Hûw Steer's Blog, page 30

Review – The Wood Between The Worlds

The first review of Ad Luna is in, from Erin Kahn at The Wood Between the Worlds, and it’s a bloody good one!

Imagine battles atop giant three-headed vultures, fire-creatures who live in the heart of the sun, and massive space spiders that spin new worlds, and you’ll have a little bit of an idea how awesome Hûw Steer’s imagination is. 

Couple that with engaging characters, weighty dilemmas, and a great prose style, and you might see why I enjoyed this book so much.

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Check out the full review here.

Thank you, Erin!

Ad Luna #7: The Essay, Part 5 – Gender

Alright, chapter two of the actual analysis. This one takes a look at attitudes to gender and homosexuality. A warning: there is, unfortunately, a lot of discussion of sexism, bigotry and harassment in this part. And it’s not all on the Roman end.

5 – Gender

Star Trek, from the beginning, was intended to be progressive regarding gender. Gene Roddenberry presented a future with women at the highest levels of command; not only placing Uhura on the bridge of the original Enterprise but also, in TOS’ original pilot, including a female First Officer. Since then Trek has featured many strong female characters: Voyager’s Captain Janeway, DS9’s Major Kira, TNG’s Dr Crusher, and more, all occupying positions of authority historically filled by men. But while on the surface Trek appears progressive, in many ways it paid only lip-service to gender equality, especially in its early years. At face value, however, Trek is strikingly different to Lucian’s True History regarding gender. Roman society was male-dominated throughout its history, with women “excluded access to positions of authority” and, for the most part, from “exercising influence” at all. Lucian demonstrates this by including almost no female characters in the TH. The only women to appear are tertiary characters at best; Helen on the Isles of the Blessed; or antagonists; the Vine-Women and the Asslegs. Women in the TH either have no individual agency or wield their agency against Jean-Lucian’s crew. In this chapter, I will consider how Lucian’s presentation of women betrays Roman attitudes to gender, and how it contrasts with Trek’s more modern values – or, indeed, how the two attitudes are remarkably similar. Also of note is each text’s attitude towards homosexuality: while one might expect the modern Trek to be far more accepting of homosexuality than Lucian, the truth is in fact the opposite. SF depictions of utopia have developed enormously over the years – and the contrasts between Lucian and Trek’s depictions of an idealised sexual future showcase such changes very well indeed.

The principal Trek episodes to which I will be referring in this chapter are TNG 5.17: The Outcast, an almost powerful commentary on homosexuality hamstrung by production decisions, and TNG 5.21: The Perfect Mate, a story featuring, uncharacteristically for Trek, a heavily objectified woman. I will also be considering several episodes of Enterprise – those featuring the notoriously gratuitous decontamination chamber – and DS9 4.6: Rejoined, another episode dealing with homosexuality.

Women

On the Isles of the Blessed, ‘free love’ is the law. The male heroes are, by implication, free to pursue casual sexual liaisons: “they all have their wives in common”, but Menelaus’ rage at Helen’s elopement implies that the wives themselves are not permitted such freedom. This inequality seems to reflect the inequality of Roman adultery law: a “woman was an adulteress if she had any male sexual partner other than her husband; whereas a man was an adulterer… only if his partner was a married woman.” Here we see a typical male sexual fantasy, but also a distortion of real Roman society through cognitive estrangement.  In Trek, however, both men and women are free to pursue all the casual romances they like, reflecting the increasingly liberal sexual attitudes of the 1960s onwards in the West. This is partially due to the episodic nature of the franchise: most episodes had to end with the status quo restored, and thus few romances lasted longer than an hour. There was still romance for both men and women, however: while TNG’s Commander Riker and Captain Kirk are notorious womanisers, TNG, DS9 and Voyager all featured various romances for their female leads. Among other locations, the ‘pleasure planet’ Risa is depicted as a sexually liberated paradise, following the model of Lucian’s Isles of the Blessed, and one Enterprise episode even features an affair between one crewman and the wife of the ship’s (alien) doctor being actively encouraged – by the doctor himself. Trek mirrors a society where both men and women are (largely) free to do as they please sexually; Roman society, as mirrored by Lucian, was far less comfortable with allowing women to be as free as men.

Besides Helen, the only other women to appear in the TH are the Vine-Women and the Asslegs. Both groups are heavily objectified in their appearances, reflecting unfavourably, by modern standards, on Roman society. The Vine-Women of the TH are objects of desire for Jean-Lucian’s crew; “entirely perfect from the waist up”, making them literally drunk with lust with their intoxicating kisses. Similarly beguiling are the Asslegs; “got up just like courtesans… all beautiful and young”; and the crew are fully willing to be seduced. Only Jean-Lucian sees through the Asslegs’ trap. Both episodes evoke a clear “patriarchal anxiety about female sexuality”. Helen too is little more than an object of desire for Odysseus, Menelaus, and Cinryas. The women of the TH are presented as seductive and ultimately destructive, their only plot purpose to entrap or endanger male characters – or to be conquered by them. This presentation is befitting of Rome’s “patriarchal imagining of women”, and is reinforced by other extant texts. Consider the Odyssey – though Penelope does her best to resist the suitors who see her as an object, she still has to be rescued by men. The Sirens, like the Vine-Women, are seductive and deadly, and Circe’s seduces Odysseus’ crew just like the Asslegs. Lucian is certainly evoking Homer in his presentation of women – but in doing so he suggests that attitudes to women in the Second Sophistic have not evolved since Homer’s day.

In Trek’s enlightened future, one would not expect women to be objectified at all – but each series, on multiple occasions, fails to live up to this aspect of the utopian ideal. In The Perfect Mate, the eponymous Kamala has evolved to perfectly meet the desires of her intended (male) mate: in other words, she is a literal sex object. The fact that Kamala is only able to imprint on men only enforces this male-centric objectification. Dr Crusher’s objections to Kamala’s effective prostitution are welcome, but Kamala herself is unconcerned, and Picard is more concerned with respecting alien cultural norms than intervening. TNG’s objectification does not end there. Counsellor Troi, particularly in early episodes, is heavily objectified: the only crew member without a standard uniform, she instead wears “low-cut costumes that emphasise her body”. In the words of Marina Sirtis, Troi in early episodes is purely “decorative”, with her ‘brains’ only returning once her cleavage was concealed by a standard uniform in season 6. This objectification of even main female characters may be explained by Gene Roddenberry’s messy divorce, after which he felt he had been “badly burned by women”. Even before his divorce, however, Roddenberry himself was seen by many Trek cast and crew as “a sexist, manipulative person who disregarded women”; a notorious womaniser, Roddenberry had numerous (simultaneous) affairs with cast and crew members.

Even after Roddenberry’s death, however, the franchise continued presenting women as “miniskirted, big-boobed sex objects”. DS9’s Ferengi are characterised by avarice and misogyny, and Enterprise’s decontamination chamber served little plot purpose other than to force the crew to strip down to their undergarments and rub one another with ‘decon gel’, in an “obvious attempt to get hot bodies” onscreen. Strangely enough the attractive female Vulcan T’Pol spends more time in decon than anyone else, starring in its first, extended appearance. Even in 2014’s Into Darkness, Carol Marcus strips down to her underwear seemingly for no reason. Though species like the Ferengi are never presented as anything but backward in their misogyny, Kamala’s objectification in The Perfect Mate, and most of the franchise’s objectification, passes without comment. This was not limited to what appeared onscreen, either – behind-the-scenes sexism and harassment was rife throughout most of Trek’s history. Grace Lee Whitney (TOS’ Yeoman Rand) and Terry Farrell (DS9’s Jadzia Dax) left their respective series after being sexually harassed by series higher-ups. Farrell was harassed by Rick Berman, Roddenberry’s successor as head of the franchise. Grace Lee Whitney was harassed – in fact raped – by ‘The Executive’, a figure who, by her description, was almost certainly Gene Roddenberry himself. Trek’s pride in its progressive nature seems misplaced when both its creator and his successor behaved so poorly towards women, and when its objectification of women rivals that of Rome two millennia earlier, as shown in Lucian. 2nd-century Rome was misogynistic by our standards, but even in 20th-century America it seems that casual sexism and boldly progressive stances on gender were not mutually exclusive.

Homosexuality

The Selenites are civilised, friendly, and physically beautiful – but they are all male, and this makes Jean-Lucian uneasy:

“He (Endymion) wanted me to stay with him and join the colony, promising to give me his own son in marriage – there are no women in their country. But I was not to be persuaded.”

