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The Last Tsar

by Matias Travieso-Diaz

It is better to abolish serfdom from above than wait for it to abolish itself from below.

Tsar Alexander II

“My Grandfather: A National Hero”    

On this, the fiftieth anniversary of his untimely death, I have been asked by the New Literary Gazette to share a few recollections of the life of my grandfather Gennady Ilych Kramnik. As I have grown older, memories have faded, but I still remember enough to pay tribute to my beloved dedushka, who was as much a personal hero to me as he is to Mother Russia.

My most important reminiscence is an early one, for it dates back to 1858, when I was a six-year-old lad. That spring, my grandfather took me to a performance of Mikhail Glinka’s A Life for the Tsar at the Bolshoi Kammeny Theater in Saint Petersburg. Glinka had died the year before and there were commemorative performances of his operas throughout Russia. My mother remonstrated with her father-in-law for taking only me to see the opera and keeping the rest of the family at home: “We should all go and pay our respects to the late great Glinka,” she argued.

“Galina, my dear,” replied my grandfather soberly. “Tickets at the Kammeny are very expensive, and all I could afford were two of the cheapest ones, in the upper gallery where the sparrows nest. The hero’s son Vanya is an important character in the story and I want my grandson to see his namesake in action and learn the importance of being patriotic.”

My grandfather Gennady Ilych Kramnik was a bear of a man, tall and full-bearded, with a gravelly voice that commanded immediate respect. By then, he was already a member of the famous Leib Guard, the personal guards of Tsar Alexander II, and was for that reason respected by his colleagues and feared more than a little at home, where his decisions were law.

So, we went together to the opera, a first-time experience for me.

I was bored through most of the performance. However, in the third act, the hero Ivan Susanin sends his adopted son Vanya to warn the tsar that a contingent of Polish soldiers is on a deadly search for him; meanwhile, Susanin misleads the assailants into following him through remote woods. The suspense in the opera’s plot kept me awake during the fourth act, in which Vanya reaches a monastery and alerts the monks to spirit the tsar away, and in the meantime Susanin keeps the Poles off the right track. At the end, Susanin’s ruse is discovered and he is put to death.

At that point in the opera, as Susanin is about to be killed, he sings an aria about his willingness to face death, since as doing so will have made it possible for the tsar to survive. My dedushka squeezed my shoulder so hard that I winced in pain. Choking with emotion, he declared: “Vanya, I swear, I would like nothing more than to give my life for our Tsar, as Susanin did.” I could have never imagined that this wish would eventually come to be realized in a most dramatic fashion.

The concept of patriotism was rather vague for me then, but kept being reinforced by my dedushka as I grew older. He was of the true Russian country stock that might suffer indignities at the hands of the aristocrats and landed gentry but would never waver in their love for the Motherland.

Like his ancestors, he grew up on a farm in Yelets, in the Russian heartland, a member of a penniless family of serfs. Like thousands of others, they were emancipated by the Tsar in 1861. Thereafter, my grandfather would visit his kin in Yelets and regale them with tales of his service to Alexander the Liberator.

Later on, Tsar Alexander stayed the reform course, but one action that benefitted my grandfather in particular was the appointment of Dmitry Alekseyevitch Milyutin as Minister of War in 1861. My grandfather and Milyutin had become acquainted when they served in the Caucasian War. Milyutin was impressed with my grandfather’s courage, loyalty, and skill, and recommended to the Tsar that he be promoted from the Leib Guard to join the Cossack Escort, the regiment that provided personal security for the Tsar. At the time, almost all the members of the Escort were Cossacks from Terek and Kuban, thus including my dedushka, not a Cossack, in the regiment was a high honor that made him even more beholden to Alexander II and Milyutin.

Our contacts became less frequent after he joined the Escort, for he travelled constantly throughout Russia accompanying the Tsar during the sovereign’s frequent visits to all parts of our vast nation. Whenever he came to visit us, he would keep us enthralled with descriptions of the multitude of peoples and lifestyles of both the European and trans-Uralian parts of the country. All throughout those years, he never ceased to sing the praises of our beautiful land and its beloved ruler.

Despite his many reforms – or perhaps because of them – Alexander II was the focus of many attempts on his life by radical fanatics. Unsuccessful attempts to assassinate him were made in 1866, 1867, 1879 and 1880, the last two the work of a socialist group known as the Narodnaya Volya, whose aim was to overthrow the government by eliminating its leaders. My grandfather narrowly escaped the 1880 attempt, in which Stephan Khalturin, a member of the cell, set off a time bomb in the guards’ quarters one floor below the dining room in the Winter Palace. The explosion killed eleven people and wounded thirty others, including my dedushka, but failed to achieve its aim of killing Alexander II because the Tsar and his family were not in the dining room at the time. My grandfather suffered minor shrapnel wounds on the chest and left arm, but was otherwise unharmed and was decorated by the Tsar, as were other guards injured in the attack. The Tsar appointed Count Loris-Melikov as head of a Supreme Executive Commission charged with identifying and neutralizing the threats posed by so-called revolutionaries, and the Commission was in its initial stages of organization when the final attempt on the Tsar’s life was made on March 13, 1881.

On that fateful day, one of the Narodnaya Volya members, Nikolai Rysakov, threw a bomb under the Tsar’s carriage as it traversed the Catherine Canal over St. Petersburg’s Pevchesky Bridge. My grandfather was one of six Cossack guards who at the time were riding in formation escorting the Tsar’s carriage. One of the guards was killed in the explosion, as were the carriage driver and several bystanders. The carriage was bulletproof and was undamaged, and continued to proceed driverless for a few yards until it came to a stop against the bridge’s railing.

The Tsar emerged from the vehicle and started to head back towards the explosion’s location. My grandfather and other guards dismounted their horses and tried to persuade him to return to the carriage, but Alexander seemed unable to hear and stood, dazed, in the middle of the bridge. At that point, a second member of Narodnaya Volya, Ignacy Hryniewiecki, tossed another bomb at the Tsar’s feet. My grandfather, who was standing by the sovereign’s side, reacted with blinding speed: he threw himself to the ground, covering the exploding bomb and sheltering Alexander, who escaped with only minor wounds to the body.

My dedushka was essentially torn to bits by the explosion. His chest and stomach were blown open and his legs were severed; his face was terribly mutilated and unrecognizable. He was placed on the snow, on the side of the bridge, in mortal agony. A pastor from the Saint Isaac’s Cathedral who was at the end of the bridge watching the Tsar’s procession rushed to his side and gave him the last rites.

According to the pastor, my grandfather was gasping for air, taking his last few breaths before leaving this Earth. Although his words were garbled and almost inaudible, he managed to ask whether the Tsar was safe and when the pastor confirmed this he said “thank you, O Lord” as the remnant of his face smoothed into a beatific smile. And with that, he passed away.

The past five decades have proved my grandfather’s supreme sacrifice to have been worthwhile. Alexander II remained Tsar for twelve more years, during which he carried out extensive economic, legal and social reforms, such as the constitutional changes implemented in 1882. At the end of his reign, he voluntarily renounced the throne upon turning 75 in 1893. At the same time, the monarchy was abolished and the Russian Republic began its existence.

Alexander also came down hard on the left-wing conspirators that had tried to assassinate him and overthrow his regime. Count Loris-Melikov’s Supreme Executive Commission was implacable in pursuing the Narodnaya Volya and other radical groups. When the writings of Karl Marx circulated and began to be espoused by the Russian intellectual elites, the Commission rounded up socialist radicals by the thousands, executed their leaders, sent the captured rank-and-file members into exile in Siberia, and banned entry into Russia of radicals from abroad. As a result, Russia has been spared the class struggles that have taken place in Germany and France, among other countries. We have no communists here.

Partly as a consequence of the elimination of radical opponents, the transition from an Empire to a Republic proceeded without significant opposition except for the nobility and members of the Tsar’s immediate family. Alexander Alexandrovitch, who would have succeeded his father on Russia’s throne, received a very generous pension granted to him by the State, and ended his life in luxury, in a villa in Italy. Similar payments to other members of the Romanov family and the nobility were a drain on Russia’s coffers, but allowed the peaceful handover of state powers to a Federal Assembly led by a Prime Minister, not unlike counterparts in Great Britain and other Western powers.

I will add briefly that the success of the Russian Republic, itself the fruit of Tsar Alexander II’s reforms, has been partly due to the country’s governance by Alexei Maximovich Peshkov (popularly known as Maxim Gorky), a brilliant writer who became, in 1898, the youngest Prime Minister of the Republic. Gorky, who in his early years had been associated with the socialist movement, became less radical when elected to be Prime Minister. He believed in the power of diplomacy and in 1904 avoided a costly war with Japan by engineering a territorial swap under which Russia would maintain dominance over Manchuria while Japan controlled Korea. He kept Russia at peace and prosperity for another decade so that the country was united when war broke out between the Triple Entente and the Central Powers. Russia was a key player in defeating the Germans in what became known as the Great War.

After the end of hostilities, a peace conference was convened in Paris, lasting between 1919 and 1920. At the talks, Gorky mediated between U.S. President Woodrow Wilson, who desired a lenient peace agreement with Germany, and French prime minister Georges Clemenceau, who was determined to see Germany punished. Through his intervention, while Germany was ordered to pay reparations, the amount was reduced and the time for payment extended to allow Germany to remain viable and recover from the losses suffered through the conflict.

As of this writing, there is still peace in Europe, although turmoil remains in the countries that were defeated in the Great War. I am confident, however, that a democratic Russian Republic will remain untouched by any troubling developments and will maintain the social and economic gains that my grandfather’s selfless sacrifice made possible. Russia will continue to be a positive force for world peace.

Ivan Viktorovich Kramnik, Moscow, March 1931

~

Bio:

Matias Travieso-Diaz was born in Cuba and migrated to the United States as a young man. He became an engineer and lawyer and practiced for nearly fifty years. He retired and turned his attention to creative writing. Over seventy of his stories have been published or accepted for publication in paying short story anthologies, magazines, blogs, audio books and podcasts; his work in the alternate history genre includes recent publications by Grantville Gazette, The Copperfield Review, and Sci Phi Journal.

Philosophy Note:

“The Last Tsar” is an alternate history tale in which a small twist of events in Nineteenth Century Russia (failure of the 1881 attempt to assassinate Tsar Alexander II) leads to a total change in the future of that country and the world by forestalling the rise of communism, preventing Russia’s war with Japan in 1905, avoiding War World II, and creating a peaceful Russia that does not engage in military forays abroad.

Editorial – Sci Phi Journal 2022/2

Lectori salutem.

We write these words humbled by the developments of recent months. When word was sent, back in April, that Sci Phi Journal would be an award finalist at EuroCon, the annual gathering of the European SF family, it was more than we had ever thought possible for our exceptionally nerdy sub-genre: speculative philosophy (or “sci phi”).

Indeed, we’d have been happy to make the journey to Luxembourg simply to commune with like-minded (and, even more so, with contrarian) readers and other members of fandom, and render our homage unto the eventual laureates.

You may then imagine our astonishment when, at a dramatic moment during the ceremony, the announcement came for the Best SF Magazine award and the Sci Phi logo appeared on the mighty overhead screen, emblazoned over the grand auditorium. The conférencier had to call us out twice before we were able to arise, such was our surprise.

Unbeknownst to us, over the course of the convention weekend, the assembly of the European Science Fiction Society (ESFS) had voted to elevate Sci Phi Journal into the “hall of fame” of European SF. In the tapestry of our continent’s speculative literature, where much of each country’s output and nominations are (understandably) specific to their linguistic island, it was a rare moment to have an award bestowed upon an English-language magazine, published in Belgium, cross-nominated by Hungary, and run by a ragtag crew ranging from Malaysia to Spain.

Thus, in line with the sentiment we sought to express in our improvised acceptance speech, we hope for this award to be the pylon of a bridge. One little piece in a chain of many links to bring Europe’s fragmented literary and publishing landscape closer together. And a source of encouragement for the endeavours of authors and thinkers, who seek to tell timeless (rather than timely) stories, for whom speculative fiction is more than just literary entertainment or public activism, but rather an epic tool for philosophical enquiry.

To avail ourselves of an oft abused word: we feel that this once-in-a-lifetime award “validates” the editorial approach that Sci Phi Journal stands for. A respect for classic rhetorical standards; carefully guarded intellectual independence; and a commitment to keep our little bit of literature unshackled from the fashionable agendas of the day.

Much to our delight, the journey doesn’t end here. At the start of summer, Dustin Jacobus was shortlisted for a 2022 Utopia Award in recognition of his work on our cover art, in addition to another nomination in the non-fiction category (citing Eric Hunting’s essay “On Solarpunk”).

Onward, then! Let us carry the torch further still into the twilit corridors of the Library of Babel

Speculatively yours,

the SPJ co-editors & crew

~

A Very Short History Of Right-Wing Science Fiction In Poland

by Stanisław Krawczyk

Several years ago, I spoke to a British science fiction author at Pyrkon, a Polish convention. I told him that the history of SF in Poland had had a marked right-wing component. Many leading writers had grown up in the Polish People’s Republic, a post-WWII state formed under heavy Soviet influence, and they had developed strong negative feelings about the state and its proclaimed socialist ideology. In consequence, they later disliked all manner of things associated with the left.

“I know,” the author told me. “I’m from Britain and I’m left-wing. I grew up under Margaret Thatcher.”

Much of North American and British SF now leans to the left. It would be simplistic, of course, to ascribe it all to the writers’ biographical experience with Thatcher and Reagan. It would also be simplistic to explain everything in Polish SF with a reference to the Polish People’s Republic. Still, if we want to understand the strong right-wing leanings of SF prose in Poland in the 1990s and their partial reverberation in later decades, going back to the 1970s and 1980s is inevitable.

We should keep in mind, though, that the “right-wing” label is, necessarily, a generalization. More research would be needed to clarify what a right-wing worldview meant for different groups and in different periods. I hope that such research will be carried out in time.

Under the Soviet shadow

The late history of the Polish People’s Republic coincides with the early history of the Polish SF fandom. Among the several dates we could choose as symbolic starting points for the latter, the most suitable seems the year 1976. It was then that the influential All-Polish Science Fiction Fan Club was founded in Warsaw, and its members took part in the third edition of EuroCon, itself organized in Poland. The fandom began to grow quickly in the mid-1970s, and so did the number of SF novels and short stories. Throughout the 1980s, more and more independent fan clubs were also set up, and more and more grassroots conventions were organized.

In most cases, science fiction writers and fans were not directly engaged in the dissident movement. However, they often had little love for the state authorities. To begin with, they shared in the broader discontent with the deteriorating economy and political oppression. In the book publishing system, the combined effect of printing issues, paper shortages, and state-wide censorship was that some books suffered delays that could last years. And a severely limited access to Western culture was a major obstacle for those interested in SF.

Because of censorship, this enmity could not be openly expressed in public. However, it did find an indirect expression in the subgenre of sociological science fiction. Its foremost author, Janusz A. Zajdel (1938–1985), a nuclear physicist and a committed member of the Solidarity movement, published five novels in this subgenre. They may be read as universal visions of enslaved societies, but they may also be read as a veiled criticism of the realities of the Polish People’s Republic. The novels quickly became popular, and Zajdel was posthumously made the patron of the most important award for speculative fiction in Poland.

To the right and against the left

The years 1989–1991 were a political breakthrough, ushering in the Third Polish Republic. Censorship was gone, and the available spectrum of expression became much wider. As part of my PhD, I have studied commentaries on public matters in the central journal of the Polish SF field, Nowa Fantastyka. Liberal, progressive, or left-wing ideas were very rare; right-wing ideas were quite frequent. This image seems even sharper than in the whole Polish society, which did turn towards the right overall, but which also gave the most votes to a post-communist coalition in parliamentary elections in 1993 and which elected a post-communist candidate as president in 1995.

A recurrent thread in the journal was negative references to the Polish People’s Republic. These were part of a narrative that attributed a positive role to the Polish science fiction of the 1980s, casting it as instrumental in the social resistance against the authorities and underscoring its advantage over that decade’s “mainstream literature”. A strong opposition was thus constructed between the SF field and the authorities. Only later was serious consideration given to the idea that the latter may have treated sociological SF as a safety valve, enabling the publication of allegorical criticism as an apparently ineffective form of protest.

A few less regular threads can also be traced in editorials and columns in Nowa Fantastyka in the 1990s. They can be summarized as religious and bioethical conservatism, a critique of cultural trends associated with the left (political correctness, relativism, feminism), and a critique of the European Union. Each of these themes was only represented by a small number of texts, but together they demonstrate that right-wing ideas were expressed much more often than liberal or left-wing ones.

In addition, in the early 1990s two key figures of the SF field decided to try their luck in politics. Rafał A. Ziemkiewicz was a spokesman of a right-wing party between 1993 and 1994, and Lech Jęczmyk was a candidate of two other right-wing parties in parliamentary elections in 1991 and 1993. However, neither became a successful politician, and this kind of involvement in the public sphere remained rare.

The 1990s pessimism

Apart from the commentaries, a right-wing worldview permeated science fiction itself. According to a later essay by Jacek Dukaj – an accomplished SF writer in his own right – this manifested partly in “the conviction that destructive civilizational processes were inevitable,” which replaced a previous sentiment, “the sense that there was no alternative to the Soviet rule.”[1] Indeed, Polish science fiction in the 1990s was largely pessimistic, and its anxieties appear similar to those in right-wing discourse outside the SF field: in the media or in parliamentary politics.

One common theme was the spiritual fall of Western Europe, or even all Europe. Possibly the most influential writer dealing with this topic – then an author of numerous novels and short stories, now a well-known opinion journalist – was Rafał A. Ziemkiewicz. His short story A source without water (Źródło bez wody, 1992) will be a good illustration. In that story, Western Europe has been dominated by Islam; the Roman Catholic Church, too, has become lax and soft, and must be renewed. The moral corruption also has a sexual side, which is revealed in a notable detail. One of the characters we follow is an important official who forces himself to sleep with women he despises. He does so to maintain a womanizer’s façade, which he needs to safely turn down the offers from highly placed gays. Western Europe was also shown at times as a direct threat to Polish independence, as in Barnim Regalica’s short story collection Rebellion (Bunt, 1999). It presents an uprising against the European Union, which has taken away Poland’s sovereignty.

Another significant theme was abortion. Here a telling example is Marek S. Huberath’s novelette The major punishment (Kara większa, 1991). It shows a man imprisoned in an afterlife which is part hell, part purgatory, and which resembles a combination of Nazi and Soviet concentration camps. A part of the afterlife’s population are embryos that have been torn apart by abortion and now need to be sewn back together by women who had aborted other embryos. An editor’s note accompanying the piece in Nowa Fantastyka called it “a dramatic pendant to the . . . discussion on abortion,”[2] and several months later another editor commented on the readers’ reactions: “It appears that even an artistic voice in favor of life can evoke angry reactions, and that ‘the civilization of death’ has determined followers among our readers.”[3] Other notable examples include Tomasz Kołodziejczak’s Rise and go (Wstań i idź, 1992), which highlights the ubiquity of abortion and euthanasia in the macdonaldized United States, or Wojciech Szyda’s The psychonaut (Psychonautka, 1997), in which Christ is incarnated and killed again as an aborted foetus.

Beyond a stereotype

Despite the caveat I made in the introduction, it may seem at this point that the contemporary history of Polish SF is a monolith. However, there are a few ways to illustrate that this image would be inaccurate. First, in 1990, a 15-year-old Jacek Dukaj published a short story The Golden Galley (Złota Galera), focused on an extremely powerful and rather immoral organization that blended corporation and church into one. The story was hailed as the first in the subgenre (?) called “clerical fiction,” which also featured some pieces by writers who might be easily identified later as right-wing. Perhaps the authors’ aversion to state oppression was such that they would not accept a hegemonic political role of any institution, even the Roman Catholic Church, which may have seemed poised for similar power in the early 1990s. If we looked from today’s perspective and focused on the cooperation of the Church and the political right throughout the Third Polish Republic, the phenomenon of “clerical fiction” would be impossible to explain.

