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Texts Featured:

Ursula K. Le Guin, “Is Gender Necessary?”

Ursula K. Le Guin, The Dispossessed

Joanna Russ, “The Image of Women in Science Fiction”

Ursula K. Le Guin, The Left Hand of Darkness

All semester, I have been an enthusiastic supporter Ursula K. Le Guin. Frankly, it’s exciting to see women represented in a field that is dominated by men both in writers and readers. Of course, all women are different and not every woman can be expected to be a radical feminist. Additionally, it is not the responsibility of women to always write about the quest for equality, feminism, or even about being women. Given that Ursula K. Le Guin is a widely-known woman in a male-dominated field, I think that many readers have just conferred to her the responsibility of being a feminist example (i.e. to produce feminist literature, to be an example for the women’s movement). After learning more about Le Guin’s background, myself as well as reading this week’s article by Russ and Le Guin’s own article, “Is Gender Necessary?,” I see this even more clearly.

 I decided to do more research on Le Guin while we were reading The Dispossessed– especially after it was mentioned that she has a degree in French literature. In completing my research, I was not surprised to find that she has an impressive background, with both a bachelors and a masters in French literature, and she even earned a Fulbright grant to work on her Ph.D. dissertation in France. However, I was surprised to learn that when she met her husband, she decided to abandon her studies and her goal to be an academic. Now I want to emphasize that I find nothing inherently wrong with this, in fact I completely understand the importance placed on marriage and family life. It’s also worth noting that the success that she has garnered for her works demands respect for her as both a writer and an academic.  In all honesty, I guess the reason why this information shocked me is because especially being a minority in a male-dominated genre, I had these unfair expectations that Le Guin would be the ultimate feminist icon. Here, we could also have a debate over what seriously constitutes a “feminist icon,” (not all examples of women in positions of power are constructive to feminism, i.e. Amy Coney Barrett or Betsy DeVos). I digress. This being said, I noticed a bit of this same disappointment in Russ’ article, when she states that very rarely do the lives of women or the child-bearing situations get described in detail– even in books written by women like Le Guin. Le Guin acknowledges this critique in “Is Gender Necessary?,” making a point that her book The Left Hand of Darkness is not actually about feminism at all and that it was not, in fact, her goal to create a work of feminist literature. In all honesty, I commend Le Guin for saying this because, even though I would so much like her to be the feminist author I dream of, it is truly not the responsibility of women 1) to educate others about feminism in everything they pursue or 2) to center all of their projects around womanhood or feminism. 

* I’d like to add that I am still a fan of Le Guin despite her feminist shortcomings and that she is certainly an example of female excellence that I look up to as both a writer and hopeful academic. She is simply not a distinctly feminist influence. 

* *Though this has already become quite lengthy, I’d like to also point out that the language choice of Le Guin in her article felt at times to be very unaligned with the women’s movement. There is a point in the article where Le Guin uses the phrasing, “The Gethenians do not r*pe their world” (165). Though I certainly understand what Le Guin meant in saying this, as well as I understand the fact that this article was written in 1979, this is just not a word choice that I think would be made (especially now) by a person who actively participates in the women’s movement. While this essay is a product of its time and Le Guin does not owe it to us as readers to make us feel comfortable, the casual use of this word in a context where another word could have easily been chosen quite honestly irked me. 

Texts Featured:

Philip K. Dick, Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep?

“She doesn’t care whether we own an ostrich or not; nothing penetrates.” (Chapter 8, pp.87-8)

In this sentence, Rick laments the deviant apathetic mentality of his wife, Iran. As early as chapter 1, we see that Rick and his wife are owners of an artificial brain simulation machine, on which specific numbers are dialed in order for the user to achieve a certain mood. Much to Rick’s surprise, Iran admits to scheduling lengthy depressive episodes into her day so that she can feel true hopelessness and despair for being left on Earth after most other living beings have emigrated. While Iran deems this despair as natural, it’s especially clear with this quote in chapter 8 that Rick cannot even begin to understand why Iran might want to feel anything other than the artificial contentment which he habitually dials in. Iran’s peculiarity is also underlined in this sentence by the fact that she does not care whether or not the couple owns a real animal. 

