The Limits of Wonder and Defining Speculative Fiction
Much as I love genre theory, I typically steer clear of taxonomic debates. I find that genre classification tends to put the cart before the horse, to be the critical equivalent of describing an engine in terms of its color. Most such debate reduces to a collection of observations that do little to advance our understanding of how narrative mechanisms actually function. Yet over the weekend, Ian Sales posted a thought-provoking essay which diverges from this general rule. Unlike most attempts at genre taxonomy, Sales’ definition of speculative fiction tries to be systematic and comprehensive, built from a set of first principles articulated in previous essays on wonder and the source of agency in SF/F. On balance, Sales’ focus and clarity of thought make his proposed definition that rare critical beast: a critically helpful taxonomic construct.
Unfortunately, Sales’ definition of speculative fiction is also flawed.
Where Do Definitions Come From?
There is much in Sales’ essay that I agree with, and I think the most important point he makes is this:
A useful definition has to describe something intrinsic to the text, not something extra-textual.
If a taxonomy is to be valid, true, and useful then it must emerge from the texts being analyzed. While I know some in the arts who look askance at the scientific method, basic logic suggests that a viable theory must be supported by repeatable observation.
If we wish to define a genre, we must point to the identifiable and unique features of that genre. Romance, for example, benefits from a beautifully succinct definition: “Two basic elements comprise every romance novel: a central love story and an emotionally-satisfying and optimistic ending.” One could likely come up with something just as elegant for mystery/crime or westerns.
But it is the broad, all-encompassing categories like speculative fiction and mainstream literature whose defining characteristics become harder to pin down, and that is because the reasons we enjoy them often occlude their underlying structures.
Dragons, aliens, magic, faster-than-light travel, etc. are extremely rare in mainstream literary fiction. When we read speculative fiction, they can offer us that pernicious “sense of wonder” which so often muddles critical analysis of the genre. On a superficial level, identifying speculative fiction by its devices has the simultaneous benefit of being easy and rarely incorrect. But it is a superficial and facile approach that fails to tell us anything about either how the narrative is constructed or how that construction contributes to its effects.
Sales is right to point to the weakness of identifying genre based on the devices that appear in the text. Just because a book features dragons or elves does not mean it is fantasy (or rather, does not mean it isn’t science fiction).
Consider the science fictional treatment of dragons in both Marie Brennan’s A Natural History of Dragons: A Memoir by Lady Trent (which I discussed at greater length here) and Michael Swanwick’s The Iron Dragon’s Daughter, or Gene Wolfe and Jack Vance’s fantastical treatments of hard science in The Book of the New Sun and Tales of the Dying Earth, respectively. As these works make clear, genre taxonomy cannot be reduced to a checklist of tropes. How such devices are used in the text and their relationships with the narrative’s characters, plots, themes, and settings have a greater significance than the mere fact of their mention.
While Sales’ stated goal (to define speculative fiction using characteristics intrinsic to the text) is one with which I am in complete agreement, I fear that his definition falls wide of the mark. Of his two defining criteria (wonder and [the source of narrative] agency), fully one half is external to the text and based entirely on a reader’s subjective, individual experience of the narrative.
Critically Pernicious Wonder
“Sense of wonder” is a critically contentious term that seems to come in and out of vogue every generation. I personally subscribe to the belief that it does have critical value, but only insofar as one of several diagnostic tools. Its utility as a criterion for definition is limited by the fact that our mileage may vary.
Sales argues – in line with reasoning by Romanian SF critic Cornel Robu – that “wonder” is centrally concerned with scale, and that science fiction fosters a sense of wonder through the actualization of scale in the reader’s perception. To be clear, this is not a bad way of thinking about wonder. But it is a very specific, highly individual, and rather limited one.
In my own reading, I find that many concepts, images, devices, and even phrases can foster a sense of wonder. For me, it isn’t all about scale: It may also relate to emotional intimacy (e.g. John Crowley’s Little, Big), or spirituality (e.g. James Blish’s A Case of Conscience), or mathematical or rhetorical elegance (Greg Egan’s The Clockwork Rocket and Elizabeth Bear’s Dust, respectively). Many have written about “wonder” as touching on the sublime, verging on the transcendent, or as enabling a reader’s conceptual breakthrough. As a concept, it has descriptive value. But its own definition is imprecise, and that very imprecision stems from the term’s innate subjectivity.
Wonder is a quality intrinsic to the reader’s experience, and not to the text.
As a result, an epistemological definition of speculative fiction that uses wonder as one of its two legs cannot stand. “Sense of wonder” is neither a quantifiable nor an independently repeatable observation that can be made for a given text. This weakness is further supported by Sales’ own (admittedly tongue-in-cheek) equation for quantifying wonder, which itself relies on four inputs which are personal to the reader and have nothing to do with the text in question.
An Alternative Definition of Speculative Fiction
However, Sales’ definition does have value. I particularly appreciate his insight into the source of narrative agency. I’ve been thinking about his breakdown for the last couple of days, and I think he makes an excellent point:
Science fiction and fantasy can be differentiated by the narrative text’s implied prime mover. Fantasy’s implicit prime mover is the author, while science fiction’s implicit prime mover is deterministic natural law (which is, admittedly, often conceived and communicated by the author).
Of course, the author in all cases has control over both the narrative and their fictional world. However, what Sales really highlights isn’t the question of how the story is imbued with narrative agency. Rather, it is the implied author’s relationship/attitude towards their fictional reality.
