What can sports tell us about meteors?

     Can we save the Earth by learning to throw a curveball in outer space?  The thought might not be as preposterous as it sounds.  A simple device may be a key to preserving our planet from impacts with the numerous dangerous objects floating around our solar system.

   Consider the humble meteor, a hunk of stone or perhaps ice moving on a certain trajectory that may threaten to coincide with that of our world.  Yet it is not necessarily stable as it moves.  Like a bullet, or perhaps more like a baseball, a meteor probably has some tumble as it speeds along.  There may be a way to make such tumble useful to us.  When a pitcher sizes up a batter, he wants to hit a certain spot the catcher designates.  He does not want the trajectory of the ball to be a straight line. Otherwise, every pitch might yield a home run.  Instead, he uses the seams of the baseball, the grip of his fingers, the motion of his wrist, and sometimes a little spit, to impart a non-ballistic motion to the ball, so that it won't follow the path the batter thinks he sees.

     A simple device may someday help scientists and engineers change the path of a meteor the same way a pitcher produces a curve ball or a slider to achieve the desired end. If we can first of all manage to track and determine the tumble of a meteor, and secondly to alter that tumble in such a way as to change its trajectory, we may have a tool for ensuring safety to all on Earth. So far, solutions for a meteor impact in science fiction have consisted of the old fall-back; a big explosion. Films and novels have generally focused on the idea of using explosives, particularly nuclear, to blast an impact body to pieces or move it out of the way.  In a nod to reality, these big explosions do not always work.  In some cases, they only slightly reduce the meteor, breaking it into numerous lethal parts, or fail because of the internal structure of the body, or have insufficient "braking power" to do the job. Occasionally the prospect of landing on the meteor as part of the solution is examined, but this tends to involve the high-risk, low-efficiency notion of "boots on the rock" in the form of astronauts.

     Since robotic space operations are really proving their success in recent years, let's get back to our simple device.  Okay, perhaps not so simple.  More efficient than transporting a man to a potential meteor is the proposal of sending a nice compact device, at first in a purely research mode.  I am talking about a device that is basically an enhanced recorder-transmitter that would attach itself to the body and study its tumble characteristics.  This is not as easy as I am making it sound, but it is perfectly feasible now that we have landed devices on moving comets.  So let's let Houston or Tokyo figure the details and go on to the next step.  Analyzing the tumble would involve the complicated step of accurately charting movement in relation to some stable reference point, not always without difficulty in a universe where everything is moving in relation to everything else.  Even our dependable sun may not be, in itself, a completely adequate reference point.  It might be necessary to allow our device to keep track of its position relative to some much more distant points, such as a triangulation of quasars.  A meteor has no seams like a baseball, but with quasars serving as the equivalent of a strike zone, we should be able to get a good understanding of tumble and its crucial aspect, that is, whether it is random or patterned.    Determining a tumble pattern is phase one.

     Next, our experts would have to go back to the drawing board and figure out if a patterned tumble can be altered by some other existing device, such as an ion drive, in order to change the trajectory of the meteor.  There is no certainty that it could, but it is worth finding out if it might be possible.  Just as there are no seams on a meteor, there is no atmosphere in space to affect its motion the way a pitcher can use the air to affect his baseball.  We might try looking into phenomena such as the solar wind, but it is not certain to play a role.  Likewise, the mass of a given meteor may prove too great to alter by the output of a surface-mounted drive that changes its tumble.  But we will never know unless we do the fundamental research and try.  I would argue that a single project of this nature may prove more practical in our celestial neighborhood than some long-distance projects already under way being discussed.

     Skeptics may argue, and rightfully so, that ion drives produce too little energy too slowly to be able to alter a meteor for practical purposes.  We should not forget, however, that other more powerful drives are being investigated, including laser and helium-3 drives.  The more complicated part of the operation may actually be determining the correct sequence for applying the drives during the tumble so as to achieve the maximum desired effect on the mass of the meteor to alter its trajectory.

     Of course, it's a long shot, but then everything involving space is, ipso facto, a long shot.  For now, it's an idea, and one that belongs to the -- I believe -- more fruitful category of interacting with the existing universe, instead of seeking to completely remake it.

