The goggles do nothing


Isambard Kingdom Brunel is tired of steampunk. By Kate Beacon

In the past two-three years steampunk has mutated from a science fiction sub-subgenre derived of cyberpunk into something of a lifestyle, taken up by goths looking for something new to be mopey in and hipsters looking for the next ironic thing. It’s been going on for longer of course, but it broke the ‘net’s awareness threshold only recently. In the process steampunk has been stripped of all meaning, as the above Kate Beacon strip refers to, reduced to a series of tropes and fashion accessories. Nothing wrong with playing a bit of dressup, but it has become so ubiqitous now it’s starting to piss people off, as the following heartfelt rant by Philip Reeve shows, already deleted from his website but still in Google’s cache:

No, the problem that I have with Steampunk as a genre is that it’s basically dead. Returning again and again to the same tiny pool of imagery, the writers of Steampunk are doomed to endless repetition. What I used to love about Science Fiction as a teenager was the way that, when you picked up one of those yellow Gollancz SF titles at the library, you had no idea where it would take you; it might be to some dazzling technological future or post-apocalyptic wasteland; it might be to another planet; or it might all be set in the present, just around the corner. But when you pick up a Steampunk book you know pretty much exactly where you’re going; it will take place in an ‘alternate’ nineteenth century which will be neither as complex nor as interesting as the actual nineteenth century. There will be airships; rich villains will be hatching plots involving clockwork and oppressing the workers; rich heroes will see the error of their ways. Most of the characters will not display any of the attitudes or beliefs of the past, but will act and speak like modern people in Victorian fancy dress.

[…]

Steampunk is a genre cul-de-sac: it’s Science Fiction for people who know nothing about science; historical romance for readers whose knowledge of history comes from costume dramas.

I can understand where Reeve is coming from, though he’s stacking the deck somewhat by comparing science fiction with steampunk. If you look at any of science fiction’s subgenres, be it steam or cyberpunk, or planetary romance or space opera or whatever it will seem more limited and codified than the field as a whole, but that’s comparing an entire forest with one of its trees…

If you look at the mainstream works within any given (sub)genre, science fictional or otherwise, these works will tend to resemble each other, with the interesting/innovative stuff happening at the borders where genres meet. But there’s nothing wrong with being a well written genre work that does not confound expectations either. What Reeve sees as the problems of steampunk in the first quoted paragraph, are not faults of the genre, but rather of lazy writers taking the set of assembled cliches and not doing much with them. A better writer could take all these cliches and get more out of them.

Reeve is more on the mark in the second paragraph I quoted. He’s echoed by Steampunk Scholar, who is obviously more tolerant of the subculture [1]:

While there are steampunks who have read the original three (Jeter, Powers, and Blaylock), who watched Wild, Wild, West when it had nothing to do with Will Smith or giant steam-spiders, there are those who seem to think that steampunk is the product of the last three years of what I would call the steampunk boom years. Few steampunks read, and even fewer have read early steampunk, or proto-steampunk like Pavane or Nomad of the Time Streams, to say nothing of the handful that have actually read Verne and Wells. So I’m not too surprised when steampunks display an ignorance for the literary origins of the sub-culture.

Steampunk as a literary genre speaks to a weird sort of nostalgia for an era none of its writers or readers have lived through, unlike e.g. sixties nostalgia which is largely driven by baby boomers remembering their childhood. Instead, it’s nostalgia at a remote, based on media recreations of the era like the Disney adaptations of Jules Verne novels or the various movies of Classic Victorian novels. In science fiction it is perhaps as much driven by a nostalgia for earlier eras of science fiction itself, as much as an aesthetic preference for the look and feel of victoriana. It’s no coincidence that the first wave of steampunk novels or steampunk precursors, like the two examples Steampunk Scholar gives, Pavane and Nomad of the Time Streams were written in the late sixties and early seventies, after the New Wave had completely reimaged science fiction. There was something of a nostalgia backlash going on in science fiction then, even amongst those like Moorcock who had been the driving force behind the New Wave. Yet at the same time, how Moorcock (or Harry Harrison in A Transatlantic Tunnel, Hurray! amongst others) used steampunk was as much as to criticise the contemporary world around them as much as it was an escape to “a simpler time”. There was a political element to those early works that may well be lacking in contemporary steampunk.

It should not come as a surprise that proto-steampunk or early steampunk is more interesting, more eclectic than those works currently sold as cyberpunk: the same happened with cyberpunk before it and the New Wave before that. It’s the difference between novels written as a singular enterprise and those written within the knowledge and expectations of an already defined genre. And of course genres mutate over the course of their lives; how much does contemporary steampunk still have to do with the examples Steampunk Scholar mentions of earlier works? How much is complaining about people not knowing their history justified and how much is it just yelling at those kids to get off your lawn?

[1] Both posts found via my namesake.

