The week before New Years’, we devote most of this linkfest to musings on prognostication.
- Teenagers with Bite, Part 2
An interesting glimpse into a subgenre of fantasy I’d never paid much attention to—YA vampire novels (even if their worlds still sound painfully oversimplified):
She’s more likely to be helplessly vomiting than swanning around seducing hapless mortals, and her diet is a steady one guinea pig a day, rather than tasty human blood.
- The Speed of Sci-Fi
Like the following post, a rumination on science fiction as prognostication:
The point of that paragraph is this: by the time I had written the first 10,000 words of that (as yet unpublished — and incomplete) novel, the technology was already dated. Imagine how authors feel when they finish a book, get it edited, get it on the publication schedule… and then, two months before it’s released, something new is invented that makes the book obsolete.
- The Way the Future Shouldn’t Be
Grasping for the Wind
A discussion of how good hard sf is hard to find nowadays.
I’d disagree, thinking of Schroeder, Watts, and Vinge (to name just three who come immediately to mind, all white men admittedly) but on the media end of things I suspect this is sadly true:
Now, science fiction seems to only serve the entertainment function. Practitioners seem to distance themselves from prognostication as if it were an illegal or socially unacceptable activity.
- Living in the Future
A very interesting synopsis of several lectures at a futorological seminar:
What does science fiction have to do with architecture? Not a lot, you might think, but the Architectural Association begs to disagree, because its London School of Architecture run a series of seminars with the pulp-inspired title of Thrilling Wonder Stories that bring together speculative fiction writers, comics creators, video game producers and futurologists. The objective appears to be to encourage those who will build the cities of tomorrow to think about what those cities might look like.
Small Beer Press—Not A Journal
An invocation of booklust in its most elemental form, albeit with an unfortunate addiction-related metaphor:
Consider the size: a mere seven inches tall (less if it was from Dell or Popular Library), four and a quarter inches wide, and half an inch thick. A hundred thousand choice words, more or less, in a soft covered package you could shove in the pocket of your jeans.
I was consuming two or three of these a week in 1963.