As seen throughout the book, owning an animal is not only considered a symbol of status in this society, but it is also considered a measure of morality and even piety. In fact, this lack of interest in owning or caring for animals is what distinguishes androids and “chickenheads” from the real, sane humans. In this way, it could be said that Iran shares attributes of an android or of a chickenhead (who seem to be characterized by deteriorating levels of mental illness) and thus it can be inferred that the morally-upright Rick has little respect for his wife. In fact, he even says in the following lines that he wishes he had gotten rid of her earlier, and then reminds himself that he still could. However, what I find most interesting about his disdain for his wife on the basis of her having android-like qualities, is that the reader also sees the intense attraction Rick experiences towards actual android women like Rachel Rosen and Luba Luft. That being said, I would say that within the greater context of the book, this sentence points to the shared societal attitude of distrust and contempt toward the mentally ill, as well as the image of women as expendable and artificial. 

*Note from Curator: I have chosen to feature this guest post from Megan Barber because it articulates my own feelings about sexism in sf, but in a way that is both analytical and enjoyable to read. Megan was a member of the class who consistently and confidently spoke about Gender and Sexuality studies and its intersection with sf. I find her opinions to have a very organic and passionate feel, and I respect her very much.

Texts Featured:

Joanna Russ, “The Image of Women in Science Fiction”

Philip K. Dick, Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep?

Samuel Delany, Trouble on Triton 

While I enjoyed all of the novels we read this semester I was often struck by the lack of female representation in each of them. As Joanna Russ puts it, “There are plenty of images of women in science fiction. There are hardly any women” (Russ 208). In Joanna Russ’ essay, “The Image of Women in Science Fiction” she addresses the blatant sexism that permeates the genre by highlighting the narrative techniques sci-fi authors utilize and categorizing the various portrayals of women throughout the genre’s history. For example, Russ states that in “literate” science fiction, authors will frequently model the gender roles in their novel after modern society. Alternatively, authors of low quality science fiction tend to borrow their gender roles from more primitive societies. Russ notes that there are several common themes used in these “space operas” to develop the gender roles for their respective novels. Here are two examples of these themes: “Women’s powers are passive and involuntary—an odd idea that turns up again and again, not only in space opera. If female characters are given abilities, these are often innate abilities which cannot be developed or controlled, e.g. clairvoyance, telepathy, hysterical strength, unconscious psi power, eidetic memory, perfect pitch, lightning calculation, or (more baldly) magic. The power is somehow in the woman, but she does not really possess it. Often realistic science fiction employs the same device.

The real focus of interest is not on women at all—but on the cosmic rivalries between strong, rugged, virile he-men” (Russ 203). While Russ cites these as common tropes of low quality science fiction, their presence can be felt in more prominent works as well. In Solaris, Hari possesses strange powers including “hysterical strength” when she tears through one of the ship’s metal doors to reach Kris. Hari does not understand these powers of hers, nor the fact that she isn’t entirely human, and whenever she is confronted with these facts she reacts emotionally and irrationally. This is an extremely stereotypical portrayal of women, preying off the old notion that women are nervous beings incapable of decision-making or rational thought. In Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep, the android Rachel serves as a pawn for the men in the story. She plays a major role in Rick’s character development, first causing him to doubt his preconceived notions of androids as inherently evil. Later when she seduces Rick, she reveals that she has done this same thing to many men before him and his world view is changed once more. Even though she delivers some of the most important scenes in the novel, Rachel has little personality of her own and is treated as nothing more than a sex object. She has been created to manipulate and seduce men, therefore her character only serves as a plot device to further the male lead’s emotional development. Russ continues by analyzing the role of women in the most “progressive” of science fiction texts. She states, “And what is most striking about these stories is what they leave out: the characters’ personal and erotic relations are not described; child-rearing arrangements (to my knowledge) are never described; and the women who appear in these stories are either young and childless or middle-aged, with their children safely grown up. That is, the real problems of a society without gender-role differentiation are not faced” (Russ 204). Trouble on Triton had a wide variety of female characters who were portrayed as men’s equals but the actual mechanics of child-rearing in the Tritonian society are never really addressed. Additionally, the erotic scenes are always shown from the men’s perspective, when Bron finally has her sex change she is unable to locate any sexual partners. Russ says as much, saying that while the text featured polyamorous and same-sex relationships that were revolutionary for the time, the representation of women still leaves something to be desired. I thought this essay was really interesting because it gave me the vocabulary to articulate why I found so many of our readings to be sexist and dehumanizing towards women.