Big Planet – Jack Vance

Cover of Big Planet


Big Planet
Jack Vance
158 pages
published in 1951

It’s always dangerous to reread books you fondly remember from your youth. As Jo Walton put it, between the time you last read it and your rereading it, a book might have been visited by the suck fairy, which has taken all the awesome bits you remember and replaced them with dullness. Worse, the racism or sexism fairy may have also visited… I was therefore taken a risk in rereading Big Planet, one of the earliest Jack Vance novels I had ever read. Would it still be the great planetary romance I remember, or would all the adventure and wonder have been sucked out of it?

It turned out to be a bit of both. Not as good or great an adventure as my memory had made it, but still worth reading on its own accord. What my memory had made of Big Planet was much more exotic and detailed than it turned out to be, the real thing much more sketched out than filled in and how could it not with only 158 pages to play with. Nevertheless Big Planet is an important novel in Jack Vance’s development as a writer, as well as influential on other writers, as it shaped the planetary romance subgenre. Planetary romance being any science fiction story which takes place on a single planet and where most of the book revolves around the exploration of the planet, the stage more important than the actors on it.

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Camp Concentration – Thomas M. Disch

Cover of Camp Concentration
Camp Concentration
Thomas M. Disch
325 pages
published in 1968

Camp Concentration is a classic New Wave science fiction novel, but one I’ve never read before. I’ve always been a bit scared of Disch, due to his reputation as a “difficult” and pessimistic writer. These are qualities I’ve only recently started to appreciate, together with a renewed interest in New Wave science fiction. The New Wave was a time when science fiction went through a real literary revolution, as a new generation of writers started to question the genre’s core assumptions, first in the UK and then in America, where the New Wave went into a more political direction. Camp Concentration embodies this revolution perfectly.

It’s central idea, of political prisoners injected with a specially altered syphilis virus to make them hyperintelligent in order that they can design new superweapons for the American military, completely subverts science fiction’s traditional belief in technological progress. What’s more, any kind of dark thrill that could be had from this scenario is quickly undermined as well, as we never see the any sign of anything like that going on at all. Instead we get alchemy.

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The Night Sessions – Ken MacLeod

Cover of The Night Sessions


The Night Sessions
Ken MacLeod
324 pages
published in 2008

It was only when Ken ran a blurb on his blog for a promotion event for his new novel, that I realised that I hadn’t read his previous one The Night Sessions yet. So when my sweetie was running an Amazon order anyway and asked me what I wanted as a gift, this is what I asked for. Glad I did too, as it is of the usual high quality I expect from Ken.

You could call The Night Sessions a thematic sequel to The Execution Channel. That novel took place at the height of a decades long extension of the War Against Terror, while this takes place some decades after the end of what’s now called the Faith Wars in the US/UK, the Oil Wars anywhere else. Ended in a defeat for the coalition of the willing, it led to serious political repercussions in the west: the UK has disintegrated, the US is undergoing a second civil war (something Ken has used before) and in Scotland, as elsewhere religion is well and truly disestablished. There’s not just a separation of church and state, but an official constitutional police of no cognisance: the state doesn’t recognise priests, vicars, bishops, mullars or other religious offices, not even on the level of acknowledging their titles. It’s a world that fits in with Ken’s current hardline secularist attitude, as witnessed by his blog.

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Second Foundation – Isaac Asimov

Cover of Foundation


Second Foundation
Isaac Asimov
187 pages
published in 1953

Second Foundation is the third and last novel in the Foundation series, which popularised the notion of a Galaxy spanning empire in space opera. Originally published in 1951-53 and based on short stories from the forties, the series is now almost sixty years old, something to keep in mind when reading it. The series was revolutionary when it was first published, popularising not only the Galaxy spanning human empire, but also all the bagage associated with it. Asimov famously took Edward Gibbons’ Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire and transplanted it amongst the stars, with the background assumption that only an galactic empire could guarantee peace, yet it’s inevitable that it will decline into decadence and ultimately fall into barbarism. This became a staple of fifties and sixties space opera, with lesser writers uncritically using this for their own stories of galactic derring-do. It’s a very old fashioned concept now and its familiarity lesses the impact of the Foundation series.

The same goes for psychohistory, Asimov’s other great invention in the series, the use of mass psychology to predict the future actions of a large enough group of humans, with “large enough” being an entire Galaxy worth. What with quantum mechanics and the uncertainty principle and chaos theory and all the other half remembered scientific factoids we’ve all absorbed over the past six decades or so, the idea that a group of scholars could predict human history now sounds absurd. And yet… As Donald Kingsbury showed with his 2001 novel Psychohistorical Crisis — which you could call Foundation fanfic — that these ideas in themselves are still valid, can even now be used to create an interesting story. The question therefore is, if approached with an open mind, is the original foundation series still owrht reading in its own right and not just as a historical artifact?

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