need for the elevation of our humanity: because I don’t want a escapism that takes me away from the social horrors we are facing, but one that overcomes them with consistency. It’s a good idea to look back at two writers of the past to find inspiration on how to approach new narratives of this type (what I think I’m allowed to do since my approach to these works is reverent and the writers have already passed away.)
One of them is Iain M. Banks. I will be honest: I only read Consider Phlebas from him which I found riveting in its plot and descriptions but a torture in its meandering, overwritten dialogue which often mentions literally something he had already described. Pet peeve aside and considering his popularity, it is worst mentioning what he achieved by offering a far-future narrative where the most liberating form of social existence is called The Culture, a confederation of worlds and individuals collectively vowed to live their freedom. There is something akin to a selfishness within the Culture - as if they chose community to be selfish together - that rubbed me the wrong way in Banks work, although maybe that may be precisely his point: this is the best it can get considering our own limitations as humans in order to exist at our greatest potential.
The other is Ursula K. Leguin and her Ekumen, which, unlike Banks’ Culture, presents itself less obviously as a political power for the fact that interplanetary travel requires many decades and each solar system has its own powers and dynamics which can only be permeable to the humanist imperative of the Ekumen through their representatives who decided to leave their worlds and lives behind. Most think about The Left Hand of Darkness, but I’m personally more fond of the anthology of novellas Four Ways to Forgiveness, which takes place in a solar system with two habitable planets, one of them being the recently emancipated colony of the other. My favorite novella from this anthology follows the life of an Ekumen agent, from his tribal village amid the ruins of a foregone technologically advanced civilization to study to the Ekumen and then be sent to the system I mentioned less as a missionary and more as a witness to their change toward a dignified framework for individuals.
I intentionally didn’t summarize with too many details the works of either author, but I believe both Banks and Leguin offer, in my opinion, a solution for the conundrum/triad trap. We shouldn’t choose an edge, as the more prescriptive works recommend, or settle for something in between, but be aware that there is a possibility of circulation throughout it not in mechanical pendulous motion, but as individual and collective entities that can and should seek the higher potential of our existence in its different levels - individual, family (biological and found) and society - and steer away when one of them asserts itself as oppressive without denying that we can go back to these stances if we feel like it.