Texts Featured:

Ursula K. Le Guin, The Dispossessed 

One of the very first things Le Guin introduces us to in The Dispossessed is the language difference between the Urrasti and the Anarrasti people, who speak Iotic and Pravic, respectively. Not only are these people speaking different languages from each other, but we come to understand as readers that these languages are also very different from the English that we are reading. By far the most prominent cultural aspect of the society on Anarres is that the people live with no possessions- not even the idea of possession. This is reflected in their language, as we can see in a few examples within the first four chapters. Two of the most notable examples to me were the lack of idioms for sexual acts (pp.53) and the function of the words mamme and tadde (47). Instead of using the idiomatic phrasing “to have sex,” the people of Anarres either say “copulate” or a word more akin to “fuck.” 

The word ‘copulate’ is a way to delineate sex as “something two people did, not something one person does or has.” The other word, similar to ‘fuck,’ “had a similar secondary usage as a curse, was specific: it meant rape” (53). This peculiarity of the Pravic vocabulary interests me for two reasons. For one, I think this language quirk is one of many ways in which Le Guin critiques patriarchal society and its way of sexually objectifying women and regarding sex as a transaction (you cannot “have” a woman or “have sex,” the act is always equal and requires consent from both parties). Secondly, the use of a word like “to fuck,” which is considered taboo in our everyday speech, indicates an important element of the Anarrasti society- that being that the Anarrasti have no real sexual taboos and are a very frank, unashamed people. 

In the second chapter, Le Guin includes an explanatory note regarding the usage of mamme and tadde. From the moment I read that Gimar said “The tadde” instead of “my tadde,” I was able to correctly infer that the people of Anarres consider families and parenting as fluid, just like they do everything else. This often results in blended or extended families. I will say that I was surprised that the term to refer to parent or guardian-type figures isn’t gender neutral. This is an indication that though sexuality is considered fluid on Anarres, gender is still a more solid construct. Another example of how this is apparent is through the bisexuality (or, at least the bisexual experimenting) of Annaresti children, yet there is never any mention of Annaresti who explore gender fluidity.

*Note from Curator: I have chosen to feature this post from Masato Hirakata mainly due to commonalities between his post and my own. However, while Masato and I both chose to focus on the unique use of language in The Dispossessed, I find it interesting that we centered slightly different aspects of the language. In addition, I very much enjoy Masato’s writing and analyses. As I began my curation, I knew from the start that I would be featuring a post from Masato, it was just a matter of which one.

Featured Texts:

Ursula K. Le Guin, The Dispossessed

I immediately found the concept of language explored in The Dispossessed to be interesting, specifically because while we read it in English, the languages spoken are not. As early as page 3, we see the foreman of the Defense gang noted to be speaking a language called “Iotic”. “No. They, ah, protest,” she said in her slow and limite Iotic,” (Le Guin, 3). In most science fiction, there is a universal language spoken by most, if not all members of the universe. English assumes this role even in our daily lives, acting as a global language and lingua franca. However, the planets of Anarres and Urras possess different languages, which even individuals such as the Defense gang foreman, a profession likely to be in constant contact with people from Urras, have difficulty speaking. Within that initial conversation between the Defense gang foreman and the ship captain, we find that the word “bastard” does not translate from Iotic to the language of Anarres, Pravic. However, as an intelligent human being, the foreman is able to infer the meaning of the word through the captain’s tone, as well as her own perceptions of the sound of the word, and of the captain himself.

