Wednesday, March 30, 2011

The Mohs Scale of SF Hardness

(cross-posted from DKos)


Jules Verne, the story goes, disliked being compared to his English rival, H.G. Wells. In an interview he once said:

I do not see the possibility of comparison between his [H. G. Wells] work and mine. We do not proceed in the same manner. It occurs to me that his stories do not repose on a very scientific basis. ... I make use of physics. He invents. I go to the moon in a cannon-ball, discharged from a cannon. Here there is no invention. He goes to Mars in an airship, which he constructs of a metal which does not obey the law of gravitation. Ça c'est très joli ... but show me this metal. Let him produce it.


In this comment we can see a tension that has existed almost from the beginning of Modern Science Fiction: the conflict between Hard and Soft SF.

Verne had a deep interest in science and technology; and his publisher was devoted to producing educational works for family audiences; so it's not surprising that his works would have a strong didactic vibe to them. He called his novels "Voyages Extraordinaires" ("Extarordianry Journeys"), and each book was a geography lesson and an adventure combined. He would often consult his brother, an engineer, to get his figures accurate when, say, calculating how much pressure the hull of the Nautilus would have to withstand, or how much force would be required to propel an artillery shell at escape velocity.

Wells, on the other hand, was more interested in people and society than in places and devices. He'd use scientific ideas and jumping-off points for stories, but for the most part was unconcerned with the nuts 'n' bolts of how the science worked.

Now, granted, this over-simplification does injustice to both men. Verne was no purist when it came to science and was certainly not above fudging things when it came to the plot. He would certainly been aware that the force of his space cannon in From the Earth to the Moon would have killed its passengers; and the entire plot of A Journey to the Center of the Earth depends on throwing out nearly everything 19th Century science knew about geology -- and the narrator comes out and says so, frequently! And Wells, although he does not get out the slide rule and rattle off figures with Verne's persnicketiness, has enough familiarity with the scientific ideas with which he plays to give us some grounding and the sense that he knows what he's talking about. The chapter explaining Time as the Fourth Dimension from The Time Machine is essential reading for any fan of Time Travel stories; and Griffin's description of his invisibility from The Invisible Man has just enough scientific technobabble sprinkled in to make it plausible... at least for the span of the novel.

Hugo Gernsback, publisher of Amazing Stories, coined the term "Science Fiction" (although he preferred to call it "scientifiction"). Gernsback was a radio experimenter and and inventor as well as a magazine publisher, and like Verne before him, he saw science fiction as a way to educate the public about science, and insisted on scientific accuracy in the stories he published. It bugged him when readers seemed to prefer more fantastic stories with dubious educational value.

John W. Campbell, editor of Astounding Science-Fiction, reigned over what has been called the Golden Age of Science Fiction and was possibly the most influential person on the genre of the early 20th Century. He insisted that his writers have a strong grasp of both the gadgetry and technology of SF, but also on the human part of the equation and how the science will affect society. Campbell's protegés included Robert Heinlein, Isaac Asimov and other greats of the Golden Age.

These men established the ground rules for the the genre of Science Fiction and forged the assumption that there must be a solid foundation of Science underneath the fantastic Fiction.

But as time went on, things began to shift. I think part of it was that science had advanced to the point where it could not be as easily grasped by an adolescent with a high school knowledge of physics; part of it, no doubt, was that Einstein's Theory of Relativity had forever banished Interstellar Travel to the realms of Fantasy and Handwavium. But I bigger part, I think, was that a new generation of writers had come up who were looking beyond the territory staked out by the Golden Age writers for new worlds to conquer. They turned from the "hard" sciences like chemistry and phyisics and began looking more at "soft" sciences like sociology. Even Campbell himself, always seeking to challenge both his writers and his readers, moved more and more to areas like psionics and paraspychology and even mysticism in the 1950s and '60s.

About the same time, science fiction began to filter more into popular culture; first in comics, then in radio, movies and television. In these media there wasn't time to explain the theory behind a rocket. As Gene Roddenberry put it, whe Joe Friday pulls out his gun, he doesn't pause to explain the chemical reaction that propells the bullet. And so in these media, science took a back seat to storytelling, and Hugo Gernsback rolled over in his orbit.

If one is so inclined, it is possible to sort these out into a scale of "hardness", much like the Mohs scale in geology rates the comparative hardness of different types of rocks. In fact the website TV Tropes has done just that: (WARNING: do not click on this link unless you have several hours to kill!!!) At the hardest end of the scale we have Reality, with no speculative science thrown in at all. Next we have things extrapolated from and plausible according to current technology. The further along we go, the more hypothetical we get, and the more impossibilities we are willing to accept. At the softest end, we have the type of sci-fi described in Mystery Science Theater 3000:

"If you're wondering how they eat and breathe
And other science facts;
Just repeat to yourself, it's just a show;
I should really just relax."


