Count to a Trillion

I just finished John C. Wright's science fiction novel Count to a Trillion. Having wished to read The Hermetic Millennia, I was advised to pick up the preceding novel first. I'm glad I did.

Count to a Trillion introduces Menelaus Illation Montrose, a lawyer specializing in "out of court settlements" based on Spanish dueling traditions revived by beleaguered landowners to circumvent confiscatory twenty-third century property laws.

Montrose's mathematical genius allows him to thrive in a Texas--devastated by germ warfare, depopulation, and governmental collapse--where duels are decided by the sophistication of each duelist's pre-programmed bullets. (Wright describes the evolutionary weapons escalation that produced his future setting's nine-pound, foot long pistols in highly creative detail.)

Fate seemingly intervenes when Montrose is approached by the organizers of mankind's first voyage to another star. The protagonist, who grew up idolizing (to him) ancient Star Trek cartoons, becomes obsessed with deciphering the (to humans) unintelligible glyphs covering the alien monument found in orbit around an antimatter star. To this end, he takes matters into his own hands by injecting himself with an experimental drug based in part on the monument's own undeciphered calculus. The process increases Montrose's intelligence to superhuman levels but also plunges him into raving, finger-biting depths of madness.

And then the story starts.

Combining a grand vision of human destiny reminiscent of Frank Herbert's Dune and technological savvy to rival William Gibson (plus rustic humor and truly sympathetic characters often missing from both), Count to a Trillion comes highly recommended.

The Endgame

Despite receiving multiple recommendations from friends and family for years, I delayed reading Ender's Game until just last week. I really wish I'd taken their advice sooner.

Ender's Game by Orson Scott Card is one of those rare books that leaves a deep impression long after the reader turns the last page. While reading it I kept flashing back to my junior year of high school when I developed a voracious sci-fi habit. Back then I mostly turned to Frank Herbert, Timothy Zahn, and Kevin J. Anderson for a fix. I can't help thinking that Ender's Game would have found an honored place on my book shelf.

People who've read my work say it has noticeable Dune influences. I heartily concur. Herbert had the most enduring impact on my storytelling sensibilities during that formative period. I can only speculate about how Card's magnum opus might have shaped my adolescent view of science fiction.

That's not to say that it won't have an effect now. In the last fifteen years I've learned to consciously mine the works of better writers for new techniques. Card's additions to my literary arsenal remain to be seen, but I doubt they'll be negligible.

Have you read Ender's Game? Are you looking forward to (or dreading) the film version? Let us know.

Epistemic Closure in Genre Fiction

I've come across a number of articles noting a worrisome trend in contemporary science fiction and fantasy. A cursory glance at genre best-seller lists shows a slew of derivative, paint-by-numbers premises endlessly recycling the same stock characters. (Only Wool distinguishes itself from the rest of the list).

You might argue that it's always been this way. True, there's always been a market for schlock potboilers. But try to recall a book in the sci-fi or fantasy genres from the last ten years that could stand beside Cat's Cradle, The Lord of the Rings, or Dune. Reviewer hyperbole often claims that the Wheel of Time books or A Song of Ice and Fire meet this test, but despite their quality both series stand on the shoulders of giants.

Why does current genre fiction underachieve compared to its predecessors? Donald Maass identifies a vital element of standout fiction: that the author has strong convictions and makes those beliefs come through in the book's characters, conflict, and themes.

Contemporary sci-fi and fantasy authors seem to be lacking in this regard. John C. Wright has a thoughtful essay on how postmodern disillusionment with scientific progress is stifling imagination. Writing on the Orson Scott Card affair, Jim Bennett blames rigid political correctness for creating a publishing environment that excludes challenges to the popular zeitgeist.

Neither culprit alone seems to explain the dearth of challenging fiction. Taken together though, a clearer picture of genre fiction's current malaise emerges. Escapism is the point of genre fiction. Fantasy transports the reader to a world that is better because it is simpler--both technologically and morally. Science fiction flies us either to worlds made better by human ingenuity, or else destroyed by it. In either case, genre fiction must be able to instill hope for or fear of worlds different from ours. It must therefore go against the grain of dominant thought for best effect.

In contrast, most contemporary genre fiction (I don't say "modern" because current science fiction is decidedly postmodern) adheres to one of two tropes: either the self-congratulatory insistence that everything is just fine or utter despair at the current paradigm's inevitable demise.

If we look back to sci-fi's origins, it's plain to see how the genre took up the cautionary role once held by fairy tales. Great science fiction authors from Jules Verne to George Orwell used their stories to warn society against the possible excesses of its pet theories. Likewise, great fantasy enshrined traditional understandings in danger of being forgotten. That genre fiction has ceased to fulfill this function illustrates why it's being reduced to a flavor of the month clearinghouse.