Posts Tagged: exhaustion

On the Structural Analysis of Science Fiction


If SF is something more than fairy tale fiction, it has the right to neglect the fairy tale world and its rules. It is also not realism and has the right to neglect the methods of realistic description. Its generic indefiniteness facilitates its existence, for it is supposedly not subject to the whole range of criteria by which literary works normally are judged. SF is not allegorical, but then it says allegory is not its task: SF and Kafka are quite different. It is not realistic, but then it is not a part of realistic literature. The future? How often have SF authors disclaimed any intention of making predictions! Finally, it is the Myth of the 21st Century. But the ontological character of myth is anti-empirical, and though a technological civilization may have its myths, it cannot itself embody a myth, for myth is an interpretation, an explication, and you must have the object that is to be explicated. SF lives in but strives to emerge from this antinomical state of being. It becomes more and more apparent that its narrative structures deviate more and more from any real processes, having been used again and again since they were first introduced and having thus become frozen, fossilized paradigms. SF involves the art of putting hypothetical premises into the very complicated stream of socio-psychological occurrences. Although this art once had its master in H.G. Wells, it has been forgotten and is now lost. But it can be learned again.

On the Structural Analysis of Science Fiction, Stanislaw Lem


Will the literature of the fantastic be possible in the twenty-first century, with the growing inflation of prefabricated images? Two paths seem to be open from now on. (1) We could recycle used images in a new context that changes their meaning. Post-modernism may be seen as the tendency to make ironic use of the stock images of the mass media, or to inject the taste for the marvelous inherited from literary traditions into narrative mechanisms that accentuate its alienation. (2) We could wipe the slate clean and start from scratch. Samuel Beckett has obtained the most extraordinary results by reducing visual and linguistic elements to a minimum, as if in a world after the end of the world.

Six Memos for the Next Millennium, Italo Calvino, p.95.

On & On & On

I finished reading Gabriel Josipovici’s book “Whatever Happened to Modernism” a couple of weeks ago (maybe more, who knows?). It has left an impression. On the one hand I agree with large tracts of it, such as his definition of modernism being the moment where an artist recognizes and then continues to confront and struggle with their awareness of their own lack of authority and with limits of forms instead of being a stylistic period, because it articulates sensations that I’ve felt for the longest time. On the other hand, I don’t quite see things the way he does, but that’s a matter of perspective and understanding that Josipovici doesn’t set out to establish the definitive version of modernism. I’m afraid that for those who know me that this is a book that I’m going to go on and on and on about as I continue to struggle with it.

The book developed out of a paper in the Times Literary Supplement which itself was adapted from the John Coffin memorial lecture given at the Insitute of Germanic and Romance Languages, University of London in early 2007. There is a copy of the paper which can be read here.

Two paragraphs from the paper seem worth considering in light of the recent trend to talk about the exhaustion of Science Fiction.

{13} Mann the novelist could enter the mind of a modern composer precisely because the problems attendant on Modernism are not confined to one artistic form. In fact the novel has become the contested site of Modernists and anti-Modernists precisely because, more than music or poetry, it embodies the multiple paradoxes of the modern situation. For the novel is not a genre but precisely that which emerges when genres no longer seem viable. A genre is a bit like a family: you do not have to explain who you are each time you enter the room, you are taken for granted. But families can seem constricting as well as enabling. Similarly a moment comes when confidence in genre starts to wane. A symbolic moment here, convenient because it is not too far from our key date of 1789, is Dr Johnson’s criticism of Milton, in his Life of the poet, for choosing to express his grief at the death of his friend Edward King in the form of a pastoral elegy. At this point it is clear that genre has come to seem, like aristocratic privilege, a false imposition rather than a natural condition.

{14} Where the subtitle “epic” or “comedy” or “pastoral elegy” prepared readers or spectators for what they were about to experience, and helped the writer enter his subject, the novel, from the start, pretended to be something else – the true memoirs of a rake or a whore, the true story of a seduction or a shipwreck. At the same time the novel asserted, like Descartes at the start of the Discourse on Method, that its creators would bow to no authority, that they would rely on nothing but themselves. Genres were the sign of submission to the authority of tradition, to the authority of the fathers, but the novel was the new form in which the individual would express himself precisely by throwing off the shackles that bound him to his fathers and to tradition. But here it faced a paradox. For if it threw off all authority, where then did it get its own authority from ? The answer had to be: from the novelist’s inspiration or experience of aspects of life not known to the reader. But who conferred this authority upon him ? No one but himself. From the beginning, then, the novel was caught in a double bind – asserting its truth and value (which genre-derived works had never needed to do, since it was the culture that provided them with these things), yet knowing at heart that these were assertions and nothing more.

In other news the new Godspeed You! Black Emperor album, Allelujah! Don’t Bend! Ascend! arrived in the post this week. This will also be played over & over & over again until I’m deaf or sick of it. It will be worth it.