When I was in college, many of my friends in the campus Science Fiction Club were Hard SF fans; fans of Heinlein and Asimov and Niven; the disciples of John W. Campbell who insisted on having a rigorous foundation of science undergriding their fiction. And maybe some of them were even a bit snobbish about it. The Oldest Member of the group when I was there liked to sneer at the term "Sci-Fi", which he felt should only be applied to the kind of garbage that usually came under that name in popular culture. He liked to quote the limerick:

"You ask me the reason why,
I call it 'S-F' not "Sci-Fi"
I think there's a fine line
Between Robert Heinlein
And 'Son of the Two-Headed Fly'


It was a kind of transitional period back then, between the pre-Sputnik era when science fiction was considered "That crazy Buck Rogers stuff" and the present day when it's pretty much mainstream. I think some of us were sensitive about others labeling science fiction as inferior to "real" literature. I know I was.

And so I became a SF zealot. Science fiction was NOT escapist drivel because it was based on SCIENCE! It was focused not on the past but on the Future!

Except... when I stopped to think about it, that seemed awfully pretentious. And I realized that a lot of my favorite science fiction was not based on hard science at all, or was based on old, outdated science that was no longer considered accurate, like my beloved old Jules Vernes. I realized that what I treasured most about science fiction was not that it is the Fiction of Science, but rather that it is the Fiction of the Imagination.

Indeed, that is one of the reasons why my friends considered 'SF' a better abbreviation for the genre than 'Sci-Fi'; because it could equally stand for 'Speculative Fiction', or for 'Science Fantasy'.

That was Hugo Gernsback's guilty little secret. There were basilisk eggs in the cuckoo's nest. The Garden of Science which he had so optimistically planned had tares sown among the wheat. Mixed in with his Engineers' Tales of formulae and equations, were also stories of Magic, of Whimsey, of Demons and Sorcerors, and of Dragons.

Some of the Hard SF Masters of the Golden Age wrote fantasy as well; but their approach was informed by their appreciation for science. L. Sprague de Camp wrote a novella in which an engineer finds himself trapped in fairyland. At first he considers it a "Land of Unreason" because it does not follow the laws of physics that he understands. Eventually, he comes to realize that magic does follow laws; he just need to suss out what they are. His Harold Shea stories, written with Fletcher Pratt, uses a similar conceit, that other magical worlds can be reached through the use of higher mathematics. Robert Heinlein wrote a novella entitled "Magic, Inc." set in a world where magic and technology co-exist, and Poul Anderson developed the same theme in his novel Operation Chaos. And if we go back to a previous century, probably the most famous writer of Victorian Era fantasy, Lewis Carrol, was in his day job a professor of mathematics.

And of course, we can't forget Arthur C. Clarke who formulated the ultimate loophole for writers wishing to slip fantasy into SF: "Any sufficiently advanced technology is indistinguishable from magic."

Saturday, March 12, 2011

Ten Things I love that are Japanese

I was trying to think of a way to encourage people to donate to Red Cross to help earthquake and tsunami victims, but realized, my words probably wouldn't be enough.

As I've stated in this blog before, Japan is very important to me. And I am very moved by the stories I've read and watched from Japan in this crisis, but also, worried and somewhat depressed by the situation. So I decided to instead offer up something that might interest you in Japanese things, and by that maybe look into how amazing a place it is.

And then to donate to help.



Japan is a place of many beautiful scenes, as an island country made of mountains, plains, and streams, it is surrounded by scenes that boggle the mind. Cherry Blossoms, Mount Fuji and ancient buildings are just three aspects of that beauty.

Taiko drums are played in ways that stir the soul. Used since earliest historic memory, they are the music that stirs the samurai spirit.
The Seven Samurai is my favorite film. It is my favorite film for many different reasons, among them, the acting, the story, and the incredible cinematography.
Nothing comes close to beer perfection to me, as does Sapporo, but, particularly draft Sapporo.
I am aware that people have various ideas of what sushi is, or should be. As long as it is on my plate, I don't care what it is called, I crave it.
Godzilla or Gojira is entertaining and a great metaphor at times for Japan, Nuclear weapons and energy, and War. I love the Big G.

Sumotori, gentleman of strength pushing and pulling, trying to displace the opponent is both primal, and civilized. I find it stirring, and beautiful, and violent.
I think Japanese women can be outstandingly beautiful. Akemi Negishi is just one of many who are so lovely upon my eyes.