Revisiting the Fermi Paradox

     Everyone interested in space knows something of the Fermi Paradox.  It arose from a conversation among scientists working on the development of the atomic bomb -- and that detail is not without significance.  When many of the top physicists associated with Los Alamos research were speculating one day about the likelihood of alien intelligence, Enrico Fermi threw out the paradoxical question, "If they are out there and know more than we do, why haven't they contacted us?" -- or words to that effect.  A very natural statement from an Italian-American who would have found it hard not to want to have a chat with interesting visitors.  Indeed, Fermi's observation has stirred a lot of curiosity among those wishing to hear from aliens.  

     Earth has been broadcasting now for about a century, so arguably some of our transmissions may well have made it out as far as 25 parsecs or so into outer space.  Recent discoveries of exoplanets lead us to suspect that somewhere in that expanse, life is likely to have evolved.  Perhaps even intelligent life.  The apparent silence observed so far by our radio telescopes and listening arrays could lead us to conclude that we are alone in the universe.  

     But wait!  A scientific report disseminated this week by Cornell researchers Evan Solomenides and Yervant Terzian comes to a different conclusion.  Based on the vastness of the universe, they conclude that it may well take another 1500 years before we can expect to get an answer from intelligent alien life beyond our solar system.   That's a long time to sit by the phone waiting for a call.  

     The Cornell duo present a well reasoned discussion of the issue.  The realm of speculative science fiction adds other possible scenarios for the lack of first contact so far.  Consider, for example, the wonderful early film It Came From Outer Space, where an extraterrestrial craft (oddly resembling one described in Cyrano de Bergerac's 17th century novel, The States and Empires of the Sun) crash lands on our planet, forcing its crew to kidnap and imitate Earthlings in order to procure materials to repair their vessel and depart unrecognized.  They have no intention of announcing their presence to us primitives because, as they are forced to divulge, we are not ready to understand them and their ways.  

     Despite Gene Roddenberry's almost cock-eyed optimism about our species, the Startrek universe relies on an equally accidental cause for first contact.  The Vulcans, who had been nonchalantly ignoring Earth,  only deem it worth a stopover when they detect that we have achieve technology to produce a warp drive.  

    Now, one may argue that accidentalism is not a very good explanation for the lack of response to our communications so far.  Highly intelligent creatures might not be awkward enough to simply stumble across mankind, as in the Universal-International film, or neglectful as the Vulcans in Star Trek First Contact.  One may assume, on the contrary, that such a race would have its eyes wide open, especially as they may have more than two.

    And if they were watching, what would they see?  A planet full of inexplicably belligerent beings interested in exploiting space for military purposes!  Not content with proliferating nuclear warheads and various other horrors on the planetary surface, we have filled space with weapons.  True, we have sent out misleading messages of peace on some of our space probes, yet in reality we continue to advertise strife in ways that would become obvious to any intelligent observer.  After all, for every peaceful observatory that we point out toward the heavens, there are scores, if not hundreds, of ultra-sharp satellites peering right back on Earth to search for potential military targets.  Of the spaceworthy states on Earth, only the Japanese and the European Space Program seem to have any commitment to peaceful exploration.  All of the American missions are carried out by military personnel and even NASA has been essentially weaponized.  No sooner had it developed a robotic minishuttle than it was turned over to the Air Force. The X37 spacecraft is launched from a secret location, on a military rocket, for mysterious purposes known only to military personnel.  It is not delivering popsicles to the International Space Station or tweaking the Hubble telescope, that much is for sure!

     We can only conclude that any intelligent alien life observing Earth would be very reluctant to make itself and its science known to such nasty beings.  It would be like putting assault weapons in the hands of brutal drug gangs (oh, wait! we do that!).  Surely, though, we would have intercepted some bit of stray communication, wouldn't we?  Maybe not.  If we Earthlings are capable of jamming each other's radio, microwave, and other transmissions, would not a more knowledgeable civilization have even more sophisticated ways of masking its own messages from us?  Would we be even capable of deciphering their communications, given that we are listening for messages as simple as a Fibonacci sequence?  More probably, we will hear from them when and only when they are good and ready for us to do it.  In the meantime, it is plausible to assume, as did the viscous creatures in It Came From Outer Space that we are not yet ready.  Folks, that may be a very diplomatic way of putting it.