Certain phrases and words may not always translate from one language to another, but the fact that a common insult such as “bastard” does not make it from Urras to Anarres was something interesting that Le Guin introduces as soon as page 3. It seems an immediate commentary on even the title of the novel itself, as a “bastard” is someone who does not belong, or as the foreman notes, “some kind of foreign term for her people,” (Le Guin, 3). The language of Anarres is also explained in some depth on page 58. “The singular forms of the possessive pronoun in Pravic were used mostly for emphasis; idiom avoided them,” (Le Guin, 58). As we understand Anarres to be an anarcho-syndicalist utopia, it makes much sense that even the language itself avoids possessive pronouns. It is mentioned that the use of them is something small children do by mistake; a mistake that is corrected swiftly. In this, we see that on Anarres, people are not even allowed to own feelings of kinship or familial connection, as “my mother” corrects to “the mother”.

On page 29, children are reprimanded for “egoizing” language. “Speech is sharing—a cooperative art. You’re not sharing, merely egoizing.” (Le Guin, 29). This sort of radical expression of anarcho-syndicalism contributes to the overarching question asked early on by the presence of the physical wall around the Anarres spaceport. While the ownership of others is not particularly a positive concept, especially in the context of socio-economic affairs such as quasi-indentured servitude under the auspices of capitalism, Anarres seems to me like simply the opposite extreme, in which thoughts are policed, and deviancy is punished ruthlessly—much like the actual Soviet Union. I found it funny, then, that such similar principles are expressed by a nominally anarcho-syndicalist commune. Also, the name for ANARres seems ripped from ANARcho-syndicalism, which I found funny as well.

Texts Featured:

Samuel Delany, “About 5,750 Words”

Samuel Delany, Trouble on Triton

Disclaimer: I include this blog post mainly to demonstrate the close reading technique of Samuel Delany, which demonstrates the distinctions between reading sf and reading regular fiction. In sf, even mundane phrases and words can challenge the mind with alternative images/interpretations. For those who enjoy reading sf, I strongly recommend Delany’s “About 5,750 Words” (referred to in blog post). 

Close reading, Trouble on Triton pp. 135

“They pushed through into a cement stairwell. He protested once and got a shove for it; they hurried him up. The walls and steps and banisters were grimed to an extent for which neither youth on Mars nor maturity on Triton had prepared him.”

After rereading Delany’s “About 5,750 Words,” each sentence in this book has a certain type of value to me. I find myself reading sometimes word by word, like Delany’s “red sun, blue sun” example. In this way, I acknowledge that Delany chose each word specifically and that, with different words of the same meaning, the book might have a similar plot, but it just would not be the same. I like to imagine this sentence taken completely out of context from the book, because I think that even with no context of the culture or settings on Triton and Mars given to us earlier on, a reader could still come to understand multiple things from this sentence. If we start with the word “they,” then first of all we know that there is a person or possibly multiple people, and that they are not identified to the speaker (in this case, Bron). Let’s keep in mind that since this is a work of sf, there could be numerous possibilities as to how we can imagine this ‘they.’ For example, in regular fiction, we would most likely assume this is referring to a human, but in a work of sf such as this one, ‘they’ could refer to a robot or to a non-human form.With the next words, “pushed through,” at least to me, there is a sense that this “they” are moving quickly. Of course, with only this information, we could again assume a number of things in the context of sf. Yes, maybe they’re just pushing through a door, but they could also be pushing through radioactive plasma or a portal to a different dimension. Moving on to the next sentence: “He.” This “He” shows the reader two things out of context. One, that this story is told from a third person point of view, and two, that this person chasing after the “They” identifies as a man. Now, if we move on to the rest of the sentence: “[he] got a shove…” This particular detail shows the reader that the “They” in the lead are still arm’s reach from Bron, and that they are using force. The end of the sentence: “they hurried him up,” serves to confirm what I originally said; this person or people in front are moving swiftly. Moreover, to be in a “hurry” would require something that they are hurrying to, so this sentence shows us that these people are moving with a purpose- that there is somewhere that they need to be that will be revealed to us as the story moves on. This last sentence: “The walls and steps and banisters were grimed to an extent for which neither youth on Mars nor maturity on Triton had prepared him.” interests me the most, because I think this gives tons of information outside of the context. First of all, that the grime of the walls and steps and banisters is even noticed says two possible things: either that this person is incredibly observant and concerned with his surroundings, that the grime is so much that it is palpable, or both. We also come to understand from the comparison of the grime here and what his living on Mars and Triton prepared him for that Mars and Triton must be considerably cleaner than wherever we are now. This comparison also shows that we cannot possibly be on Mars or Triton now, so we must be on a different planet unknown to this man. Having read the sentences in this way, I again turn back to Delany’s “About 5,750 Words,” where he says “…when I write I often try to say several things at the same time.” I think these 3 sentences prove this point.

