Part 1 (2/2)

they shriek, running with clenched fists uprisen to the stars. ”We want SCIENCE! Give us the Great G.o.d!” Well, they are given _science_, and what does it turn out to be? For the most part the off-scourings of the lunatic fringe. Talk about scientists being inspired by s.f.

stories--WHEW! Why, not one s.f. writer in fifty has the remotest idea of what he is talking about--he just picks up some elementary idea and kicks h.e.l.l out of it. I'll wager that no scientist is going to produce very spectacularly on the basis of any ideas provided by s.f. It's possible, but wholly improbable. Scientists don't tick that way.

Another amusing fallacy: this well-known business of Wells and Verne doing some _predicting_. It's one of the biggest laffs of all. They made a _flock_ of predictions, a few of which were realized, and some only in ways most vaguely related to the original conception. How many ideas did they have that _never_ have been realized and never will? Give them credit for being good and often logical guessers, perhaps--but don't claim that as a merit for their WRITING! And how many other good guessers must there have been who never got around to setting down their predictions in print?

There is but one affectation about Wells' ”scientific” stories which he published before he discovered his capability at characterization, and this is the affectation of imagination. There is no genuine imagination in beating out cleverness of the s.f. type; the point of view, the inventive quality necessary for their construction, is the same as with the widely circulated tales of Nick Carter. Science-fiction stories are not struck forth with a creative hand, they are manufactured products put together piece-meal--none of them being written in any but the calmest and most conscious mood. They are lacking in that important element of all really GREAT works of the imagination: inspiration. And what is inspiration? It is essentially the soaring of one's soul without the knowledge of the mind. In the gleaming moment the mind becomes the slave of the spirit. Read Wells' EXPERIMENT IN AUTOBIOGRAPHY and see why and what he thinks of his early writings of s.f. He admits that they were only a means to an end, a preparation for his more serious writing that was to come later--Plato's REPUBLIC and More's UTOPIA also serving largely to hasten Wells' Utopian proclivities. When he really began to take his predictions seriously, he began to turn out the important stuff which now bores the average s.f. enthusiast silly--or should I say sillier!

As for Verne, his stuff has never been literature except for boys. It is innocuous adventure--stuff that will not pervert morals. It is not too badly written, and the language is so simple that Verne is readily to be read in the original French, in fact some of his stuff serves as textbooks in French cla.s.ses in American schools.

But in the main, what I am speaking about now is s.f. as it is const.i.tuted today. All of this modern s.f. is worthless except in perhaps _one minor respect_, and I'm not even sure of that. It CAN open the minds of boys and girls reaching p.u.b.erty, giving them a more catholic att.i.tude toward startling new ideas. However, it is so very often fatal at the same time, in that these boys and girls become obsessed with it--it enmeshes them until, as I said, they become incredibly blind to all else, so certain are they of the superiority of their hobby over all other fiction. There are exceptions, but my experience has proven that the exceptions are by far a minority.

Also I will admit that s.f. can on occasion provide escapist flights of imagination--in fact, it can be admirable for this; but this type of s.f. has become exceedingly rare because this crazy superstructure of SCIENCE, and even more so ADVENTURE, has become such a fetish that sound writing concerning people is rarely to be found. In pulp science-fiction, never.

And the frightful smugness fostered by the modern s.f. magazines is simply appalling. It seems that not only the readers, but the editors and writers as well, cannot or will not see anything beyond their own perverted models. Just as one example which I remember very well, look how BRAVE NEW WORLD, the admirable and really important novel by Huxley, was received a few years ago. It was Clark Ashton Smith, I believe, who mentioned it as embodying some of Huxley's ”habitual p.o.r.nography”--simply, stunning P. Schyler Miller; whom, I might mention, I consider as one of the most intellectual authors and fans. And, reviewing the book, C.A. Brandt also decried its preoccupation with s.e.x, but said complacently that it might, at least, bring to the attention of people that there was such a thing as the science-fictionists and their so-called literature. Of all the d.a.m.ned nonsense! BRAVE NEW WORLD was, as a matter of fact, a satire on s.e.x, and of FAR MORE IMPORTANCE than to ”bring to the attention of people that there is such a thing as sci-fiction.” Huxley conceived a future world in which Ford's mechanistic contributions had become so emphatic as to deprive the people of all but an animal interest in s.e.x; he projects a more normal man into such a civilization for no other reason than to characterize present-day tendencies with searing satire. But Brandt--he evidently would demolish this to set up in its stead a ”s.p.a.ce-wrecked On Mars”

atrocity.

To get back to the subject, it is my honest opinion that no person of very conspicuous intelligence can subsist very considerably on s.f.

after he begins to mature intellectually. There is simply not enuf _to_ it to provide intellectual or spiritual nourishment. He may string along with it for a few years out of habit or some mental quirk--but stuff aimed at juvenile minds cannot very long sustain a person of mature years, unless that person is himself a mental adolescent. The way the fans flocked to the S.F. League, indulged in ”tests” to prove their ”superiority” over other readers, the silly letters in the mags, the petty internal strife, and many other things, have served to widen the gulf between me and s.f.

The most important thing, however, is that I have discovered that there's been too much else of importance, REAL importance, that has been said and written in this world (and is being and will be), for me to desire to give much attention to such a petty thing as s.f. any more. I shall read on the fringe of it, but increasingly less frequently I'm afraid.

I might have summed this entire thing up by saying, ”I'm satiated,” but that wouldn't be the entire truth. The entire truth would be: ”I am satiated and much wiser.” In conclusion let me point out that this is only one man's opinion. I have intentionally been harsh in my estimates, maybe some points are in need of qualification or elucidation, but by and large, I stand back of what I have written here. AMEN.

THE ABOVE ARTICLE IS SUBJECT TO CRITICISM--THEREFORE ANY AND ALL FANS AND AUTHORS WHO DISAGREE WILL FIND THEIR ARTICLES AGAINST THIS ONE BY A FAMOUS AUTHOR WELCOMED AND PRINTED IN THE WINTER EDITION OF FUFA!. THE WINTER EDITION WILL BE OUT DURING THE MONTH OF DECEMBER--SO CONTRIBUTIONS SHOULD BE MAILED IMMEDIATELY TO FUTURIA FANTASIA--3054-1/2 West 12th Street, Los Angeles. (EDITOR)

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Satan's Mistress

by Doug Rogers

Where flames of purgatory twist, and Earth's transgressors dwell, She dances swathed in heated mist, before the gates of h.e.l.l.

Her gleaming naked body flees before the Demon fires, Along the sh.o.r.es of molten seas--ridged high by fuming pyres.

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