Middle Management: Part Three

A Tale of Scientific Experimentation

by James F. Gaines

copyright 2004

The Boss was shaking his bushy white hair as he stepped in the door. At first he appeared not to notice the assistants, turning away from them. But then they heard his sonorous voice say, “I’m glad you’re all here. We need to make some changes.”

Mike stepped forward and blurted out, “Sir, there’s something you need to know. Something dangerous is going on. Nick – ”

“You look worried, son. Calm down. You don’t need to protect me from any truth. I’m a big boy, too, you know.”

Gabi interjected, “But sir, Mike’s right. The entire program could be ruined, all the projects will go down the drain if – ”

“Sometimes we have to let go of some things to save others, my dear young lady, that’s how the system works.”

“Why don’t you pipe down and see what our leader has to say?” Nick smirked.

“Thank you, Nick. Always to the point as usual. Well, I’ve been down to the mammalian compound and I don’t like what I find. They seem to have degenerated even worse than last time and I believe serious action is in order.”

Izzy perked up. “Do you mean cancellation, sir? In that case, could I suggest that the protein – ”

“No, Izzy, I know what you’re going to ask, but I’m not going to let you feed those subjects to your frogs, especially not alive! I have my rules about how things will be done here. Besides, I am not shutting down the whole project.”

Nick gave the others an I-told-you-so look.

The Boss went on. “I know that a lot of them will have to be destroyed and I have decided to eliminate those that will not continue. Better to let them perish than to pass on something to subjects in another project. After all, what is wrong with them might prove, in some manner, to be contagious.”

“But it doesn’t sound bacteriological,” objected Mike.

“Doesn’t have to be,” whispered Gabi. “Could be viral, or even prionic.” She glanced up at Nick. “We can’t imagine what has gotten into those subjects or how.”

“In any case, I have given the lot a good look over,” said the Boss. “I’ve culled out a number that might serve for a new control group. Not many, mind you, but more than I thought at first. We’ll have to go right back to the drawing board with them and work on the most basic adaptations to the environment. With a sharpening of the selective eugenics and some behavioral conditioning, all might not be lost. I’m planning to take a hand myself from now on. Directly back into the handiwork. I’ve always missed that anyway.”

Nick chimed in. “I’m glad you’re thinking of a little shakeup, sir. I have a few suggestions of my own I’d like to discuss with you. It seems to me that we could realize some interesting economies by consolidation. I could certainly take on a lot more – ”

“Yes, Nick, I believe you can.”

Izzy would not give up his quest for protein, though. “Sir, in the most strenuous terms, I must object to the waste of good biological resources when there is so much to be gained from the batracian experiment.” He glanced at Nick. “I realize some people feel that I haven’t brought them far enough, and I am completely ready to step aside, provided that the work go on. Just listen to their music, sir, and think what the right nutrients might – ”

“I know they may not make the kind of cognitive progress you want without that metabolism, Izzy, but I want you to look at some other survival factors first.”

“Sir,” answered the desperate amphibiologist, “We have here a breakthrough from biology into culture of unprecedented importance. You cannot let the chance slip though your fingers.”

“There are many chances, Izzy. But I won’t let your subjects starve, don’t worry.” He scrawled out a note and handed it to the bespectacled young colleague. “Take this down to entomology and draw whatever you need from their stores.”

“Oh, no, bugs and mealworms!” Izzy whined. “Their music, sir, it will just become so degraded. I can’t stand by – ”

The Boss drew a breath and his voice assumed a quieter but at the same time immensely more powerful tone as he slowly stated, “Izrafel, that is not a suggestion, but a direct order. Off with thee to entomology! And you, my dear Gabrielle, and you, too, Michael, can accompany him and help him bring up the stores.”

“Right away, sir,” acknowledged Michael, and he took Gabi by the arm as they followed a dejected Izzy toward the far doorway.

When they had filed out, Nick turned to the Boss and said, “Very clever, sir. And merciful, too, to spare them a good reaming. By way of consolidation, I would like to suggest – ”

“Oh, I intend to talk about consolidation in just a bit, Nick. You’d better sit down.” The Boss’s tone had changed again and when Nick turned to him to scrutinize his face for the reason, he saw a look he had not seen for a long time, one that sent chills down his spine. Anger was concentrated in those eyes like a beam from a blazing fire.