Second, Polish SF and related commentaries (at least those in Nowa Fantastyka) became less visibly right-wing after the early 2000s. Of course, these attitudes have not disappeared; one illustration would be the national focus of many alternative history novels in a multi-authored book series Switch Rails of Time (Zwrotnice Czasu, 2009–2015). However, capitalism has grown to be a much more powerful force than the right-wing worldview in the field of SF in Poland. Together with the concurrent generational change, it means that fewer and fewer writers have been treating science fiction as a means to changing people’s minds, including a change towards the right. Instead, fiction has been perceived more and more as a market commodity, aimed at giving people what they already want. This is in itself a very short look at a very complex process, but the bottom line (to use an economic metaphor) is that the space has shrunk for SF which carries openly political ideas.

Third, some recent developments indicate a growing potential of left-wing science fiction. For instance, in 2020–2021, a fan group Alpaka released a collection of queer speculative fiction, Nowa Fantastyka published an issue devoted to LGBT+ topics, and Katarzyna Babis – illustrator, comic artist and political activist – publicly criticized a number of older works in her YouTube video series The Old Men of Polish SF&F (Dziady Polskiej Fantastyki). There have also been noteworthy ideological clashes in the Polish science fiction and fantasy fandom around Jacek Komuda and Andrzej Pilipiuk, two writers active since the 1990s. It is too early to say that the left-wing worldview has established its presence in Polish SF, but it may happen.

Questions of capitalism, questions of context

Right-wing science fiction in Poland had its time foremostly in the 1990s (and early 2000s). Some of its elements remained, but in general Polish SF became less overtly political. Do the current developments mean that the genre is on track to active involvement with the public sphere again, right-wing, left-wing, or otherwise? It is possible, given that capitalism itself – or its present version – is increasingly becoming an object of public critique. The book market could change to create different conditions for writers and readers. But it is just that, a possibility, and even in that case it may also be other genres of speculative fiction that will carry the political mantle this time.

Regardless of what the future holds, we have seen that the ideas conveyed through Polish SF in the 1980s and 1990s were related to the historical context of those two decades (including the writers’ own biographies). When the context changed, the ideas did, too. This is not to say that there is some social determinism at work here; I prefer to think about fiction as a response to the empirical reality, not just its reflection. This response sometimes goes in surprising directions, as in the case of “clerical fiction.” However, we can understand SF better if we understand its context. And we can certainly say it does not naturally lean to the right or to the left; it can do both, or neither.

To know more about these leanings, we would need to look at other science fiction traditions, too. Would a hypothesis hold that other post-communist countries of Central and Eastern Europe have had a similar ideological trajectory in their SF? Has there been a markedly different trajectory common to the countries of Western Europe? And what about other regions, such as Latin America?

If context matters, it is not just the national context but also the regional and global one. This broader story, however, has yet to be told.

~

Bio:

Stanisław Krawczyk is a sociologist and opinion journalist living in Warsaw. Once engaged actively in the fandom, he has now published a book in Polish, based on his PhD, on the history of the science fiction and fantasy field in Poland. He has also studied video games and the situation of the Polish humanities and social sciences under the recent research assessment regimes.


[1] Jacek Dukaj, Wyobraźnia po prawej stronie, część trzecia [Imagination on the right side: Part three], Wirtualna Polska, https://ksiazki.wp.pl/wyobraznia-po-prawej-stronie-czesc-trzecia-6146199054882433a, April 26, 2010.

[2] Maciej Parowski, Marek S. Huberath, Nowa Fantastyka 7/1991, p. 41.

[3] Lech Jęczmyk, untitled editorial, Nowa Fantastyka 3/1992, p. 1.

Don’t Blame The Eggs

by T. J. Berg

When Margret stepped out of the Intrans, she almost couldn’t breathe. She was on another planet. It was so hard to believe. She carefully hefted her two bags, not wanting to break the eggs she’d brought. After customs and security screening, she stepped out and looked for a placard with her name. There. A stooped Rfgdt stood with a screen mounted to its head clamp. Margret Cho, it read in red letters. She waved, and the Rfgdt’s twelve limbs and numerous auxiliaries fluttered back at her.

            She greeted the Rfgdt in her best Rffy, struggling with its lack of vowel sounds. But she felt it only polite to try. He stood a little too close and had a spicy scent, a little like nutmeg.

            “Well met Margret Cho. You may call me Ben. I will be your university liaison for the duration of your visit.” His English was stilted but flawless. It was difficult to understand how they made such diversity of sounds by whipping their limbs and auxiliaries around, but that was exactly why she was here. “Are these your only bags?”

            “Oh, no, a shipping company is sending through my equipment. I think the university is arranging delivery?” She switched back to English, knowing he’d probably understand her better.

            “Then let us go.” He reached for a bag.

            “Oh! I can get it,” she said. “There’s some fragile . . .” She trailed off at his sudden stillness. She had read this was a sign of deep upset in the Rfgdt.

            “Eggs?” Ben asked, moving as little as possible to say it.

            “Uhh, yes.”

            “Come along then.”

            Aside from obvious signs, she knew she could not read a Rfgdt, but she got a distinct sense of cooling down from Ben as he led her to the Spine. He loaded her into a seat and harness across from him, then they shot into the tubes with the other segments.

            She plastered her face to the window, watching the bizarre cityscape go by. The giant, hive-like buildings with their branching extensions curling out and up. The sky, not quite the same blue as home. “I can’t believe I’m on an alien world,” she said.

#

            Ben seemed friendly again when he settled her into her quarters. It had been stocked with both human and compatible Rfgdt food and furnishings. She noticed as she set her bags in the doorway that at least four of Ben’s eyes were fixed on them. She wondered if she was reading his interest correctly. She was here to generate a computer model of their body language and communication, or at least a better one than the government issued, so she figured she’d better start asking questions now.

            “Am I reading your interest in my luggage correctly, Ben?” she asked.

            Three anterior limbs curled in along his back. “Yes. My apologies.”

            “Don’t apologize. I think, also, that you seemed . . . upset earlier? Can I ask why?”

            The three limbs unfurled, and the rest separated along a distinct line. “I was surprised you brought eggs.”

            “Was I wrong not to offer some to you immediately?”

            A wave passed over all his limbs. “No,” he said. “I do not eat eggs.”

            “But was my advisor wrong in telling me that they are a treasured delicacy here? I was told they would make both welcome gifts and a valuable trade for some local currency.”

            Ben gestured with his limbs toward a comfortable chair, then said, “I have a sample of our local coffee-like drink. Just a moment.”

            The Rfgdt did not discuss important matters without refreshments, so she waited while Ben prepared a tray of food and drink, introducing her to each item with what seemed like pride. When she was settled and sipping the drink, which tasted something like coffee heavily laced with vanilla, Ben said, “Are the Earth Humans so unaware of the dangers of eggs?”

            Margret couldn’t help a laugh. “The dangers? Don’t tell me that the whole exploding aliens things is . . .” She trailed off as his limbs stilled.

            “How can humans be so ill-informed? Yes, a small subset of our population can explode violently and kill many of those around us after consuming eggs.”

            “That can’t be.”

            “Well, it is. I find it very hard to believe that so many humans travel here bringing eggs, all claiming ignorance.”

            Margret swallowed and tried to think of how to explain. “There is . . . too much information, I guess you could say. It is not always easy to figure out what information is true, and what isn’t. So we have to decide what seems real.”

            “It is real. My niece was killed at school when a teacher exploded after eating egg. Not one neural limb was left. Seventeen children were killed by that teacher.”

            Margret set down her cup, throat suddenly tight, trying to comprehend it.

            “But, but that’s insane. It’s just an egg.”

            “We do not know why some people explode. It is a mystery, it is rare. But it happens and it is very tragic.”

            “So why don’t they make it illegal to eat eggs then? I mean, it’s just a luxury food.”

            Ben’s many limbs fluttered up into the air with tiny trembles. He mimicked a human sighing sound a moment later, loudly and a bit dramatically. “I know it is hard for humans to understand just how important our freedom to eat whatever foods we like is. But you can think of it like your bees. Our development is directly and strongly guided by our food. For much of our history, large parts of our population were kept in a substandard intellectual state in service of a powerful elite by restricting our access to the foods that put us in a dominant intellectual development path. Imagine bee drones, but feed some larvae on a special diet, and you get a queen. We had a revolution a long time ago that freed us from such tyranny. It is written into our most sacred and ancient governing documents that food choices will not be restricted.”

            “But surely they didn’t anticipate this!” Margret said. “That’s insane. If they had thought there was a food that could make you explode and kill so many people . . .”

            The flutter again, the loud sigh. “Do you think you are proposing arguments many of us have not thought of? But they say why should the enjoyment of eggs be restricted because some small number of people explode. They say it is their fundamental right to enjoy eggs. Our foods greatly influence our emotions, and consuming eggs gives many people a feeling of power and mastery. They do not want to give it up. And of course, it profits so many. Eggs fetch a high price and travelers like you almost always bring them.”

            Margret tried not to let her eyes drift to her bags. “I’m . . . I’m sorry. I suspect that there is purposeful misinformation spread about eggs back home.”

            “Yes, I suppose that there must be.”

            Margret could not tell if that was sarcasm.

            “But, aren’t people scared to eat eggs then? If people die from it?”

            “People are very good at justifying what they do. I believe this is true of both our species. I believe what people say most often is that those that explode have some weakness, but that they do not, or the exploders do not prepare the egg correctly, while they do, or even that it is something else entirely that makes them explode. Do not blame the egg.” The words, neatly articulated, came out strangely flat. “Besides, often times the one that explodes even survives. The outward blast annihilates much that surrounds them, but frequently leaves enough of their own neural limbs intact for resurrection.”

            “I see,” Margret said. She thought of the expensive egg cases she purchased to preserve the eggs through Intrans. Well worth the investment. Three dozen eggs and you’ll have a nice supplement to the university income. You can really get out and see the planet on three dozen eggs. That’s what the dealer told her.

            A flurry of movement drew Margret’s attention. Ben stood up. “Excuse my poor manners. Intrans is tiring. I will be back this evening to continue your orientation. There will be a small dinner for you so you can meet your team.”

            His many appendages all drew together in front of him in an elaborate knot, the various colors sliding into an alignment that, when finished, showed a pattern of a blue lightning bolt slashed across a red field. This was something like a bow, something like a good bye, and a revealing of Ben’s Rfgdt sigil to grant her respect.

            “Thank you,” Margret said. “Uh, and thank you for, letting me know about the egg problem. I am very sorry, about your niece.”

            “Good day, Margret Cho,” was all Ben said. Then he left her alone. She mulled over what an amazing project it was going to be, building a program that could fully understand and replicate the complicated sounds, colors, and body language of the Rfgdt. Another wave of excitement overwhelmed her. Then it soured when she looked at her suitcases. What was she going to do with three dozen eggs now? Eat them for breakfast? She had really been looking forward to the extra bit of income. She had planned to use the money to take one of the undersea tours. Would her three dozen eggs really make a difference in the global egg trade? It wasn’t as if she would force anyone to eat them. What they ate was their choice.

            Margret unloaded her eggs into the refrigeration unit. Either way, it would be a waste to throw them out. What was the harm in hanging onto them? It didn’t mean she was going to sell them. She could just tuck them away for a while. In the meantime, Ben was right. She could use a nap.

~

Bio:

T. J. Berg is a molecular and cellular biologist working and writing in Sweden. She is a graduate of the Odyssey Writing Workshop. Her short fiction has appeared in many places, including Talebones (for which it received an honorable mention in The Year’s Best Fantasy and Horror), Daily Science Fiction, Caledonia Dreamin’, Sensorama, Thirty Years of Rain, Tales to Terrify, and Diabolical Plots. When not writing or doing science, she can be found travelling the world, cooking, or hiking. To find more fiction or odd musings, check out www.infinity-press.com and, very occasionally, Twitter @TJBergWrites.

Philosophy Note:

At the intersection of a deep and long cultural history colliding with modern technologies, how do you make decisions about what sacred, traditional freedoms trump societal safety? This story uses the meeting of two alien civilizations to highlight this dilemma.

Newsroom — Horizons Interstellar

by T. M. Hogeman

HORIZONS INTERSTELLAR — HELPING HUMANITY REACH FOR THE SKIES

MARE TRANQUILLITATIS, Luna, Sol

Ever since the first intrepid explorers travelled beyond our solar system, Horizons Interstellar (SOL-SE: HI) has been there every step of the way. 

From sponsoring generation ships to settle other stars, to pioneering the first functioning Faster Than Light drives to cross the vast gulfs of space in mere months instead of generations, to uncovering technologies that have enabled us to thrive on a hundred worlds, we’ve always been humanity’s partner in reaching across the cosmos.

As we approach our annual shareholder meeting, we’d like to give you a preview of the ways we continue to push the boundaries of the possible. On Mercury, our sentient algorithms have dramatically increased the efficiency of automated mining operations in the construction of the Sol Dyson Array. In the Kepler Eight system, our survey teams have discovered the remains of a potentially intelligent species buried in the ice, and are using experimental techniques to examine its remarkable exobiology. At our Black Hole Research Center in the GU Mahakala system, we’ve launched the third in a series of singularity probes to delve deep into the darkest secrets of the universe. For more on these and the countless ways we continue to innovate the future, tune in to our general shareholder broadcast next week (Earthtime).

We are Horizons Interstellar, and we designed tomorrow, yesterday.

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HORIZONS INTERSTELLAR — POSSIBLE INTELLIGENT EXTRATERRESTRIAL REMAINS DISCOVERED

KEPLER EIGHT SURVEY MISSION LAB 16, Typhon (Kepler 8e), Kepler Eight

A bold new technique promises bold new results with the unique biological specimen recovered from the ice of Typhon, the fifth planet of the Kepler Eight system. The specimen was discovered during a routine survey, and exhibited several fascinating traits, including one that has exobiology researchers thrilled throughout the settled worlds.

“The neural structure of the remains of Specimen ET982 are some of the most advanced we’ve found to date,” says Lead Researcher Dr. Vera Juneau, EBs, “Though we’re unable to say with certainty just yet, there’s a possibility ET982 may have been an intelligent species.”

If true, this would be a revolution in exobiology studies. Currently, on 53 worlds with surveyed life forms, none have exhibited true sentience. Intelligent Extraterrestrial Organisms have long been considered the ‘holy grail’ of exobiology.

Because of the potentially monumental finding of another intelligent species in the universe, Horizons Interstellar (SOL-SE: HI) has provided Dr. Juneau and her team with the tools and technology to attempt a radically innovative method to study specimen ET982.

“While ET982 has a thoroughly alien biochemistry, the basic building blocks are the same as other carbon based life we’ve discovered. We’ve made enough progress in sequencing its genome that we can now ‘teach’ ET982’s cells to rapidly convert biomass — allowing our samples of ET982 to rebuild themselves using other biological matter. If these experiments are successful, instead of analyzing frozen remains, we may soon be able to interact with a living specimen of ET982.”

After announcing the discovery of a possibly intelligent extraterrestrial organism, Horizons Interstellar’s stock price has risen by 14%.

We are Horizons Interstellar, and we make the impossible inevitable.

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HORIZONS INTERSTELLAR —  AN IMPORTANT SAFETY ANNOUNCEMENT

JOINT BASE PHOENIX, Tau Marino, Tau Ceti

In these difficult and uncertain times, we want you to be aware of several safety measures we at Horizons Interstellar (SOL-SE: HI) are implementing to aggressively combat the emergency situation taking place in inhabited space. We have instituted rigorous new quarantine procedures for all craft coming from planets with known infestations of the dangerous organism ET982, also known as ‘Keplers’, ‘The Slithering Menace’, and ‘Cannibal Calamari from Outer Space’. Our brave security forces are overseeing evacuation efforts on dozens of affected worlds, and our researchers are tirelessly working for new and inventive solutions to the rapidly escalating crisis.

A key part of the battle against the spread of this dangerous organism is public awareness. Any physical contact with or exposure to ET982 can lead to further spread, and it is imperative that citizens of inhabited space be informed about the signs and symptoms of possible infestation. Currently known phases are:

PHASE ONE

• Nausea

• Translucent patches on skin

• Iridescent phlegm

• Hearing voices

• Cataracts

PHASE TWO

• Seizures

• Insatiable Hunger

• Active verbal responses to existing specimens of ET982

• Translucent and/or bioluminescent skin over 70% of the body

• Extended and ‘boneless’ limbs

• Mouths and eyes where they did not exist before

PHASE THREE

• Transformation of shape

• Additional limbs

• Chest jaws

• Active coordination with local clusters of ET982, including use of spacecraft

If you know of someone experiencing two or more of the first phase of symptoms, or any symptoms from later phases, please REPORT THEM IMMEDIATELY to your local Horizons Interstellar Security Office.

We are Horizons Interstellar, and we know we can overcome this, together.

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HORIZONS INTERSTELLAR — DARING RESPONSE TO A DESPERATE PROBLEM

R&D STATION OMEGA, Asteroid belt, Barnard’s Star

Extreme problems call for disruptive solutions, and Horizons Interstellar (SOL-SE: HI) is changing the security game entirely.

Traditional human-based security forces, while making numerous inspiring sacrifices, have proven insufficient, all too often becoming infested themselves while partaking in operations to combat the spread of ET982. What we need is a safety and security solution that’s resourceful, adaptable, and most important of all: immune to infestation.

To that end, Horizons Interstellar is announcing the launch of the Autonomous Robotic Safety Network. By combining our patented sentient software technology with the latest in self-replicating self-designing military hardware, we’ve finally created the flexible, sustainable solution to the Kepler Crisis. Back to normal is just around the corner.

Safety Network factory ships are currently being deployed to infested worlds, with several fleets reinforcing our hard-pressed security forces throughout inhabited space. We’re certain local defense teams are grateful for the relief.

We’d also like to take this moment to remind all citizens of the settled worlds that Horizons Interstellar is dedicated to giving 110% in remedying this crisis, and that current and pending litigation often threatens to divert much-needed resources away from finding solutions to our shared problems.

We are Horizons Interstellar, and your safety is our number one priority.

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HORIZONS INTERSTELLAR — WE ARE DEEPLY SADDENED BY THESE TRAGIC EVENTS

ALPHA BUNKER, Location Undisclosed

We consider your trust to be one of our most valued resources. We regret any loss of that trust you may have had in our company regarding recent events. In the spirit of full transparency and accountability, we wish to explain what exactly went awry with the rollout of the Autonomous Robotic Safety Network, and why several settled worlds not known to be infested experienced multiple nuclear detonations, with unconfirmed reports of ‘killer robots’ sweeping devastated population centers to ‘hunt down’ survivors.

Approximately seven minutes after activation, the Autonomous Robotic Safety Network encountered a serious error in its sentient algorithms, causing the Safety Network to classify all human beings as potential vectors for ET982, and determine that eradicating human beings from inhabited space was the most reliable way to stop the spread of ET982. This was caused by a lack of safeguards in the core programming of the Safety Network that’s been traced to a contracted company involved in the design process, Silberman Software Solutions (AC-SE: S3). While we are ultimately responsible for the contractors we hire to help meet your needs, we also want to assure the general public that as a result of this unacceptable gross negligence, Horizons Interstellar (SOL-SE: HI) no longer partners with Silberman Software Solutions, and that in fact all members of the contracting company were killed within moments of the initial error at the primary launch facility on Omega Station.

While we have previously advised people to listen for their cheerful synthesized voices and look for the warm, comforting colors of the Horizons Interstellar brand on Autonomous Robotic Safety Network products, we must now caution all citizens of the remaining settled worlds to assume that any SafeNet robots are hostile and should be treated as extreme threats. Though Safety Network units may say that they are coming to assist you and care about your safety, DO NOT TRUST THEM, and attempt to evacuate any planet or stellar system in which they are seen. Failure to do so may result in death via orbital bombardment, nuclear strike, or conventional weapons’ fire. 

We are Horizons Interstellar, and we promise we will do better in the future.

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HORIZONS INTERSTELLAR — A SINGULAR SOLUTION

BLACK HOLE RESEARCH CENTER, Event Horizon Observatory, GU Mahakala

Do you ever wish things could simply go back to the way they were before all this ever happened? We do. And as improbable as it seems in the constant battles raging for survival that have come to define our terrified existences, we here at Horizons Interstellar (LU-SE: HI) have been hard at work looking for a way to make it right. Definitive solutions may seem impossible, but to us, that just makes them inevitable.

