The relationship between these works and previous science fiction is clear, even if Ballard’s character-driven fiction and psychological concerns seemed somewhat out of synch with its more plot-centered antecedents. The same cannot be said of his work of the 1970s, which like Zoline’s “The Heat Death of the Universe” seemed to move further and further from the typical topics of the field. For example, Crash (1973) concerns a character’s connection between automobile accidents (rather graphically described) and sexual arousal. The SF element lies in the speculative nature of the protagonist’s scientific experiments, but otherwise the book reads much like an edgy mainstream novel. Similarly, High-Rise (1975) depicts the tensions and conflicts that arise among the residents of an apartment building. Like certain works later in the history of science fiction, such as the later novels of William Gibson or Neal Stephenson, High-Rise feels like science fiction, even if it lacks the conventional apparatus of the genre. One might say that Ballard’s experiments with the boundaries of science fiction eventually led him out of the field altogether.
Another literary-minded author of science fiction whose career was already underway when the New Wave began, and whose work during this period exemplifies many New Wave themes and techniques, is Brian W. Aldiss. For instance, his novel Report on Probability A (1968), while rooted in science—in this case Werner Heisenberg’s uncertainty principle—nonetheless reads very differently from a conventional SF novel, from the glacially slow, minutely detailed “reports” of three observers to its repetition to its layers upon layers of observers focused upon a house, its occupant, and a painting. The novel is strongly influenced by the French anti-novel of the mid twentieth century.
Another influence lay behind Aldiss’s most experimental novel, Barefoot in the Head (1969), in this case James Joyce, and most especially Joyce’s Finnegans Wake (1939). The future-war story was nothing new in science fiction, but what was new to the field was the linguistic playfulness and dexterity that Aldiss brought to this book. In part he employed such a Joycean style because of the novel’s depictions of the psychedelic Acid Head War and the attendant insanity that results.
Modernist influence is also apparent in two novels by John Brunner, Stand on Zanzibar (1968) and The Sheep Look Up (1972). Depicting an overpopulated future, Stand on Zanzibar is noteworthy for its fragmented, multifaceted narrative, which many commentators have linked to John Dos Passos’s U.S.A. Trilogy (1930–1936). Brunner utilized a similar technique in The Sheep Look Up, which focuses on environmental catastrophe.
The New Wave’s characteristic themes tended to be both cosmic (entropy being particularly popular) and contemporary, with major social changes, warfare, oppressive political regimes, and the negative implications of technology being frequently addressed. Not every writer associated with the New Wave was young, but by and large it seemed a kind of revolt of younger writers against their older colleagues, and generally these younger writers, with their critiques of the establishment and the status quo, were aligned with the youth culture of the period. Consider, for example, Moorcock’s Jerry Cornelius Chronicles, beginning with The Final Programme in 1969. A sprawling set of parodies of the conventions of popular genre fiction, the series also includes metafictional techniques and in various ways relates to the counterculture of the period.
Although the New Wave has often been spoken of as primarily a British phenomenon, American writers participated as well, and several of them clearly have affinities with their British peers during this period. For example, Thomas M. Disch serialized his novel Camp Concentration (1968) in New Worlds, which provided a welcome home for this unusual first-person narrative about a political prisoner whose intelligence is artificially increased. Like Ballard’s High-Rise, Disch’s 334 (1972) deals with an apartment building and how its residents strive to cope with a dystopian New York City.
Another American, Norman Spinrad, was also one of the most controversial authors associated with the New Wave. His novel Bug Jack Barron (1969), also serialized in New Worlds, not only addresses the media-saturated environment of its near-future setting but does so with both a nod to the cut-up technique of William S. Burroughs and a high level of sexual explicitness. New Worlds at this time was subsidized in part by the British Arts Council, and the serialized version of the novel was attacked by members of Parliament, angry both at the novel’s cynical depiction of politicians and its sexual content and language. The book was defended by the head of the British Arts Council, but later when it was published independently the British bookstore chain W. H. Smith refused to sell it. Prior to the New Wave such controversies were rare within science fiction, whose publishers tended to view their magazines and books as acceptable reading for teens as well as adults and who preferred to avoid anything that might negatively affect sales.
In the United States as well as Great Britain, however, an increasing number of authors were interested in writing science fiction that could more realistically address a broader array of issues and do so with literary techniques that could be Modernist or Postmodernist as well as the more traditional use of Realism. Among them were Samuel R. Delany, whose highly intellectual and often experimental stories and novels of the late 1960s have much in common with the New Wave; Robert Silverberg, who reinvented himself during this period with a string of novels whose concerns were more psychological than had been the norm for much science fiction before this stage of his career, including his own; Ursula K. Le Guin, who presented culturally relevant studies of gender and imperialism in The Left Hand of Darkness (1969) and The Word for World Is Forest (1972) respectively, and who employed an unconventional plot structure in The Dispossessed (1974); and Joanna Russ, whose experimental novel The Female Man (1975) tells the intersecting stories of four different women who are really variations on the same individual.