The Boss reached for something in the pocket of his tweed jacket and tossed it on the table in front of Nick. Aghast, the assistant’s jaw dropped, as he realized, too late, what was on the Boss’s mind. The object was a skull with two enormous fangs.

“Now, Nick,” said the Boss, “First we’re going to have a little discussion about snakes.”

Nick folded his dark wings closer to his body and hung his head, fearing, correctly, the absolute worst.

Middle Management

A Tale of Experimentation

Part Two of Three

Copyright James F. Gaines 2004

With Izzy cringing in defeat, Nick made his way over to Gabi’s table. “Maybe you should be the one I help. I think you’ve already had enough tips about those squids to owe me a little something.”

Gabi looked up apprehensively. “I really am grateful for your help. But we are all a team, aren’t we? Why does everything seem to have a price for you?”

Nick leered at her. “Because I’m the one who controls the marketplace.”

Mike came over and deliberately moved his muscular body between Nick and Gabi. “Haven’t you forgotten about the Boss?” he asked. “After all, you’re only assistant director.”

“Do you see the Boss now?” ranted Nick, flinging his arms in a circle to indicate the entire lab. “Do you ever see him around here much? He’s clueless these days. He literally doesn’t know what’s happening with the projects. I think he’s up there in his office snoozing most of the day.”

“I don’t know, Nick. It’s true he hasn’t been in much. But I don’t think he ever sleeps. Every time I tell him something about the avians, he already seems to know.”

“That’s because your work is so simple-minded it doesn’t exactly require a great intellect to take it all in. It’s the right thing for someone with a second-rate degree, though. You couldn’t begin to manage the marine project, for instance. You’re only good for swabbing out cages.”

Mike pursed his lips and made a movement toward Nick, but Gabi reached out and put a hand on his shoulder to hold him back, shaking her head to remind him it was not wise to confront this arrogant superior.

“That’s right,” chortled Nick. “You know the score, honey. I’ll be number one around here before long and only those who know their places will have any hope of staying on.” He sidled around to Gabi and reached out to caress her neck. “And you know your place, don’t you, Gabi? Under me!”

She brushed away his hand as though it were covered with slime, rose and took a couple of steps away.

Nick’s leer had instantly turned into a glare of hatred. “Bitch!” he sneered, curling his lip. “Goddamn whore! You’re more slippery than anything over in Izzy’s little swamp. Think you’re too sophisticated for me? I’ll have you scrubbing out test tubes back in no time if I want to. And I want to. Hell, I’ll have you handling contagious stuff at some hospital in the slums.”

Mike moved menacingly close to Nick and lowered his voice. “Lay off her, now Nick. Nobody here wants to cause trouble for you, but I won’t let you bully her.”

Nick answered Mike’s threat with mocking laughter. “Hah! The great hero comes to the rescue! Gabi, I can’t believe that instead of me, you’ll go down with the half-wit of Notre Dame, here.”

Mike’s fist came flying and landed square on Nick’s jaw. It seemed enough to knock him into the next room, but to everyone’s surprise, Nick merely turned his head back slowly and felt the reddened spot where the punch had landed. It looked as though an insect had had the impudence to sting him and he was curious about the effect. He looked up at Mike and hissed, “You’ve sealed your fate, now, stupid. In the monthly report I’m going to let you have it. I’ve been saving up a few things. And just to show you how it’s done, when you’re gone, I think I’ll take over the avians myself and have a little fun. I’ve got a few recombinant strains I’ve been working on and it will be interesting to see how virulent they are. Interesting to see the effects on those birds when they can’t get off the ground.”

Mike became visibly scared, not so much for himself as for the eagles and falcons he had come to regard almost as pets, even though they were completely adapted in a wild habitat. He realized his strength could not protect them. Perhaps not Gabi either, if it came to that. Nick seemed to have anticipated any reaction anyone might make.

Izzy, who had been meekly watching the confrontation, cleared his throat and tried to change the subject. “Nick, is the Boss going to close down the mammalian project? Are you going to recommend it?”