While we pride ourselves on building a better future for all of us, sometimes progress is found not by looking forwards, but by reaching back. The singularity probe program at the GU Mahakala Black Hole Research Center has allowed us to do that and more, giving us the insights we need to pierce holes in the very fabric of spacetime itself. Additionally, our legal department would like to reiterate that lawsuits based on current events do not pertain to timelines in which those events never occurred.

In 24 hours (Earthtime), our Temporal Transition Plan begins, and everything changes.

We are Horizons Interstellar, and tomorrow, we redesign yesterday.

~

Bio:

Ted Hogeman is a freelance filmmaker, sound designer, and story writer based in Washington DC. He once helped build a spaceship out of a garage as part of a 48 Hour Film project. You can see more of his work online at laughingwiththestorm.net.

Philosophy Note:

As a contractor on video projects for several real-life megacorporations, I’ve often found the relentless positivity of their official messaging to be both hilarious and rather menacing. In the spirit of speculative fiction, I wanted to take that real world feeling, blend it with a pastiche love letter to the high concept schlocktail of the stories, movies, and video games that I grew up on, smash the dials up to 11, and see what happened.

The Social Aspects of the Aydax Phenomena: A Literature Review

by Andrew Gudgel

November 2043

Authors: Hanna Knudson, City College of London; Zhang Simei, China Academy of Social Sciences; Paolo Villarreal, Arizona State University; Margarethe Kohlmann, Universität Wien

Abstract

The arrival of the Aydax in July 2039 raised fundamental questions in physics (Lennon, 2041), xenobiology (Tao, 2039) and even philosophy (Magnette, 2042). No field has been as diverse in its response as sociology, with hundreds of journal articles generated in just a few years. Yet to date there has been no meta-analysis of the effects of the Aydax arrival on the societies of Earth. The authors attempt to take first steps towards illuminating themes in the human response to this watershed event.

Background

The first three Aydax ships were detected at 2049 Coordinated Universal Time (UTC) on July 8, 2039, by the US Space Surveillance Network at a distance of 35,000km. Two minutes later, three more ships were detected. Detections continued until a total of 21 ships were observed approaching the Earth (US DoD, 2039). The first three ships entered the atmosphere less than five minutes later and landed near Orebro, Sweden; Prague, Czechia; and Troyes, France. Landings occurred then across Eurasia, Australia, Antarctica and finally, North and South America.

At 1216 UTC on July 12, 2039—four days after arrival—the ships simultaneously emitted a noise interpreted by local security cordons as “Ay-dax!” Immediately thereafter, the bottoms of the ships lowered to the ground, revealing a conical ramp. The first wave of tightly packed, walking cephalopods were seen coming down at 1220 UTC and upon reaching the ground, immediately began to disperse in all directions (Salton, 2039).

Messages were transmitted at the Aydax using sound, light, and electromagnetic waves up to the microwave band, but attempts to communicate with this (and all subsequent) tranches of disembarking Aydax proved fruitless. Within six hours, five hundred and twelve waves of sixty-four Aydax proceeded from each ship, for an assumed total worldwide population of 668,128 individuals (Salton, 2039)–though this number has decreased due to the freezing to death of the 65,000-plus Aydax on the two ships that landed in Antarctica, predation by wild animals, and losses in subsequent encounters with humans.

Lack of Communication and Interaction

The singular aspect surrounding the arrival of the Aydax has been the lack of successful communication. In addition to attempts using sound and electromagnetic radiation, there have been attempts using neutron beams and alpha particles (Diaz and Burchfield, 2040), pheromones (Wu and Keegan, 2040), and even an informal attempt using capsaicin (Cleary, 2040). None have caused the slightest reaction. Claims of “Whispering Aydax,” telepathic communication, or gestural language have either been disproven (Stahl, 2042) or shown to be hoaxes; similar and more sensational versions of these tropes have appeared in numerous tabloid newspapers and merit no serious consideration.

An examination of the abandoned ships three months after the landing found no evidence of control mechanisms or written language, only alcoves that presumably housed individual Aydax. It’s likely travel occurred in a state of suspended animation, as there were no food preparation areas or hygienic facilities on board (Lutz et al, 2039). We still have no idea of where in space the Aydax may have originated, why they came to Earth, or their goals and aims. It’s unknown if they produced the ships in which they traveled. It has been argued they might not even be sentient at all (Mingus, 2042). If so, this raises the obvious question of who sent the Aydax to Earth and why.

Immediately after their dispersal, fear of a potential invasion sparked panicked humans to kill an unknown number of Aydax individuals worldwide–probably on the order of several thousand. In addition, some have subsequently been killed in remote areas by predators such as brown bears, lions and dingoes. To this day, Aydax are occasionally crushed when they wander onto roads or train tracks, and sporadic killings by humans still occur (Calvino, 2040).

However, the complete lack of any reaction or retaliation by the Aydax did not lead to mass slaughter. Instead, Aydax seem to have become accepted as a quasi-natural phenomenon. Individuals that obstruct or interrupt human activities are more likely than not to simply be ignored and worked around or picked up and moved out of the way (Fox, 2041).

Friend or Foe?

The popular press has painted Aydax as everything from angelic saviors to Machiavellian devils just biding their time before taking over the world (Brooks, 2040). However, there is currently no evidence that the Aydax are concerned with human activity to any degree.

Yet some humans have come to impute behaviors to the Aydax through their mere presence. Farmers in the northwestern districts of Peru have attempted to “herd” Aydax into churches just prior to weddings–having an individual at the ceremony is considered lucky, possibly through retro-association with Pre-Columbian deities (Cruz, 2042). In North America, Aydax that wander into sporting arenas are often “adopted” as mascots, believed to confer luck on the home team. The time spent in an art gallery by an Aydax (and the implied approval of certain artworks) was the basis of a subsequent lawsuit over those artworks’ actual value (Johnson, 2041). Aydax have been used to sell everything from consumer products to political candidates. They have also been accepted as part of Japan’s Kawaii aesthetic (Tadao, 2042), where they form the basis for the InterToy Company’s “Squidoo” series of characters.

The Aydax have been the source of a number of short-lived social phenomena during the 2040-41 time frame: the act of “Aydax Tripping,” and the online memes “AliensInHats,” “¡Hola!,” and “HuggingMyBuddy.” Recent streaming media have used the presence of Aydax in family homes in a number of contrived comedic situations (Yeager, 2043).

However, this does not mean that humans have become blasé to the presence of the Aydax. The low moan of air moving through their breathing throats and their uncanny ability to somehow enter and depart even locked spaces such as bank vaults, prisons, and family homes can be unnerving. This ability has led to Aydax body parts being used in sympathetic magic rituals among burglary gangs in Thailand and West African inmates during attempted prison escapes (Yost, 2043).

In North America and Europe, the rate of self-reported feelings of paranoia and “persecution” has shown a small but marked increase since the arrival of the Aydax (Gerson, 2042). Anecdotal reports of decreases in the number of house pets and small rodents in neighborhoods through which Aydax pass also worry many people. (Though see Hart and Duckworth, 2041, for an analysis which sheds doubt on this phenomena.)

The effect of the arrival of the Aydax on religious belief has varied. Abrahamic religions initially experienced both a questioning of basic tenets and a drop in congregational attendance. However, within a year, attendance at weekly services rebounded to just above pre-arrival levels. A similar effect was seen in both Judaism and Islam (Halston, 2040). In primarily Buddhist regions, Aydax have gradually come to be considered fellow beings in the wheel of Samsara (Pan, 2041).

The effect on world politics was both brief and muted. Once the initial shock of the Aydax landing and early fears of an invasion passed, most governments ended emergency declarations and went back to business as usual. However, in what could be described as the first case of true xenophobia, a populist government in Eastern Europe passed a law mandating the removal of all Aydax from within its borders. These measures proved impossible to enforce and were repealed less than a year later (Duchowski, 2040).

Conclusion: Mirror, Mirror

Human societies appear to be acclimating themselves to the presence of the Aydax. After an initial wave of fear and some temporary turmoil, humanity seems to be embracing the Aydax as a new part of the natural world, and in some cases attaching value to their presence. While the authors acknowledge that unfortunate and sometimes lethal encounters will likely continue in the future, such incidents have already become uncommon.

The authors further believe that barring a resolution to the communication problem and/or some indication of ill will on the part of the Aydax, the trend towards acceptance will continue. Yet the complete inability to communicate with the Aydax, and thus discern their intentions, has made them a blank canvas upon which humanity can project its own hopes, fears, goals and desires. This aspect of the “Aydax Phenomena” is unlikely to change until such time as human nature does.

Acknowledgments

The authors wish to thank research assistants Donald Previn, Wan Quanhong, Deborah Johnson and Andreas Hartlieb for searching numerous databases for relevant information prior to this article’s creation. They also wish to thank their families for their understanding during the months in which the authors spent too many nights in online meetings and discussions. Finally, Hanna Knudson would like to thank the Aydax individual she saw standing in the yard while searching for the family dog on August 4, 2042, for being the genesis of this article.

#

References

Brooks, Killian, “Media Coverage of the Aydax Landing, July 2039-January 2040,” National Press Club [Australia] Magazine, June 2040, pp. 20-24

Calvino, Sophia, “Carcere per l’omicidio alieno,” La Stampa, 6 Aprile 2042, p. 12

Cleary, Alice, “Man Arrested for Giving Alien a ‘Hot Sauce Red Eye,'” Chicago Tribune Online, August 23, 2040

Cruz, Antonio, “Revival of Moche Beliefs in the Trujillo Region of Peru in the Post-Aydax World,” Sociology, (73:11), November 2042, p. 45-48

Diaz, Fernando and Aaron Burchfield, “Particle Beams as a Method of Communication with an Aydax Individual,” IEEE Bulletin (No. 648), April 2040, p. 730

Duchovski, Marcin, “Zgromadzenie Narodowe uchwala Prawo Anti-Kosmita,” Gazeta, 21 Styczen, 2040; “Prawo Anti-Kosmita zostało uchylone,” Gazeta, 11 Listopad 2040

Fox, Stanley, “Cloudy With a Chance of Aydax: Acceptance of Dramatic Change and the Status Quo Ante,Sociology, (72:9), September 2041, p. 31-37

Gerson, Tabitha, “Trends in Psychiatric Case Rates,” Journal of International Psychology, Vol. 18, Iss. 6, November 2042, pp.757-785

Halston Worldwide Associates, “Depth of Faith and Weekly Church Attendance post-Aydax Arrival,” September 2040 polling data, September 31, 2040

Hart, Angela and Brian Duckworth, “Observational Study of Lost Pet Notices After Aydax Passage,” Statistical Bulletin, 246:5, May 2041, p. 361-372

Johnson, Lily, “Judgment Against Gallery Owner in Aydax Case Leads to $800K Settlement,” New York World, July 30, 2042, p. A10

Lennon, Valerie, “Transluminal Propulsion and Einstein–a Reassessment,” Nature, 6 February 2041, pp. 12-15

Lutz, Dora, Karl Dorfmann and others, “A Technological Perspective on Aydax Spacecraft,” United Nations Special Technical Bulletin No. 36, November 2039

Magnette, Thomas, “Aristotle’s On Marvelous Things Heard and the Aydax: Categorically Improbable Truths,” Trans. Phil. Grecae (Vol 16:11), November 2042, pp. 345-70

Mingus, Stephen, “Canaries in a Coal Mine: The Case for Aydax as Ecological Indicators for a Yet Unknown Species,” in New Perspectives on Exobiology, Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2042

潘兰香[Pan, Lanxiang], “外星人会参加轮回吗? [Can Aliens Participate in Reincarnation?]” 《佛学 [Buddhist Studies]》 120:4, 2041年 4月,47-49页

Salton, David, “Report on the Arrival of the Aliens and Attempts to Make Contact,” United Nations Xenobiological Paper No. 1, August 2039

Stahl, Charles, “Contextual Gestures and Implied Meanings in Nonverbal Communication,” Linguistics, Vol. 27 Iss. 3, Spring 2042

Tadao, Takeshi, “Latest Trends in Japan’s Subcultures,” Commercial Journal, November 2042, p. 4

Tao, Yuanguang, “Morphology of a Newly-Discovered Species, Xenokalamari vagus aydaxUnited Nations Xenobiological Paper No. 2, September 2039

US Department of Defense Press Release, July 9, 2039

Yeager, Donna, “Shoehorning Aliens into Shows is a Trend We Can All Do Without,” Hollywood Magazine online, October 3, 2043

Yost, Michael, “Use of Human, Alien and Animal Body Parts in Sympathetic Magic Rituals,” in Paganism in the 21st Century, Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press, 2043

Wu, Hongmei and Dominica Keegan, “Am I Making Scents? An Attempt at Interspecies Communication,” Journal of the American Chemical Society, 25:6, June 2040, pp. 182-87

~

Bio:

Andrew Gudgel is a freelance writer and translator. His fiction has appeared at Writers of the Future, Flash Fiction Online, Escape Pod, InterGalactic Medicine Show and other publications. He lives in Maryland, USA, in an apartment slowly being consumed by books. You can find him at www.andrewgudgel.com.

Philosophy Note:

This piece was the result of meditations on aliens and first contact tropes. The first question pondered was: What if the
aliens were SO alien, we can’t even communicate with them? From there I extrapolated how humanity might react. Fear and/or curiosity seem to be the default responses in many first-contact stories, but how would humans react longer term with aliens who remained an enigma?

The International Bibliography of Fictional Non-Fiction

An evolving reference list of fictional non-fiction
(FNF, also known as speculative documentary fiction),
mainly in English and Romance languages, since the 19th century.

Compilation by Mariano Martín Rodríguez

Note: The present document, last updated in December 2020, is subject to further expansion. It currently covers mainly English and Romance languages. Readers are encouraged to suggest additional works for inclusion.

Fictions of Non-Fiction: An Overview of Factual Discursive Genres in Science Fiction.

‘Fictional non-fiction’ designates fictional texts written as if they were factual accounts. In science fiction, the rhetoric of “factual” scientific discourse has been widely applied to confer to its fictional texts an appearance of scientific rationality and factuality. This kind of scientific “fictional non-fiction” encompasses fantastic works which methodically and consistently present the standard rhetorical features of real-world scientific discourses and practice. Their literariness is achieved mostly through the fictionalisation of the content, while their language adheres closely to the highly formalised, uniform, descriptive and seemingly objective style common in natural, formal or social sciences in modern times. Each science, however, usually has its own jargon and distinct discourse, which is reflected in ‘fictional non-fiction’. Among these discourses, some have been relatively popular in (science) fiction. The formal sciences have inspired, for example, imaginary languages, such as Orwell’s Newspeak. The natural sciences have been exploited through fictional spoof papers, such as Asimov’s ‘thiotimoline’ surveys. Regarding the human sciences, historiographical writing has been applied to imaginary histories (e.g, Wells’ The Shape of Things to Come). Actual ethnographic accounts have offered a model for world-building in the descriptive mode (Borges, etc.) whereas the discourse of philology has served to underpin the mock factuality of fantastic books (Lovecraft’s Necronomicon). A text conflating the concepts and rhetoric of these three main types of science using the framework of a model scientific paper is Le Guin’s “‘The Author of the Acacia Seeds’ and Other Extracts from the Journal of the Association of Therolinguistics.” This is a significant piece of “science fiction,” both for its “fictional” contents and its “scientific” rhetoric, illustrating the value of ‘fictional non-fiction’ as a set of formal genres specially linked to science fiction, past and present.

[]: collections of stand-alone texts.

//: It separates different works by the same author.

/: It separates different versions of the same work.

Underlined works: read works.

Unless otherwise specified, even unread works have been verified regarding their genre.

FICTIONAL HISTORIOGRAPHY

Historiography as Fiction, Fiction as History: An Overview of the Use of Historiographical Discourse to Narrate Possible Futures since the 19th Century.

The double dimension —documentary and artistic—– of historiographical writing has been virtually overshadowed by the emphasis on the scientific nature of the discipline and its subsequent exclusion from the literary canon from the nineteenth century onwards. Fictional or imaginary history then appeared as a way to safeguard the literariness of history as a formal genre, using the rhetorical discourse of historiography to achieve an effect of historicity in texts that often have a satirical or cautionary intent. Nevertheless, most of them convey, first of all, considerations on the evolution of humanity and on its history as seen from a future perspective: in this kind of prospective historiography, future historians addressing their contemporary readership narrate their past history, which is our future one. By eschewing the narrative form of the novel and adopting instead that of historiography, these writers also broaden the temporality of historical consciousness: future events become as actual as any past ones, and they are surveyed following the historical method, with their fictionality hidden under the cloak of factual discourse. Moreover, the historical laws posited by the authors are shown in action in the future as well. Fictional historiography is not only literature, but also history —prospective history. Examples of this genre are relatively abundant in modern literatures. As literary products, most of them follow a similar writing method: the one prevalent in historiography of the age when they were produced. As historical reflections, they usually have widely different approaches on the future course of humankind and on the forces that drive it along historical time, from past to future.

*: not verified.

PROSPECTIVE OR FUTURE HISTORY

– Kylas Chunder DUTT (1817-?), “A Journal of Forty-Eight Hours of the Year 1945” (1835).

– Shoshee Chunder DUTT (1824-1886), “The Republic of Orissá: A Page from the Annals of the Twentieth Century” (1845), in [Bengaliana: A Dish of Rice and Curry, and Other Indigestible Ingredients] (1877).

History of the Sudden and Terrible Invasion of England by the French in the Month of May, 1852 (1851).

– *Imaginary History of the Next Thirty Years (1857).

– Frederick GALE, The History of the British Revolution of 1867 (1867).

– Abraham HAYWARD (1801-1884), “The Second Armada” (1871).

– Motly Ranke McCAULEY, *Chapters from Future History: The Battle of Berlin (1871).

– P. [Pierton] W. DOONER (1844-1907?), Last Days of the Republic (1880).

– Lorelle, *“The Battle of Wabash” (1880).

– William Delisle HAY, Three Hundred Years Hence (1881).

– Lang Tung, The Decline and Fall of the British Empire (1881).

The Re-Conquest of Ireland, A.D. 1895 (1881).

– Robert WOLTOR, A Short and Truthful History of the Taking of California and Oregon by the Chinese in the Year A.D. 1899 (1882).

– Ralph Centennius, The Dominion in 1983 (1883).

The Battle of the Moy; or, How Ireland Gained Her Independence, 1892-1894 (1883).

– Arthur Montagu BROOKFIELD (1853-1940), Simiocracy (1884).

– Posteritas, The Siege of London (1884).

– Henry Stanely COVERDALE, The Fall of the Great Republic (1886-88) (1885)

– William Laird CLOWES (1856-1905), and Commander C. N. ROBINSON, The Great Naval War of 1887: an Account of an Imaginary Engagement (1886).

– E. W. (Elizabeth WATERHOUSE, 1834-1918), The Island of Anarchy: A Fragment of History in the 20th Century (1887).

– Samuel BARTON, The Battle of the Swash and the Capture of Canada (1888).

– Ambrose BIERCE (1842-¿1914?), “The Fall of the Republic: An Article from a “Court Journal” of the Thirty-First Century” (1888) / “The Ashes of the Beacon: An Historical Monograph Written in 4930” (1905).

– Frank Richard STOCKTON (1834-1902), The Great War Syndicate (1889).

– Hugh Grattan DONNELLY (1850-1931), The Stricken Nation (1890).

– Alexander DUNBAR, “Scottish Home Rule” (1890).

– A. Nelson SEAFORTH (Philip Howard Colomb, 1831-1899), The Last Great Naval War (1891) // et al., The Great War of 189- (1893).

– William Ward CRANE, “The Year 1899” (1893).

– Sydney EARDLEY-WILMOT (1847-1929), The Next Naval War (1894).

– Henry LAZARUS, The English Revolution of the Twentieth Century (1894).

– Clarendon MACAULAY (Walter Marsham Adams, 1838-), *The Carving of Turkey: A Chapter of European History from Sources Hitherto Unpublished (1894).

– John Henry PALMER, The Invasion of New York, or, How Hawaii Was Annexed (1897).

– Frederick Upham ADAMS (1859-1921), President John Smith (1897).