(Nov. 30, 2020)

Texts Featured:

Elana Gomel, “Gods Like Men: Soviet SF and the Utopian Self”

Ivan Yefremov, Andromeda

After reading “Gods Like Men: Soviet SF and the Utopian Self,” I was particularly interested in Elana Gomel’s description of the Soviet New Man as well as the inherent gender divide that can be found as a major theme in sf of the time.* According to Gomel, this concept of the Soviet New Man is first and foremost in stark contrast to the ideal Nazi man. Whereas the Nazi ideal of the Übermensch was characterized by Aryan genetics and was essential to Hitler’s vision of the German “Master Race,” the Soviet New Man becomes subject to a series of creative gynmastics which attributes to him qualities “both humdrum and sublime, both immeasurably better than, and the same as, the average citizen” (pp. 358-359). The first thought that popped into my mind when reading this was how the character of Erg Noor in Yefremov’s Andromeda embodies this image of the Soviet New Man. For example, I think this is most clear in the scene where Erg is coming out of his long rest just as the spaceship is set on its fatal course toward the iron star. Erg is clearly considered to be a sort of ‘Superman’ by all other members of the crew, and this is demonstrated through their deep respect for him and their willingness to submit to his dominance as leader as well as through their physical attraction to him. All of these qualities certainly set Erg up to be an ideal man who is seemingly-superhuman. The depiction of Erg struggling to come out of his deep slumber, with his stumbling and crawling across the floor, and him grappling with his exhaustion and weakness to ultimately save the crew in this state of emergency, allows Erg to adhere to the simultaneously majestic and ordinary prototype of the New Man.

In addition to the New Man, Gomel also writes about the New Woman. This New Woman is (not unexpectedly) largely characterized by her illusory, sexual nature. At the same time, the New Woman can be dominant over her fellow men, yet Gomel also describes how this dominance was often linked to the Freudian idea of the phallic mother. The phallic mother refers to the concept of automatic power and dominance over men being conferred upon women through the image of them having male genitalia or male characteristics. In Andromeda, Nisa Greet and Veda Kong are archetypes of the Soviet New Woman. Both women are distinguished by their standout physical beauty as well as their intelligence and positions of respect. These characters are also examples of what Gomel calls the “feminine stereotypes of the Snow Queen and the rebellious but loyal girl-child” (pp. 365). For example, female characters are constantly being portrayed in sf (and in the media, in general) as either cold temptress or naïve and spunky girl next door. I offer here two supplemental examples from Ursula K. Le Guin’s The Dispossessed: Takver as “Snow Queen” and Vea as “rebellious but loyal girl-child.” 

* Note from Author:  A thorough reading of these featured blog posts will demonstrate that this is a gender divide that remains in contemporary works of sf. (See “#7: Megan Barber On Russ,” “#8: Close reading of DADOES” and “#9: On Ursula K. Le Guin.”)

(Oct. 4, 2020)

Texts Featured:

Sonia Fritzsche, Science Fiction Literature in East Germany

From my reading of the excerpts from Sonia Fritzsche’s Science Fiction Literature in East Germany, I was able to gather from this week’s reading is that the cultures of sf literature in the United States and the Eastern Bloc cannot exactly be grouped together. Due to contrasting values and cultures, we must accept as readers of sf that works from the United States and from the Eastern Bloc present to us distinctive experiences and styles. While American science fiction authors have traditionally ventured more into creating alternate worlds/realties and exploring time travel (amongst other fantastical realties and inventions that are not deeply-rooted in supported science), science fiction authors of the Eastern Bloc were significantly restricted by censorship as well as being influenced by soviet or communist cultural values to focus their attention on scientifically-realistic worlds. The works of Eastern Bloc science fiction authors would also center themselves around realistic technological advancements (mostly space travel). Seeing as the cultures of countries in the Eastern Bloc valued collective good much more than the individualistic society of America, some soviet and european authors felt the need to create realities which would promote scientific thinking and the high value of the scientific field. Of course, it also goes without saying that the strictly-regulated censorship of soviet literature made it necessary for the authors in these regions to write within the realms of possibility. As another result of this, sf was synthesized with utopian literature, meaning that it was popular for socialist authors to create utopian plots based on the government structures of the socialist countries in which they lived. However, despite the obstacles of socialist censorship and the push for realism, this also led to authors using realism as a clever way to critique the leaders and structures of their countries. Sonia Frtizsche maintains that sf authors could be found on both sides of the spectrum, either in dissent or in affirmation of the regimes in place. It is important to note that sf essentially takes influence from all directions and can be used in unique ways according to the will of the author. This being said, the original goal of the author does not always translate to readers – especially those who read without context of the period in which the book was originally written and published.  

