The Golden Age of Science Fiction is Twelve

Even to this day I occasionally find myself trying to “similarize”. I stare intently at a piece of the floor, blink to imprint it in my mind, then try to teleport to it. That’s the way van Vogt described it in his Null-A novels which I read as a very impressionable teen. I completely get where Ian Sales is coming from:

There are occasional moments when The Players of Null-A does that that thing which made 1940s and 1950s science fiction so compelling at the time: those wild shifts in scale, where battle fleets comprise hundreds of thousands of warships, and journeys cover thousands of light-years in a single hop. It’s horrendously implausible… but never quite manages to break suspension of disbelief. It’s a technique sf no longer uses, perhaps because these days the genre uses tropes differently, often uncritically, with no real knowledge of their meaning or history. But that’s an argument for another day.

Reading The Players of Null-A, I was bemused at how easily I’d been taken in by van Vogt’s writing as teenager. The two Null-A books, and a later sequel, Null-A Three (1985, Canada), are predicated on general semantics, a quack “behavioural system” proposed by Alfred Korzybski, as was “non-Aristotelian logic”, in the book Science and Sanity: An Introduction to Non-Aristotelian Systems and General Semantics (1933, USA). It’s complete nonsense, a sort of self-help by-your-own-bootstraps perversion of Kant’s “ding an sich” — which is given a far, far better fictional treatment in Adam Roberts’s The Thing Itself (2015, UK).

His writing, like that of other utterly self confident bullshitters like Heinlein, is catnip to a certain type of bookish, smart teenager. He had that trick of taking you the reader in his confidence, flattering you that you were capable of understanding what he was talking about even though it was complete nonsense. A thing like general semantics would’ve come across as obvious crackpottery had you encountered it in any other context. It being used as the premise of a science fiction story actually gave it a certain credibility. There must be something in it if it can be used for science fiction!

It was a different time. I still have the read to pieces Meulenhoff omnibus edition of the Null-A novels my parents gave me for my fourteenth birthday, but I haven’t read them in decades. When you’re fourteen you don’t notice van Vogt is just a terrible writer; it’s the ideas that enthrall you. Nor do you notice how outdated and dumb those ideas are. When you’re reading science fiction for the first time everything is new and exciting, no matter how hoary it really is.

Slan — A. E. van Vogt

Cover of Slan


Slan
A. E. van Vogt
159 pages
published in 1940

His mother’s hand felt cold, clutching his. Her fear as they walked hurriedly along the street was a quiet, swift pulsation that throbbed from her mind to his. A hundred other thoughts beat against his mind, from the crowds that swarmed by on either side, and from inside the buildings they passed. But only his mother’s thought were clear and coherent–and afraid.

The opening sentences of Slan show why A. E. van Vogt was the most popular writer of science fiction’s Golden Age, somebody who in 1940 could not only be compared to an Asimov or Heinlein, but compared favourably. Van Vogt had honed his craft on writing “true confession” stories for the pulp market, then got into science fiction with a big bang in John Campbell’s Astounding Science Fiction with “Black Destroyer” — the story that would decades later inspire the Alien movie. For about a decade or so he was incredibly prolific, inventive and with an almost instinctive understanding of how to push his readers’ buttons, learned while writing sob stories for the romance pulps. All these qualities come together in Slan and if you want to understand van Vogt’s appeal, this is the best novel to try: short, focused and tense.

Slan is the story of Jommy Cross, a mutant, a slan, like all slans stronger and smarter than ordinary humans and equipped with two golden tendrils on his forehead which gives him the ability to read minds — but he’s only nine years old. And he and his mother are caught in the very centre of Centropolis, she sacrifising her own life to enable him to escape from the slan hunters, the secret police that shoots slans on sight, because slans are too dangerous to be allowed to life. Those slans who haven’t been murdered yet have to live in secret, hiding their abilities and their tendrils. Jommy does not know how many of them are still or if he’s the only one, but he knows that he is their last hope, that he has to survive to one day take on the might of the dictator of Earth, Kier Gray, as well as the chief of the secret police, the head slan hunter, John Petty. And then there’s the captive slan girl, Kathleen Layton, subject of a power struggle between the two men…

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