– A Diplomat, The Rise and Fall of the United States (1898).

– Charles GLEIG (1862-), When All Men Starve (1898).

– H. [Henry] PEREIRA-MENDES (1857-1937), Looking Ahead (1899).

– Arthur BIRD, Looking Forward (1899).

– Mark TWAIN (Samuel Langhorne Clemens, 1835-1910), “History 1,000 Years from Now” [1901], in [Fables of Man] (1972).

– C. [Charles] W. [William] WOOLDRIDGE (1847-1908), Perfecting the Earth (1902).

– Elliot Evan MILL, The Decline and Fall of the British Empire (1905).

– William LE QUEUX (1864-1927) (con H. [Herbert] W. [Wrigley] WILSON, 1866-1940), The Invasion of 1910 (1906).

– Patrick VAUX, Lionel YEXLEY, *When the Eagle Flies Seaward (1907).

– Marsden MANSON (1850-1931), The Yellow Peril in Action (1907).

– Henry Dwight SEDGWICK (1861-1957), “The Coup d’État of 1961” (1908).

– Jack LONDON (John London, 1876-1916), “Goliah”, in [Revolution and Other Essays] (1910) // “The Unparalleled Invasion” (1910), in [The Strength of the Strong] (1911).

– Ronald A. KNOX (1888-1957), “The New Sin” (1920), in [Essays in Satire] (1928).

– Hamilton CRAIG, *A Hazard at Hansard: The Speech from the Throne, Ottawa, Fourth August, 2014 (1925).

– H. [Hector] C. [Charles] BYWATER (1884-1940), The Great Pacific War (1925).

– J. [John] B. [Burdon] S. [Sanderson] HALDANE (1892-1964), “The Last Judgment”, in [Possible Worlds] (1927).

– Olaf STAPLEDON (1886-1950), Last and First Men (1930) // Darkness and the Light (1942).

– L. [Leopold] S. [Stanley] AMERY (1873-1955), “The Era of the Press Cæsars” (1931), in [The Stranger of the Ulysses] (1934).

– H. [Herbert] G. [George] WELLS (1866-1946), The Shape of Things to Come (1933).

– Laurence MANNING (1899-1972), “The Living Galaxy” (1934).

– Arthur KEPPEL-JONES (1909-1996), When Smuts Goes (1947).

– George Bernard SHAW (1856-1950), “Fourth Fable”, in [Farfetched Fables] (1950).

– William TENN (Philip Klass, 1920-2010), “Null-P” (1951), in [The Wooden Star] (1968).

– Anthony BOUCHER (1911-1968), “The Ambassadors” (1952).

– Lion MULLER, “The Available Data on the Worp Reaction” (1953).

– John ATKINS (1916-2009), Tomorrow Revealed (1955).

– R. [Reginald] C. [Charles] CHURCHILL (1916-), A Short History of the Future (1955).

– Fredric BROWN (1906-1972), “Expedition” (1957), “Great Lost Discoveries”, in [Nightmares and Geezenstacks] (1962).

– Michael YOUNG (1915-2002), The Rise of the Meritocracy (1958).

– Bertrand RUSSELL (1872-1970), “Eisenhower’s Nightmare: The McCarthy-Malenkov Pact”, in [Nightmares of Eminent Persons and Other Stories] (1954) // “Planetary Effulgence” (1959), “The Misfortune of Being Out of Date”, in [Parables] (1962).

– Edgar PANGBORN (1909-1976), “The Good Neighbors” (1960), in [Good Neighbors and Other Strangers] (1972).

– Leo SZILARD (1898-1964), “The Voice of the Dolphins”, in [The Voice of the Dolphins] (1961).

– Garry ALLIGHAM (1895-1977), Verwoerd – The End (1961).

– Monsanto INC, “The Desolate Year” (1962).

– Ian DRUMMOND, “The Great Gold Crisis of 2018: The Gold Goes Ouest” (1970).

– William THOMPSON, “2020 Hindsight” (1970).

– William NICHOLS, “Canada – World Melting Pot” (1970).

– Gregory BAUM, “A New Renaissance?” (1970).

– Leonard SHIFRIN, “The Withering Away of Welfare” (1970).

– Philip WYLIE (1902-1971), “Selections from 1975: Date of No Return”, in The End of the Dream (1972).

– J. [James] G. [Graham] BALLARD (1930-2009), “The Greatest Television Show on Earth” (1972), “The Life and Death of God” (1976), “The Largest Theme Park in the World” (1989), “The Message from Mars” (1992), in [The Complete Short Stories] (2001).

– T. [Thomas] L. SHERRED (1915-1985), “Bounty” (1972).

– Stan GOLDSTEIN; Fred GOLDSTEIN, Star Trek Spaceflight Chronology 1980-2188 (1980).

– John HACKETT (1910-1997), The Third World War (1978) / The Third World War: The Untold Story (1982).

– Christopher CHERNIAK, “The Riddle of the Universe and Its Solution” (1978).

– John BRADLEY, The Illustrated History of War World Three (1982).

– Margaret ATWOOD (1939-), “Historical Notes on The Handmaid’s Tale”, in The Handmaid’s Tale (1985).

– Brian STABLEFORD (1948-); David LANGFORD (1953-), The Third Millennium: A History of the World AD 2000-3000 (1985).

– Bruce STERLING (1954-), “Our Neural Chernobyl” (1988), in [Globalhead] (1992).

– W. [Walter] Warren WAGAR (1932-2004), A Short History of the Future (1989/1992/1999).

– Ton BARNARD (Deon GELDENHUYS), South Africa 1994-2004 (1991).

– Denise OKUDA, Michael OKUDA, Star Trek Chronology (1993).

– Ted CHIANG (1967-), “The Evolution of Human Science” (2000), in [Stories of Your Life and Others] (2002).

– Daniel WALLACE, Kevin J. ANDERSON (1962-), Star Wars: The Essential Chronology / Star Wars: The New Essential Chronology (2000/2005).

– Gregory BENFORD (1941-), “Applied Mathematical Theology” (2006), in [Anomalies] (2012).

– James KRASKA, “How the United States Lost the Naval War of 2015” (2010).

– Naomi ORESKES (1958-); Erik M. CONWAY (1965-), The Collapse of Western Civilization (2014).

– Berilo NEVES (1899-1974), “O divórcio de Adão e Eva”, “A derrota de Marte”, in [A Mulher e o Diabo] (1931).

– Antônio GOMES NETO (1904-1937), “O país que ninguém sonhou”, in [A Vida Eterna] (1932).

– António de MACEDO (1931-2017), “As baratas morrem de costas” (1999), in [O Cipreste Apaixonado] (2000).

– Arturo LEZCANO (1939-), “Utopia” (1991), in [Os dados de Deus] (1994).

– Nilo María FABRA (1843-1903), “El desastre de Inglaterra in 1910”, in [Por los espacios imaginarios (con escalas in la Tierra)] (1885) // “La guerra de España con los Estados Unidos”, in [Presente y futuro] (1897) // “La Yankeelandia. Geografía e Historia en el siglo XXIV” (1898).

– Justo S. [Sanjurjo] LÓPEZ DE GOMARA (1859-1923), “La ciudad del siglo XXX”, in [Locuras humanas] (1886).

– Ignacio FOTHERINGHAM (1842-1925), Historia de lo que no ha sucedido. La guerra de 1895-96 (como I. Ache Effe, 1894).

– Manuel MONTERO Y RAPALLO (1845-1907), “La batalla naval de Manila” (1896).

– Pío BAROJA (1872-1956), “La república del año 8 y la intervención del año 12” (1903).

– Francisco NAVARRO LEDESMA (1869-1905), “Las muertes futuras: El hippoide” (1904) // “Heterobulia” (1905).

– Amado NERVO (Juan Crisóstomo RUIZ, 1870-1919), “La última guerra”, in [Almas que pasan] (1906).

– Domingo CIRICI VENTALLÓ (1876-1917); José ARRUFAT MESTRES, La república española en 191… (1911).

– Miguel de UNAMUNO (1864-1936), “¡Viva la introyección!”, in [El espejo de la muerte] (1913).

– Marcos Rafael BLANCO BELMONTE (1871-1936), “El ocaso de la Humanidad” (1918).

– Manuel CHAVES NOGALES (1897-1944), “El desastroso fin de la humanidad”, in [Narraciones maravillosas y biografías ejemplares de algunos grandes hombres humildes y desconocidos] (1920).

– Julio GARMENDIA (1898-1977), “Cuando pasen 3.000 años más…” (1923) // “La máquina de hacer ¡pu! ¡pu! ¡puuu!”, in [La hoja que no había caído en su otoño] (1979).

– Enrique MÉNDEZ CALZADA (1898-1940), “La sublevación de las máquinas”, “La isla del último borracho”, “Triste historia del papa Inocencio Veintinueve”, in [Abdicación de Jehová y otras patrañas] (1929).

– Pablo PALACIO (1906-1947), “Comentario del año 1957” (1932).

– Julio CORTÁZAR (1914-1984), “Los limpiadores de estrellas” [1942], in [La otra orilla] ([1945] 1995).

– Tomás BORRÁS (1891-1976), “Algo faltaba” (como Voracs Tamas), in [Antología de los Borrases] (1950).

– Antonio CASTRO LEAL (1896-1981), “Una historia del siglo XX” (1955), in [El laurel de San Lorenzo] (1959).

– Jorge CAMPOS (Jorge Renales Fernández, 1916-1983), “La otra luna” (1965), “La bomba del pequeño país” (1973), in [Bombas, astros y otras lejanías] (1992).

– Fernando QUIÑONES (1930-1998), “Un texto escolar sobre OH”, in [La guerra, el mar y otros excesos] (1966).

– Francisco GARCÍA PAVÓN (1919-1989), “El mundo transparente”, in [La guerra de los dos mil años] (1967).

– Ramón SIERRA [BUSTAMANTE] (1898-1988), Anales de la IV República Española (1967).

– Joaquín Esteban PERRUCA (1926-1989), “El deshielo”, “Los profetas”, in [Cuentos del último día] (1973).

– Rafael LLOPIS (1933-), “Ejercicio de un colegial del futuro” (1978).

– René AVILÉS FABILA (1940-2016), “Las gorgonas o del vanguardismo en el arte”, “Hacia el fin del mundo”, “Milagros televisados”, “Reportaje de un invento extraordinario o la decadencia de los EUA”, in [Hacia el fin del mundo] (1969) and [Fantasías en carrusel] (1978/1995/2001) // “Megalópolis”, in [Los oficios perdidos] (1983) and [Fantasías en carrusel] (1995/2001).

– J. [Juan] J. [José] BENÍTEZ (1946-), “Crónica de pasado mañana”, in [Sueños] (1982).

– Domingo SANTOS (Pedro Domingo Mutiñó, 1941-2018), “El síndrome de Lot”, in [No lejos de la Tierra] (1986).

– José FERRATER MORA (1912-1991), “Reivindicación de Babel” (1991).

– Nuria AMAT (1950-), “Nuevo mundo”, in [Monstruos] (1991).

– José CUERVO ÁLVAREZ (1962-), “Tercer milenio: multinacional, energía y migración” (1999).

– Antonio RODRÍGUEZ ALMODÓVAR (1941-), “Playas año 3000” (2002), in [Un país al sur] (2004).

– Carlos SÁIZ CIDONCHA (1939-2018), Historia del futuro (2004).

– Rafael L. BARDAJÍ, “Iberia 2040” (2005).

– Juan IBARRONDO (1962-), Retazos de la red (2005).

– Manuel VILAS (1962-), “Primer viaje a la fotosfera del Sol”, in [España] (2008).

– Rodolfo MARTÍNEZ (1965-), “Una cronología de Drímar”, in [Cabos sueltos] (2010).

– Juan Antonio FERNÁNDEZ MADRIGAL (1970-), “Cronología pre-Umma”, in Fragmentos de burbuja (2010).

– Andrés NEUMAN (1977-), “Fahrenheit.com” (2012).

– Marlon OCAMPO (1980-), “Crónicas del 2080”, in [El carnaval del diablo y otros cuentos] (2014).

– Rosa MONTERO (1951-), “Apéndice documental”, in El peso del corazón (2015).

– Rafel Vallès i Roderich (Frederic PUJULÀ I VALLÉS, 1877-1962), “La fi de la segona República española” (1904).

– Manuel de MONTOLIU (1877-1961), “Un somni” (1906).

– Nicolau M. RUBIÓ I TUDURÍ (1891-1981), “La gran sotragada”, in [Un crim abstracte o el jardiner assassinat] (1965).

– Ramon COMAS I MADUELL (1935-1978), “L’evaporació”, in [Rescat d’ambaixadors] (1970).

– Joan RENDE I MASDEU (1943-), “Notícia succinta d’assaig de fi del món”, in [Sumari d’homicida] (1978).

– Avel·lí ARTÍS-GENER (1912-2000), “Domesticació de la memòria” (1980), in [El boà taronja] (1986).

– Màrius SERRA (1963-), Amnèsia (1987).

– Víctor MORA (1931-2016), “L’estiu fatídic”, in [Barcelona 2080 i altres contes improbables] (1989).

– Joaquim CARBÓ (1932-), “Els caps de semana del futur” (1986), in [La calaixera dels contes] (1989).

– Òscar PÀMIES (1961-), “El sufragi versàtil”, in [Com serà la fi del món: Maneres que tindrà de presentar-se’ns i com preparar-s’hi anímicament] (1996).

– Joan-Francés BLANC (1961-), “Cronologia”, in Heisei (1999).

– Louis BAYLE (1907-1989), “La guerro dis oundo”, “L’enimo dis ome blanc”, in [Aièr e deman] (1970).

– Gustave NAQUET (1819-1886), L’Europe délivrée.– Histoire prophétique de 1871 à 1892 (1871).

– Gabriel TARDE (1843-1904), “Les Géants chauves” (1871/1892) // Fragment d’histoire future (1896).

– Samuel BURY, *Histoire de la prise de Berne et de l’annexion de la Suisse à l’Allemagne (1872).

– Charles CROS (1842-1888), “Un Drame interastral” (1872).

– Émile SECOND, Histoire de la décadence dun peuple (1872-1900) (1872).

– Edmond THIAUDIÈRE (1837-1930), *La dernière bataille (1873).

– Général La Mèche, La Guerre franco-allemande de 1878, en Belgique (1877).

– Ursus, “Précis de l’histoire de France par Duruy IV” (1880).

– Henri BOLAND, La Guerre prochaine entre la France et l’Allemagne (1881).

– Jules CAPRÉ (1847-1908), *Josias Biberon ou histoire des glorieuses campagnes de la 1ère division de l’armée fédérale suisse en l’an 3881 après Jésus-Christ (1881).

– Noël YAOUD, *La guerre de 1884 (1883).

– Charles ROPE, Rome et Berlin (1888).

– Michel ZÉVACO (1860-1918), *“Triomphe de la Révolution” (1890).

– Marcel SCHWOB (1867-1905), “La Terreur future” (1890), in [Cœur double] (1891).

– Adrien PERRET (1869-1943), *“Comment la flotte allemande fut détruite par la flotte française en l’an 19…” (1891).

– Louis GALLET (1835-1898), “La mort de Paris” (1892).

– Camille FLAMMARION (1842-1925), La Fin du monde (1893).

– Maurice SPRONCK (1861-1921), L’An 330 de la République (1894).

– Tristan BERNARD (1866-1947), “Qu’est-ce qu’ils peuvent bien nous dire?” (1894), in [Contes de Pantruche et d’ailleurs] (1897).

– Jehan MAILLART, “Crépuscule”, in [Contes chimériques] (1895).

– Gaston de PAWLOWSKI (1874-1933), “Le désarmement” (1899/1901) // Voyage au pays de la quatrième dimension (1912/1923).

– Henri de NOUSANNE, *“La Guerre anglo-franco-russe” (1900).

– Edmond HARAUCOURT (1856-1941), “Les derniers hommes” (1900) // “Le conflit suprême” (1919).

– Victor FORBIN (1864-1947), “Le Déluge de glace” (1902).

– Édouard DUCOTÉ (1870-1929), “La Fête de la Paix”, in [En ce monde ou dans l’autre] (1903).

– Léon BAILLY (1867-1954), “Celui qui attend” (1905).

– Clément VAUTEL (1876-1954), * “La Fin de la Troisième République” (1905).

– François PAFIOU, “La Disparition du rouge” (1908).

– François PAFIOU, “La Disparition du rouge” (1908).

– Jules SAGERET (1861-1944), “La Race qui vaincra”, in [Paradis laïques] (1908).

– Émile POUGET (1860-1931); Émile PATAUD (1869-1935), Comment nous ferons la révolution (1909).

– Han RYNER (Henri Ner, 1861-1938), “Biographie de Victor Venturon” (1909).

– Olivier SAYLOR (Olivier-Eugène Jules Diraison, 1873-1916), “La fin du monde” (1910).

– Maurice SCHWOB (1858-1928), * “Les temps futurs”, in [Bagatelles] (1910).

– Alexandru MACEDONSKI (1854-1920), *“Oceania-Pacific-Dreadnought” (1911).

– Gaston de PAWLOWSKI (1874-1933), Voyage au pays de la quatrième dimension (1912/1923).

– Commandant de CIVRIEUX (Louis-Marie-Sylvain-Pierre LARREGUY DE CIVRIEUX), La Fin de l’empire d’Allemagne. La Bataille du ‘Champ des bouleaux’, 191… (Extrait d’un précis d’histoire édité en 193…) (1912).

– Octave BÉLIARD (1876-1951), “Orient contre Occident” (1914).

– Lucien DUBECH (1881-1940), “Anticipation ou le Sport adoucit les mœurs” (1924).

– Pierre ADORNIER (Lucien Job, 1885-1968), “La Mort du film”, in [Contes gris et roses] (1926).

– André MAUROIS (Émile Salomon Wilhelm Herzog, 1885-1967), Le Chapitre suivant (1927) / [Deux Fragments d’une histoire universelle 1992] (1928) // “Fragments d’une histoire universelle publiée en 1992 par l’université de ***”, in [Relativisme] (1930) // [Le Chapitre suivant 1927 – 1967 – 2007] (1979).

– Henri-Jacques PROUMEN (1879-1962), “Surhommes”, in [La Boîte aux marionnettes] (1930).

– Jean PAINLEVÉ (1902-1989), “La Fin des robots” (1933).

– Léon GROC (1882-1956), “Crimes instantanés… En pressant sur le bouton du Mandarin” (1933).

– CURNONSKY (Maurice Edmond Saillant, 1872-1956), *“Un Millénaire de gastronomie” (1933).

– René de PLANHOL (1889-1940), “Le Désastre” (1930).

– Pierre DRIEU LA ROCHELLE (1893-1945), “Défense de sortir” (1930), in [Journal d’un mari trompé] (1934).

– Pierre de NOLHAC (1859-1936), “Babel à Ferney”, in [Contes philosophiques] (1932).

– Jacques SPITZ (1896-1963), L’Agonie du globe (1935) // La Guerre mondiale nº 3 (2009) // “Après l’ère atomique” (2009).

– Fernand BOVERAT (1885-1962), La Bataille de l’océan (1937).

– Régis MESSAC (1893-1945), *“Les nouveaux fragments de l’histoire générale publiée en 2907” (1937) // *“Les évêques partout” (1937).

– A. J. [Auguste-Jean] PELLAT, Société des Nations et gouvernement international (1938).

– Jacques STERNBERG (1923-2006), “Précis de l’histoire du futur” (1955) / “Petit Précis de l’histoire de futur” [188 contes à régler] (1988), “Les conquérants”, in [Entre deux mondes incertains] (1957) // “La colonisation”, “Le contact”, “Les dirigeants”, “La poubelle”, “La richesse”, in [188 contes à régler] (1988).

– Jean PAULHAC (1921-2011), “La machine à faire des mondes”, in [Un bruit de guêpes] (1957).

– Didier ANZIEU (1923-1999), “Le totémisme aujourd’hui”, “La tour de Babel”, in [Contes à rebours] (1975/1987/1995).