Knowing that sf also has the distinctive quality of mixing with all other forms of literature and media, and that it lends itself to rendering “the repressed of excluded meanings of popular culture… most intelligible” (Fritzsche, 33). It’s no wonder that we, as readers, make it a point to look at sf from both the United States and the Eastern Bloc and to make these comparisons based on culture and the historical context. 

(Sep. 27, 2020)

*Note from Curator: Since I find it incredibly difficult to define sf myself, I have chosen to feature this post by John D’Aquino instead. John seems to have a clear understanding of the text by Rieder on the genre of sf, and he also seems to have real opinions on the matter. In general, I enjoy John’s writing style as well as his confident manner of discussing topics. In my opinion, this guest post was the perfect way to begin this collection of posts.

Texts Featured:

John Rieder, “On Defining SF, or Not: Genre Theory, SF, and History”

Ursula K. Le Guin, The Dispossessed 

The text by Rieder is in my opinion, a great summary of everything we have gone over so far in the class. I think it’s apt that he points out towards the beginning that genre is a rather tricky thing to define. While “it” is not an actual thing that exists in the world, either tangibly or in an intangible, observational sort of way, it is up to us to both invent and define it.I am basically simplifying what I believe the point of his first two observations about sf are, but I think that because genre is a thing that people have invented and are also constantly working on and adding to, it becomes immune to one fixed definition. As Rieder states, we have the option to look at it in a tautological way and simply state that sf is whatever we deem to be sf. Tautologies, while seemingly useless as logical statements, actually have some merit here. If we start from the viewpoint of being able to name anything we like as sf, then we can take a more adaptive approach that causes us to run into less trouble than if we set up a rigid framework for definition first. One thing this has made me think of however, all jokes that have been made about this topic aside, is Star Wars. There seems to be some contention whenever the question is brought up of “is Star Wars real sf?”. But following many of the commonalities that have been associated with sf, I feel drawn to make the comparison. As for cognitive estrangement, I think this is accomplished perfectly, in a way that almost seems meta. Because admittedly, Star Wars does feel very different from most other sf that we have read or watched. Setting it in a time long before our own, in some obscure galaxy far away from ours does a number on the usual way we think of such stories. But a long time ago still means that the events occur on our timeline, and “far far away” still means they occur in our universe. To me there’s not much difference between a story of a far-off empire that has nothing to do with our world today and, say, the story of two planets with diametrically opposed political systems that have nothing to do with our own planet as we see in The Dispossessed. The most interesting comparison I’d like to draw though is towards the concept of the Novum. I don’t think Star Wars’ novum is the Force, or lightsabers, or even FTL travel. I think the ubiquity of technological advancement which can do seemingly impossible things, to the point where literally every character in the galaxy has access to some type of awe-inspiring power is the novum. Because in such a seemingly advanced world, its people still are subject to problems which are as old as civilization itself; corruption, religious superstition, war, poverty, and oppression are all parts of the story. This has been a long detour, but to bring it back around to a discussion of Rieder’s essay, I’d like to point out that the fact that I have just had to make and substantiate an argument for why a certain work is sf speaks to the amorphous nature of the genre itself. This accredits the notion that sf is what we say it is, and we can choose to apply any definitions that we think deserve it. There may come a day where sf is hardly recognizable from what it looks like today, just as works like the Netflix anthology Love, Death, and Robots is hardly recognizable from Mary Shelly’s Frankenstein.