While Jean-Lucian himself seems uncomfortable with homosexuality, it was entirely permissible in Roman society (at least between men); “homophobia in the modern sense seems to have been virtually absent from Roman culture.” Though less acceptable in the Republic, by Lucian’s day relationships between men were common even (perhaps especially) at the highest social levels, with “an almost unbroken series of emperors bisexual in their preferences”. Younger men (often slaves) typically took the submissive role, as it was seen as more ‘feminine’, something which is mirrored in the TH: “Up to the age of twenty-five each is a wife, and thereafter a husband.” The absence of women on the Moon has been read by some scholars as the Roman misogynist’s dream; an exaggerated mirror of a world where women did not ‘exist’ socially or intellectually – on the Moon, therefore, this absence is made literal. I offer an alternative interpretation, however. The fact that Lucian so prominently features a society where same-sex relationships are the norm – producing an even more ‘civilised’ society than his earthly one – seems to show a remarkable (to the modern reader) tolerance of homosexuality. The only heterosexual-exclusive right in Roman society was marriage, something which Lucian’s Selenites practice freely. Could Lucian, through cognitive estrangement, be promoting an even more relaxed attitude to homosexuality?

Again, one would expect Trek to be just as, if not more, progressive regarding homosexuality – but again we find the opposite. Until DS9 Trek featured no homosexual relationships whatsoever, despite “a concerted organised movement by gay activists to put a gay character in the show”; the first was in Rejoined, where Commander Dax rekindles a romance with her former wife (from a time when Dax had a male host body), with the episode featuring an early televised kiss between two women. Even this was controversial in the gay community, as the revived romance was originally heterosexual. Not until Discovery would a same-sex relationship be depicted as ‘normal’ in a Trek show. The only mentions of homosexuality in TNG are either negative or ineffectual. In The Host, Dr Crusher refuses to commit to a same-sex relationship with the new, female host of her formerly male Trill partner. Like Crusher, Trek was not comfortable enough with homosexuality to depict it onscreen in the TNG era. In The Outcast, however, there was nearly an extremely progressive depiction of homosexuality – nearly. Commander Riker falls in love with Soren, an alien from an androgynous species, who abhor the display of gendered characteristics. Jonathan Frakes, and (apocryphally) several other members of the production team, wanted Soren to be portrayed by a male actor, which would have made for a very effective comment on homosexuality – showrunner Rick Berman, however, felt that use of “a male actor might have been a little unpalatable to viewers”, and so the episode’s allegory was weakened (though not completely). All Trek up to Discovery fails to depict a progressive, enlightened future in terms of homosexuality – Lucian, remarkably (by our standards), appears to succeed.

Despite the professed social advancement of the Federation, Trek displays “embarrassingly backward” attitudes, towards both women and homosexuality. The society of the Second Sophistic was, by our contemporary standards, sexist and discriminatory, and Lucian, in his depictions of women in the TH, shows that plainly – but in his presentation of homosexuality Lucian shows the opposite, in comparison to a very poor record on Trek’s part. The lack of progression on women between the TH and Trek, and our regression on homosexuality shows that, even when sprinting towards a utopian future, humanity still tends to take a few steps backwards.

Fischler, Susan, ‘The Case of the Imperial Women at Rome’ in Archer, Fischler & Wyke (eds.), Women in Ancient Societies (Macmillan, 1994), p.116

Lucian, 2.19

ibid, 2.26

Clark, Gillian, Women in Late Antiquity (Clarendon, 1993), p.29

The mirror is not perfect; men were still punishable for affairs with married women.

DS9 5.7: Let He Who Is Without Sin… dir. Rene Auberjonois (11/11/1996), 0:09:51 – 0:10:39

ENT 2.14: Stigma, dir. David Livingston (5/2/2003), 0:33:28 – 0:34:26

Lucian, 1.8

Lucian, 2.46

Ní-Mheallaig, p.215

Georgiadou & Larmour, p.79

With the exception of Discovery, which presents any objectification in a wholly negative light.

TNG 5.21: The Perfect Mate, dir. Cliff Bole (27/4/1992), 0:11:11 – 0:12:18

ibid, 0:15:14 – 0:15:50

Joyrich, Lynne, ‘Feminist Enterprise? Star Trek: The Next Generation and the Occupation of Femininity’ in Lynne Cinema Journal, vol. 35 (1996), p.63

Omega Ordained, ‘Marina Sirtis Tells The Costume Story’ (YouTube, 23/1/2018), 0:03:54

ibid, 0:06:36 – 0:06:51

David Gerrold, 50-Year V2, p.108

Andre Richardson, 50-Year V1, p.133

Leonard Nimoy, 50-Year V1, p.37

Manny Coto, 50-Year V2, p.707

ENT: Broken Bow, 0:52:09 – 0:55:22

Star Trek: Into Darkness, dir. J.J. Abrams (Paramount Pictures, 2013), 1:20:14 – 1:20:33

Joyrich, p.68

Terry Farrell, 50-Year V2, p.519, 520, 521

Lee Whitney, Grace, The Longest Trek: My Tour of the Galaxy (Quill Driver Books, 1998), p.2-6

Endymion’s homosexual kingdom likely refers to his original myths: Georgiadou & Larmour, p.123

Lucian, 1.21

Dynes, Wayne, & Donaldson, Stephen (eds.), ‘Introduction’ in Homosexuality in the Ancient World (Garland Publishing, 1992), p.xiv

MacMullen, Ramsay, ‘Roman Attitudes to Greek Love’ in Dynes & Donaldson, p.487-9

ibid, p.495

Dynes & Donaldson, p.xiii-xiv

Lucian, 1.22

Deriu, Modena, ‘How to Imagine a World Without Women: Hyperreality in Lucian’s True Histories’ in Medea vol. 3 (2017), p.15

With a few possible exceptions: Balsdon, p.227

Michael Piller, 50-Year V2, p.237

DS9 4.5: Rejoined, dir. Avery Brooks (30/10/1995), 0:06:01 – 0:07:28

Kay, Jonathan, ‘Gay “Trek”’, in Salon (30/7/2001)

Between Dr Culber and Lt. Stamets.

TNG 4.23: The Host, dir. Marvin Rush (11/5/1991), 0:42:48 – 0:44:22

TNG 5.17: The Outcast, dir. Robert Scheerer (16/3/1992), 0:21:44 – 0:22:19

“Soren should have been more evidently male” – Jonathan Frakes in Kay (2001)

Rick Berman in ‘Grapevine’, San Francisco Mercury News (14/3/1992)

Jonathan Larsen, 50-Year V1, p.36

Publisher’s Prize Launch – Tonight!

I honestly can’t remember if I mentioned it on this blog or just on Twitter, but I managed to get into this year’s UCL Publisher’s Prize anthology! Despite not actually being there anymore, my story will appear in a nice shiny anthology, just as soon as printing is possible…

Regardless of when it’s actually being printed, though, there’s a virtual launch party this very evening! Come along for some general fun. I believe the winners are also being announced…

You can register on Eventbrite here. 6-7.30 GMT. If you can come along, I’d love to see you there.

[image error]Register here!

Ad Luna #6: The Essay, Part 4 – First Contact

Now we get to the interesting bit. ‘First contact’ is a tried and tested SF trope – we’re all used, at this point, to a nice juicy moral dilemma over how to treat an alien society with values totally different to our own. In stuff like Star Trek we usually end up with a nice civilised conversation; in other works there’s a nice bloody war.

I wonder which route Lucian will take?

(warning: this chapter is chunky.)

4 – First Contact

‘First Contact’ is a common science-fiction trope. Interactions with an alien society allow exploration of interactions with a very literal ‘other’, whether positive or negative. The trope has evolved considerably from the B-movie invasions of the 1960s; much modern SF presents complex, culture-focused stories of alien interaction. “The encounter with the alien is at the core of Star Trek”. Almost every episode presents human interactions with species both hostile and friendly, ‘othered’ by a key difference usually based on a real-life social issue (racism, sexism, etc.). The lesson of such episodes is often about cultural tolerance even of the alien – but just as often about the need for change even in long-ingrained cultural practices. In Lucian’s True History there are three ‘first contacts’, by which I mean in-depth alien interactions – encounters like those with the Vine-Women and Asslegs are superficial, ‘monster-of-the-week’ stories. These are Jean-Lucian’s civilised contact with the Selenites; his hostile contact with the fish-peoples within the Whale; and the initially hostile, then uneasily diplomatic contact with the Bullheads. In this chapter I will explore how these ‘first contacts’ compare to those presented in Trek, particularly the latter two instances. Trek’s aliens are often mirrors of earthly social groups and social issues – are Lucian’s aliens likewise reflective of real societies of the Second Sophistic? And do Jean-Lucian’s encounters with them reflect on real Roman interactions with other societies, as Viglas suggests, just as Trek mirrors more modern interactions?

