dht@druri.UUCP (Davis Tucker) (06/14/85)
THE PROBLEMS OF SCIENCE FICTION TODAY
PART VI: The Short Story Mentality
by Davis Tucker
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It's a safe bet to say that for many people, one of the most delightful
things about reading science fiction is the wealth of short stories and
various other works of less than novel length. It's also a safe bet that
no other form of literature (to be dignified about it) has such an exhaustive
taxonomy of forms - from novellete to novella to novel to short story to
short-short story to tetralogy and on and on. And what the difference is
between a novellete and a novella nobody knows, and I suspect nobody cares.
But what is often apparent in the field of science fiction is that the
short story form has been used beyond its capabilities and its limitations,
and that there are many novels that in structure and content are little
more than expensive (and often long-winded) short stories.
Because of their length or lack of it, short stories by necessity must cast
off some of the requisite characteristics of novels - extensive description,
multiple plotlines, detailed characterization, character development, co-
herent structure, in-depth symbolism, etc. It is perhaps more correct to say
that these novel characteristics are *allowed* to be cast off or cut short
in the interests of space - there are some short stories which can accom-
plish most of these things, although character development usually takes
more than 10,000 words. What we usually expect out of a short story is
a few well-developed characters (sometimes only one), a strong plot that
doesn't contain too many convolutions, and sufficient character motivation
to make it all believable. Logical consistency and imaginative sweep are
also necessary for science fiction short stories. Mood and environment
must be sketched, and well-done enough so that the reader can at least
smell the steak without tasting it, as he or she would reading a novel.
To make a lame comparison with art, a novel is a painting - say Rembrandt's
"Night Watch". A short story is a pencil sketch, a goache, a line drawing
like Picasso's "Femme" (which, since it consists of 3 line elements, is
probably equivalent to a short-short). One is not inherently "better" than
the other, nor any more or less "art". They are different forms, and while
a painting usually requires more time and effort than a quick sketch, that
is no indication of quality or genius. But sketches conform to different
rules and accomplish the aims of art in different ways than paintings.
Or to turn to the stage, we accept that Albee's one-act plays such as
"Zoo Story" are fundamentally different in sweep and scope and structure
than Shakespeare, and it is as fundamentally incorrect to make a 4-hour
one-act play (with all of the characteristics of one-act plays) as it
is to make a 30-minute five-act play. If the constraints of time and space
which differentiate the genres of various artforms were not important,
this would not be the case. It is how well a practicioner of an art or
a craft deals within these restraints that is at issue.
In science fiction we often find novels which, when shorn of fat and fluff,
turn out to be short stories. One idea may make an acceptable short story,
but it rarely suffices for a novel. Sometimes these novels in short's clothing
are disguised by episodic plotlines (the "continuous cliffhanger" so beloved
by space opera) or verbose description or various other red herrings. One
favorite red herring is the Totally Unnecessary Subplot, which we all know
well - that feeling you get of "why in the world is this *in* here?" In
general, many science fiction writers indulge in lengthening out short
stories - just think of the number of times that a popular short story has
been reworked into a novel, and how it was done. Usually not well, and
rarely if ever does it have anything more to offer than its original version.
And even when this isn't the case, many science fiction novels have that
incompleteness, that sketchiness, that singularity that characterizes short
stories. Characters are usually drawn out well, but their personal develop-
ment through the novel is often skimpy. In the course of one hundred thousand
words, people should change and grow and be impacted by their plot. I won't
even go into the sorry state of affairs as regards female characters, except
to say that someday, someday by God, male science fiction writers are going
to find out that World War II and the Sixties and the Sexual Revolution and
the Women's Movement really *did* happen and they really *do* have relevancy
to today's readers. I mean, a lot of these novels don't even have a single
female character of *any* kind in them.
And then of course, there is the deus ex machina. That beloved ending of
science fiction, more used than anything. In mainstream fiction, it's
tough to get away with that kind of ending (we don't believe in gods falling
out of the sky anymore... sigh). Where the writer paints himself into the
proverbial corner and voila! Here comes the zygomatic thundercruncher's
unknown power in all its awesome majesty, which of course the villain didn't
know anything about, since we all know that a villain couldn't see a deus ex
machina if it came up and bit him, even when it's been telegraphed in
screaming semaphore for fifty pages. It's either that, or write a sequel.
Unfortunately Dudley Doright and Snidely Whiplash belong on TV, not in print.
It's a cheap ending, and no matter how good a book is, if it doesn't have
a correct ending, it's no good. Important characters being raised from the
dead and all sorts of magical powers being unleashed from out of nowhere at
precisely the right instant (the last ten pages) don't strain credibility,
they gives it a multiple hernia. In a short story, these kind of endings
can be acceptable, sometimes even well-done. Many people like the "surprise
ending" feel to a deus ex machina. But it has no place in a novel - the
writer has enough time to build up to a suitable ending that fits within
the framework of the rest of the book, and there's no reason why he has
to cheat when he's got 200 or 500 pages with which to work. It's amazing
that with all the freedom afforded science fiction that this hackneyed
ending that's about 2500 years old is so overused.
Short story methods are specific to short stories, in the sense that they
do not violate some basic rules. Novel methods are specific to novels.
It is difficult to imagine "Moby Dick" in 20,000 words (though many English
101 students may dream of this), and it's hilarious to picture "The Ransom
Of Red Chief" weighing in at 1,000 pages. But they're both good for what
they are, and they both use their respective modes of operation correctly,
and they both succeed. It would be nice to see more science fiction authors
of novels recognize this, and stop trying to stretch a 20-page story into
200, please. It's an affront to both the short story that could have been
and the novel that is.
Well, that's just one man's opinion. Tune in next week to "THE PROBLEMS OF
SCIENCE FICTION TODAY, PART VII: Thematic Drought".