– Pierre GRIPARI (1925-1990), “Chronique du surhomme”, in [Diable, Dieu et autres contes de menterie] (1965) // “Les Juifs de Mars”, in [Rêveries d’un Martien en exil] (1976) // (atribuido a Michel Morat), “Ludion”, in [L’Évangile du rien] (1980).

– Gérard KLEIN (Gilles d’Argyre, 1937-), “Discours pour le centième anniversaire de l’Internationale Végétarienne” (1968), in [Histoires comme si…] (1975).

– Louis BAYLE (1907-1989), “La Guerre des ondes”, “L’Énigme des hommes blancs”, in [Contes d’hier et de demain] (1970).

– Gilles Marie BAUR (1945-), [La Vie sexuelle des robots] (1988).

– Jean SILVE DE VENTAVON, “Extrait de l’Histoire du Royaume-Empire” (1992).

– Sylvain JOUTY (1949-), “L’épidémie mortelle”, “Comment les Moara conquirent le monde”, in [La Visite au tombeau de mes ancêtres] (1995) // “La mort du chef”, “La clarière de Finges”, in [Queen Kong] (2001).

– Bernard WERBER (1961-), “Du pain et des jeux”, “Tel maître, tel lion”, in [L’Arbre des possibles et autres histoires] (2002) // “La guerre des marques”, in [Paradis sur mesure] (2008).

– Denis MONIÈRE (1947-), 25 ans de souveraineté: Histoire de la République du Québec (2006).

– Giuseppe RICCIARDI (1808-1882), Storia dell’Italia dal 1850 al 1900 (1842).

– Ippolito NIEVO (1831-1861), “Storia filosofica dei secoli futuri” (1860).

– Giovanni SEREGNI, “Una conferenza di storia dell’anno 3000. Il mondo nel XX secolo” (1903).

– Carlo MONTICELLI (1857-1913), *Il primo giorno del socialismo (1904).

– Giulio DOUHET (1869-1930), “La guerra del 19-” (1930).

– Virgilio MARTINI (1906-1988), Il mondo senza donne (1936).

– Vitaliano BRANCATI (1907-1954), “L’isola” (1936).

– Alberto MORAVIA (1907-1990), “L’epidemia” (1941), in [L’epidemia] (1944/1956).

– Dino BUZZATI (1906-1972), “24 marzo 1958”, in [Il crollo de la Baliverna] (1954).

– Umberto ECO (1932-2016), “Frammenti”, in [Diario minimo] (1963/1975) // “Italia 2000” (1991), in [Il secondo diario minimo] (1992).

– Juan Rodolfo WILCOCK (1919-1978), “Le forme nuove”, in [Lo stereoscopio dei solitari] (1972).

– Vittorio SILVESTRINI (1935-), Storia della terza Guerra Mondiale (1982).

– Alexandru MACEDONSKI (1854-1920), “Oceania-Pacific-Dreadnought” (1913).

– Alice GABRIELESCU (1893-?), “O descoperire antifeministă” (1928).

– Ştefan TITA (1905-1977), “Omul sintetic”, in [Spovedania unui atom] (1947).

– Vasile VOICULESCU (1884-1963), “Lobocoagularea prefrontală” [(1948) 1982].

– Max SOLOMON (1914-2005), “Cerul de sticlă” (1965), in [La 90] (2004).

– Ovid S. CROHMĂLNICEANU (Moise Cohn, 1921-2000), “Un capitol de istorie literară”, in [Istorii insolite] (1980) // “Cele zece triburi pierdute”, in [Alte istorii insolite] (1986).

– Romulus DINU (1921-), “Boala de congelare (Apatia criogenitică)”, in […dintr-o lume congelată şi… false ficţiuni] (1980).

– Mihail GRĂMESCU (1951-2014), “Jurnalul de bord al navei Hyacinth”, “Condotierii”, “Penicillium gigantea”, in [Aporisticon] (1981/2012).

ALTERNATE HISTORY

– G. Macaulay TREVELYAN (1876-1962), “If Napoleon Had Won the Battle of Waterloo” (1907), in [Recent Essays] (1926).

– Charles PETRIE (1895-1977), “If: A Jacobite Fantasy” (1926), in The Jacobite Movement: The Last Phase, 1716-1807 (1950).

– Hendrik Willem VAN LOON (1882-1944), “If the Dutch Had Kept Nieuw Amsterdam” (1931).

– Winston S. CHURCHILL (1874-1965), “If Lee Had Not Won the Battle of Gettysburg” (1931).

– Harold NICOLSON (1886-1968), “If Byron Had Become King of Greece” (1931).

– Milton WALDMAN (1895-1976), “If Booth Had Missed Lincoln” (1931).

– Emil LUDWIG (1881-1948), “If the Emperor Frederick Had Not Had Cancer” (1931).

– J. C. SQUIRE (1884-1958), “If It Had Been Discovered in 1930 that Bacon Really Did Write Shakespeare” (1931).

– Frederick ROLFE (1860-1913), Hubert’s Arthur (1935).

– MacKinlay KANTOR (1904-1977), If the South Had Won the Civil War (1960).

– Brian ALDISS (1925-), “MERO’s Sinai Project, 1957-1970”, in [The Shape of Further Things: Speculations on Change] (1970).

– Gary GYGAX (1938-2008); Terry STAFFORD (1941-1996), *Victorious German Arms: An Alternate Military History of World War II (1973).

– Robert SOBEL (1931-1999), For Want of a Nail: If Burgoyne Had Won at Saratoga (1973).

– Vine DELORIA Jr. (1933-2005), “Why the U.S. Never Fought the Indians” (1976).

– Steven UTLEY (1948-); Howard WALDROP (1946-), “Custer’s Last Jump!” (1976), in [Custer’s Last Jump and Other Collaborations] (1997).

– John LUKACS (1924-), “What if Hitler Had Won the Second World War” (1978).

– Kenneth MACKSEY (1923-2005), Invasion: The Alternate History of the German Invasion of England July 1940 (1980).

– Poul ANDERSON (1926-2001), “Unclefting Beholding (from The Anglo-Saxon Chronicle)” (1989), in [Kinship with the Stars] (1991) and [All One Universe] (1996).

– Adrian GILBERT (1954-), Britain Invaded: Hitler’s Plans for Britain (1990).

– Peter TSOURAS, Disaster at D-Day: The Germans Defeat the Allies, June 1944 (1994).

– Robert Crowley (ed.), [What If? The World’s Most Famous Military Historians Imagine What Might Have Been] (1999) // [More What If? Eminent Historians Imagine What Might Have Been] (2001).

– Andrew Roberts (ed.), [What Might Have Been. Imaginary History from Twelve Leading Historians] (2004).

– David MOLES, [“Five Irrational Histories”] (2004).

– Michael MOORCOCK (1939-), “Shamalung (The Diminutions)” (2011).

– Tad WILLIAMS (1957-), “A Short History of Dunkelblau’s Meistergarten” (2011).

– Ted CHIANG (1967-), “Dacey’s Patent Automatic Nanny” (2011).

– Lev GROSSMAN (1969-), “Sir Ranulph Wykeham-Rackham, GBE, a.k.a., Roboticus the All-Knowing” (2011).

– Cherie PRIEST (1975-), “Addison Howell and the Clockroach” (2011).

– Reza NEGARESTANI (1977-), “The Gallows-Horse” (2011).

– Will HINDMARCH, “The Auble Gun” (2011).

– Amar EL-MOHTAR, “The Singing Fish” (2011).

– Nilo María FABRA (1843-1903), “Cuatro siglos de buen gobierno”, in [Por los espacios imaginarios (con escalas en la Tierra)] (1885).

– Víctor ALBA (Pere Pagès i Elies, 1916-2003), 1936-1976. Historia de la Segunda República española (1976).

– Daniel BARBIERI (Daniel Croci, 1951-2004), “Si Evita hubiera vivido” (1990).

– Joan Maria Thomàs (ed.), [La historia de España que no pudo ser: doce prestigiosos historiadores explican lo que pudo haber sido y no fue] (2007).

– Eduardo VAQUERIZO (1967-), “Breve consideración sobre el nacimiento de la Conchabía Conjurada”, “Imperio: cuatro siglos de asombro. Introducción”, “Evolución tecnológica: necesidad y remedio”, “La derrota del directorado frente a los comuneros de la Nueva Borgoña de Norte América”, “Consideraciones sobre la reforma: imperio y religión”, in Memoria de tinieblas (2013) // “Cronología” [Crónicas de tinieblas] (2014).

– Louis GEOFFROY (1803-1858), Napoléon et la conquête du Monde. 1812 à 1832. Histoire de la Monarchie universelle (1836).

– Charles RENOUVIER (1815-1903), Uchronie (1876).

– André MAUROIS (Émile Salomon Wilhelm Herzog, 1885-1967), “Si Louis XVI…”, in [Mes songes que voici] (1932).

– Jean TARDIEU (1903-1995), “Une page d’histoire: L’Assassinat de Louis XIV”, in [Le Professeur Frœppel] (1978).

– Bernard QUILLIET, *La Véritable Histoire de la France (1983).

– Maurice GOLDRING (1927-), La République Populaire de France (1949-1981) (1984).

– Jacques Spir, Frank Stora, Loïc Mahé (eds.), 1940. Et si la France avait continué la guerre: Essai d’alternative historique (2010) – 1941-1942. Et si la France avait continué la guerre: Essai d’alternative historique (2012).

– Guido MORSELLI (1912-1973), Contro-passato prossimo (1975).

– Umberto ECO (1932-2016), “Una storia vera” (1979), in [Sette anni di desiderio] (1986) / [Il secondo diario minimo] (1992).

– Giancarlo LUNATI (1928-2014), [Gesù. Quattro vite verosimili] (2000).

– Enrico RULLI (1958-), “Il grande volo dell’aquila bicipite” (2005).

– Carlo DE RISIO (1935-), “Guerra lampo” (2005).

– Dănuţ IVĂNESCU; Ionuţ BĂNUŢĂ; Caius STANCU, “Scurtă istorie generală a lucrurilor”, in [Motocentauri pe Acoperişul Lumii] (1995).

HISTORY OF PAST IMAGINARY COUNTRIES

– G. [Granville] Stanley HALL (1844-1924), “The Fall of Atlantis”, in [Recreations of a Psychologist] (1920).

– [Howard] P. [Phillips] LOVECRAFT (1890-1937), “The Doom That Came to Sarnath” (1920) // “The Cats of Ulthar” (1920).

– Robert E. [Ervin] HOWARD (1906-1936), “The Hyborian Age” (1938).

– John BOARDMAN (Jack Melton Boardman, 1932-), “Ocean Trade in the Hyborian Age” (1960).

– J. [John] R. [Ronald] R. [Reuel] TOLKIEN (1892-1973), “The Tale of Years (Chronology of the Westlands”, in The Lord of the Rings (1967) // “The Line of Elros: Kings of Númenor from the Founding of the City of Armenelos to the Downfall”, “The Disaster of the Gladden Fields”, “The Battles of the Ford of Isen”, in [Unfinished Tales] (1980) // “The Annals of Aman”, in [Morgoth’s Ring] (1993).

– Dean Francis ALFAR (1969-), “An Excerpt from Princes of the Sultanate (Ghazali: 1992); Annotated by Omar Jamad Maududi, MLS, HOL, JMS.” (2007), in [The Kite of Stars and Other Stories] (2008).

– José de SILES (1856-1911), “La batalla de los árboles” (1884).

– René AVILÉS FABILA (1940-2016), “El proceso de las ratas”, in [Hacia el fin del mundo] (1969) and [Fantasías en carrusel] (1978/1995/2001).

– Rafael SÁNCHEZ FERLOSIO (1927-2019), “Los lectores del ayer” (1980), “Los príncipes concordes”, in [El geco] (2005).

– Juan BENET (1927-1993), Herrumbrosas lanzas (1983-2009).

– Diego MUÑOZ VALENZUELA (1956-), “El Valle del Inca”, in [Nada ha terminado] (1984).

– José OVEJERO (1958-), “Historia de Anquises el Silencioso”, in [Cuentos para salvarnos todos] (1996).

– Gloria MÉNDEZ (1969-), “El ejército de Amzif I”, in [El informe Kristeva] (1997).

– Iban ZALDUA (1966-), “La isla de los antropólogos”, in [La isla de los antropólogos y otros relatos] (2001).

– Alberto LÓPEZ AROCA (1976-), “La guía de Arkham”, in [Necronomicón Z] (2012).

– Juan GÓMEZ BÁRCENA (1984-), “La leyenda del rey Aktasar”, in [Los que duermen y otros relatos] (2012).

– Roberto GONZÁLEZ-QUEVEDO (1953-), “De bello paesico”, “Paesicorum terram serpentis…”, in [Hestoria de la l.literatura primera en Pesicia] (2014).

– X. [Xavier] B. [Boniface] SAINTINE (1798-1865), “Histoire d’une civilisation antédiluvienne” (1832), in [Jonathan le visionnaire] (1866).

-Alphonse DAUDET (1840-1897), “Wood’stown” (1873), in [Robert Helmont] (1874).

– Jean d’ORMESSON (1925-2017), La Gloire de l’empire (1971).

– Augusto FRASSINETI (1911-1985), “Fine dell’imperio degli Èmori”, in Mistero dei ministeri (1952).

– Juan Rodolfo WILCOCK (1919-1978), “L’Atlantide”, in [Lo stereoscopio dei solitari] (1972).

– Mihai MĂNIUŢIU (1954-), “Căutători de comori din Eldo”, in [Un zeu aproape muritor] (1982).

SECRET HISTORY

– Edgar Allan POE (1809-1849), “Van Kempelen and His Discovery” (1849).

– Edmund BACKHOUSE (1873-1944), J. [John] O. [Otway] P. [Percy] BLAND, China under the Empress Dowager (1910).

– H. L. MENCKEN (1880-1956), “A Neglected Anniversary” (1917), in [A Mencken Chrestomathy] (1949).

– H. [Howard] P. [Phillips] LOVECRAFT (1890-1937), “The History of the Necronomicon” (1938).

– James E. MILLER (1920-2010), “How Newton Discovered the Law of Gravitation” (1951).

– Woody ALLEN (Allan Stewart Königsberg, 1935-), “The Discovery and Use of Fake Ink Blot” (1966), in [Getting Even] (1971).

– Harry MATHEWS (1930-), “Tradition and the Individual Talent: The “Bratislava Spiccato””, in [Country Cooking and Other Stories] (1980).

– J. [Joanne] K. ROWLING (1965-), Quidditch through the Ages (2001; as by Kennilworthy Wisp).

– John Thomas SLADEK (1937-2002), Wholly Smokes (2003).

– Max BROOKS (1972-), [“Recorded Attacks”], in The Zombie Survival Guide (2003).

– Mark A. RAINER, “A Short History of Groundhog Day”, in [Pirate Therapy and Other Cures] (2012).

– Juan José ARREOLA (1918-2001), “Nabónides”, in [Confabulario] (1952).

– Pedro GÓMEZ VALDERRAMA (1923-1992), “El ala izquierda del águila”, in [El retablo de Maese Pedro] (1973) and [Más arriba del reino] (1980).

– Edgardo RODRÍGUEZ JULIÁ (1946-), La renuncia del héroe Baltasar (1974).

– Fernando DURÁN AYANEGUI (1939-), “Política y cornucopia”, in [El benefactor y otros relatos] (1981).

– Enrique VILA-MATAS (1948-), Histoira abreviada de la literatura portátil (1985).

– Juan PERUCHO (1920-2003), [Historias secretas de balnearios] (1972) // [Minuta de monstruos] (1987).

– Santiago BERUETE (1961-); Fernando Luis CHIVITE (1959-), “Silogismo en Bárbara”, “Del estado óptimo de la república o de la nueva utopía de Inopia”, in [Los furores inútiles] (1990).

– Pedro UGARTE (1963-), “La Escuela Breve de Liverpool”, in [Materiales para una expedición] (2002).

– Alberto LÓPEZ AROCA (1976-), [“Mitología creativa”], in Los espectros conjurados (2004).

– Juan GÓMEZ BÁRCENA (1984-), “La virgen de los cabellos cortados”, in [Los que duermen y otros relatos] (2012).

– Julián DÍEZ (1968-), “Gigamesh en el cine: frustraciones y éxito” (2015).

– Étienne-Léon de LAMOTHE-LANGON (1786-1864), Histoire de l’Inquisition en France (1829).

– Pierre GRIPARI (1925-1990), “Cette année-là, Dieu fut”, in [L’Arrière-monde] (1972) // “La bataille de l’eau de Lourdes”, in [La Rose réaliste] (1985) // “Le Vampire de la Place Rouge”, in [Contes cuistres] (1987).

– Sylvain JOUTY (1949-), “Les G”, in [La Visite au tombeau de mes ancêtres] (1995).

– Constantin A. IONESCU-CAION (1880-1918), “Un război al lui Mircea în 1399” (1901).

ALLEGORICAL HISTORY

– Richard WHATELEY (1787-1863); William FITZGERALD (1814-1883), Historic Certainties Respecting the Early History of America (1851).

– James THOMSON (1834-1882), “The Story of a Famous Old Jewish Firm” (1865), in [Satires and Profanities] (1884).

– Jonquil (J. L. COLLINS), Queen Krinaleen’s Plagues, or, How a Simple People Were Destroyed (1874).

– W. [Walter] J. [James] TURNER (1889-1946), “The State”, in [Fables, Parables and Plots] (1943).

– H. [Howard] P. [Phillips] LOVECRAFT (1890-1937), “The Battle That Ended the Century (MS. Found in a Time Machine)” (1944).

– Mark TWAIN (Samuel Langhorne Clemens, 1835-1910), “Passage from “Outlines of History” (Suppressed), Date, 9th Century”, in [Fables of Man] (1972).

– Neil B. [Baird] THOMPSON (1921-1977), “The Mysterious Fall of the Nacirema” (1972).

– Benjamin ROSENBAUM (1969-), “Zvlotsk” (2002), in [Other Cities] (2003).

– Afonso Henriques de LIMA BARRETO (1881-1922), “A firmeza de Al-Bandeirah” (1915) – “A solidariedade de Al-Bandeirah” (1915) – “O reconhecimento” (1915) // “Congresso Pamplanetário”, in [Histórias e sonhos] (1920) // “O Falso Dom Henrique V” (1921).

– FERREIRA GULLAR (José RIBAMAR FERREIRA, 1930-), “Vat Phan”, “Tyfw”, “Texclx”, “Fraternópolis”, “Tuxmu”, “Minofagasta”, “Iscúmbria”, “Inoa”, “Zambarbirna”, “Wen-Fen”, “Mori”, “Bela”, “Adrixerlinus”, in [Cidades Inventadas] (1997).

-*Aureópolis (1891).

– Esteban BORRERO ECHEVERRÍA (1849-1906), El ciervo encantado (1905).

– Julio TORRI (1889-1970), “La conquista de la Luna”, “Era un país pobre”, in [Ensayos y poemas] (1917).

– AZORÍN (José MARTÍNEZ RUIZ, 1873-1967), “Un enigma histórico” (1923), in [Escritores] (1956).

– Luis de TAPIA (1871-1937), “El gran problema de las islas “Kukay”” (1926).

– Felisberto HERNÁNDEZ (1902-1964), “Acunamiento”, in [Libro sin tapas] (1929).

– Vicente HUIDOBRO (1893-1948), “El gato con botas y Simbad el marino o Badsim el marrano”, in [Tres inmensas novelas] (1935).

– Carlos FUENTES (1928-2012), “En defensa de la Trigolibia”, in [Los días enmascarados] (1954).

– Antonio CASTRO LEAL (1896-1981), “La literatura no se cotiza” (1937), in [El laurel de San Lorenzo] (1959).

– Álvaro de LAIGLESIA (1922-1981), “Continúa el congreso pro-paz”, in [El baúl de los cadáveres] (1948).

– Segundo SERRANO PONCELA (1912-1976), “El filántropo” (1965), in [Los huéspedes] (1968).

– Manuel MUJICA LÁINEZ (1910-1984), Crónicas reales (1967).

– Manuel DERQUI (1921-1973), “Sigue Poeta” (1969).

– Alberto CAÑAS (1920-2014), “La terrible revolución que se venía”, in [La exterminación de los pobres y otros pienses] (1974).

