20080612

I'm a member of a book club that seeks to read worthwhile fiction in order to discuss both the themes and the wider-world ramifications of those themes. Apparently the club's been functioning for a good fifteen years or so. The Monk and I joined shortly after the two founders moved on to greener pastures on the other side of the country. Gradually, as the club has striven to establish itself without the guidance of its founders, many of the rules that had bound the group in its purpose and methodology have relaxed or wholly fallen to the wayside.

The rule that here interests me is an outright ban on science fiction.

Honestly, I'm thoroughly puzzled why such a ban should ever have existed. Science fiction (or more particularly, speculative fiction) is one of the foremost literary tools for evaluating and criticizing society—and such evaluations seem like perfect fodder for a discussion group concerning itself with how literature reflects the needs and vector of society. Asimov, Huxley, Gibson, Vonnegut, Orwell. These are all names associated with speculative fiction in the twentieth century and each is responsible for works that question the direction of society and postulate ends to our momentum.

In any case, this all came to mind because of a recent CAPCast that while mostly focused on the recent cinematic expression of the Iron Man franchise ended with the contributors, Rich and Ben, each listing their Top 5 Favourite Sci-Fi Elements. I found this an interesting way to talk about what I find most interesting in the spec. fiction genre. So then, with imaginary fanfare that you can only hear in your head if you are the right sort of worthwhile individual... My Top 5 Sci-Fi Elements!

It’s easy to see why dystopian futures and societies are a mainstay in speculative fiction. Essentially, they give the author an open platform to discuss the failure of contemporary society at leisure, unraveling the source of the problem as quickly or leisurely as they like. Some authors really dive into the possibilities while others just think a broken world is cool to look at. Some cool stories exploring the dystopian society to one degree or another are Terry Gilliam's Brazil and 12 Monkeys, Metropolis (both Lang’s 1927 version and the Tezuka-based one from 2001), Alan Moore’s V for Vendetta, A Scanner Darkly (and much of the Philip K. Dick oeuvre, including Minority report), and the super-awesome Delicatessen. Actually, besides the use of the space frontier, the dystopian society may be one the most frequently used tropes of spec. fiction.

Androids, when possessing an A.I. having grown to self-awareness, can make for fascinating studies into the nature of existence, personality, ethics, and purpose (despite the fact that synthetic humans are a creepy, creepy idea). Some of my favourite treatments of the idea come from animation (a la Tezuka’s Metropolis and the "Second Renaissance" episodes of The Animatrix by Mahiro Maeda). Other worthwhile uses include the synthetic humans in Blade Runner, Alien/Aliens, Data in Star Trek: TNG, Asimov’s android works, the Phantasy Star series, and in one of the best early works of spec. fiction, Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein.

The active perfection of the human state through genetic manipulation is one of the aspects of speculative fiction that is most tangible to a contemporary audience—since we see the seeds of a eugenics future being sown around us all the time. The idea that we can make our lives better from the start by predisposing ourselves to greatness is a powerful one and it’s scientific possibility makes it ripe for ethical discussion. 1997's Gattaca wonderfully explores what genetic perfection would mean to a society and to those not perfected. Apparently Alien 4 deals with the matter, but after 3, my interest in the property waned significantly. Huxley’s Brave New World is probably the most famous instance of eugenics in spec. fiction and shows as well the dark side of the matter by postulating not only perfection in breeding but as well the breeding of imperfection to fill the ranks of a slave class. Vonnegut includes the concept in Galapagos.

Riding the eugenics train is the concept of wetware and other means to enhancing the human state. The idea of upgradeable humanity was found in "Johnny Mnemonic" and also finds front-and-center prominence in another of work of William Gibson’s, the dystopic story that introduced the term "cyberspace," Neuromancer. The idea of upgrading the human mind with hard drives and extra RAM has been with us since people started understanding computers and taking note that surgeons were getting better at creating artificial parts that the body might not reject. Videogames make great use of the concept and last year’s Bioshock combined ideas of eugenics and transhuman upgrade to posit the use of plasmids and genetic tonics that would be spliced into the DNA chain, enhancing the citizens of its Randian paradise to metahuman states (before eventually driving them mad). The dystopian government in Moore’s V for Vendetta is also involved in human enhancement—eventually to its ruin.

Ah, the good ol' Hollow Earth (map). I’ve always enjoyed sci-fi stories that attempt to draw links between the real world, the speculative world, and the mystic world. Stories in this vein usually abandon the pedagogical, exploratory use of spec. fiction and aim simply toward telling good yarns, but I really appreciate the effort used to bring formerly mystic and folklore elements into a world governed by scientific principle and objective reality. These stories are usually pretty soft on the science aspect, but I don’t think they have to be. In this realm, I’m a big fan of Hellboy and BPRD (Hellboy had a lot of use of Nazi paganism and sci-mystic exploration while BPRD has lately been exploring the mystical realm from more of a Victorian scientific standpoint—much like those scientists who also dabbled in alchemy, a la Isaac Newton).

20080610

With the advent of AJAX and the rise of the dorkily named and rather ambiguous Web 2.0, we have a phenomenal means of tracking real historical change over short increments of time. Case in point. Last week I was in Laguna Beach for an appointment. I decided to fill up at a gas station at 120 PCH right in the middle of the city. I paid an almost unbelievable $4.65 per gallon. I mean, really. Wow.

Anyway, I was thinking about it and I thought I'd check to see what the price of gas was about six months ago at the same station. So I did. My first and only stop? Google Maps. The first time I saw PCH in Laguna featured on their street view mode was made last fall or so. It certainly wasn't summer or there'd be more people out, wandering the sidewalks, dodging bums with open guitar cases fiddling their saxaphones for a buck or three.

Anyway, I quickly discovered the gas station in question.

And with a little google zooming...

$2.91. Wow, I remember back when that was a lot. Actually, who doesn't? It was, after all, less than a year ago. Go America!! Go Google!! Go Web 2.0!!

20080606

Welcome to our new recurring feature, Judging Books by Covers. Over the last several years I've become increasingly interested in the way we package our fiction. Through this series I'd like to take a look at book covers and what helps them succeed or fail.

My interest began probably around the time that I started designing DVD covers for my movies—this was a few years back now. Then I occasionally noticed that an interesting cover could entice me to read the book it covered (case in point: Jonathan Strange and Mr Norrel. Then a few months back I read A Spot of Bother and didn't like it; and I was put off by the fact that had I picked up a different edition, I would have gotten a cover that more adequately prepared me for the kind of story being told and so i would have quite possibly enjoyed the story. And finally, I purchased and promptly devoured a book collecting Chip Kidd's book cover designs from the last two decades (which I previously reviewed).

The thing is: Despite proverbial admonitions, we quite naturally judge books by their covers. And more, we are intended to do so. Book covers (or jackets) have three main functions: 1) to visually entice potential readers/consumers to pick the book up; 2) to look nice on a shelf or in one's hands; and 3) to set the stage of the reader's mind through its visual cues. I suppose dust jacket covers also offer a slight degree of physical protection for a book, but that hardly has to do with design as we're speaking of it here. In any case, book covers succeed or fail based on how they perform and juggle these three objectives.

For our first examination, I thought we'd look at William Golding's Lord of the Flies, since it's been through many editions and boasted a variety of covers.

Hopefully you enjoyed that brief tour. In case you're curious, I thought #10 was probably the best cover for the book.