Professional Documents
Culture Documents
Raymond Williams
Science Fiction
First published in 1956 and never reprinted, this little-known brief essay by
the late Raymond Williams is a pioneering example of the kind of criticism
that SFS in particular exists to promote. lt combines an ideological critique
of the genre with some pithily individual observations and an avid curiosity
about SF as perceived by a British observer 30 years ago. "Science Fiction"
first appeared in The Highway, the journal of the Workers' Educational
Association (vol. 48 [Dec. 1956]:41-45). We are reprinting the essay with
the kind permission of Mrs Joy Williams.-Patrick Parrinder
Fiction is a kind of fact, although it takes some people centuries to get used
to it. To point out that its substance is imaginary, or fantastic, is no criticism
of it, for that is the kind of fact it is: a thing man has thought or imagined,
rather than observed or made. In practice we value fiction over a very wide
range, from the obviously realistic to the evidently miraculous. When we
look, then, at a contemporary phenomenon like SF, we must be careful not
to dismiss it because it is fanciful, extravagant, or even impossible, for, on
the same limited grounds, we could dismiss The Odyssey, The Tempest,
Gulliver's Travels, or The Pilgrim's Progress. The facts of SF are fictional,
and can only be assessed in literary terms.
Many of us know SF mainly from our children's comics, in which, for
example, the inhabitants of the planet Phantos, tall purple bipeds with the
heads of cows, led by the Super-Phant Gogol, are invading the planet Cryp-
tos, whose inhabitants are a kind of dun biped sheep. Repulsion guns, aqua-
detectors, artificial suns, and the suspension of gravity abound. Yet the
literary bearings, here, are easy, for the space-gun is just a new kind of
tomahawk, and the Super-Phant is our old friend the sheriff of Nottingham.
If this were the whole of SF, it would not call for comment.
In fact, in SF written for adults, the Cowboy and Indian, Earthman and
Martian type is now quite rare. Wells'[s] War of the Worlds keeps being
filmed, under various titles, and with varying degrees of acknowledgment,
but, in print, the subjects and emphases are now normally different. SF has
been put to service in almost every kind of traditional story. There are the
stories of war and banditry, like War of the Worlds or Mr E.F. Russell's A
Present from Joe. There are stories of adventure and exploration, beginning
perhaps with Poe's story of a flight to the Moon, The Unparalleled Adven-
ture of one Hans Pfaal, and continuing through nearly all the stories of
Jules Verne to a recent example like Mr Arthur Porges' The Ruum. There is
at least one ordinary murder story, Mr John Wyndham's Dumb Martian,
which is also a common kind of love story. Men from flying saucers have
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while resisting arrest, and is chased through the city by a[n] electronic
Hound (which Sir Henry Baskerville would have recognized). He gets away
to the country, where he meets a band of scholars turned tramps, who pre-
serve literature by committing it to memory. Meanwhile, behind him, the
city is bombed.
Fahrenheit 451 is characteristic of books of this type in that, under the
emblem of a story of the future, it presents not so much an observation, but
a current form of feeling, related primarily to contemporary society. Here
the "myth" is the defense of culture, by a minority, against the new barbar-
ians. In 1984, the "myth" is the struggle between clean and unclean intel-
lectuals, who determine the future without reference to the dumb "proles."
The form of feeling which dominates this putropian thinking is, basically,
that of the isolated intellectual, and of the "masses" who are at best brutish,
at worst brutal. The stories are defended as an extension of obvious con-
temporary tendencies, and it is here that the SF element-telescreen, elec-
tronic agent, videophone-most crudely operates. These things, which are
properly the extension of existing tendencies, serve as a form of external
realism, offering to authenticate and persuade, within which the subtler,
and more questionable, version of extension can appear to establish itself.
For while atomic war, organized lying, political persecution, and the burn-
ing of books exist, as facts, on our side of the worlds of 1984 and Fahren-
heit 451, they are distinguished by being human, and social, activities, and
are thus subject to a different order of calculation. The tendencies to adul-
terate or destroy civilization are evident enough, but their extension is sub-
ject to a different process from that which will give us the telescreen. The
extension of social tendencies is a doubtful process, and any substantial writ-
ing of this kind will commonly be rooted in an actual and developed world
rather than in the given, unconnected future, the fixed distortion, which the
SF convention, confident in its authenticating gadgetry, here so misleading-
ly allows. I am not disposed to modify this adverse criticism by the fact that
the apparent values of such works are liberal and humane. The gentle read-
er, and the consciousness of the writer, are certainly, by these terms,
assuaged. But the tone of all such work that I have read, from Huxley to Mr
Bradbury, bears its own, and different, witness. The psychological strains
of the isolation from which the myths are endorsed can be seen, very clear-
ly, in much of the actual writing. The preoccupied realization of various
extremes of cruelty and disgust is the finally dominant feeling-tone. It is
said that these things are warnings; but they are less warnings about the
future, or even about television, than about the adequacy of certain types of
contemporary feeling which are rapidly becoming orthodox. I believe, for
my own part, and against this central myth, that to think, feel, or even
speak of people in terms of "masses" is to make the burning of the books
and the destroying of the cities just that much more possible.
Putropia, however, stops a little short of Doomsday. Doomsday is the
immensely popular genre which, with considerable ingenuity and variety,
disposes of life altogether. There are catastrophes which stop just short of
this, and move into putropia. Mr John Wyndham's Day of the Triffids is an
example. Here, the great majority of human beings are struck suddenly
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