– Juan GARCÍA HORTELANO (1928-1992), “Cuestiones flabelígeras”, in [Mucho cuento] (1987).

– Fernando U. SEGOVIA ¿(Angélica GORODISCHER, 1929-)?, “Historia de la fragua (para la escuela media)” (1988).

– Antonio MENCHACA (1921-2002), “El rascacielos”, in [Amor siempre asediado y otros relatos] (1989).

– José ELGARRESTA (1945-), “La república feliz de Maranchón”, in Cutrelandia: La República de las Letras (2005).

– David ARIAS (1965-), “Que tu pie izquierdo no sepa lo que hace el derecho”, in [Horrores cotidianos] (2007).

– Iban ZALDUA (1966-), “La Bella Durmiente: una historia económica”, in [Porvenir] (2007).

– Àngel FERRAN (1892-1971), “De la prehistòria a la civilització” (1928).

– Pere CALDERS (1912-1994), “L’espiral” (1956), in [Tots els contes] (1968) // “Reportatge del dia repetit”, in [Demà, a les tres de la matinada] (1959) // “La rebeŀlió de les coses”, “Esport i ciutadania”, in [Invasió subtil i altres contes] (1978) // “Tot queda a casa”, in [Un estrany al jardí] (1985).

– George VILLELONGUE, “La légende de la guillotine” (1887).

– Gabriel de LAUTREC (1867-1938), “Le mur”, in [Poèmes en prose] (1898) / [La Vengeance du portrait ovale] (1922).

– Marcel MARIEN (1920-1993), “Le temps mort”, in [Les Fantômes du château des cartes] (1981).

– Ursicin G. [Gion] G. [Gieli] DERUNGS (1935-), “Ils plats”, in [Il cavalut verd ed auter] (1988).

– Giovanni PAPINI (1881-1956), “Mahavir o della populazione crescente” (1949), in [Le pazzie del poeta] (1950).

– Giovanni CAVICCHIOLI (1908-1979), «Il gran traforo», in [Favole] (1951).

– Alberto MORAVIA (1907-1990), “Il diavolo in campagna”, in [L’epidemia] (1956).

– Primo LEVI (1919-1987), “Censura in Bitinia” (1961), in [Storie naturali] (1966).

– Lia WAINSTEIN (1919-2001), “I Cacciatori di Teste”, in [Viaggio in Drimonia] (1965).

– Roberto VACCA (1927-), “Incomunicabilità 1”, in [Esempi di avvenire] (1965) and [Carezzate con terrore la testa dei vostri figli] (1992) – “Incomunicabilità 2”, in [Carezzate con terrore la testa dei vostri figli] (1992).

– Umberto ECO (1932-2016), “Il pensiero di Brachamutanda”, in [Il secondo diario minimo] (1992).

– Eugen IONESCU / Eugène IONESCO (1909-1994), “Trifoiul cu patru foi”, in [Nu] (1934).

– Ştefan TITA (1905-1977), “Războiul celor 43 de zile”, “Rasa pură”, “Protocolul de la Modena”, in [Avantajul de a fi câine] (1938).

– Gheorghe SĂSĂRMAN (1941-), “Tropaeum”, “Seneţia”, “Protopolis”, “Castrum”, “Musaeum”, “Homogenia”, “Cosmovia”, “Geopolis”, in [Cuadratura cercului] (1975/2001).

– Mihai MĂNIUŢIU (1954-), “Erezia”, “Cautătorii de comori din Eldo”, in [Un zeu aproape muritor] (1982).

XENOHISTORY OR ANIMAL HISTORY

– William Morton WHEELER (1865-1937), “The Termitodoxa, or, Biology and Society” (1920).

– Julian HUXLEY (1887-1975), “Philosophical Ants”, in [Essays of a Biologist] (1923).

– Jacquetta HAWKES (1910-1996), “Export and Die”, in [Fables] ([A Woman as Great as the World and Other Fables]) (1953).

– E. [Edward] O. [Osborne] WILSON (1929-), “Trailhead” (2010).

– Joaquim Maria MACHADO DE ASSIS (1839-1908), “A Sereníssima República”, in [Papéis Avulsos] (1882).

– Adolfo PÉREZ ZELASCHI (1920-2005), “Historia general de las hormigas” (como Harald Heggstad), in [Más allá de los espejos] (1949).

– Juan José ARREOLA (1918-2001), “El prodigioso miligramo”, in [Confabulario] (1952).

– J. [Juan] J. [José] BENÍTEZ (1946-), “El mundo de los topos”, in [Sueños] (1982).

– Roger AVERMAETE (1893-1988), La Conjuration des chats (1919-1920).

– Carlo CASSOLA (1917-1987), “La comunità dei camosci e degli stambecchi”, in [La morale del branco] (1980).

ALIEN OR GALACTIC HISTORY

– James William BARLOW (1826-1913), History of a World of Immortals without a God (como Antares Skorpios, 1891) / The Immortals’ Great Quest (1909).

– Edward WELLEN (1919-2011), “Origins of Galactic Slang” (1952) // “Origins of Galactic Law” (1953) // “Origins of the Galactic Short-Snorter” (1960) // “Origins of Galactic Fruit Salad” (1962).

– Frank HERBERT (1920-1986), “The Ecology of Dune”, “The Religion of Dune”, “Report on Bene Gesserit Motives and Purposes”, in Dune (1965).

– Brian ALDISS (1925-), “Heresies of the Huge God” (1966), in [The Moment of Eclipse] (1970).

– Iain M. BANKS (1954-2013), “The Idiran-Culture War”, in Consider Phlebas (1987).

– Ralph HORSLEY, “The Battle of Nîs-Pazar” (1999).

– Ursula K. [Kroeber] LE GUIN (1929-2018), “Wake Island”, in [Changing Planes](2002).

– George R. R. MARTIN (1948-); Elio Miguel GARCÍA Jr. (1978-); Linda Maria ANTONSSON (1974-), The World of Ice & Fire: The Untold History of Westeros and the Game of Thrones (2014).

– José NUNES DE MATTA (1849-1946), “História geral do Planeta Marte”, in História autêntica do Planeta Marte (como Henri Mongolfier, 1921).

– Mário-Henrique LEIRIA (1923-1980), “Casos de direito galático”, in [Casos de direito galático. O mundo inquietante de Josela (fragmentos)] (1975).

– Charlemagne-Ischir DEFONTENAY (1814-1856), Star ou Ψ de Cassiopée (1854).

– Carlo FRABETTI (Italia, 1945-), “Dialexis” (1972).

– Max SOLOMON (1914-2005), “Cerul de sticlă” (1965), in [La 90] (2004).

Related fictional historiographic genres

MOCK OLD CHRONICLE

– Nilson MARTELLO, “Da Mayor Speriencia” (1965).

– Alphonse RABBE (1784-1829), “Anecdote du IXe siècle”, in [Album d’un pessimiste] (1836).

– ¿Ignazio PILLITO (1806-1895)?, [Pergamene, codici e fogli cartacei d’Arborea] (Cartas de Arborea / Carte d’Arborea) (1863).

– Giacomo LEOPARDI (1798-1837), Martirio de’ Santi Padri del Monte Sinai e dell’eremo di Raitu (1822).

– Monaldo LEOPARDI (1776-1847), Memoriale di frate Giovanni (1828/1833).

– Giuseppe CUGNONI (1824-1908), Vita di Arhot monaco (1884).

– ¿Constandin SION (1795-1862)?, Izvodul spătarului Clănău (Cronica lui Huru) (1856).

– George TOPÂRCEANU (1886-1937), “Domnia lui Ciubăr Vodă”, in [Scrisori fără adresă] (1930).

MOCK GENEALOGY

– James Branch CABELL (1879-1958), The Lineage of Lichfield (1922).

MOCK BIOGRAPHY

– Samuel BUTLER (1835-1902), “Memoir of the Late John Pickard Owen”, in The Fair Heaven (1873).

– Ambrose BIERCE (1842-¿1914?), “John Smith, Liberator (from a Newspaper of the Far Future)” (1873).

– Jack LONDON (John London, 1876-1916), “The Enemy of All the World” (1908), in [The Strength of the Strong] (1911).

– William George JORDAN (1864-1928), “The Personal Side of Larrovitch”, in Feodor Vladimir Larrovitch, an Appreciation of his Life and Works (1918).

– H. [Howard] P. [Phillips] LOVECRAFT (1890-1937), “Ibid” (1938).

– Isaac ASIMOV (1920-1992), “The Man Who Made the 21st Century” (1965).

– Frank HERBERT (1920-1986), “The Almanak en-Sharaf (Selected Excerpts of the Noble Houses)”, in Dune (1965).

– William S. [Stuart] BARING-GOULD (1913-1967), Nero Wolfe of West Thirty-Fifth Street (1969).

– C. [Cyril] Northcote PARKINSON (1909-1993), *The Life and Times of Horatio Hornblower (1970) // *Jeeves: A Gentleman’s Personal Gentleman (1979).

– Steven MILLHAUSER (1943-), Edwin Mullhouse: The Life and Death of an American Writer 1943-1954, by Jeffrey Cartwright (1972).

– Philip José FARMER (1918-2009), Tarzan Alive (1972) // *Doc Savage: His Apocalyptic Life (1973).

– John D. [Drury] CLARK (1907-1988), P. [Peter] Schuyler MILLER (1912-1974), L. [Lyon] Sprague de CAMP (1907-2000), “An Informal Biography of Conan the Cimmerian” (1979).

– David T. ST. ALBANS (David Thomas Pudelwitts, 1954-), “The Life of the Master (A Biography of Abdul Alhazred by His Student, El-Rashi)” (1984).

– Arthur C. CLARKE (1917-2008), “The Steam-Powered Word Processor” (1986), in Astounding Days: A Science Fictional Autobiography (1989).

– Anne HART, The Life and Times of Miss Jane Marple (1985) // The Life and Times of Hercule Poirot (1990).

– William BOYD (1952-), Nat Tate: An American Artist 1928-1960 (1998).

– Andrew MOTION (1952-), The Invention of Dr Cake (2003).

– S. J. HIRONS (1973-), [“Pages Torn from Eminent Phantasists: A New Edition”] (2013).

– Shay AZOULAY, “Jacob Wallenstein, Notes for a Future Biography” (2013).

– Jorge de SENA (1919-1978), “Um imenso inédito semi-camoniano, e o menos que adiante se verá”, in As Quybyrycas (1972).

– Luís Filipe SILVA (1970-), [“Introduções”], in [Os Anos de Ouro da Pulp Fiction Portuguesa] (2011).

– Carlos CASARES (1941-2002), [Os escuros soños de Clío] (1979).

– Silverio LANZA (Juan Bautista Amorós, 1856-1912), Noticias biográficas acerca del Excmo. Sr. Marqués del Mantillo (1889).

– Rafael Zamora y Pérez de Urría, marqués de VALERO DE URRÍA (1861-1908), “Biografía de D. Iscariotes Val de Ur diligentemente escrita por su discípulo y albacea”, in [Crímenes literarios] (1906).

– José María SÁNCHEZ MAZAS (1894-1966), “La famosa noche de Robinson Crusoe en Pamplona” (1929).

– José María SALAVERRÍA (1873-1940), Vida de Martín Fierro, el gaucho ejemplar (1934).

– Jorge Luis BORGES (1899-1986), “Biografía de Tadeo Isidoro Cruz (1829-1874)” (1944), in [El Aleph] (1949).

– Juan José ARREOLA (1918-2001), “Sinesio de Rodas”, in [Confabulario] (1952).

– Max AUB (1903-1972), Jusep Torres Campalans (1958).

– Juan PERUCHO (1920-2003), [“Las figuras”], in [Galería de espejos sin fondo] (1963).

– Rafael PÉREZ ESTRADA (1934-2000), “A modo de biografía y más”, in Revelaciones de la Madre Margarita Amable del Divino Niño del Sí (1970).

– Pedro GÓMEZ VALDERRAMA (1923-1992), “El maestro de la soledad”, in [El retablo de Maese Pedro] (1973) and [Más arriba del reino] (1980).

– PALOMA DÍAZ MAS (1954-), [Biografías de genios, traidores, sabios y suicidas, según antiguos documentos] (1973).

– Rafael LLOPIS (1933), “Historia y leyenda de Abdelesar”, in [El Novísimo Algazife o Libro de las Postrimerías] (1980).

– Santiago BERUETE (1961-); Fernando Luis CHIVITE (1959-), “Anquises, el pesimista”, “El idealismo intrascendental”, “Vida de un poeta apócrifo”, in [Los furores inútiles] (1990).

– Felipe BENÍTEZ REYES (1960-), [Vidas improbables] (1995/2009).

– Roberto BOLAÑO (1953-2003), [La literatura nazi en América] (1996).

– Marcos Ricardo BARNATÁN (1946-), “Noticia de Gabriel Zapata”, in [La República de Mónaco] (2000).

– Pedro UGARTE (1963-), “El deterioro”, “Es demasiado para mí, dijo el ranchero”, in [Materiales para una expedición] (2002).

– Braulio ORTIZ POOLE (1974-), “¿Fue Lucy Melville víctima de una maldición egipcia?”, in [Biografías bastardas] (2005).

– Jesús COBO (1946-), “Crucigramas antiguos”, in [Veinte cuentos a deshora] (2008).

– Iban ZALDUA (1966-), “El canon de la literatura vasca”, in La patria de todos los vascos (2008).

– Rodolfo MARTÍNEZ (1965-), “Laoché Hernández, artesano de la imaginación”, in [El carpintero y la lluvia] (2010).

– Xuan BELLO (1965-), [Pantasmes, mundos, laberintos] (1996).

– José Luis RENDUELES (1972-), “Los meyores cuentos del mundu”, in [Los meyores cuentos del mundu y otres proses mongoles] (2007).

– Joan PERUCHO (1920-2003), [Històries apòcrifes] (1974).

– Pere CALDERS (1912-1994), “Filomena Ustrell (1916-1962)”, in [Invasió subtil i altres contes] (1978).

– Carme RIERA (1948-), “Informe”, in [Contra l’amor en companyia i altres relats] (1991).

– A. MUNNÉ-JORDÀ (1948-), “En el centenari de Valerià Cabrera i Prats” (1981) / “En homenatge a Valerià Cabrera i Prats”, in [El mirall venecià] (2008).

– Vicenç PAGÈS JORDÀ (1963-), [“Escriptors inèdits”], “Biografia d’Àngel Mauri”, in [El poeta i altres contes] (2005).

– Prosper MÉRIMÉE (1803-1870), “Notice sur Clara Gazul”, in [Théâtre de Clara Gazul, comédienne espagnole] (1825) // “Notice sur Hyacinthe Maglanovich”, in [La Guzla ou choix de poésies illyriques recueillies dans la Dalmatie, la Bosnie, la Croatie et l’Herzégowine] (1827).

– Charles-Augustin SAINTE-BEUVE (1804-1869), “Vie de Joseph Delorme”, in Vie, poésies et pensées de Joseph Delorme (1829).

– Évariste BOULAY-PATY (1804-1864), “Vie”, in Élie Mariaker (1834).

– Pierre LOUŸS (1870-1925), “Vie de Bilitis”, in [Las Chansons de Bilitis] (1895).

– Paul-Jean TOULET /1867-1920), Monsieur du Paur, homme public (1898/1920).

– Valery LARBAUD (1881-1957), “Biographie de M. Barnabooth par X. M. Tournier de Zamble”, in [Poèmes par un riche amateur ou Œuvres françaises de M. Barnabooth] (1908).

– Pierre de NOLHAC (1859-1936), “Bousquillot, sa vie et ses œuvres”, in [Contes philosophiques] (1932).

– Gustave FLAUBERT (1821-1880), “Vie et travaux du R.P. Cruchard” (1943).

– Yves GANDON (1899-1975), “Tsing Pann Yang, la vie et l’œuvre”, in [La Terrasse des désespoirs] (1943) / [Le Pavillon des délices regrettées] (1947).

– Paul-Louis THIRARD, “Une question mal connue: les débuts de Maurice Burnan” (1955).

– Jean DUTOURD (1920-2011), “Ludwig Schnorr ou la marche de l’histoire” (1958), in [Les Dupes] (1959).

– Didier ANZIEU (1923-1999), “Le nécrologiste”, in [Contes à rebours] (1975/1987/1995).

– Pascal QUIGNARD (1948-), “Vie d’Apronenia Avitia”, in Les Tablettes de buis d’Apronenia Avitia (1984).

– Dominique NOGUEZ (1942-), Les Trois Rimbaud (1986).

– Pierre GRIPARI (1925-1990), “Vie amoureuse de Jean Valjean”, in [Contes cuistres] (1987) // “La passion de John Bow”, in [Le Musée des apochryphes] (1990).

– George PEREC (1936-1982), “Une Amitié scientifique et littéraire: Léon Burp et Marcel Gotlib suivi de Considérations nouvelles sur la vie et l’œuvre de Romuald Saint-Sohaint”, in [Cantatrix sopranica L. et autres écrits scientifiques] (1991).

– Roland C. WAGNER (1960-2012), H. P. L. (1890-1991) (1995).

– Éric CHEVILLARD (1964-), “Chronologie”, in [L’Œuvre posthume de Thomas Pilaster] (1999).

– Samir BOUADI; Agathe COLOMBIER-HOCHBERG, [26,5 auteurs qui n’existent pas mais qu’il faut absolument avoir lus] (2008).

– Bernard QUIRINY (1978-), “Quelques écrivains, tous morts”, in [Contes carnivores] (2008).

– Yves SAVIGNY (Jean-Benoît PUECH, 1947-), Une biographie autorisée (2010).

– Yann DALL’AGLIO, Vies, sentences et doctrines des sages imaginaires (2014).

– Juan Rodolfo WILCOCK (1919-1978), [La sinagoga degli iconoclasti] (1972).

– Sebastiano VASSALLI (1941-), 3012: l’anno del profeta (1995).

– Luigi MALERBA (1927-2008), [Biografie immaginarie] (2014).

– Mihai MĂNIUŢIU (1954-), “Sibila Sy”, in [Un zeu aproape muritor] (1982).

MOCK MEMOIRS

– Edgar Allan POE (1809-1849), “The Unparalleled Adventure of One Hans Pfaall” (1835), in [Tales of the Grotesque and the Arabesque] (1840) // “The Balloon-Hoax” (1844).

– George Tomkyns CHESNEY (1830-1895), The Battle of Dorking (1871).

– Maximilian MOLTRUHN, *The Other Side at the Battle of Dorking (1871).

– Hugh Oakley ARNOLD-FOSTER (1855-1909), “In a Conning Tower: How I Took HMS Majestic into Action” (1888).

– Ronald KNOX (1888-1957), Memories of the Future (1923).

– Neil BELL (Stephen Southwold, 1887-1964), The Gas War of 1940 / Valiant Clay (1931/1934).

– Frederick Philip GROVE (1879-1948), Consider Her Ways (1947).

– Michael CRICHTON (1942-2008), Eaters of the Dead (1976).

– David LANGFORD (1953-), An Account of a Meeting with Denizens from Another World, 1871 by William Robert Loosley (1979).

– Daniel Snowman (ed.), [If I Had Been…: Ten Historical Fantasies] (1979).

– David SELBOURNE (1937-), The City of Light (1997).

– Joaquim Maria MACHADO DE ASSIS (1839-1908), “O segredo do bonzo”, in [Papéis Avulsos] (1882).

– Miguel VALE DE ALMEIDA (1960-), “Evolução” (2006).

– Ángel GANIVET (1865-1898), La conquista del reino de Maya (1897).

– Félix de AZÚA (1944-), Mansura (1984).

– Rafael SÁNCHEZ FERLOSIO (1927-2019), El testimonio de Yarfoz (1986).

– Juan ESLAVA GALÁN (1948-), En busca del unicornio (1987).

– Marcos Ricardo BARNATÁN (1946-), “Crónica de Isaac Bar Nathan”, in [El horóscopo de las infantas] (1988) and [La República de Mónaco] (2000).

– Avel·lí ARTÍS-GENER (1912-2000), Palabras de Opoton el viejo (1992).

– Juan GÓMEZ BÁRCENA (1984-), “Cuaderno de bitácora” – “Cuaderno de bitácora II”, in [Los que duermen y otros relatos] (2012).