Nick’s eyes refocused and a strange smile came over his face. “No, I don’t think it’s time just yet. We haven’t closed down an experiment in a long time.”

“Not since the the Boss terminated the reptile experiment,” said Izzy, who immediately regretted he’d mentioned it. The reptiles had been Nick’s domain and he had been furious when, for some reason no one could readily understand, the Boss had ordered it ended and reassigned Nick to general administrative duties.

“Yes, I know what you’re thinking, four-eyes!” said Nick. “Those lizards meant a lot to me and showed how much I could do. They were splendid, and it was a waste to let them go.”

“Though I hate to admit it,” conceded Mike, “I couldn’t help but admire their strength and toughness. They were amazingly aggressive. Almost unstoppable.”

“Yeah. Even an oaf like you could see that much. But they were so much more. More than any of you could grasp. Or him. It showed how much he was already slipping when he took away my creatures. And look what we’ve got instead. A bunch of failures.”

“They wouldn’t have failed if you had devoted some of your superior intelligence to solving their problems,” observed Gabi.

“You’re right about that. And that’s why I’ve been doing a little free-lancing with the apes down at the mammalian project. That’s why he’s down there now, trying to figure out what went wrong. He thinks the breeding protocols are all screwed up and the mating imprints aren’t working. As I said, he doesn’t have a clue. I’ll soon show that what I did with the reptiles was just a taste of what I can achieve.”

The three colleagues were alarmed by this revelation and burst into objections.

“How could you tamper with that project? What did you do? It’s a delicate experiment in environmental ecology and needs to be closely calibrated!”

Nick laughed scornfully. “What you don’t realize, and what even he doesn’t grasp is that it is no longer an experiment in environmental ecology. It’s entirely a matter of genetic control now.”

“Nick,” said Izzy, “You haven’t done anything to the genetic protocols, have you?”

“Done anything? You plodder, I’ve surpassed them. Do you really think I spent all that time since the reptile fiasco twiddling my thumbs? The reptiles had already shown AI, full self awareness through artificial intelligence. I saved everything essential I had done with the DNA and since then I have been honing it and perfecting it in a few snakes I kept on my own. Think we can’t use snakes to get mammalians to think a different way? Think again!”

Gabi frowned. “But they’re already self-aware. So your artificial intelligence stuff wouldn’t give them anything they didn’t have already.”

“Oh, I’ve gone far beyond that. Self-awareness is one thing, but I’ve made their selves into something one step further, I’ve found a way to implant a self-motivating pleasure principle in them that will override all other drives.”

The others gazed in shocked silence for a minute. Then Mike spoke. “But with creatures of that order, they’ll never survive, they’ll self-destruct.”

“Not before I’m ready for them to do it. I want to pique them to try a few new things first. Then I’ll harvest the results, as I did from the reptiles.”

Izzy nodded his head. “That’s why the mating protocols broke down. Your pleasure principle has overcome their most basic instincts and sent them off on a search for constant stimulation that will never end.” He tapped on a few computer keys. “Until the population becomes unsustainable – not that far off in the future.”

Mike’s brow wrinkled. “The old man will know.”

“He’ll know nothing of the kind. In a little while he’ll saunter back in here with his head in a fog, wondering how his perfect little plans for the primates fell apart.”

Izzy pressed the earphone to the side of his head. “Not in a while. Now!! The batracians sense him approaching because of the change in the magnetic field.”

Gabi leaned forward in earnest. “Tell him, Nick. Tell him right away.”

Nick grinned back. “You tell him if you dare, go ahead. But remember the price. And it’s going up all the time. I’ll have you on your knees in no time, you skank. Just go ahead and open you big mouth.”

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A Tale of Scientific Experimentation

Middle Management

Part One

by James F. Gaines

copyright  2004  James F. Gaines

originally published in Riverside Reflections

          Gabi opened the lab door and peered in.  Izzy was in his normal seat in front of the batracian experiment, listening to his beloved frogs through the earphones.  Even without the electronics, Gabi could hear their harmonic chirping through the enclosures. 

She walked up to her berapt fellow researcher and tapped him on the shoulder.  He was so accustomed to her presence, to her return at this precise hour, that he merely smiled vaguely in her direction and waved his hand without breaking his focus on the batracians. 

