The Improper Wordsmith

I think genre fiction in general gets a back rap. Less so now then in years past, since science fiction and fantasy in particular have made their way into mainstream popularity, but especially in academic circles there’s still an air of “ugh the people’s fiction” to the conversation when genre fiction comes up, and a general reluctance to analyze it with the same serious intent that academia puts into works like Mrs. Dalloway or Paradise Lost.

It’s a shame, because when I have had the opportunity to analyze science fiction or fantasy works, they are absolutely packed with thematic explorations of all the most human questions we have. Where do we come from? Is there an afterlife? What do we consider the fundamental anchors of humanity? What is love? (Baby don’t hurt me.)

The reality is that genre fiction is full of excellent writers who paint evocative pictures with their words, who can move the heart and soul with mere print, and who explore the fundamental questions. One of the best quotes I’ve gotten from my father (who very likely got it from somewhere else) is that “science fiction is not about science; neither is it really fiction.” He often quoted that to me while we watched reruns of Star Trek: Voyager, and it made it clear to me that while science fiction (and by extension, other types of genre fiction) has the set dressing and trappings of different worlds and peoples, the fundamental questions being explored are the same ones all humans wrestle with. It’s cool to watch a show set on a spaceship and exploring new worlds, but that’s not what resonates with us so deeply. What grabs us is Harry Kim grappling with the ineffable, unknowable, immeasurable concept of the afterlife after he’s died for the third time. Or B’lanna trying to accept herself and move on from her own difficult childhood as she prepares to welcome a child of her own. Or the holographic Doctor learning to advocate for himself and his needs and becoming a full-fledged member of the crew with friends and relationships and hobbies rather than simply a complex piece of software.

There’s no reason for some stories to be dismissed as less significant simply because it’s the hero’s journey but in space this time, or because magic exists and impacts people’s lives. In fact, I think genre fiction can often make it easier to grapple with the big concepts. Putting explorations of the human spirit or our relationship with the divine in a setting where a character can directly interact with a deity makes for a more interesting conversation, in my opinion, and gives us a layer of remove to cushion the psychological impact of grappling with cosmic questions.

One of my all-time favorite classes in college was a 400-level seminar on 20th Century Fantasy Fiction. There were maybe a dozen of us in the class, with a truly passionate professor (which makes all the difference). We read Tolkien, Mervin Peake, Diana Wynne Jones, E.R. Eddison; we spent class periods and writing assignments discussing things like the role of tradition and the dangers of performative customs absent of context. The importance of human connection and whether human nature tends towards good or evil. The inevitability of an incomplete understanding of the world and the importance of exploration and discovery despite it.

Compare that to the attitudes of your stereotypical creative writing class. In mine, I was the only one writing genre fiction, and it was clear that neither my classmates nor my professor knew what to do with it. I couldn’t get a decent critique out of anyone the entire semester that didn’t have a “why don’t you just write real fiction” slant to it; meanwhile, I was faced with providing critiques for things like one unfortunately memorable piece that was 5 pages of cloud-watching and naval-gazing that made Mrs. Dalloway look absolutely action-packed in comparison.

I think a lot of people in general and academics in particular get hung up on the wrong thing. They see a story with spaceships or robots or deities in human form or magic spells and get stuck thinking about whether or not the fantastical elements are realistic, when realism was never the point. The point is creating a world in which we can explore the Big Questions. From the beginning of time people have been telling stories with fantastical elements to explain our world and our place in it. Think of Gilgamesh venturing to the ends of the earth in search of immortality, or Anansi making deals to obtain the world’s stories. Think of all the stories based around ancient deities and magical tricksters.

We shouldn’t discount the value of genre fiction. Even the simplest pulp story provides enjoyment, and they make great vehicles for interesting philosophical exploration. And after all, who doesn’t occasionally dream of what we would do with magic superpowers or immortality? In my opinion, those sorts of questions are the most fun to explore.