To my surprise, I struggled to find specific episodes of Trek that deal with ‘civilised’ first contacts, because the assumed norm for interstellar diplomacy in the Federation is a more or less friendly interaction. Such interactions are seldom the focus of an episode because they are seldom exciting – good TV comes when interactions go awry. Federation relations with the Vulcans will be my benchmark for civilised relations in Trek, as will the TNG episode Darmok, depicting a difficult but ultimately amicable contact. TNG: Symbiosis and the movie Insurrection are excellent examples of unsuccessful interactions, of how advanced interference with primitive societies can go very badly wrong. For future attitudes to hostile aliens, I will rely on Trek’s Cardassians and Klingons; species embodying negative attitudes and characteristics, and representing real societies that were ‘othered’ by Trek’s contemporary viewers.

 

On the Moon

Jean-Lucian’s first ‘first contact’ is with the Selenites. Natives of the Moon, the Selenites, though initially hostile, are entirely civilised by Lucian’s standards. They are humanoid, differing physically only in a few – striking – ways; their leafy tails and ears, baldness, modular eyes, and of course the fact that they are all male. They are “cleaner and less corporeal” than humans, consuming only steam and dissolving into smoke on death, but despite their strangeness relations with the Selenites are overwhelmingly positive. King Endymion invites Jean-Lucian to go to war with him, offering the Romans weapons, accommodation, and even husbands. Like many modern aliens, the Selenites have advanced technology: “the clothing of the rich is malleable glass and that of the poor, spun bronze”, in addition to their impenetrable armour of lupine-skins. The Selenites anticipate a longstanding SF tradition of humanoid aliens, notably similar to Trek’s obsessively logical Vulcans. They too are humanoid, but for their pointed ears and a few internal differences. Like the Selenites, they differ to humans in their eating habits: they do not drink alcohol, eat meat or even touch their food with their hands; in their attitude to sex with the Pon Farr, and in their advanced technology. The difference of both the Selenites and Vulcans is defined not by their being totally unfamiliar but from being almost the same. The relatively minor differences in physical appearance are largely irrelevant; it is the striking inversions of the Selenite single gender, or Vulcan obsession with logic, that capture the imagination, being the opposite of what is familiar and human.

In SF, similarities in physicality and personality are often used to find common ground in first contact scenarios, before the implications of more significant differences are explored through cognitive estrangement. Such comparison by analogy has been a key part of any ethnography, fictional or otherwise, since long before Lucian’s time; long before even Herodotus. The Vulcans, like the Selenites, are humanity’s first encounter with the alien in the Trek universe – and the audience’s first encounter too, through Mr Spock in the first episodes of TOS. Stories featuring the logical, emotionless Vulcans allow the exploration of human emotional responses, just as Klingon stories allow us to explore humanity’s aggressiveness. In the same way, Lucian’s description of Selenite sexuality and procreation opens up questions about human relationships and attitudes to gender – which I will discuss in-depth in a subsequent chapter.  Lucian “translates the difference” between alien and human through the “handy figure of inversion”; in this he follows Herodotus, and Trek and much modern SF follows him.

In an episode filled with terrifying monsters (the giant ants and mosquitoes of Phaethon’s solar army, Endymion’s three-headed vultures, and spiders the size of islands), the near-human Selenites are a reassuring sight to Lucian’s readers and Jean-Lucian’s crew. This familiarity, however, goes beyond physical resemblance, as shown by the book’s very first dialogue, from Endymion to Jean-Lucian: “Then you are Greeks, are you, strangers?” Endymion, unlike his subjects, is human – specifically Greek, able to converse with Lucian’s crew in Greek, a language that was, in Roman eyes, even more civilised than Latin, being the language of the elite and of high culture. Selenites themselves are not human, but their king, exemplar of their society and customs, is, and in speaking Greek to Jean-Lucian’s crew, Endymion marks himself and his society as learned and intelligent; a sister culture to that of Rome. In both Trek and the TH, humans and aliens are able to recognise one another’s ‘civilised’ qualities, sharing a sense of honour, logic, or, in Lucian’s case, language. I would compare Selenite society not to the savage peoples of ancient histories’ borderlands, but to Herodotus’ Egypt – a strange land of wondrous thoma, but still recognisably civilised. Though Herodotus’ Egyptians might be “opposite to other men in almost all matters”, they are, like his Greek audience, “learned in history”, and even share a common religious heritage. From this starting-point of similarity, Herodotus’ readers can relate far more easily to the more pronounced differences of Egyptian society. So too can Captain Picard and Trek’s viewers become used to the Tamarians, connecting through a shared cultural reliance on the exemplars of myth, and so too can Lucian’s readers begin to appreciate Selenite society, connecting via the Greek language. Lucian’s Selenites are ‘other’, but not radically so; their otherness is emphasised through inversion, but their civility is emphasised through commonality – unlike some of Lucian’s more barbarous aliens.

 

In the Whale

The TH’s second developed alien encounter is with the tribes of fish-people (hereafter the ‘Aquatics’) who live within the Whale. Like the Selenites, the Aquatics are physically different to humans. The Broilers are “eel-eyed” and lobster-faced”; the Mergoats are half-catfish, and the names of the Crabclaws and Codheads have clear physiological implications. The overall impression is distinctly ugly, in keeping with Scintharus’ negative description – where the Selenites are ethereal and beautiful, and therefore civilised, the Aquatics are ugly, bestial, and therefore barbarous. In Trek, species like the ridge-headed, sharp-toothed Klingons and the low-browed Nausicaans evoke the appearances of primitive humans even as they demonstrate ‘primitive’ characteristics of excessive aggression. Such aliens are relatable to a human audience while remaining demonstrably and physically ‘other’ – and, in this case inferior. Exaggerated physical characteristics were likewise connected to primitive societies in classical ethnography; consider Herodotus’’ Libyans; all dwarfs and wizards; or Tacitus’ colossal, “wild” Germans. Animal characteristics were generally reserved for those peoples beyond the borders of the known world, such as the animal-bodied Hellusii and Oxiones of Germany. Deviation from the human norm, especially through animalistic imagery and characteristics, denotes barbarity in both the Roman and modern imaginations.

Socially, the Aquatics are not far behind the Selenites, despite Scintharus’ insistence to the contrary. Though tribal, Aquatic society is organised – tribes forge alliances, employ diplomats, and even collect taxes! But they are less advanced than Second Sophistic Rome, roughly equivalent to Rome’s early years as a city-state. ‘Savage’ may be a little strong, but they are less ‘civilised’ than the Romans and the Selenites; not only physically barbarous but socially inferior. In Trek, even a primitive civilisation would be treated respectfully, thanks to the non-intervention doctrine of the Prime Directive. Jean-Lucian and his crew, however, subscribe to a different philosophy. On the strength of a single conversation with Scintharus, they go forth into the Whale and commit genocide, wiping out every one of the Aquatic tribes save the Mergoats, who escape into the ocean – ignoring the tribes’ diplomatic overtures and requests for a truce. This is not a necessary conflict – Scintharus and Cinryas have lived for 27 years within the Whale without incident, and the Aquatics are willing to ally with Jean-Lucian’s crew. In order to live “a life of luxury”, however, Jean-Lucian’s crew forego any attempt at friendship and leap straight into slaughter. While the 20th and 21st centuries have been far from free of genocides and bloody wars, such an action as Lucian’s could never be presented as morally justifiable in modern SF, or indeed any media. The Second Sophistic’s values, however, seem to have been very different. Why, and how?