It was not until Mike returned from the avian compound that Izzy lifted off his earphones and triumphantly exclaimed, “Did you ever hear such beautiful music in your life?  They’ve organized their calls into chords, into chords!  I can’t wait to tell the Boss.  Where is he, anyway?”

Mike spoke up and explained, “I passed him on the way back from the aviary.  He was headed down to the mammalian experiment and he didn’t look very happy.”  The strapping ornithologist walked over to Gabi and gave her a lingering look that was returned in kind.

Izzy paid little attention because he had known for some time that they had become intimate.  “I’m hoping he will finally close down that primate thing.”

“It hasn’t been going at all well, that’s true,” noted Gabi.  “But what interest do you have in it?”

“Protein.  That’s a lot of animal protein that should not go to waste.  Just think what my batracians could do with that kind of protein source!  They’ll be creating symphonies in no time.”

“But what if the Boss doesn’t agree?  After all, we can’t go around closing down operations just to feed to your frogs.  Why did you design them to be carnivorous, anyway?  The Boss warned you about that.”

“Don’t be silly, Gabi.  There’s no reason to throw away perfectly good biomass.  What do you think, Mike?”

“I agree with Gabi. It seems a little bit ghoulish to be making those mammalians into a menu for your subjects.”

Izzy pouted.  “So why don’t you modify your eagles and falcons into herbivores if you’re so keen on achieving ecological balance?”

“You can’t make that comparison,”? retorted Mike.  “There’s got to be priorities for higher order avian species.”

“You two should have followed my lead,” said Gabi.  “My cephalopods are omnivorous.  When there are no fish available, they convert to feeding on algae.  Very sensible.”

“But Gabi, dear, that’s fine for sea creatures,” answered Mike.  “But how can you expect big birds to feed on vegetation?  Eagles and hawks are at the top of the food chain.  We can’t let them start gobbling down spruce trees or it would put everything in their environment topsy-turvy.  The smaller species would soon starve.”

“That’s why the sea is such an advantage,” Gabi said, shaking her blonde locks.  “Liquidity, freedom of exchange between different levels.”

Izzy chimed in.  “That’s where I have you both beaten!  My amphibians can have the best of both worlds.  Of course, they can’t fly yet.  But they already sing and communicate better than your birds ever could, Mike.  And Gabi, all your octopi can do is primitive touch communication and color changing.  I submit that my creatures are the highest achievement of this lab.”  He pushed back his glasses as if to make a point.

Gabi shrugged her shoulders in her delightfully ingenuous way.  “Well, I don’t see how we can resolve this argument.”

A suave voice cut in from behind them.  “I can.  You’re all a crew of idiots and all your animals belong in the trash bin.”

Unbeknownst to the trio, a fourth scientist in a spotless lab coat had silently entered the room during their conversation. 

Izzy eyed him suspiciously.  “Ah, the great philosopher is back.  Where have you been, Nick, while we were working?”

“You call that work, you four-eyed geek?  Those frogs of yours are on the edge of extinction.  You want the mammal protein because you still haven’t got their metabolism properly engineered.  I offered to give you the benefit of my genetic knowledge, but you have floundered around, screwing up the math, letting all sorts of dangerous recessive traits develop, while you rhapsodize over their stupid chants.”

Izzy blushed.  He did not know which made him more upset, the personal insults or the truth of Nick’s assessment of his beloved batracians.  With his usual incisiveness and acid wit, Nick had bored straight to the weakness of Izzy’s project.  He slouched back over his desk and tried to work once again on the biochemistry that had been puzzling him.

A.E. Van Vogt and the Craft of Consciousness

                Despite the decline of reputation his works have suffered in the past two decades and the continued disdain of many of sci fi’s luminaries and power brokers, the works of A. E. Van Vogt continue to exercise a strong, if ghostly, influence on the development of the genre.  He was always somewhat of an outsider to part of the sci fi community, being not only Canadian, but a prairie-sprung, particularly rootless Canadian at that.  His short stories have long enjoyed admiration, sometimes grudging, from most of the sci fi community.  His novel-length works have not enjoyed this privilege.  Widely slammed as episodic, wandering, stylistically indefinite, and poor in character development, the longer works (still brief by contemporary standards) are easily overlooked by too many readers and writers.  The fact that several were pieced together from previously published stories without much of a linking apparatus does not help matters.  Nor does Van Vogt’s fleeting association with the preliminaries to Scientology.

