Showing posts with label William Gibson. Show all posts
Showing posts with label William Gibson. Show all posts

Friday, 23 December 2011

Genderswitching Classic SF

Inspired by this lighthearted Guardian article on Genderswitching classic novels, my holiday challenge is to take a passage from classic speculative fiction (define as you like), and reverse the gender of the pronouns (or otherwise subvert, if you want to make your hero genderqueer, say). What's the most fun you can have? What SF story would be the most changed by the subversion of its genders? Which would be improved?

A couple of ideas to get us started. First (from Honor Philippa Lovecraft's Call of Cthulhu):
The first half of the principal manuscript told a very peculiar tale. It appears that on 1 March 1925, a thin, dark young woman of neurotic and excited aspect had called upon Professor Angell bearing the singular clay bas-relief, which was then exceedingly damp and fresh. Her card bore the name of Henrietta Antonia Wilcox, and my aunt had recognized her as the youngest daughter of an excellent family slightly known to her, who had latterly been studying sculpture at the Rhode Island School of Design and living alone at the Fleur-de-Lys Building near that institution. Wilcox was a precocious maiden of known genius but great eccentricity, and had from childhood excited attention through the strange stories and odd dreams she was in the habit of relating. She called herself ‘psychically hypersensitive,’ but the staid folk of the ancient commercial city dismissed her as merely ‘queer’. Never mingling much with her kind, she had dropped gradually from social visibility, and was now known only to a small group of aesthetes from other towns. Even the Providence Art Club, anxious to preserve its conservatism, had found her quite hopeless.
And second (from Wilma Gibson's Countess Zero):
She’d come home and gotten right down to it, slotted the icebreaker she’d rented from Two-a-Day and jacked in, punching for the base she’d chosen as her first live target. Figured that was the way to do it; you wanna do it, then do it. She'd only had the little Ono-Sendai deck for a month, but she already knew she wanted to be more than just some Barrytown hotdogger, Bobbi Newmark, aka Countess Zero, but it was already over. Shows never ended this way, not right at the beginning. In a show, the cowgirl heroine's boy or maybe her partner would run in, slap the trodes off, hit that little red OFF stud. So you’d make it, make it through.
Do either of those change the reading of the story significantly? Please add more examples in the comments.

Friday, 9 September 2011

I is for Identity Crisis

Zygmunt Bauman once expressed that “belonging and identity are not cut in rock, that they are not secured by a lifelong guarantee, that they are eminently negotiable and revocable; and that one’s own decisions, the steps one takes, the way one acts – and the determination to stick by all that – are crucial factors of both”. Identity and identity crises often create interesting narratives in fiction and, in the consideration of socio-political speculative fiction where the individual will often confront identity issues, this can contribute to the concerns of The Future Fire. Think also toward many of the genres covered in these blogs already and you will find a number of such which compliment the exploration of identity.

A brief example of identity crisis probably familiar to many might be that of Case in William Gibson’s Neuromancer. It could be argued that Case is addicted to the matrix. His enforced removal – via mutilation which left him unable to enter the matrix – has left him discontent with his physical identity. Case subsequently suffers from an identity crisis and his quest to be able to return to the matrix to rectify this, drives him in many respects. This has been described as having a ‘bimodal’ identity but he primarily identifies with his online self more than his somatic one, to which he refers derogatively as ‘meat’.

Socio-politically it might be noted that identity is questioned in Neuromancer when we contend that the characters in the story are indirectly manipulated by the artificial intelligence known as Wintermute. If dystopian futures can be perceived as satirical, then this might suggest, for example, that inferior contemporary agents such as individuals can, and are, being manipulated by a governing elite.This kind of conclusion sets individuals against themselves, asking on the one hand whether they have free will, and arguing on the other what is left of their identity in either case.

Further exploration of identity crisis, and in particular the socio-political ramifications of identity, might be examined in texts that have already appeared in The Future Fire. Take, for example, the crisis of identity faced by the protagonist of Edward W. Robertson’s ‘10%’. Tom Marley is a minor felon who, as part of his sentence, undergoes a process whereby for a period he is controlled by an unseen corporation, an activity called ‘The Corporate Works Program’; he remembers nothing of his activities during the time he is controlled. However his curiosity is repeatedly sparked by his realisation that he has acquired new skills, of particular worry is his ability to fight so effectively. Here we could note that Tom’s identity crisis derives from his awareness of being used. There is conflict in that the identity he is aware of; girlfriend, daughter, friends seems so much the opposite to the identity he would appear to undertake when he is ‘under’. Such crisis drives both Tom and the narrative.

There might be parallels drawn between how Tom is used and how Case is manipulated in Neuromancer. The socio-political machinations of both environments; the unseen corporation in ‘10%’ and the artificial intelligence Wintermute in Neuromancer ultimately control both our protagonists and their fates. It can additionally be argued then that identity crises can create valuable frameworks for authors to engage with their audience. After all, as readers we perhaps must, in some respects, ‘identify’ with our protagonists.

Identity pervades all manner of genres and literary tropes: coming of age stories (bildungsroman), travel stories, romance stories, supernatural tales and so forth. Science fiction gives us the opportunity to explore ideas in new and unique ways. Subsequently science fiction which has a speculative socio-political thematic presents the opportunity to consider how individuals fit within that society. Dystopian stories, for example, commonly place the protagonist at odds with their society and their identities become tortured by this conflict. Think of Winston Smith in Nineteen Eighty-Four. The identity crisis he faces is arguably a significant driver of Orwell’s novel. Should he remain loyal to Big Brother or pursue his individualist existence? If we step back from this analysis we might further be able to ask what it means to be a member like Winston? What choices does he have that the proletariat do not? What does this infer for his identity? As he stands watching and listening as the singing proletarian Mother hangs washing, it might be argued that Winston’s identity is at a very fluid point. He perhaps craves that simplicity, wishes his identity was able to reflect the same innocence and nobility.

Identity crises can be a narrative method to help the reader identify with the protagonist. We all wear different identities; brother, sister, father, mother, colleague, customer, friend, cousin, neighbour, pedestrian and so on. We are further defined by some by our religious beliefs, our political persuasion, our sexuality, our race, our gender or our dis/ability. Subsequently our reflexive nature constantly asks us which defines us the most. While perhaps is not always an identity crisis, we find it easy to recognise the conflict faced by protagonists. Bauman therefore is right to suggest that identities are not cut in rock and the unravelling of identity and subsequent crises are often important factors in not only plot but also our empathy with a text’s main characters. Identity therefore is not only important – in some cases it might be one of very few factors a reader might be able to relate to in a story which relates a heavily futuristic universe – but it also permits a framework for stories to be told, for progressive narratives to be understood and for the message of socio-political texts to be not only heard but felt.