As a primitive and ‘barbarian’ society, the Aquatics are, in Roman eyes, inferior. Rome spent many centuries conquering barbarians like the Gauls and Britons, Dacians and bringing them under Rome’s civilising aegis. There was no better thing to be than Roman, and thus barbarian societies, through Rome’s influence, could be ‘civilised’ and improved. Ancient authors debated the morality of this influence; Tacitus calls Rome’s civilised trappings as “enslavement”, but such change was frequently imposed regardless. Such attitudes are reflected in Trek’s Cardassians; oppressors of the less-advanced Bajorans, they are assured of their own superiority as a species to the point of arrogance. The Cardassians and other species mirror the colonial exploitation of Trek’s contemporary world; the US was and had been heavily involved in the Middle East and Vietnam; but TNG presented a vision of the future free of such imperialism at its very beginning. Encounter at Farpoint revolves around Picard’s defence of humanity, seen as a “savage child race” for its historical abuses by the godlike Q, and his efforts to prove that humanity had changed for the better by the 24th century – and, by implication, could improve from its state in the 20th.  The Prime Directive showcases this anti-imperialist attitude. Even well-intentioned interference with a less advanced culture is forbidden, for fear of abuses like Starfleet’s exploitation of the primitive Baku in pursuit of immortality in Insurrection. In contrast Romans “were accustomed to dictate to those whom they conquered”, to dominate them, even – perhaps especially – in the Second Sophistic. Just before Lucian’s birth, Trajan, in his “unrestrained ambition”,  undertook Rome’s greatest territorial expansion, pushing into Parthia and Dacia, but during Lucian’s life Marcus Aurelius undertook his own expansions, attempting to conquer multiple barbarian cultures. Aurelius tangled with the Parthians and also extended Rome’s German frontier, his initial efforts to secure the border transforming into designs on two new provinces. In an episode strikingly similar to Jean-Lucian’s deeds within the Whale, Aurelius ignored peace envoys sent by the barbarian Iazyges, not only conquering their lands but wishing “to annihilate them utterly” simply “because he knew their race to be untrustworthy”. Though this accusation may not be entirely accurate, Dio’s history certainly implies that Aurelius, like Jean-Lucian, looked down on his barbarian opponents because “their race” was inferior to the civilised culture of Rome.

Jean-Lucian’s genocide of the Aquatics seems too similar to Marcus Aurelius’ attempted conquests, especially that of the Iazyges, to be coincidental: I believe him to be mirroring this real conflict in the conflict within the Whale. Even if Lucian did not intend to create this specific real-world allegory, his characters’ genocide is certainly a general mirror to Roman conquests of less advanced peoples and countries. There is no remorse shown for the brutality of Jean-Lucian’s deeds within the Whale, but nor is there any gloating, any revelling in the slaughter. This lack of emotive language makes it difficult to tell whether Lucian’s mirroring is a critique or endorsement of Rome’s expansionism; unlike Trek, where characters discuss misgivings and feelings openly, Lucian follows the impersonal tradition of the histories he is parodying. In his “precursive reference to the ‘colonial era’”, Lucian appears to be encouraging his audience to consider the morality of real-world conflicts through their response to his fictional ones – but unlike Trek, explicit in suggesting answers for its moral questions, Lucian seems to leave the decision in the hands of his audience.

 

At Sea

Lucian’s third extended alien encounter is with the Bullheads. Effectively Minotaurs, the Bullheads capture, kill and eat three of Jean-Lucian’s crew while they are searching for food. In retaliation their comrades kill fifty Bullheads, and take prisoners. This stalemate is resolved by an exchange of the hostages for supplies, and an uneasy truce until the Romans leave; an exchange conducted, strikingly, without the use of a common language. Like the Aquatics, the Bullheads possess animal characteristics, supporting Lucian’s description of them as ‘savage’, a moniker cemented by their cannibalism. Cannibalism was a negative trait assigned to many barbarians in classical ethnography: Herodotus accuses the Central Asian Issedonians and the Androphagi of cannibalism; Strabo the Scythians; and Diodorus both the Egyptians and some distant Gauls. Though both Strabo and Diodorus remain “neutral ethnographer(s)” in their language, cannibalism is still clearly intended as a ‘barbarian’ trait. Cannibalism’s negative connotations are also present in Trek: Discovery’s Klingons eat human flesh, consuming the body of Captain Georgiou as a symbol of victory. Again, this is not technically cannibalism, as the Klingons are not human, but eating the flesh of any sentient species still carries a weight of disgust that is not lost on the audience. The Bullheads, in committing cannibalism, are elevated to a level of barbarity beyond that of the Aquatics.

The fact that the Bullheads speak no human language makes them unique among the many aliens of the TH, and the fact that their language cannot be translated is unusual even in modern SF, including Trek. While real ‘first contacts’ often involved significant language difficulties, as the 1933 Leahy expedition discovered, in SF the communication barrier usually does nothing but get in the way of a narrative; if language is a problem it is normally for a specific plot purpose. In Enterprise, struggles with the early universal translator – a staple SF plot convenience – are a convenient way to show how the inferiority of the prequel’s technology. TNG’s Darmok features another language barrier, but the overcoming of that barrier leads to a deeper mutual understanding between the Federation and the Tamarians. In the classical period “historians rarely concerned themselves with language problems”; again because difficulties in understanding were usually irrelevant unless a specific point needed to be made. Any language save Greek or Latin was ‘barbarian’, but lowing like cattle as the Bullheads do is more primitive by far. The fact that Jean-Lucian’s crew are ultimately able to communicate conveys a positive message, similar to that of Darmok – there is potential for understanding and even friendship with even the most alien cultures, with time and effort.

The Bullheads, then, are more barbarous, primitive, and hostile by far than the Aquatics Jean-Lucian had already defeated. Why, then, does he not simply wipe out the Bullheads too? This time the Romans actually have a justification; revenge for their three losses; but instead of making war, Jean-Lucian makes peace, despite his crew’s objections, in a diplomatic solution inconsistent with the established Roman attitude to the alien Lucian presents in the Whale. Why? Because unlike the Aquatics, the Bullheads are capable of fighting back! The Aquatics, armed with bones, were utterly outmatched by Roman steel and Selenite lupine-skin armour – but the Bullheads are far more capable, a few of them killing three crewmen where a thousand Aquatics slew just one. Faced with an even fight, Jean-Lucian becomes cautious. The Romans are less willing to fight when the enemy can fight back; in such scenarios diplomacy appears the preferred option. Like the Whale, this episode may be mirroring Marcus Aurelius’ German border wars – but at a different time. After initial hostility and fighting in 170, by 171 Aurelius was meeting German envoys and pursuing alliances; here, just as in the TH, Romans resort to diplomacy against an enemy too strong to simply overwhelm. That diplomacy might not have lasted long (within the year Aurelius was once again at war), but the comparison still seems apt: Jean-Lucian’s crew leave the Bullheads’ island before their fragile treaty can break down, but had they stayed it surely would have done. In this episode Lucian’s estrangement takes a cautionary course. The overcoming of the language barrier tells Lucian’s audience that even the most barbaric societies can be worth the effort of prolonged interaction – but the brutality of the Bullheads warns them to be careful about how they treat ‘lesser’ societies. This two-pronged message, backed up by the prior contacts with the Selenites and Aquatics, creates a complex web of mirrors for Lucian’s audience, reflecting not only on real conquests and their morality but also on Roman attitudes towards the barbarian and the ‘other’ in general.

Friendly, diplomatic contact with a society strikingly similar to Lucian’s own on the Moon; an aggressive assault on a less sophisticated, barbarian society in the Whale; an uneasy truce with a stronger barbarian foe on the ocean; these three ‘first contact’ scenarios each mirror different aspects of Rome’s interactions with other societies and nations. Friendly negotiations with the Selenites suggest to Lucian’s audience that the seemingly alien may be closer to reality than one might think, and encourages his readers to look for these points of commonality in their own lives. The brutal genocide of the Aquatics echoes Rome’s dominance over its ‘barbarian’ neighbours – whether Lucian’s message is an endorsement of such an attitude or a critique is unclear, but the reflection remains. The encounter with the Bullheads reinforces and elaborates on all these themes: an example of how common ground can be found even with the truly alien, but also warning Lucian’s audience that even ‘barbarians’ can fight back. Lucian’s presentation of ‘first contact’ is strikingly similar to various first contacts in Star Trek: both works use encounters with the alien to explore attitudes to the ‘other’ in the society of their respective audiences.

 

Roberts, New Critical Idiom, p.75

Viglas, p.165

Harmon’s translation of ‘Moonites’ is clumsy; I will be following Jules Verne’s nomenclature throughout this essay.