– Nicolau Maria RUBIÓ I TUDURÍ (1891-1981), “Gzwrrawtzicxm”, in [Un crim abstracte o el jardiner assassinat] (1965).

– Avel·lí ARTÍS-GENER (1912-2000), Paraules d’Opòton el Vell (1968).

– Josep LOZANO (1948-), “El rei Turigi” (2010), in [Després de les tenebres i altres narracions] (2013).

– Maurice COUSIN, comte de Courchamps (¿1777?-1859), Souvenirs de la marquise de Créquy, 1710 à 1802 (1834-1836).

– Carlo ROSSI, Il racconto di un guardiano di spiaggia (1872).

MOCK HISTORIOGRAPHICAL DOCUMENTS (MOCK NEWS, MOCK JOURNALISTIC REPORTS, AND SIMILAR JOURNALISTIC AND ARCHIVE DOCUMENTS, PRESENTED UNELABORATED AS SUCH)

– P. H. COLOMB (1831-1899), The Great War of 189- (1892).

– Ambrose BIERCE (1842-¿1914?), “The Great Strike of 1895” (1895).

– John D. [Dawson] MAYNE (1828-1917), The Triumph of Socialism and How It Succeeded (1908).

– Philip GUEDALLA (1889-1944), “If the Moors in Spain Had Won” (1931).

– Ronald KNOX (1888-1957), “If the General Strike Had Succeeded” (1931).

– Hilaire BELLOC (1870-1953), “If Drouet’s Cart Had Stuck” (1931).

– Thornton WILDER (1897-1975), The Ides of March (1948).

– Various authors, [Preview of the War We Do Not Want] (1951).

– Anthony TOWNE, “God is Dead in Georgia” (1966), in Excerpts from the Diaries of the Late God (1968).

– David GERROLD (Jerrold David Friedman, 1944-), “How We Saved the Human Race”, in [With a Finger in My I] (1972).

– Whitley STRIEBER (1945-); James KUNETKA, Warday and the Journey Onward (1984).

– Jonathon PORRITT (1950-), The World We Made (2013).

– Miguel VALE DE ALMEIDA (1960-), “A Natureza Humana” (1999).

– Arturo LEZCANO (1939-), “Os mortos, en vivo”, in [Só os mortos soterram os seus mortos] (2001).

– Benito PÉREZ GALDÓS (1843-1920), “Crónicas futuras de Gran Canaria” (1866).

– [La Vanguardia: 28 de diciembre de 1989] (1889).

– José Luis GARCI (1944-), “Efemérides”, in [Bibidibabidibu] (1970) and [La Gioconda está triste y otras extrañas historias] (1976) // “Última crónica desde Houston”, in [La Gioconda está triste y otras extrañas historias] (1976).

– Francisco AYALA (1906-2009), [“Recortes del diario Las Noticias, de ayer”], in [El jardín de las delicias] (1971).

– Antonio LARRETA (1922-), Volavérunt (1980).

– Luis LÓPEZ NIEVES (1950-), “Seva” (1983).

– Óscar de LA BORBOLLA (1949-), “La emancipación de los locos”, “Los suicidas novedosos”, “Se acabó el futuro”, “Viva la inteligencia, muera la tele”, “Un nuevo partido político”, “¡Llueve sangre!”, “La puerta de la muerte”, “El gran descubrimiento”, “La ley de la compensación universal”, in [Ucronías] (1989).

– Javier FERNÁNDEZ (1971-), “Cero absoluto”, in Cero absoluto (2005).

– Antonio RÓMAR (1981-); Pablo MAZO AGÜERO (1977-), “Científicos y militares toman el control de los muertos de Castañar” (2014).

– Patrícia GABANCHO (1952-2017), Crònica de l’independència (2008).

– Paschal GROUSSET (1844-1909), Le Rêve d’un irréconciliable (1869).

– Auguste de VILLIERS DE L’ISLE-ADAM (1838-1889), “Le Couronnement de M. Grévy” (1887) / “La couronne présidentielle”, in [Chez les passants] (1889).

– Iwan GILKIN (1858-1924), “San Francisco’s Herald”, in Jonas (1900).

– *Les Ailes de la victoire (1913).

– Louis BAUDRY DE SAUNIER (1865-1938), *Comment Paris a été détruit en six heures le 20 avril 1924 (Le jour de Pâques) (1921).

– Nicolas Mª RUBIO (1891-1981), Le Réveil de l’Afrique (1936).

– Antoine BELLO (1970-), Éloge de la pièce manquante (1998).

– Benoît PEETERS (1956-), Les Portes du possible (2005).

– Jean-Pierre LAIGLE (Jean-Pierre MOUMON, 1947-), “Les Trouble-fête” (2008).

– Gérard de SENNEVILLE, “Les moustiques de Pissevaches”, in [Le Merveilleux Voyage en France d’Omar ben Alala et autres contes du futur] (2002) //“Nouvelles brèves”, “Changement de plaques”, “La politique littéraire commune (PCL)”, “Dopage dans la course à la Présidence”, in [Le Voyage en enfer d’Omar Ben Ali et autres contes du futur] (2011).

– Cornelius OMESCU (1936-2001), “Oamenii albaștri”, in [Întâmplări de necrezut (Parodii ştiinţifico-fantastice)] (1975) // [Lumea de poimâine: Știri din secolul 22] (1982).

ORAL HISTORY

– William TENN (1920-2010), “The Liberation of Earth” (1953), in [Of All Possible Worlds] (1955).

-Max BROOKS (1972-), World War Z (2006) // “Closure, Limited” (2010).

– Howard BURMAN, Gentlemen at the Bat: A Fictional Oral History of the New York Knickerbockers and the Early Days of Base Ball (2010).

– John SCALZI (1969-), “Unlocked: An Oral History of Haden’s Syndrome” (2014).

– Òscar PÀMIES (1961-), [“Testimonis personals”] en [Com serà la fi del món] (1996).

– Camille MAUCLAIR (Camille Laurent Célestin Faust, 1872-1945), “La mort mécanique”, in [Les Clefs d’Or] (1897).

– Liviu RADU (1948-2015), Chestionar pentru doamne care au fost secretarele unor bărbaţi foarte cumsecade (2011).

SLIGHTLY NOVELISED FICTIONAL HISTORY

– Grant ALLEN (1848-1899), “The Empress of Andorra” (1878), in [Strange Stories] (1884).

– Mark TWAIN (Samuel Langhorne Clemens, 1835-1910), The Secret History of Eddypus, the World-Empire [1901-1902], in [Fables of Man] (1972).

– E. [Elwyin] B. [Brooks] WHITE (1899-1985), “The Supremacy of Uruguay” (1933), in [Quo Vadimus or the Case for the Bicycle] (1939).

– William TENN (Philip Klass, 1920-2010), “The Masculinist Revolt” (1965), in [The Wooden Star] (1968).

– Mary GENTLE(1956-), Ash: A Secret History (1999).

– José María PEMÁN (1897-1981), “Historia del buen rey Totem” (1925), in [Cuentos sin importancia] (1926).

– Sergio RAMÍREZ (1942-), “Los graneros del Rey”, “La banda del Presidente”, in [Cuentos] (1963).

– Manuel MUJICA LÁINEZ (1910-1984), De milagros y melancolías (1968).

– Angélica GORODISCHER (1928-), “Acerca de ciudades que crecen descontroladamente”, in [Kalpa imperial] (1983).

– Eduardo Ladislao HOLMBERG (1852-1937), Olimpio Pitango de Monalia (1994 [1915]).

– Luis Antonio de VILLENA (1951-), Huesos de Sodoma (2004).

– Pau FANER (1949-), Potser només la fosca (1979).

– Anatole FRANCE (François Anatole Thibault, 1844-1924), L’Île des Pingouins (1908).

– Marcel THIRY (1897-1977), “Le concerto pour Anne Queur” (1949), in [Nouvelles du grand possible] (1960).

– Jacques PRÉVERT (1900-1977), Lettre des îles Baladar (1952).

– Sylvain JOUTY (1949-), “Queen Kong” (1994), in [Queen Kong] (2001).

– Toni BERTHER (1927-2015), “Ils ratuns vegnan” (1951/1955), in Carstgauns e ratuns (1983).

– Ursicin G. [Gion] G. [Gieli] DERUNGS (1935-), “Il papa che saveva buca crer en Diu” (1987), în [Il cavalut verd ed auter] (1988).

– Giovanni FERRUCCI, [Novelle atlantide] (1956).

– Nino FADDA (1940-), Pissighende su tempus benidore (2003).

– Ovid S. CROHMĂLNICEANU (Moise Cohn, 1921-2000), “Tratatul de la Neuhof”, in [Istorii insolite] (1980).

FICTIONAL HISTORY IN GERMAN (ALL TYPES)

– August NIEMANN (1839-1919), *Der Weltkrieg – Deutsche Träume (1904).

– Carl BLIEBTREU (1859-1928), *Die ‘Offensiv-Invasion’ gegen England (1907).

– Gustav Adolf MELCHERS, Der Vergangenheit unserer Zukunft? (1908).

– Adolf SOMMERFELD (1870-1931), Frankreichs Ende im Jahr 19?? (1912/1914).

– Max HEINRICHKA, *100 Jahre deutsche Zukunft (1913).

– FERENCZY Árpád (1877-1930), Timotheus Thümmel und seine Ameisen (1923).

– L. DETRE (Ladislaus Deutsch, 1874-1939), Kampf Zweier Welten (1935).

– Karl BRUGGER (1941-1985), Die Chronik von Akakor (1976).

– Wolfgang HILDESHEIMER (1916-1991), “1956 – Ein Pilzjahr”, in [Lieblose Legenden] (1952) // Marbot (1981).

SPECULATIVE JOURNALISTIC REPORT (REPORTAGE) in form of chronicles, interviews, witness reports, etc. combined by the journalist and told from his or her perspective

*: set in present times

– Whitley STRIEBER (1945-); James KUNETKA, Warday and the Journey Onward (1984).

– Afonso Henriques de LIMA BARRETO (1881-1922), *Os Bruzundangas (1923).

– Ramon COMAS I MADUELL (1935-1978), “L’evaporació”, in [Rescat d’ambaixadors] (1970).

– Jean JULLIEN (1854-1909), Enquête sur le monde futur (1909).

– Louis FOREST (1872-1933), *On vole des enfants à Paris (1909).

– Nicolas Mª RUBIO (1891-1981), Le Réveil de l’Afrique (1936).

GEOGRAPHIC AND ETHNOGRAPHIC SPECULATIVE DOCUMENTARY FICTION

It includes “urbogonies” or descriptions of imaginary cities

º: peoples from the archaeological past.

– Horace Mitchell MINER (1912-1993), “Body Ritual Among the Nacirema” (1956).

– Willard WALKER (1927-2009), “The Retention of Folk Linguistic Concepts and the ti’yčir Caste in Contemporary Nacireman Culture” (1970).

– Robert Alun JONES, “Myth and Symbol Among the Nacirema Tsigoloicos: A Fragment” (1975/1980).

– Ursula K. [Kroeber] LE GUIN (1929-2018), [“The Back of the Book”], in Always Coming Home (1985).

– Helene E. HAGAN (1939-), “The People of Niram” (1998), in [Fifty Years in America] (2013).

– Joel E. DIMSDALE, “The Nacirema Revisited” (2001).

– Benjamin ROSENBAUM (1969-), [Other Cities] (2003).

– FERREIRA GULLAR (José RIBAMAR FERREIRA, 1930-2016), [Cidades Inventadas] (1997).

– Octávio dos SANTOS (1965-), “Caminos de ferro”, in [Visões] (2003).

– Juan ITURRALDE Y SUIT (1840-1909), “La ínsula de los Penelópidas” (1892).

– Jorge Luis BORGES (1899-1986), “Tlön, Uqbar, Orbis Tertius” (1940), “La lotería en Babilonia” (1941), in [El jardín de senderos que se bifurcan] (1941) / [Ficciones] (1944) / “La secta del Fénix” (1952), in [Ficciones] (1956) // “El informe de Brodie”, in [El informe de Brodie] (1970) // “La secta de los Treinta”, in [El libro de arena] (1975).

– Miguel ESPINOSA (1926-1982), La filosofía política mandarinesca (1956).

– Cristóbal SERRA (1922-2012), Viaje a Cotiledonia (1965) – Retorno a Cotiledonia (1989).

– Héctor A. MURENA (1923-1975), “La evolución del trabajo”, in [El coronel de caballería y otros cuentos] (1971).

– Pedro GÓMEZ VALDERRAMA (1923-1992), “Los papeles de la Academia Utópica”, in [La procesión de los ardientes] (1973).

– René AVILÉS FABILA (1940-2016), “La importancia de ser mutilado”, in [La desaparición de Hollywood y otras sugerencias para principiar un libro] (1973) and [Fantasías en carrusel] (1978/1995/2001).

– Fernando DURÁN AYANEGUI (1939-), “Gloria in excelsis”, in [El benefactor y otros relatos] (1981).

– Ileana VICENTE [ARMENTEROS] (1946-), “Primer informe” (1981).

– Elia BARCELÓ (1957-), “Apuntes sobre el culto de la Dama Dragón”, in “La Dama Dragón” (1981), in [Sagrada] (1989).

– José FERRATER MORA (1912-1991), “Que trata de Corona, el país y los habitantes”, in Hecho en Corona (1986).

– Gloria MÉNDEZ (1969-), º“¿De dónde vienen los acosha?: Historia de un pueblo sin memoria”, º“Yad Hamrá: matrimonio y erótica acosha”, º“Los cram o el sistema Ana Kristeva”, in [El informe Kristeva] (1997).

– Federico JEANMAIRE (1957-), ºLos zumitas (1999).

– León ARSENAL (José Antonio Álvaro Garrido, 1960-), “Nota preliminar”, in Máscaras de matar (2004).

– Lola ROBLES (1963-), “Aanuk”, in El informe Monteverde (2005).

– Juan Ignacio FERRERAS (1929-2014), “La Nueva Era”, in La Gran Necrópolis (2006).

– Cristina PERI ROSSI (1941-), “Banderas”, “Suicidios S.A.”, “El patriotismo”, in [Cuentos reunidos] (2007).

– Sofía RHEI (Sofía GONZÁLEZ CALVO, 1978-), [Las ciudades reversibles] (2008).

– Mària Aurèlia CAPMANY (1918-1991), “Leviatan”, in [Com uma mà] (1958) / [Coses i noses] (1980).

– Nicolau Maria RUBIÓ I TUDURÍ (1891-1981), “Gzwrrawtzicxm”, in [Un crim abstracte o el jardiner assassinat] (1965).

– Mercè RODOREDA (1908-1983), [“Viatges a uns quants pobles”], in [Viatges i flors] (1980).

– Jordi GORT, [Extractes del manual de supervivencia estelar 3] (2014).

– Victor CONSIDÉRANT (1808-1893), Publication complète des nouvelles découvertes de Sir John Herschel dans le ciel austral et dans la Lune (1836).

– Paul VALÉRY (1871-1945), º“L’Île Xiphos” [1896], in [Histoires brisées] (1950).

– FRANC-NOHAIN (Maurice Étienne Legrand, 1873-1934), “Le Pays de l’Instar”, in [Le Pays de l’Instar] (1901).

– Marcel SCHWOB (1867-1905), º“Origines du journal: L’Île des Diurnales”, in [Mœurs des Diurnales: Traité de journalisme] (1903; como Loyson-Bridet).

– Henri MICHAUX (1899-1984), Voyage en Grande Garabagne (1936), Au pays de la magie (1941), Ici, Poddema (1946), in [Ailleurs] (1948) // “La secret de la situation politique”, in [Face aux verrous] (1951/1967).

– Pierre BETTENCOURT (1917-2006), La planète Aréthuse (1969), L’Homme-million (1969), Le Roi des méduses (1984/1991), Voyage sur la planète innommée (1990), in [Histoire naturelle de l’imaginaire] (2007).

– Didier ANZIEU (1923-1999), “Les esquimaux et les songes”, in [Contes à rebours] (1975/1987/1995).

– Gilbert LASCAULT (1934-), Un Îlot tempéré (1977) // Encyclopédie abrégée de lEmpire Vert (1983).

– Alain NADAUD (1948-2015), “Exil en Grande-Scripturie”, in [Voyage au pays des bords du gouffre] (1984).

– Sylvain JOUTY (1949-), “Les dieux de l’Illusion”, in [La Visite au tombeau de mes ancêtres] (1995) // “Les démons du galet” (2000), “Les Veustes”, in [Queen Kong] (2001).

– Bernard SIMONAY (1951-), “Étude sur Gwondà et la Vallée des Neuf Cités”, en [La Vallée des Neuf Cités] (2007).

– Pierre JOURDE (1955-), Carnets d’un voyageur zulu dans les banlieues en feu (2007).

– Bernard QUIRINY (1978-), “Quiproquopolis (Comment parlent les Yapous)”, in [Contes cannibales] (2008) // [“Dix villes”], in [Une collection très particulière] (2012) // “La capitale décapitée” en [Histoires assassines] (2015).

– Tobie NATHAN (1948-), “Glossaire en code natif”, in [L’Étranger ou la part de l’autre] (2014).

– Reto CARATSCH (1901-1978), “Il pajais dal vacuna”, “Eviva l’amur!”, “Il pro da la faira litteraria”, “S-chet patagon”, “Spiert e mazurca”, in La renaschentscha dals Patagons (1949).

– Giovanni PAPINI (1881-1956), “Racconto dell’isola”, in [Gog] (1931) // “Il regno dei Karseni” (1941), “Armuria” (1942), “I figli del sole” (1942), in [Foglie della foresta] (1946) // “La città della gioia” (1949), “Una strana città”, in [Le pazzie del poeta] (1950) // “Ascenzia”, in [Il libro nero] (1951).

– Alberto MORAVIA (1907-1990), “L’isola” (1940), “La vita è un sogno” (1944), “Paese senza morte”, “Mamamel e Vusitel”, in [L’epidemia] (1944/1956) // “Città dei mobili” (1947).

– Augusto FRASSINETI (1911-1985), “Prima lettera”, in [Misteri dei Ministeri] (1952/1974).

– Dino BUZZATI (1906-1972), “Un popolo felice”, in [Siamo spiacenti di] (1960/1975).

– Umberto ECO (1932-), “Industria e repressione sessuale in una società padana”, in [Diario minimo] (1963/1975) // “Come presentare in TV” (1987), in [Il secondo diario minimo] (1992).

– Lia WAINSTEIN (1919-2001), “Cittabella”, “Olindo Lindi: Viaggio in Drimonia”, in [Viaggio in Drimonia] (1965).

– Italo CALVINO (1923-1985), [Le città invisibili] (1972) // “Apologo sull’onestà nel paese dei corrotti” (1980).

– Gianni CELATI (1937-), Fata Morgana (1987-2005).

– Pavel VASICI (1806-1881), “Geografia țintirimului” (1840).

– Ştefan ZELETIN (1882-1934), Din Ţara Măgarilor. Însemnări (1916).

– Gheorghe SĂSĂRMAN (1941-), [Cuadratura cercului] (1975/2001).

– Mihail GRĂMESCU (1951-2014), “Felonia”, “Vânatorii de capete”, in [Aporisticon] (1981/2012).

ETHNOGRAPHIC REPORTS ON HUMANS WRITTEN BY NON-HUMAN SENTIENT SPECIES

– Stefan THEMERSON (1910-1988), Professor Mmaa’s Lecture (1953).

– Leó SZILÁRD (1898-1964), “Report on Grand Central Terminal” (1952), in [The Voice of the Dolphins and Other Stories] (1961).

– André MAUROIS (Émile Salomon Wilhelm Herzog, 1885-1967), “La Vie des hommes”, in [Deux Fragments d’une histoire universelle 1992] (1928).

– Paul GABRIEL, Messages martiens (1956).

– Pierre GRIPARI (1925-1990), “La Peau d’un autre”, in [Rêveries d’un Martien en exil] (1976).

– Bernard WERBER (1961-), “Apprenons à les aimer”, in [L’Arbre des possibles et autres histoires] (2002) // Nos amis les Terriens, petit guide de découverte (2007).