By the mid 1970s, the science-fiction community no longer talked about the New Wave as the hottest development in SF, and it appeared as if its moment had passed. Those who had been opposed to its innovations typically dismissed it as an unfortunate aberration in the history of a genre that they proudly saw as distinct from (and better than) the literary mainstream, and many of the writers who saw it more positively moved on to other concerns. It is true that most Anglo-American SF after the New Wave never again approached the level of experimentalism associated with its most radical examples, but on the other hand it is also true that British and American SF after the New Wave was different from British and American SF before it. Plot and idea remained important, as in traditional SF prior to and during the New Wave, but literary values such as characterization and style also saw an elevation in quality throughout the field, and experimentalism was no longer the province only of SF’s equivalent of the avant garde. It was as though, in a process paralleling the Hegelian notion of thesis, antithesis, and synthesis, the New Wave had provided a radical contrast to science fiction as it had currently stood, and the end product was a field that resembled neither traditional SF nor New Wave SF but rather that could now accommodate elements of both.
The New Wave is routinely discussed in histories of science fiction, and several works and writers of the movement have been the focus of scholarly essays and books. In addition, two book-length studies have concentrated specifically on the New Wave. Colin Greenland’s The Entropy Exhibition: Michael Moorcock and the British “New Wave” in Science Fiction (1983) focuses specifically on New Worlds under Moorcock, with substantial attention paid to Aldiss and Ballard. Heinrich Keim’s New Wave: Die Avantgarde der modernen anglo-amerikanischen Science Fiction? (New Wave: The Avant-Garde of Modern Anglo-American Science Fiction?, 1983) provides coverage of both British and American authors.
* * * *
Darren Harris-Fain is Professor of English and Chair of the Department of English and Philosophy at Auburn University Montgomery. He is the author of Understanding Contemporary American Science Fiction: The Age of Maturity, 1970–2000 (University of South Carolina Press, 2005) and the editor o
f three volumes on British fantasy and science fiction for the Dictionary of Literary Biography. He has also written about science fiction, fantasy, horror, comics and graphic novels, and film and television for several books and journals.
BEN BOVA
(1932– )
Writer, editor, and science writer, Ben Bova has written countless articles and more than 100 books of SF, science, and a variety of other subjects mostly connected to one or both of those things. Despite a long writing career that stretches back to young adult SF he wrote in the late 1950s, Bova is probably best remembered for his magazine and anthology editing: Bova succeeded John W. Campbell as editor of Astounding in 1971 and revived what had been a declining franchise. He went on to edit Omni from 1978–82, winning six Hugos for Best Editor in the 1970s.
THE NEXT LOGICAL STEP, by Ben Bova
First Published in Analog, May 1962
“I don’t really see where this problem has anything to do with me,” the CIA man said. “And, frankly, there are a lot of more important things I could be doing.”
Ford, the physicist, glanced at General LeRoy. The general had that quizzical expression on his face, the look that meant he was about to do something decisive.
“Would you like to see the problem first-hand?” the general asked, innocently.
The CIA man took a quick look at his wristwatch. “O.K., if it doesn’t take too long. It’s late enough already.”
“It won’t take very long, will it, Ford?” the general said, getting out of his chair.
“Not very long,” Ford agreed. “Only a lifetime.”
The CIA man grunted as they went to the doorway and left the general’s office. Going down the dark, deserted hallway, their footsteps echoed hollowly.
“I can’t overemphasize the seriousness of the problem,” General LeRoy said to the CIA man. “Eight ranking members of the General Staff have either resigned their commissions or gone straight to the violent ward after just one session with the computer.”
The CIA man scowled. “Is this area Secure?”
General LeRoy’s face turned red. “This entire building is as Secure as any edifice in the Free World, mister. And it’s empty. We’re the only living people inside here at this hour. I’m not taking any chances.”
“Just want to be sure.”
“Perhaps if I explain the computer a little more,” Ford said, changing the subject, “you’ll know what to expect.”
“Good idea,” said the man from CIA.
“We told you that this is the most modern, most complex and delicate computer in the world…nothing like it has ever been attempted before—anywhere.”
“I know that They don’t have anything like it,” the CIA man agreed.
“And you also know, I suppose, that it was built to simulate actual war situations. We fight wars in this computer…wars with missiles and bombs and gas. Real wars, complete down to the tiniest detail. The computer tells us what will actually happen to every missile, every city, every man…who dies, how many planes are lost, how many trucks will fail to start on a cold morning, whether a battle is won or lost…”
General LeRoy interrupted. “The computer runs these analyses for both sides, so we can see what’s happening to Them, too.”
The CIA man gestured impatiently. “War games simulations aren’t new. You’ve been doing them for years.”
“Yes, but this machine is different,” Ford pointed out. “It not only gives a much more detailed war game. It’s the next logical step in the development of machine-simulated war games.” He hesitated dramatically.
“Well, what is it?”