Lucian, 1.22-26

Ní-Mheallaig, p.219

ibid, p.277

ibid, p.279

ibid, p.265

Their blood, for instance, is green: TOS 1.6: The Naked Time, dir. Marc Daniels (29/9/1966), 0:05.20 – 0:05:38

ENT 1.8: Breaking the Ice, dir. Terry Windell (7/11/2001), 0:22:30

ENT 1.1: Broken Bow, dir. James L. Conway (26/9/2001), 0:24:49 – 0:25:07

During which Vulcans are compelled to mate – or die: TOS 2.5: Amok Time, dir. Joseph Pevney (15/9/1967), 0:16:07 – 0:17:04

Hartog, p.225

In both pilots, and the first episode actually aired, Spock is the first alien shown on-screen: TOS: The Cage, dir. Robert Butler (4/10/1988), 0:01:00; 1.3: Where No Man Has Gone Before, dir. James Goldstone (22/9/1966), 0:00:24; 1.1: The Man Trap, dir. Marc Daniels (8/9/1966), 0:00:11

Hartog, p.213

Lucian, 1.16

ibid, 1.11

ibid, 1.15

ibid, 1.11

Balsdon, p.138

Hartog, p.233

Herodotus, Histories, book 2, 35

ibid, 2.77

ibid, 2.51

TNG 5.2: Darmok, dir. Winrich Kolbe (30/9/1991), 0:35:15 – 0:38:07

Lucian, 1.35

Herodotus, 2.32-33

Tacitus, Germania, 4

ibid, 46

Lucian, 1.35

ibid, 1.36

ibid, 1.39

Tacitus, Agricola, 21

DS9 6.11: Waltz, dir. Rene Auberjonois (3/1/1998), 0:37:21 – 0:37:50

TNG 1.1-2: Encounter at Farpoint, dir. Corey Allen (28/9/1987), 0:08:22 – 0:08:49

TNG 1.21: Symbiosis, dir. Win Phelps (18/4/1988), 0:42:53 – 0:43:22

Star Trek: Insurrection, dir. Jonathan Frakes (Paramount Pictures, 1998), 0:51:19 – 0:54:46

Caesar, Gallic War, book 1, 36

Lepper, F.A, Trajan’s Parthian War (Oxford University Press, 1948), p.198

Viglas, p.159

Birley, p.209, p.253

Cassius Dio, Roman History, Book 72, 13

Birley, p.183

Viglas, p.165

Lucian, 2.44

Technically they are not cannibals, of course – the Bullheads are not human – but the effect on the audience is the same.

Herodotus, 4.26 (Issedonians); 4.106 (Androphagi)

Strabo, Geography, book 7, chapter 3, 6

Diodorus Siculus, Bibliotheca Historica, book 1, chapter 84, 1 (Egyptians); 5.32.3 (Gauls)

Gruen, p.144-5

DIS 1.4: The Butcher’s Knife Cares Not For The Lamb’s Cry, dir. Olatunde Osunsanmi (8/10/2017), 0:11:12 – 0:11:21

“we didn’t know a word of their language, we had no means of communication…”: Connolly & Anderson, First Contact (Dick Smith Adventure Pic, 1982), 0:13:49

TNG Darmok, 0:40:57 – 0:42:32

Balsdon, p.138

ibid, p.141

Birley, p.169

ibid, p.171

Ad Luna #5: The Essay, Parts 2 & 3 – Definitions

(continuing my quest for the most complex post titles I can possibly write)

“Why parts 2 and 3?” I hear you cry. Well, because they’re probably the least interesting bits, and I want to get them out of the way as quickly as possible so we can get to the good stuff – hence this being posted on a Thursday. This is essentially more introduction: Chapter 2 is the ‘sources’ bit, where I had to explain all the sources I was going to use in the essay to tick boxes on the markscheme. Chapter 3 is all about what ‘science fiction’ actually is – or at least what I think it is, or at least how I defined it so that Lucian’s True History counted as SF so I could justify writing the essay.

Anyway, here they are. On Sunday, we’ll start with the proper stuff – First Contact.

 

2 – Sources

My main source for this essay is, of course, the True History itself. Written in the second century AD, the TH has been conventionally viewed as a satire on ancient travel narratives and histories like that of Herodotus (who Lucian names and shames as a liar). Lucian himself was from Samosata in Syria, writing in Greek and raised in the Hellenised culture of the Greek East. However, he was also a Roman citizen, travelling around, working and writing for the Roman Empire and, crucially, a Roman audience. J.P.V.D Balsdon states:

“Lucian was a member and a beneficiary of the empire, as were his Roman friends. Though he sometimes writes objectively of the Romans, he is the first Greek to refer to the Roman empire as ‘our empire’ and to its inhabitants as ‘we’.”

Other authors, such as Tim Whitmarsh, consider Lucian to be “‘culturally’ Greek”; his ‘Romanness’ is certainly a matter of debate. Lucian’s works, however, including the TH, were aimed at a Mediterranean culture dominated by Roman rulers and Roman identity. It is this essentially ‘Roman’ world that Lucian mirrors and critiques in the TH. Lucian’s characters are representatives of this Roman culture, just as Star Trek’s characters represent the US-dominated Western culture that their programme reflects. Though they might be referred to as ‘Greeks’ within the text, for the purposes of this essay these characters represent Roman society, and I will therefore refer to them as ‘Romans’ and their society as ‘Rome’ throughout this essay.

Somewhat confusingly, Lucian’s narrator, the TH’s protagonist, is also named Lucian, a fictionalised version of the author himself. To avoid confusion, and in keeping with this essay’s theme, I will henceforth refer to Lucian the character as ‘Jean-Lucian’.

My other principal source will be Star Trek, from the Original Series (TOS) of the 1960s to this year’s Discovery (DIS), all sharing a heritage of progressive cognitive estrangement. I will be comparing Lucian’s work primarily to The Next Generation (TNG) of the 1980s and 90s. This is partially because there is more of it than TOS – seven seasons versus three – and thus more material to compare, but mainly because TNG is simply better-quality. Its stories are more nuanced, its morals and messages better developed and addressed than those of TOS – in short, TNG is the best realisation of Roddenberry’s progressive vision of “the transformation and betterment of human civilisation and the human spirit”. I will, however, refer to TOS, as well as the prequel series Enterprise (ENT), which showcases many false starts and mistakes in the process of reaching utopia, presenting a world far closer to our own, and therefore Lucian’s, than TNG’s idealised future. I will also refer to the darker Deep Space Nine (DS9), whose imperialist Cardassians and misogynist Ferengi will be particularly useful for comparison to Lucian’s Romans.

I will also include comparisons to ancient sources – the historians and ethnographers who Lucian explicitly set out to parody in the TH. These authors will provide an undistorted version of Greco-Roman attitudes towards other cultures and worlds and thus be invaluable for contextualising Lucian’s own mirroring. Notable comparisons will include Herodotus, Strabo’s Geography, and Tacitus’ Germania. A final primary source will be the 1983 film First Contact, documenting the Leahy brothers’ 1933 expedition into the highlands of New Guinea, and their ‘first contact’ with the natives of that area. As one of the only filmed records of a real first contact scenario, the film will be invaluable in comparison to both the fictionalised contacts of Trek and the TH and to the real encounters with other cultures on which the SF was based.

My secondary sources are too numerous to list here in full, but I will cover the most important briefly. On classical attitudes to ‘othering’ I will rely on François Hartog’s The Mirror of Herodotus, an invaluable analysis of ancient presentations of foreign cultures as strange and otherworldly, and the alternative takes of Erich Gruen and J.P.V.D. Balsdon. Works on Lucian’s TH are numerous – I will be using Georgiadou & Larmour’s extended commentary, as well as Fredericks, Viglas, and Swanson’s articles on Lucian’s place in the SF genre. On SF in general I will rely on Adam Roberts’ histories of the genre, David Seed’s compendium of essays on SF as a critical genre, and Darko Suvin’s Metamorphoses of Science-Fiction, as well as Aldiss & Wingrove, for definitions of the genre itself. There are hundreds of critical essays on Trek, several of which I will use here, notably Margaret Rose on Trek’s approaches to hybridity. Altman and Gross’ Fifty-Year Mission has proven invaluable as a history of the franchise, told through direct interviews with cast, crew and creators, as have other such interviews and panels recorded on YouTube. Finally, Reddit’s /r/DaystromInstitute has provided many insights into Trek episodes, both in-universe and behind-the-scenes.

My final secondary source is myself. My previous dissertation linked Lucian’s work with modern SF, including Trek to a limited extent. In order to expand on my previous work I must refer to it – convenient, as it renders the task of explaining the definition of SF somewhat simpler.

 

Lucian, TH, 2.31

Balsdon, J.P.V.D, Romans and Aliens (Duckworth, 1979), p.187

Whitmarsh, Tim, Greek Literature and the Roman Empire (Oxford University Press, 2001), p.250

i.e. Jean-Luc Picard.

