Front Page

The 'Zine

Sunsphere City

Bonus Track

Market Square

Search
Contact us!
About the site

Comment
on this story

Ghetto Fiction

Breaking out of the genre stereotypes

by Adrienne Martini

Somewhere along the way—my best guess is the 1950s—speculative fiction as a genre became the haven of pimply teen-age boys who were more comfortable with slide rules than pimply teen-age girls. Public perception of science fiction and fantasy readers hasn't shifted that much in the last half-decade. In addition to the stereotypical teen-age boy we now have his grown-up counterpart (who still wears a pocket protector) as well as an awkward woman or two to round out the picture. It's no wonder some of the best science fiction writers don't want to be associated with the genre—despite the fact that what they are writing is a perfect fit: Margaret Atwood's A Handmaid's Tale. David Foster Wallace's Infinite Jest. Much of Kurt Vonnegut. Most of T.C. Boyle. Their publishers slap the word "fiction" prominently on the dust jackets but what is contained within is a genre work, pure and simple.

Of course, who wouldn't want to be in the rarefied air of lit-rat-ure rather than in the bowels of the SF dungeon? Sure, genre readers are loyal, well-educated, and employed, but to be in their midst is, well, icky—at least in the publishing world's perception. But it's even more disturbing when a genre writer and his agent decide to market a genre book as pure mainstream fiction, perhaps as a misguided attempt to gain some industry cred. It's doubly frustrating when the writer is as well-respected as Dan Simmons.

Simmons, for those who hold contempt for speculative fiction and know little about it, is the author of a brilliant, Hugo-winning book called Hyperion—not to mention the other brilliant works of science fiction and horror he has churned out over the years. Hyperion is the kind of book that makes readers weep because it is simply gorgeous and proof that good writing can be found in every ghetto-ized genre.

In the last few years, Simmons has made the move into mainstream fiction. It says so right here on the spine of his latest paperback release, The Crook Factory ($6.99/Harper Collins). Nowhere on the cover does it mention Simmons' previous incarnation as a genre writer, going so far as to label him "award-winning" rather than specify which award it was. And the irony is that Factory is also a work of speculative fiction of the oldest sort—the alternative history.

Factory takes us to Cuba in 1942, where we meet a secret agent named Lucas and a nutty writer named Hemingway. Lucas has been sent to the island by none other than J. Edgar Hoover in order to help Papa H. run an amateur espionage ring and to keep the writer out of trouble. Nothing goes smoothly, of course, and Lucas finds himself increasingly in danger of being killed—both by counter-terrorism groups and by Hemingway's knack for trouble.

Simmons has created a minor masterpiece here, seamlessly piecing together bits of history that are actual fact with his own speculations. His ability to create mood and memorable characters hasn't diminished from the Hyperion opus. And even those who dislike Hemingway or Cuba or deep-sea fishing or espionage will be drawn in by Simmons gift with language and plot. Factory is a tight, suspense-filled work—and it is also a prime example of what science fiction is today, which is more than just men of science traveling to the moon.

Darwin's Blade ($25/Morrow), Simmons new hardback, is a more difficult book to grapple with. No, it really isn't speculative fiction and the label on the cover that says "A Novel of Suspense" is more or less accurate. The idea that drives the story is firmly rooted in this reality and all of the tropes of SF aren't in evidence. Clearly, this the story the writer wanted to tell and had to find a publisher who would let him without forcing him to make it a genre work.

The problem with Blade, however, is that it isn't a very good book. The topic has the potential for greatness—an investigator, Darwin, finds himself in the middle of a ring of insurance capers, those charming folk who make their living by fraud. Their staged accidents have turned deadly and Darwin becomes a target when he begins to pry into these cases too deeply. It's an interesting, suspense-fraught idea, to be sure.

The problem is that Simmons clearly had been saving up bizarre stories of fraud cases and wants to tell them all to you at once, just in case he will never again have the opportunity. The first half of Blade reads like a series of case reports. Yes, they are mostly amusing, but they don't do much to advance the plot or the characters, which is too bad because Darwin is a fascinating guy. The supporting cast is well-drawn as well, once you get the chance to see them though all of the descriptions of attempted insurance frauds, and the last 20 pages are well worth the price of the book. But Blade just isn't as polished as Simmons' genre efforts, which may lead one to conjure some speculative fiction of one's own.
 

January 4, 2001 * Vol. 11, No. 1
© 2001 Metro Pulse