If the text communicates the implied author’s attitude as explicitly deterministic or naturalistic, then the work is likely to be science fictional. If the text communicates that attitude as either unexamined, theological (even given a fictional religion), or metaphysical, then the work is likely to be fantasy.
Such a characterization seems to be broadly consistent with Sales’ use of “agency”, yet such a distinction is useful inasmuch as it helps us to differentiate science fiction from fantasy. However, it does little to differentiate speculative fiction from other more mainstream genres.
Rather than utilize “wonder” as the definition’s second axis, I would instead suggest the centrality of the speculative/impossible to the plot. The more speculative the plot, the more likely a given work can be deemed speculative fiction. That seems somewhat tautological, but it allows us to neatly place any work of fiction along a spectrum of “speculation”.
This alternative definition seems to be less susceptible to edge cases than Sales’ original: By taking into account the totality of the implied author’s relationship to their fictional reality, works like Alfred Bester’s The Stars My Destination can still be comfortably classified as science fiction despite their central speculative conceit going relatively unexamined. At the same time, by exploring the speculative elements’ relationship to the plot (as opposed, for example, to the theme) we can differentiate works of magic realism like Gabriel Garcia Marquez’s One Hundred Years of Solitude from secondary world fantasies like Tolkien’s The Lord of the Rings.
This lets us construct several precise definitions actually based on characteristics that are observable within the text:
- Speculative fiction is fiction where speculative elements (i.e. devices of the fantastic, scientific extrapolation, impossible conceits, etc.) are central to the narrative’s plot specifically, irrespective of their relationship to either theme or character.
- Fantasy is speculative fiction where the implied author’s relationship to the fictional reality is unexamined, theological, or metaphysical in nature. A fantasy’s implied author accepts the fictional reality without necessarily trying to explain it.
- Science fiction is speculative fiction where the implied author’s relationship to the fictional reality is deterministic or naturalistic. A science fiction’s implied author assumes and communicates an explicable fictional reality.
By focusing on the relationship of a narrative’s speculative elements to its plot and the implied author’s attitude towards their fictional reality, we gain the ability to discuss the use of the fantastic and the speculative as metaphors and conceits, and to apply that discussion against narrative structure, techniques of characterization, and narrative subtext.
In other words, these definitions provide us with increased analytical clarity and precision – which is what definitions are meant to provide.
“There are nine and six ways of constructing a tribal lays, and every single one of them is right.”
I think your schemata here is as valid as Ian’s. It does put Brennan’s novel as firmly SF, as it does a lot of high-ordered fantasy universes where magic is a science.
Nine and Sixty.
Well said! (I’ve always loved that Kipling quote) I also think Ian’s approach is perfectly valid, and the insight on narrative agency is absolutely brilliant. I just found the “wonder” bit a little imprecise for my tastes. 🙂
That being said, I do think the schema I propose is a little mechanistic. Brennan’s A Natural History of Dragons occupies a fascinating narrative space wherein it is simultaneously a work of fantasy by most standard device-derived definitions yet it approaches its tropes in an explicitly naturalistic and scientific manner. I definitely read it as a fantasy of science. My definitions here are a little simplistic in that they elide that liminal space to some extent.
And yet, just thinking about this on-the-fly, I suspect they can be further broken down. A schema like this can be applied, I suspect, to a work in general (the narrative as a whole), as well as particular devices within the work (e.g. Brennan’s dragons, or economics in Swanwick’s The Iron Dragon’s Daughter). When applied to particular devices, I think we might find works that are simultaneously science fictional for some, while fantastic for others.
I’ll have to think about that some more.
Interesting spin on my thoughts. Agreed that wonder is perhaps not entirely intrinsic to a text, but cataloguing the speculative elements in a story still seems to me too focused on tropes. And for it to be useful, the tropes themselves must be defined. A 1930s story featuring computers, for example, might be highly speculative, but its technology has dated it and those elements are no longer speculative.
I definitely agree!
I’m not an advocate for just cataloguing tropes. In and of itself, I think such a list tells us very little about a work. Instead, I propose to look at both the degree to which the plot is reliant on such speculative (for when they were written, naturally) tropes and the degree to which the text adopts a naturalistic posture.
Unlike a binary catalogue of tropes (present vs absent), it introduces further nuance, and hopefully provides a more robust approach. Seems like it would provide a framework for examining a) how the narrative is constructed, and b) how those tropes are actually used to further the narrative…which I think is more useful than just spotting them.
An aside on sense of wonder:
As I recall (and it’s been many years since I did this reading), the sublime (or at least one part of it, depending on who is defining it) brings pleasure to the human mind by presenting something of great power (often of great scale, size or power), which overwhelms the ability to comprehend, but also because the mind can nevertheless perceive it.
In some sense, then, maybe all creative work has something of the sublime in it. But that sense of wonder may be enhanced in science fiction because the author is taking what we know (naturalistically) and creating something new out of it.
I for one have always subscribed to the belief that any “successful” work of art must have something of the sublime in it. But different individual works – and maybe even different genres – achieve the sublime in different ways. Such “naturalistic innovation” may be one way of approaching the sublime, and one which is particularly common in (artistically successful) SF. Hmm. I’ll have to give this one a bit more thought and consider how other genres relate to it. 🙂