                How can we overlook, on the other hand, works that have had a major impact on sci fi television and films?   It is impossible not to concede that the series of works on the War Against the Rull, the Space Beagle journeys, the Weapons Makers, and the Worlds of Null-A have been echoed in Star Trek, Enemy Mine, and Alien, among other iconic developments.  Also noteworthy is the homage of Philip K. Dick, who found a liberating freedom of imagination in Van Vogt’s writings.

 

                Ironically, a closer look at Van Vogt’s stylistic “shortcomings” can provide a clue to why they may not be shortcomings at all.  First, consider that Van Vogt’s stories have always had a more enduring  level of acclaim in Europe than they have had in North America.  His novels continue to fascinate the public in France, for instance.   French readers are explicit about their attraction for him:  they class him as a surrealist.  The movement of Surrealism was born in France just after World War I, an heir to the tradition of Dada that had grown in neutral Switzerland during the conflict.  Tristan Tzara passed the baton for the movement, willingly or not, to André Breton.  Many artists, including Hans Arp and Man Ray, joined the Parisian group that sprang up and soon became a dominant force in the creative world, the main non-fascist inheritor of Modernism. Chronicled in Breton’s text Nadja, the early surrealists strove to achieve psychic effects that gave birth to artistic impulses.   One of their favorite techniques during the époque des sommeils was to provoke and record dream visions.  Van Vogt stubbornly carried forth a similar method, having himself awakened throughout the night so that he could jot down impressions from his dreams.  Many of these dream impressions are said to form the basis for his writings.

                Furthermore, surrealists sought to create art forms that rejected all prevailing forms of logical continuity.   They considered logical predictability and verisimilitude to be anathema to the process of authentic creation.  The ideal surrealistic image was supposed to involve an intuitive, instant, and powerful linkage between two logically discontinuous elements, as in Paul Éluard’s famous line “The Earth is blue like an orange.”  Van Vogt’s essential component of “Nextian” thinking, which indeed owes a debt to some theories of verbal semantics, also appears to be even more closely bound to the practices and objectives of Surrealism. 

                It is no accident that the successful translator of Van Vogt into French was none other than Boris Vian.  Vian’s own influential novels, L’Arrache-cœur and L’Écume des jours are prime examples of the same literary aesthetic.  The first involves a devastating critique of the materialistic logic of Jean-Paul Sartre’s existentialist philosophy and the second develops an approach to human values that is daringly intuitive and dismissive of rational explanations.  No one could understand Van Vogt more perfectly than Vian, who captivated the minds of French youth in the 70’s.  It is these very discontinuous elements that have motivated most negative opinions of Van Vogt in America.  Our North American prejudices are completely understandable, since our literary consciousness has been shaped mainly in the mold of Hemingway’s prose.  Faulkner and Fitzgerald occasionally “strayed” into discontinuous styles, but these instances were glibly explained away in various ways by North American critics in such a way as to preserve the notion of their absolute claim to logic and verisimilitude.  Our authors who eventually incorporated surrealistic elements into prose fiction, such as Kurt Vonnegut and John Barth, were either marginalized or squeezed somehow into a race/class/gender paradigm.  When, in the wake of the Hispanic movement of Magical Realism, certain surrealistic effects actually became “legitimized” in authors like John Irving, Michael Chabon, and even Philip Roth, their heritage was essentially occulted.

                As usual, it is the unusually associative mind of Philip K. Dick that can bring us back to a more complete view of Van Vogt’s importance.  Dick’s own obsession with “paranoia” is intimately connected to a rejection of the rationalistic construction of both story and history.  The symbolism of the I-ching in The Man in the High Tower, much more than a touch of the orient, embodies his proximity to Surrealism and to Van Vogt’s Nextianism.   “No man is a king in his own land” says an old French adage.  This definitely applies to Van Vogt.  As political borders continue to shift and blur, let us hope that he may regain a North American reputation at least equal to that which the rest of the globe confers on him.