Cover, Rob, ‘Generating the Self: The biopolitics of security and selfhood in Star Trek: The Next Generation’, in Science Fiction Film and Television, volume 4 (2011), p.205

Hartog, François, The Mirror of Herodotus, trans. Janet Lloyd (University of California Press, 1988)

Gruen, Erich, Rethinking the Other in Antiquity (Princeton University Press, 2011)

Georgiadou & Larmour, Lucian’s Science Fiction Novel ‘True Histories’ (Brill, 1998)

Fredericks, S.C, ‘Lucian’s True History as SF’ in Science Fiction studies, Vol.3, no.1 (March 1976)

Viglas, Katelis, ‘The Placement of Lucian’s Novel True History in the Genre of Science Fiction’ in Interlitteraria vol. 21 (2016), pp.158-71

Swanson, Roy Arthur, ‘The True, the False, and the Truly False: Lucian’s Philosophical Science Fiction’ in Science Fiction studies, Vol. 3, no.3 (November 1976), pp.227-239

Roberts, Adam, The History of Science-Fiction (Macmillan, 2005), and Science Fiction: The New Critical Idiom, second edition (Routledge, 2006)

Seed, David (ed.), A Companion to Science-Fiction (Blackwell, 2005)

Suvin, Darko, Metamorphoses of Science Fiction (Yale University Press, 1979)

Aldiss, Brian & Wingrove, David, Trillion Year Spree: The History of Science Fiction (House of Stratus, 2001)

Rose, Margaret, ‘Cyborg Selves in Battlestar Galactica and Star Trek: The Next Generation’ in Journal of Popular Culture, vol.48 (2015), pp.1193-1210

Altman, Mark, & Gross, Edward, The Fifty-Year Mission: The First 25 Years (Thomas Dunne, 2016) and The Next 25 Years (Thomas Dunne, 2016) – hereafter ’50-Year V1’ and ‘V2’

 

3 – Definitions

Before I begin my analysis I will briefly explain why the True History can be considered science-fiction. The TH, like the rest of Lucian’s works, has been conventionally read as satire rather than SF. I will not deny this: Lucian explicitly states in his introduction that he intends to lampoon the partially fictionalised works of authors like Ctesias and Herodotus, and Jean-Lucian’s encounter with Homer demonstrates Lucian’s satirising of his Odyssey. However, the TH can be more than satire without ceasing to be satirical. It is unique among narratives of the period in that it takes place entirely beyond the bounds of the known world. Even fantastical tales like The Wonders Beyond Thule and The Golden Ass take place (mostly) in real locations – Lucian, however, references reality without being bound by it. In my view it is clear that Lucian’s “fantastic voyages and utopistic hyperbole comport with the genre of science fiction”, an “extensive and varied” genre, with a complex critical history. For decades literary critics refused to categorise SF as ‘real’ literature, seeing it as little more than puerile fantasy. Not until relatively recently has SF been accepted into the literary canon, and therefore subjected to critical study and academic definition. Several different definitions have emerged, however; some have merit; some, in my view, are fundamentally flawed. The most relevant I will now discuss.

SF is not merely contingent on the presence of a journey into space, as Adam Roberts would have it. Though such journeys are ubiquitous in early and modern SF, ‘space opera’ is but a subgenre, and a critically unpopular one at that. Even SF stories that feature space travel are not necessarily about space travel. A more encompassing definition is that of Brian Aldiss and David Wingrove. SF, to them, is intrinsically connected to the beginnings of modern science and engagement with contemporary scientific knowledge; an attitude emerging in the Gothic period, with Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein considered “the first real novel of science fiction”. I find this definition fundamentally unsatisfying – not least because Aldiss and Wingrove dismiss the TH as “pure fantasy” – as it is extremely limiting. The idea that SF should be in some way about a desire for knowledge, about exploration, whether of the self or of other worlds, is a good one, but considering the Gothic fascination with science to be the first example of that desire is frankly absurd. What of the early modern period, or indeed the Second Sophistic? Humans have always challenged the limits of knowledge; Lucian’s work is fundamentally such a “search for knowledge”, as are the early modern works of Francis Godwin and Cyrano de Bergerac. To consider Frankenstein the first work of SF is reductive in the extreme.

The best critical definition (in my view), and the one on which this essay relies, is that of Darko Suvin’s concept of ‘cognitive estrangement’. Through “an imaginative framework alternative to the author’s empirical environment”, SF in Suvin’s view should force the reader to reflect on their own reality. SF presents a distorting mirror to the reader’s own world, set apart from reality by a unique ‘novum’, whose presence alters the fictional world in some significant way. Through considering the impact of the ‘novum’/‘nova’ on the distorted world, readers are then induced to consider their own reality. How does the new world differ – is it better, or worse? And how can we prevent our own world from becoming – or cause it to become – the same? The mirror is not only distorting, but critical. The definition is very broad, encompassing many types of imaginary voyages, but it neatly expresses a core function of SF: “the encounter with difference”. Lucian, in the TH, presents difference constantly, as does Trek. Each ‘episode’ of the TH has its own novum and accompanying similarities to the real ancient world. The people of the Moon are Greek-speaking and intelligent – but they are all male, living among monstrous animals in an alien environment. The Vine-Women parallel the myth of Daphne – but what if her metamorphosis was inflicted on other victims? SF is a genre all about ‘what-ifs’, alternate realities, and Lucian, throughout the TH, presents alternate worlds in order that his readers might consider their own convictions and prejudices.

I do not mean to imply a reductive argument in classifying the TH as SF, rather than following the standard interpretations of the text as simply satire – but I do not think my approach “unclassical”, and I hope to disprove any “sceptical disbelief that ancient writers could think in these terms.” Furthermore I am not alone; numerous authors, including Fredericks, Viglas and Swanson, have likewise argued that the TH is indeed a worthy SF text, perhaps even “the beginnings of Western Science Fiction”. “Lucian’s work is partially a pastiche (of histories and travel-writing) but as a whole it is original and inventive”; parody, but more than only parody. In its critical mirroring of the world of the Second Sophistic, the TH (and indeed all SF) is in a sense satirical, but on a much grander scale than conventional interpretations cover.

Lucian’s True History, therefore, is SF by Suvin’s definition, and SF of a similar kind to Star Trek. Both constantly present not just strange new worlds but worlds that are recognisable – similar enough to be relatable, but different in some crucial way, allowing their audiences to reflect on the real issues and ideas behind the distorting mirror. It is time I explored some of these worlds in detailed comparison.

 

Steer, p.10

Swanson, p.228

Seed, p.1

Csicsery-Ronay, Istvan (Jr.), ‘Science Fiction/Criticism’ in A Companion to Science Fiction, p.49

Roberts, History of Science-Fiction, p.vii

Mendlesohn, Farah, ‘Ian M. Banks: Excession’ in A Companion to Science Fiction, p.557

Steer, p.11

Aldiss & Wingrove, p.36

Aldiss & Wingrove, p.57

Seed, p.4

Steer, p.11

Georgiadou & Larmour, p.15

Suvin, p.8

Suvin, p.10

Suvin, p.64

Roberts, New Critical Idiom, p.17

Fredericks, p.54

Ní-Mheallaig, Karen, Reading Fiction With Lucian (Cambridge University Press, 2014), p.25

Viglas, p.169

Viglas, p.168

Ad Luna #4: The Essay, Part 1

(aka ‘how many numbers can I get into one post title before it gets confusing?’)

I didn’t just read Lucian before I wrote Ad Luna – I studied him at university. In fact I studied him twice, using the True History as the basis for both my undergrad and MA dissertations. Admittedly I decided to do so on my own, much to the despair of various course administrators and tutors, who were eventually kind enough to let me write about Star Trek instead of any of the things I’d actually been taught over the four years of the degree. (They gave me good marks so it can’t have been that painful for them…)

In the first essay I explored why the TH was sci-fi in generally – in the second one I got into specifics and wrote about it as, basically, Star Trek for the 2nd century AD. I spent months watching Star Trek, reading and rereading Lucian and cobbling together an essay that ended up being several chapters too long to actually submit. In the end I was pretty proud of it – and the research I did definitely influenced Ad Luna – a lot.

So, as I’ve been talking about Ad Luna for a few weeks now, I figured why not let you all read it?