The Shakuhachi flute and Zen gardens move me. I find solace and beauty in them.


I've met and had friends of many people from Japan or of Japanese descent. I've never found them to be anything but wonderful people. Some of that is just the luck of the draw since there are assholes in every culture, and race and ethnicity... but, I think a lot has to do with the Japanese culture of politeness. And I find it extraordinarily beautiful.

Saturday, March 5, 2011

How to Read Toucan Sam

(cross-posted from DKos)

I really shouldn't think too much about these things. I mean, I really, really shouldn't.

But I do.

My wife enjoys watching the new animated series Transformers Prime and some of the other afternoon shows run on the Hub channel. (She likes Starscream. What can I say? And Ratchet too, she reminds me) And so the the rotation of ads played during that time block have become burned upon my consciousness. (Even now a McDonald's jingle is playing through my head. You know the one. And now it's in your head too.)

The one that's stuck in my brain, though, is the one for Froot Loops.

It starts out with Toucan Sam and his nephews Hughie, Louie and Dewey, (or was it Pipeye, Peepeye and Poopeye?) climbing to the top of an Aztec pyramid somewhere in the jungle. They see a large stone chest overflowing with Froot Loops cereal. (What, you were expecting Aztec gold? Get real!) "It's the Greedy Witch Doctor's Fruity Fortune!" Toucan Sam says.

"Woah! Colorriffic!" the kids exclaim and rush to the hoard to scoop up pre-sweetened cereal goodness in their feathery fingers.

Just then, the Witch Doctor appears, (Wearing a headdress, by the way, which looks much like a toucan's beak. Not sure what that means). "Give me back my Froot Loops cereal or I'll use my Magic Sprinkles on you!" he snarls angrily. (He does not mention that Froot Loops are a Good Part of This Balanced Breakfast at this time). With a wave of his hands, multi-colored sprinkles appear in the air taking the shape of scary, scary faces. Ooo.

The Toucans edge away from the scary, scary sprinkles, but one resourceful nephew takes a feather and tickles the Witch Doctor's foot, He loses his balance and topples off the pyramid, giggling all the way down; and as he does so, the sprinkles land on the cereal, making them Magically Delicious. Wait. No, that's a different cereal. Everyone gathers up the sprinkle-garnished loops in bowls and has a good breakfast.

It was about the third or fourth time I saw this ad that I made a weird connection with a book I once came across in college: How to Read Donald Duck.

I stumbled across the book in the library while browsing through it's collection of comics-related material. I paged through it and skimmed over some of the pages, then put it back. It was an earnest and angry diatrabe about how Donald Duck comics were a tool of the Imperialists to disseminate Colonialist Propaganda.

At the time I dismissed the book. My familiarity with Donald Duck came chiefly from the animated shorts I'd seen on TV, which had nothing to do with colonialism, imperialism, or anything remotely capitalist. I had read very few of the Donald Duck comic books, which often dealt with Super-Capitalist Scrooge McDuck travelling to exotic Third World locations to amass even more gold.

Some years later, Disney put out a TV series called Duck Tales, which adapted many of those classic Carl Barks stories, and I realized that the earnest author of How to Read Donald Duck did have a point. I still disagreed with him, but could see his point.

But seeing the Witch Doctor commercial got me thinking. Wasn't the Witch Doctor entitled to protect his treasure against thieves? And isn't Toucan Sam and his ill-defined relations here merely white colonialists seizing the resources of the native population? (I know, Toucan Sam isn't white, he's multi-colored. But he talks with a British accent). And why does he call the Witch Doctor "Greedy"? Is this a rationaliztion that makes it okay to steal the poor guy's breakfast?

I really ought to cut the ad some slack. It's not easy to cram a narrative into a thirty-second spot and tout the virtues of your product at the same time. I know; I've been drawing a promotional comic strip for local business and it's tough coming up with ideas that sell the product and also entertain. Ads for kid's cereal generally fall into two formulistic plots: Character tries to steal someone's breakfast and fails: ( "Silly Rabbit! Trix are for Kids!" ); or character tries to steal someone's breakfast and succeeds: ( "Barney! You ate my Pebbles!" )

In recent years, Froot Loops has been going with an Indiana Jones vibe for it's TV ads; and I now realize, borrowing heavily from Scrooge McDuck. As Carl Barks borrowed from earlier adventure tales when he wrote the classic Scrooge McDuck comics. But somehow, tropes that never bothered me in the context of a duck story seem to annoy my Inner Marxist when they appear in an ad for breakfast food.

And I didn't know I even had an Inner Marxist.