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.

Adrift on the Sea of Rains — Ian Sales

Cover of Adrift on the Sea of Rains


Adrift on the Sea of Rains
Ian Sales
75 pages
published in 2012

Ian Sales is a blogger and science fiction critic with strong options about what science fiction should and shouldn’t be and the conviction to put his opinions into practise. So for example, being dissatisfied with the lack of attention to women writers in science fiction and especially in the Gollancz science fiction Masterworks series, he launched the Sf Mistressworks blog to showcase overlooked classics by women writers. I don’t always agree with him, but he’s always interesting. Which is why I took a gamble on his fiction writing with Adrift on the Sea of Rains, a self published chapbook; normally something I wouldn’t bother with.

As he mentions in his biography page, Ian Sales was only three years old when Neil Armstrong set foot on the Moon, but it clearly left a deep impression nonetheless. It makes him about a decade older than myself, of the right age to be impressed by the seeming inevitability of nuclear war in the late seventies and early eighties, a Third World War that like the first seemed destined to be stumbled into rather than actively desired, all the more difficult to stop because of this. Somewhere in the mid-seventies we crossed the threshold where any nuclear war could still be survivable and reached the point where it just meant the end of the world. That was also the point at which the space race, the symbol of early Cold War machismo, ended, not in victory or defeat, but in a stalemate. The link between a better space programme and nuclear war is an old one in science fiction, as writers like Jerry Pournelle or Ben Bova, both in their fiction and outside it, arguing that space was vital for American national security, honest enough to understand that the space programme they wanted was only possible this way. Adrift on the Sea of Rains shows what could’ve happened had they been right, a story of nine astronauts in the US moonbase, left adrift after nuclear war destroyed the world.

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