A few warnings: it is long (12k words), so I’ll be posting it in chunks for a few weeks. If I add in the cut chapters (and I might…), it’ll be even longer. It’s also an official essay, so the first bits are somewhat box-tickingly academic (listing sources, setting out the questions to be answered, etc.), and thus get dull in places. Apologies for that. But the meat of the essay, now that’s some good stuff. Or at least UCL thought so.

So, without further ado, the introduction. If you want to know the history of the True History, then read on.

Fade in from black.

Narrator: Last time, in 200 AD: A Space ‘Odyssey’:

Scene: Bridge of the USS Enterprise-D. DATA, TROI, and RIKER are at their stations.

Enter CAPTAIN PICARD.

Picard: Number One, report.

Riker: Mr Data has discovered something very interesting in the derelict’s archives, sir.

Picard: Data?

Data turns to face the captain.

Data: It is a text from Earth’s Second Sophistic, sir. By Lucian of Samosata.

Picard: The satirist, yes. We studied him at the Academy.

Data: Correct, sir. However, this piece is not just satire.

Picard: I’ve read most of Lucian. What’s it called?

Data: The ‘True History’, sir. It is a cosmic voyage narrative, and appears to have been the inspiration for authors such as Cyrano de Bergerac and even Jules Verne. In many ways, Lucian could be said to be the founder of science-fiction as we know it.

He passes Picard his padd, which the captain reads briefly.

Picard: Or at least ahead of his time. But what’s so important that you called me here?

Riker: Counsellor?

Troi: Captain… the events of this book are disturbingly familiar. Very similar to the events of our own time.

Picard: Which events?

Troi: …our own mission, sir.

Picard: Onscreen.

The view-screen shows illustrations of Lucian’s first meeting with the Selenites. Picard looks slowly more and more astonished.

Narrator: And now the continuation:

LUCIAN

THE NEXT DISSERTATION

Lucian’s True History as Star Trek for the Second Sophistic

In my undergraduate dissertation, I sought to prove that Lucian of Samosata’s True History was not only satire, but science-fiction – and not only science-fiction (SF), but SF incorporating concepts only otherwise found in modern SF. The True History (TH) is one of the first cosmic voyage narratives. In his marvellous journey Lucian and his crew visit the Moon, are swallowed by a giant whale, fight aliens from the Sun and fish-headed monsters, meet Homer on the Isles of the Blessed, and more. This cosmic voyage commences a direct line of descent from Lucian through Francis Godwin and Cyrano de Bergerac all the way to Jules Verne’s moon stories, and thence to modern SF as we know it today. Other scholars such as S.C. Fredericks and Katelis Viglas have remarked on Lucian’s status as SF; I expanded on this discourse by exploring Lucian’s apparent use of modern SF concepts – alien contagions, advanced technology, and even generation ships – through comparison to modern authors, including Iain M. Banks and Robert Reed. Lucian was not coincidentally ‘anticipating’ these tropes, but creating them, or at least sowing the seeds for their creation. I concluded that modern SF, rather than originating in the modern age of advanced science and actual cosmic exploration, in fact expands on a tradition whose roots were present long ago: a tradition begun by Lucian in the TH. In this essay, I will expand on this conclusion, by directly comparing the TH to another piece of modern SF, perhaps the most enduring and defining of all: Gene Roddenberry’s Star Trek.

Gene Roddenberry cited Swift’s Gulliver’s Travels as an influence on his initial concept; as Swift was influenced by Francis Godwin’s Man in the Moone, which was itself directly inspired by the TH, it could be argued that Star Trek (Trek), like Jules Verne’s lunar narratives, a direct descendant of Lucian’s work! But the similarity between the two works runs deeper than this superficial connection. The central premise of Trek is summarised in its iconic opening monologue:

“To explore strange new worlds… to seek out new life and new civilisations… to boldly go where no-one has gone before.”

Compare this to the opening of Lucian’s narrative, almost two millennia before:

“…the motive and purpose of my journey lay in… my desire for adventure, and in my wish to find out what the end of the ocean was, and who the people were that lived on the other side.”

The stories comprising the TH would, with a little adaptation, easily pass muster as episodes of Trek. Just like the crews of the various starships Enterprise, Lucian’s crew in the TH encounter a succession of alien beings, in a journey to lands where no-one has gone before. Even Trek’s episodic nature is paralleled in Lucian; each ‘island’ of the narrative is a self-contained adventure, with its own marvels, monsters, and ethical conundrums. But most importantly, Trek constantly draws on and exaggerates contemporary society. So too, I believe, do the various episodes of the TH. Roddenberry always intended Trek to be a socially progressive show, to address real social issues of its time; “sex, religion, politics”, racism and colonialism, and more. These were, and are, difficult subjects to address directly even in fiction medium – and thus Roddenberry employed the core device of SF, ‘cognitive estrangement’: the exploration of real issues through a distorting mirror, in a world not quite our own. As long as Roddenberry’s stories were “happening on other planets to little green people…” he was safe from conservative network censors, able to “slip ideas” about the real world into his fictional one. I believe that Lucian, in the True History, can be read as doing the same thing: holding up a distorting mirror to the society of the Second Sophistic, “locating the staple mechanisms of Greek (and Roman) life and culture… in fantastic settings”, and allowing his audience to reflect on that society’s social and political issues. In this dissertation I will explore Lucian’s use of ‘cognitive estrangement’ for social reflection through comparison to Star Trek, legendary for doing the same.

This essay will comprise several case studies, taking particular ‘episodes’ of the TH and comparing them to episodes of Trek featuring similar issues and storylines. I will consider how Trek presents its social issues to its audience, how each episode might relate to real events, and how the conflicts are resolved, before considering Lucian’s approach to his similar scenarios; his chosen issues, his resolutions, and how his ‘episode’ may relate to contemporary Roman events. Differences in each approach to cognitive estrangement will reveal much about the differences between each society being mirrored. Case studies will include ‘first contact’ scenarios, and how conflicts with ‘enemy’ species like the Cardassians and the Bullheads may be reflections of contemporary conflicts; the dramatic contrast between modern and Roman attitudes to gender equality, and how Trek may be closer to Roman ideals than we might think; and the fears evoked by the assimilating Borg and the Vine-Women, of both cultural and literal contagion.

“Mr Worf… fire.”

With these words, Jonathan Frakes forced Star Trek fans to wait three months before discovering the fate of the Enterprise-D. Lucian, too, ends the True History on a cliff-hanger – but does not resolve it. Along the way, however, there are myriad adventures to be had, and, just like Trek, those adventures are more significant than mere fantastical tales. Underneath their fantastical veneer they are stories about us, whether we be denizens of the Second Sophistic or the 21st Century: the people who read and watch and wonder.

 

Steer, Huw, 200 AD: A Space Odyssey (2017)

ibid, p.19

Roddenberry, Gene, in Altman & Gross, The Fifty-Year Mission: The First 25 Years (Thomas Dunne, 2016), p.66

See any episode of the Original Series or The Next Generation.

Lucian of Samosata, The True History, trans. A.M. Harmon (Loeb Classical Library, Vol. 1, 1913), book 1, 5

Mossman, Hannah, ‘Narrative Island-Hopping: Contextualising Lucian’s Treatment of Space in the Verae Historiae’ in Bartley, Adam (ed.), A Lucian for Our Times (Cambridge Scholars Publishing 2009), p.50

Roddenberry in The Fifty-Year Mission vol. 1, p.67

I will fully explain this concept (Darko Suvin’s definition of SF) below.

Roddenberry in The Fifty-Year Mission vol. 1, p.67

Georgiadou, Aristoula & Larmour, David, Lucian’s Science Fiction Novel ‘True Histories’ (Brill, 1998), p.47

William Riker, Star Trek: The Next Generation, 3.26: ‘The Best of Both Worlds, Part 1’, dir. Cliff Bole (Paramount, 18/6/1990), 0:44:23

Tune in next week for the next bit. Maybe even sooner…

Ad Luna #3: Birds and Such

Birds are curious creatures. Giant three-headed vultures and birds with grass and lettuce for feathers are somewhat more curious. The True History, of course, features both, and therefore so does Ad Luna – especially the former. The Vulture Dragoons of Lucian’s story are the first people to encounter the wayward Greek adventurers, so I knew it was very important that I work them into the story. As usual, however, this meant both toning down Lucian’s excess and expanding it some other ways.

Let’s start with how Lucian depicts his vultures and their riders, with characteristic brevity and ridiculousness:

These are men riding on large vultures and using the birds for horses. The vultures are large and for the most part have three heads: you can judge of their size from the fact that the mast of a large merchantman is not so long or so thick as the smallest of the quills they have.