“We’ve added a variation of the electro-encephalograph…”
The CIA man stopped walking. “The electro-what?”
“Electro-encephalograph. You know, a recording device that reads the electrical patterns of your brain. Like the electro-cardiograph.”
“Oh.”
“But you see, we’ve given the EEG a reverse twist. Instead of using a machine that makes a recording of the brain’s electrical wave output, we’ve developed a device that will take the computer’s readout tapes, and turn them into electrical patterns that are put into your brain!”
“I don’t get it.”
General LeRoy took over. “You sit at the machine’s control console. A helmet is placed over your head. You set the machine in operation. You see the results.”
“Yes,” Ford went on. “Instead of reading rows of figures from the computer’s printer…you actually see the war being fought. Complete visual and auditory hallucinations. You can watch the progress of the battles, and as you change strategy and tactics you can see the results before your eyes.”
“The idea, originally, was to make it easier for the General Staff to visualize strategic situations,” General LeRoy said.
“But every one who’s used the machine has either resigned his commission or gone insane,” Ford added.
The CIA man cocked an eye at LeRoy. “You’ve used the computer.”
“Correct.”
“And you have neither resigned nor cracked up.”
General LeRoy nodded. “I called you in.”
Before the CIA man could comment, Ford said, “The computer’s right inside this doorway. Let’s get this over with while the building is still empty.”
* * * *
They stepped in. The physicist and the general showed the CIA man through the room-filling rows of massive consoles.
“It’s all transistorized and subminiaturized, of course,” Ford explained. “That’s the only way we could build so much detail into the machine and still have it small enough to fit inside a single building.”
“A single building?”
“Oh yes; this is only the control section. Most of this building is taken up by the circuits, the memory banks, and the rest of it.”
“Hm-m-m.”
They showed him finally to a small desk, studded with control buttons and dials. The single spotlight above the desk lit it brilliantly, in harsh contrast to the semidarkness of the rest of the room.
“Since you’ve never run the computer before,” Ford said, “General LeRoy will do the controlling. You just sit and watch what happens.”
The general sat in one of the well-padded chairs and donned a grotesque headgear that was connected to the desk by a half-dozen wires. The CIA man took his chair slowly.
When they put one of the bulky helmets on him, he looked up at them, squinting a little in the bright light. “This…this isn’t going to…well, do me any damage, is it?”
“My goodness, no,” Ford said. “You mean mentally? No, of course not. You’re not on the General Staff, so it shouldn’t…it won’t…affect you the way it did the others. Their reaction had nothing to do with the computer per se…”
“Several civilians have used the computer with no ill effects,” General LeRoy said. “Ford has used it many times.”
The CIA man nodded, and they closed the transparent visor over his face. He sat there and watched General LeRoy press a series of buttons, then turn a dial.
“Can you hear me?” The general’s voice came muffled through the helmet.
“Yes,” he said.
“All right. Here we go. You’re familiar with Situation One-Two-One? That’s what we’re going to be seeing.”
Situation One-Two-One was a standard war game. The CIA man was well acquainted with it. He watched the general flip a switch, then sit back and fold his arms over his chest. A row of lights on the desk console began blinking on and off, one, two, three…down to the end of the row, then back to the beginning again, on and off, on and off…
And then, somehow, he could see it!
He was poised incredibly somewhere in space, and he could see it all in a funny, blurry-double-sighted, dream-like way. He seemed to be seeing several pictures and hearing many voices, all at once. It was all mixed up, and yet it made a weird kind of sense.
For a panicked instant he wanted to rip t
he helmet off his head. It’s only an illusion, he told himself, forcing calm on his unwilling nerves. Only an illusion.
But it seemed strangely real.
He was watching the Gulf of Mexico. He could see Florida off to his right, and the arching coast of the southeastern United States. He could even make out the Rio Grande River.
Situation One-Two-One started, he remembered, with the discovery of missile-bearing Enemy submarines in the Gulf. Even as he watched the whole area—as though perched on a satellite—he could see, underwater and close-up, the menacing shadowy figure of a submarine gliding through the crystal blue sea.
He saw, too, a patrol plane as it spotted the submarine and sent an urgent radio warning.
The underwater picture dissolved in a bewildering burst of bubbles. A missile had been launched. Within seconds, another burst—this time a nuclear depth charge—utterly destroyed the submarine.
It was confusing. He was everyplace at once. The details were overpowering, but the total picture was agonizingly clear.
Six submarines fired missiles from the Gulf of Mexico. Four were immediately sunk, but too late. New Orleans, St. Louis and three Air Force bases were obliterated by hydrogen-fusion warheads.
The CIA man was familiar with the opening stages of the war. The first missile fired at the United States was the signal for whole fleets of missiles and bombers to launch themselves at the Enemy. It was confusing to see the world at once; at times he could not tell if the fireball and mushroom cloud was over Chicago or Shanghai, New York or Novosibirsk, Baltimore or Budapest.
Sense of Wonder: A Century of Science Fiction Page 284