In other words, these vultures are bloody massive. They are, in fact, far too large to plausibly have a single rider – if their feathers are like ships’ masts then they’re hundreds of feet long at the smallest! If the vultures were to work in Ad Luna at this size – and I wanted to keep them at this size, because it’s awesome – then they’d need more than one rider. They’d need a whole crew.

I will admit to a hefty dose of inspiration from Naomi Novik’s excellent Temeraire books here. The vultures of Ad Luna are rigged out with harnesses and armour plating, manned by twenty or thirty eager Lunars, in their marvellous glass armour and carrying their impossible weapons. It’s all very naval – a captain with a few officers, marksmen and gunners (in a Flying Fortress-style cupola on the chest), and the like. Lieutenant Dio, Ad Luna‘s main character, is the second officer on his vulture, soaring high above the Moon on patrol against all the world’s many foes.

Being on the Moon was useful to wrap my head around such colossal beasts – lower gravity could let things grow much bigger generally (as is the case with some of the other terrifying monsters of the book…), which is helpful when your vultures are fifty feet long or more. I didn’t make them quite as long as Lucian describes. He was, after all, deliberately exaggerating even the plausible things he described, in the manner of Herodotus and Homer – armies of millions of men, etc.

One important thing to note is that these vultures probably don’t look like the ones you’re picturing. These aren’t the scrawny-necked scavengers of Asia and Africa – these are the kind of vultures Lucian would have seen in the Roman Empire of old, in Europe and maybe Egypt. They’re more like buzzards than stereotypical vultures – at least that’s how I’ve described them; feathered necks and sharp bird-of-prey lines. Three feathered necks, and heads to match – conveniently enough for three saddles; one for the captain and one for his first and second officers.

Three heads, of course, means three brains. I didn’t really have space in the plot to really explore how that might work, as fascinating an idea as it might have been, but three brains makes for at least one very powerful mind. That was handy, because I needed a way for the vulture’s riders to talk to it, to give it orders. Stirrups and reins didn’t seem like enough and I didn’t want talking animals. But a powerful triple mind like that didn’t seem to me to need to talk with words…

Idly he patted Aesara’s leftmost head, stroking the feathers behind her eye, and heard the vulture coo gently. At least the bird had taken to him well enough. He could not speak to her directly – that honour was reserved for the captain, with the arcane crown that was his psionic amplifier. Dio had never used one, seldom ever seen one while not on vulture-back. He had dreamed of what it would be like, though, to converse with one of those alien, tripartite minds. One day, he would. He held onto that thought as he scanned the horizon, seated behind the left-hand head. One day he would hold the centre chair. One day. Though he was thousands of feet above the ground, the only way was up.

Tune in next week for something else Moon-related.

(also buy the book)

Ad Luna #2: The Book! And Tree-People

Firstly, Ad Luna is now available in paperback and ebook form on Amazon! Please do check it out – I’m pretty proud of it.

Want to know a little more about the story and the process before you read, though? Well that’s what last week’s post, and this one, are for.

This week I want to talk about tree-people. Specifically, the tree-people who, according to Lucian of Samosata, are a subspecies of the space-elves who live on the Moon in the True History. Here’s how he describes them:

They have a kind of men whom they call the Arboreals, who are brought into the world as follows: Exsecting a man’s right genital gland, they plant it in the ground. From it grows a very large tree of flesh, resembling the emblem of Priapus: it has branches and leaves, and its fruit is acorns a cubit thick. When these ripen, they harvest them and shell out the men.

Mad, right? Leaving aside how disturbing a ‘tree of flesh’ is, it’s amazing to see Lucian so casually describing an alien species in this way. More than that, it’s technically an alien subspecies, as the ordinary Lunars of the True History are very different. They’re essentially elves in space, with several weird differences I won’t get into in this post – but alien as they are they’re still conceived in the… traditional way. Well, I say traditional – Lucian’s Moon has only one gender (male, unsurprisingly), which complicates matters a little – but again that’s a story for another post.

I wanted the Arboreals to figure in Ad Luna. But I didn’t want them to just be men born from trees of flesh. Thankfully, another bit of Lucian’s description gave me a slightly different idea:

Another thing, they have artificial parts that are sometimes of ivory and sometimes, with the poor, of wood, and make use of them in their intercourse.

When coupled with the Lunar clothing of “malleable glass” and bronze, it’s implied, though never stated, that Lucian’s Lunars are able to shape materials like wood and metal in ways we on Earth would never have thought possible – especially in the second century.

So to recap: on one hand, people born out of weird trees, and on the other wood that can be used as a prosthetic… extremity with no hint of ill effects or unnatural movement.

See where I’m going with this?

Here’s a little extract from Ad Luna:

He wished he had paid more attention in school, when he had learned a little of the sciences. The means by which the copperwood tenders had managed to alter the contents of the seed-pods by slow degrees, breeding and crossing and splicing all the strata of the species, were a mystery to Dio. The results were not. He looked down at the striding golems as he spoke, seeing them for the first time as Lucian did; marvels of engineering and biology both. They were so ubiquitous that barely anyone noticed them anymore. Arboreals, in their many specialised forms, were the perfect labourers, haulers, servants. They were strong, and durable, and obeyed orders without question; they did not tire and they did not need to eat. All the sustenance they required came from the water piped into their sleeping-pods, and, when it shone, from the sun above.

Wooden golems! Why have men born of trees of flesh when you can have men born of trees – and not just men, either. Once I’d thought of reimagining the Arboreals this way, the concept of these wooden life-forms spread into a few other places where Lucian’s description left some convenient holes… But you’ll have to read the book to find those for now.

This is just one place where I tried to take Lucian and recast his ideas in a different light. I’ll have more for you next week.

For now, consider getting a copy of Ad Luna for yourself – that way when you read next week’s post you’ll know what I’m talking about.

 

Ad Luna #1: The Beginning

As I’m out of writing workouts and I’ve managed to accidentally time my book release quite well, I thought I’d spend the next few posts talking vaguely about Ad Luna (which is my new book if you’ve missed my last couple of posts), and a few of the things that went into writing it. I figured I might as well start at the beginning.

I was going into my third year of university, and for some ungodly reason started thinking about the dissertation I wouldn’t have to write for another six months. i had no idea what to write, and spent far too long wracking my brains on what to do.

Then I remembered a thing I’d seen on a long-lost reddit thread. The True History of Lucian of Samosata. A satirical travelogue written by a mad Syrian satirist who’d gotten sick of historians inventing details about places they hadn’t actually been. So he decided to take the piss, by doing the same thing but better.

The True History takes Lucian across the ocean, to the Isles of the Blessed, inside the stomach of a giant whale, to islands made of cheese and into battle against giants and minotaurs and fish-people – and most importantly it takes him into space, to the Moon, where he and his crew merrily muck into an interplanetary war. There are giant monsters, aliens from a dozen worlds – it’s insane, and beautifully written.

I was captured, instantly, by the sheer madness of it. And despite the fact that my dissertation tutor was supposed to be teaching me about Roman government and politics, he let me write about it.

And then the next year, after significantly more persuasion on my part, my MA dissertation tutor let me write about it again – this time in comparison to Star Trek and some other SF. But this time I delved deeper. I read and reread, and as I was comparing it to other bits of sci-fi I started to see all the places where I wanted more.

Because the True History isn’t a very long book. And the section on the Moon – the section on which Ad Luna is based – is only about 30 pages long. There are terrible monsters, yes – but they don’t get anything but the bare minimum of description. The fantastic technologies of the Moon are mentioned, but there’s no talk about how they might work, or the impact of their existence on lunar society. The people of the Sun – the antagonists of the whole section – aren’t described at all. Lucian gets you thinking about a thousand things, but most of those thoughts are ‘well how the hell would that work?’

So I thought about it. I thought about it a lot. And then one day I just said ‘F*ck it’, and I started writing.

Tune in next week for a) the book itself and b) some more specifics on the bits of Lucian I really wanted to bring to life.

Read the True History at Project Gutenberg. Seriously, it’s worth it.

Ad Luna Release Date – July 4th 2020

I’m very pleased to be able to announce that Ad Luna will be released on July 4th, 2020. For those who, like me, have lost all sense of time’s passage in the endless purgatory of lockdown, that’s next Saturday. One week. Whew.

If you can’t quite wait that long, good news! You can pre-order the book on Amazon right now! Ebook only alas, but the paperback will be available on the 4th.

I’m very excited about this one. I hope some of you are too.

[image error]Artwork by Two Pens