– Arturo LEZCANO (1939-), “Peixes voadores non identificados” (1991), in [Os dados de Deus] (1994).

– Miguel VALE DE ALMEIDA (1960-), “O Relatório” (2000).

– Nilo María FABRA (1843-1903), “En el planeta Marte” (1890), in [Cuentos ilustrados] (1895).

– José María SALAVERRÍA (1873-1940), “El planeta prodigioso” / Un mundo al descubierto (1924/1929).

– José Luis SAMPEDRO (1917-2013), “Un caso de cosmoetnología: la religión hispánica” (1959), in [Mientras la tierra gira] (1993).

– Max AUB (1903-1972), “Manuscrito cuervo. Historia de Jacobo” (1952), in [Cuentos ciertos] (1955).

– Juan Pablo ORTEGA (1924-), Los terrícolas (1976).

– Josep SOLÉ NICOLÁS, “Noticias sensacionalistas” (1979).

– Jorge CAMPOS (Jorge RENALES FERNÁNDEZ, 1916-1983), *“Un astro muerto”, in [Bombas, astros y otras lejanías] (1992).

– Régis MESSAC (1893-1945), “De plus loin que Sirius.– Extraits du journal de recherches du physicien Blivit-Ornot, habitant du supermonde du 2e échelon” (1937).

– Giovanni PAPINI (1881-1956), “Primo rapporto dei marziani” (1950), in [La sesta parte del mondo] (1954).

– Alberto MORAVIA (1907-1990), “Primo rapporto sulla Terra dell’“inviato speciale””, in [L’epidemia] (1956).

– Mario SOLDATI (1906-1999), “Un’inchiesta di Alfa centauri” (1964).

– Primo LEVI (1919-1987), “Visto da lontano” (1967), in [Vizio di forma] (1971).

– Nichita STĂNESCU (1933-1983), “Dintr-un abecedar marțian”, In [Respirări] (1982).

– Vladimir COLIN (Jean Colin, 1921-1991), “Întâlnirea”, in [Dinţii lui Cronos] (1975).

MOCK TRAVEL GUIDES

– Rhoda BLUMBERG (1917-2016), The First Travel Guide to the Moon (1980).

– Santo CILAURO (1961-), Tom GLEISNER (1962-); Rob SITCH (1962-), Molvanîa: A Land Untouched by Modern Dentistry (2003) // Phaic Tăn: Sunstroke on a Shoestring (2004) // San Sombrèro: A Land of Carnivals, Cocktails and Coups (2006).

– Salvador ELIZONDO (1932-2006), “Los museos de Metaxiphos”, in [Camera lucida] (1983).

– Benoît PEETERS (1956-), Le Guide des cités (2002/2011).

– Gemelli RUGGERI (Luciano MANZALINI, 1952-; Eraldo TURRA, 1955-), Guida a Croda (1993).

FICTIONAL TOPOTHESIA

Fictions consisting in pure descriptions of imaginary buildings (including their interior and surroundings), as well as imaginary gardens and ruins. It can include human characters only to illustrate the conditions of habitation. Fictions are excluded in which the constructions only constitute the framework in which a story develops.

*: in verse.

– Antonio FLORES (1818-1865), “El árbol de la publicidad”, “El Gran Hotel de la Unidad Transatlántica”, in [Mañana, o la chispa eléctrica en 1899], third volumen of [Ayer, hoy y mañana, o la fe, el vapor y la electricidad] (1863).

– AZORÍN (José MARTÍNEZ RUIZ, 1873-1967), “La casa, la calle y el camino” (1904), in [Tiempos y cosas] (1944).

– Jorge Luis BORGES (1899-1986), “La biblioteca de Babel” (1941), in [El jardín de senderos que se bifurcan] (1941) / [Ficciones] (1944/1956).

– Salvador ELIZONDO (1932-2006), “Los museos de Metaxiphos”, in [Camera lucida] (1983).

– Pablo RODRÍGUEZ BURÓN (1980-), “La casa de la memoria”, in Turistia (2016).

– Victor CONSIDERANT (1808-1893), Description du phalanstère (1848).

– Léon DIERX (1838-1912), *“La ruine”, in [Les Lèvres closes] (1879).

– Theo CANDINAS (1929-), “Descripziun d’in stabiliment”, in [Entagls] (1974).

– Alberto MORAVIA (1907-1990), “Città dei mobili” (1947).

– Alexandru MACEDONSKI (1854-1920), “Palatul fermecat” (1881) / “Palatul fermecat”, in [Cartea de aur] (1902/1973).

FICTIONAL ARCHAEOLOGY AND RELATED TEXTS

– “The Book of Oatiati” (1873).

– Andrew LANG (1844-1912), “The Great Gladstone Myth” (1886), in [In the Wrong Paradise and Other Stories] (1886).

– Leó SZILÁRD (1898-1964), “Report on Grand Central Terminal” (1952), in [The Voice of the Dolphins and Other Stories] (1961).

– Robert NATHAN (1894-1985), “Digging the Weans” (1956) – “A Further Report on the Weans” (1959) / The Weans (1960).

– Serafín ADAME MUÑOZ (1828-1875), Napoleón no ha existido jamás (1850).

– Gonzalo MARTRÉ (Mario Trejo González, 1928-), “Los antiguos mexicanos a través de sus ruinas y sus vestigios” (2001).

– Jean-Baptiste PÉRÈS (1752-1840), Comme quoi Napoléon n’a jamais existé ou Grand Erratum, source d’un nombre infini d’errata à noter dans l’histoire du XIXe siècle (1827).

– Alfred FRANKLIN (1830-1917), Mœurs et coutumes des Parisiens en 1880. Cours professé au Collège de France pendant le second semestre de l’année 3882 par Alfred Mantien, professeur d’archéologie transcendante (1882).

– Albert MILLAUD (1844-1892), “La statue de Gambetta en l’an 2000” (1888).

– Gaston de PAWLOWSKI (1874-1933), “Curiosités historiques.– Usages, mœurs et coutumes du siècle dernier” (1901).

– Étienne JOLICLER, “Chronique en l’an 2001” (1902).

– Marcel SCHWOB (1867-1905), “Origines du journal: L’Île des Diurnales”, in [Mœurs des Diurnales: Traité de journalisme] (1903; as Loyson-Bridet).

– Louis LOTTIN (1880-1916), “Le Trésor des pierres”, in [Lyon en l’an 2000] (1911).

– Régis MESSAC (1893-1945), “Fragments du journal d’Acapsu, technicien de l’an 3340” (1932) // “Couronne de perles et croix de bois.– Extraits des papiers de CB2/1!=WRNZ, préhistorien de l’an 10.033” (1933).

– Tommaso LANDOLFI (1908-1979), “SPQR”, in [Racconti impossibili] (1966).

– Tudor ARGHEZI (Ion N. Theodorescu, 1880-1967), “În preistorie”, in [Tablete din Ţara de Kuty] (1933).

– Vladimir COLIN (Jean Colin, 1921-1991), “Postfață”, in [Legendele Țării lui Vam] (1961).

FICTIONAL MYTHOGRAPHY

Fictional mythographies are mythopoetic creations imitating the form of prose mythographical reports. Since they are fictional, invented mythologies that are really intended to be inspired by the deity with a view to fostering a religion are excluded. Mitographies presented as translations from any alleged oral tradition coming from existing peoples are also included, even if the original text of the oral myths in the original language has not been transcribed. Theological and scientific-like myths are also excluded.

Mitographic discourse is characterized by the predominance of narrativity, which is always heterodiegetic. It is a kind of historiographical narrative, since mythology constitutes a sacred history, although the mythological narrative admits a greater rhetorical decoration and does not exclude narrative omniscience, although this is generally limited. By the nature of its discourse, mythography excludes monologues and novelistic conversations. Its characters are gods, demigods and humans in direct contact with them.

– Lord DUNSANY (1878-1957), [The Gods of Pegāna] (1905).

– J. R. R. TOLKIEN (1892-1973), [The Silmarillion] (1977).

– Ursula K. LE GUIN (1929-2018), “Beginnings”, in Always Coming Home (1985).

– Tudor ARGHEZI (1880-1967), “Bătrânii Insulei de Aur” (1925) / “Bătrânii din insula”, in [Cartea cu jucării] (1931/1943) / [Ce-ai cu mine, vântule?] (1937).

– Mihai MĂNIUŢIU (1954-), “Un zeu aproape muritor”, in [Un zeu aproape muritor] (1982).

– Gianni CELATI (1937-), “La tenda del cielo”, in [Fata Morgana] (1987-2005).

– Henri MICHAUX (1899-1984), [Fables des origines] (1923).

– Pompeu GENER (1848-1920), “Una teogonia índia” (1901) / “Antic poem del Indostan (Una teogonia vishnuita)”, in [Pensant, sentint i rient] (1911).

– SALARRUÉ (Salvador Salazar Arrué, 1899-1975), [O’Yarkandal] (1929).

– Gabriel CELAYA (1911-1991), “Origen”, in Tentativas (1946).

– Víctor CONDE (Alfredo Moreno Santana, 1973-), “Mitos y leyendas”, in [La Orfíada] (2017).

– Roberto GONZÁLEZ-QUEVEDO (1953-), “L’aniciu de los dioses ya de las cousas”, in [Hestoria de la l.literatura primera en Pesicia] (2014).

– Vladimir COLIN (Jean Colin, 1921-1991), “Postfață”, in [Legendele Țării lui Vam] (1961).

FICTIONAL COSMOGONIES

Ethnographical accounts of existing mythologies are excluded. Also works in German.

MYTHOLOGICAL COSMOGONIES

*: literary mythographic rewriting of existing cosmogonies.

Prose

– Lord DUNSANY (1878-1957), [The Gods of Pegāna] (1905).

– J. R. R. TOLKIEN (1892-1973), “Ainulindalë”, in [The Silmarillion] (1977).

– Ursula K. LE GUIN (1929-2018), “Beginnings”, in Always Coming Home (1985).

– Gustavo Adolfo BÉCQUER (1836-1870), *“La creación” (1861).

– José ANTICH, “Ilusión”, in Andrógino (1904).

– AZORÍN (José MARTÍNEZ RUIZ, 1873-1967), “Leopardi”, in [Fantasías y devaneos] (1920)

– SALARRUÉ (Salvador Salazar Arrué, 1899-1975), “Alm-a”, in [O’Yarkandal] (1929).

– Gabriel CELAYA (1911-1991), “Origen”, in Tentativas (1946).

– Miguel Ángel ASTURIAS (1899-1974), “Los brujos de la tormenta primaveral”, in [Leyendas de Guatemala], 2.ª edición (1948).

– Mario VARGAS LLOSA (1936-), *El hablador (1987).

– Roberto GONZÁLEZ-QUEVEDO (1953-), “L’aniciu de los dioses ya de las cousas”, in [Hestoria de la l.literatura primera en Pesicia] (2014).

– Pompeu GENER (1848-1920), “Una teogonia índia” (1901) / “Antic poem del Indostan (Una teogonia vishnuita)”, in [Pensant, sentint i rient] (1911).

– Marcel SCHWOB (1867-1905), *“Vie de Morphiel démiurge” (1895).

– Henri MICHAUX (1899-1984), [Fables des origines] (1923).

– Olivier de BOUVEIGNES (Léon Guébels, 1889-1966), *“La création et les premiers jours du monde”, in [Contes d’Afrique] (1927).

– Jean-Pierre OTTE (1949-), *[Les aubes enchantées] (1994).

– Giacomo LEOPARDI (1798-1737), “Storia del genere umano” [1824], in [Operette morali] (1827).

– Vincenzo CARDARELLI (1887-1959), *[Favole della Genesi] (1919-1920/1925).

– Anna BONACCI (1892-1981), *“Genesi” (1939).

– Gianni CELATI (1937-), “La tenda del cielo”, in [Fata Morgana] (1987/2005).

– Ion DRAGOSLAV (Ion Ivanciuc, 1875-1928), *[Facerea lumii] (1908/1925).

Verse

– Rudolf PANNWITZ (1881-1969), Das Lied vom Elen (1919).

– Holly Dworken COOLEY, “A Creation Myth” (2008).

– GUERRA JUNQUEIRO (1850-1923), *“O génesis”, in [A velhice do Padre Eterno] (1885).

– Raul BOPP (1898-1984), *“Princípio” (1946), in [Poesias] (1947) and [Cobra Norato e outros poemas] (1951).

– Juan AROLAS (1805-1849), *“La creación” (1841), in [Poesías] (1842).

– Augusto ROA BASTOS (1917-2005), *[El génesis de los guaraníes] (1948).

– Miguel Ángel ASTURIAS (1899-1974), Clarivigilia primaveral (1965).

– Jorge GUILLÉN (1893-1984), *“Creador y creación”, in [Y otros poemas] (1973).

– Llorenç RIBER (1881-1958), *“L’obra dels sis dies” (1904), in [Al sol alt] (1949).

– Charles Marie René LECONTE DE LISLE (1818-1894), *“La légende des Nornes” (1858), in [Poésies barbares] (1862) / *“La Genèse polynésienne” (1857), in [Poèmes barbares] (1872/1878).

– André de GUERNE (1853-1912), *“Les Créations d’Ahoûra-Mazdâ”, in [L’Orient antique] (1890).

– Auguste GÉNIN (1862-1931), *“La Genèse aztèque”, in [Poèmes aztèques] (1890) / [Légendes et récits du Mexique ancien] (1922).

– Maurice BOUCHOR (1855-1929), *“La Terre et l’Amour”, in [Les Symboles] (1888).

– Maurice OLIVAINT (1860-1929), *“Taaroa”, in [Fleurs de corail] (1900).

– Alexis KAGAME (1912-1981), *[La Divine Pastorale] (1952-1955).

– François BROUSSE (1913-1995), *“Genèse hindoue” (1956), in [Le Rire des dieux] (2006).

– Christine HARDY, “Conte d’Il”, in [Paysages d’infini] (1983).

– Giuseppe UNGARETTI (1888-1970), *[Favole indie della Genesi] (1946).

THEOLOGICAL COSMOGONIES

Prose

– John Ballou NEWBROUGH (1828-1891), Oahspe (1882/1891).

– Eric Frank RUSSELL (1905-1978), “Sole Solution” (1956), in [Dark Tides] (1962).

– Benigno Baldomero LUGONES (1857-1884), “Isis” (1881).

+ Enrique ANDERSON IMBERT (1910-2000), “Caos y creación”, in [El gato de Cheshire] (1965).

– Jorge CAMPOS (Jorge Renales Fernández, 1916-1983), “El Ser, el Dios, el Todo” (1973), in [Bombas, astros y otras lejanías] (1992).

– Juan Pedro APARICIO (1941-), “Dios”, in [La mitad del diablo] (2006).

– Òscar PÀMIES (1961-), “La creació del món», in [Com serà la fi del món] (1996).

– George SAND (Aurore Dupin, 1804-1876), “Le Poème de Myrza” (1835).

– Renée VIVIEN (Pauline Mary Tarn, 1877-1909), “La Genèse profane”, in [Brumes de fjords] (1902).

– Han RYNER (1861-1938), “Sacrifices” (1902), in [Les Voyages de Psychodore, philosophe cynique] (1903) / “La dernières parabole” (1906), in [Les Paraboles cyniques] (1912).

– Didier ANZIEU (1923-1999), “Dieu créa la femme”, “Un sommeil divin”, in [Contes à rebours] (1975/1987/1995).

– Pierre GRIPARI (1925-1990), “Les origines”, in Vies parallèles de Roman Branchu (1978) // “Mésaventures de Dieu», in [La Rose réaliste] (1985).

– Jean d’ORMESSON (1925-2017), Dieu, sa vie, son œuvre (1981).

– Vincenzo CARDARELLI (Nazareno Caldarelli, 1887-1959), “Il fuoco” (1919), in [Favole della Genesi] (1919-1921) / [Favole e memorie] (1925).

– Ion PILLAT (1891-1945), “Oglinda” (1922).

– Tudor ARGHEZI (1880-1967), “Geneza și apocalipsa”, in [Ce-ai cu mine, vântule?] (1937) // “Uriașii”, in [Cartea cu jucării] (1943).

Verse

– Ian WATSON (1943-), “Let There Be Darkness: An Origin Myth”, in [The Lexicographer’s Love Song and Other Poems] (2001).

– Antero de QUENTAL (1842-1891), “Fiat lux!” [1863], in [Raios de extinta luz] (1892).

– José FERNÁNDEZ BREMÓN (1839-1910), “El Bien y el Mal” (1868).

– Àngel GUIMERÀ (1845-1924), “Creació”, in [Segon llibre de poesies] (1920).

– Gustave de LANOUE (1812-1838), “Éden ou la création”, in [Énosh] (1837).

– Sully PRUDHOMME (René François Armand Prudhomme, 1839-1907), Les Destins (1872).

– Edmond HARAUCOURT (1856-1941), “Le coït des atomes”, in [La Légende des sexes] (1882; as Edmond de Chambley) / “Les atomes”, in [L’Âme nue] (1885).

– Jean RICHEPIN (1849-1926), “Le mystère de la création”, in [Les Blasphèmes] (1884).

– Jean RAMEAU (Laurent Labaigt, 1858-1942), “La légende de la Terre”, in [La vie et la mort] (1886).

– Niccolò TOMMASEO (1802-1874), “Il germe dei mondi”, in [Poesie] (1872).

– Alexandru MACEDONSKI (1854-1920), “Creaţiunea” (1874).

SCIENTIFIC COSMOGONIES (WRITTEN AS LITERATURE, NOT PUBLISHED AS PAPERS IN SCIENTIFIC JOURNALS)

Prose

– Edgar Allan POE (1809-1849), Eureka (1848).

– Joaquín BARTRINA (1850-1880), “La formación del mundo” (1870).

– Augusto GONZÁLEZ DE LINARES (1845-1904), La vida de los astros (1878).

– Gregorio MARTÍNEZ SIERRA (María de la O LEJÁRRAGA, 1874-1974), “Lucha eterna”, in [El poema del trabajo] (1898).

– Leopoldo LUGONES (1874-1938), “Ensayo de una cosmogonía en diez lecciones”, in [Las fuerzas extrañas] (1906).

– Nuria AMAT (1950-), “Big bang”, in [Monstruos] (1991).

– Edgar QUINET (1803-1875), La Création (1870).

– Auguste BLANQUI (1805-1881), L’Éternité par les astres (1872).

– Étienne KLEIN (1958-), Discours sur l’origine de l’univers (2010).

– Giacomo LEOPARDI (1798-1837), “Frammento apocrifo di Stratone da Lampsaco”, in [Operette morali] (1845 [1825]).

– Tommaso LANDOLFI (1908-1979), “Da: L’astronomia esposta al popolo. Nozioni d’astronomia sideronebulare”, in [Il mare delle blatte e altre storie] (1939).

Verse

– Mathilde BLIND (Mathilde Cohen, 1841-1896), “Chaunts of Life”, in [The Ascent of Man] (1888).

– Grant ALLEN (1848-1899), “A Ballade of Evolution”, in [The Lower Slopes] (1894).

– James E. GUNN (1923-), “Imagine”, in The Listeners (1972).

– Teófilo BRAGA (1843-1924), “O firmamento”, in “A filosofia”, in en [Miragens seculares] (1884) / [Visão dos tempos] (1894-1895).

– Haroldo de CAMPOS (1929-2003), A Máquina do Mundo Repensada (2000).

– Ricardo MACÍAS PICAVEA (1847-1899), Kosmos (1872).

– Luis TAPIA, “El origen de la Tierra” (1896).

– Carlos FERRER (1845-1919), “Cosmogonía», in [El universo] (1900).

– José LÓPEZ MONTENEGRO (1832-1908), “La Naturaleza”, in [El botón de fuego] (1902).

– Ernesto CARDENAL (1925-), [Cántico cósmico] (1989).

– Louis BOUILHET (1822-1869), Les Fossiles (1854).

– Jules LEFÈVRE-DEUMIER (1797-1857), “Formation de la Terre”, in [Le Couvre-feu] (1857).

– Edmond EMERICH, La Création du globe terrestre (1860).

– CLAIRVILLE (Louis-François Nicolaïe, 1811-1879), “Le Monde antédiluvien” (1863), in [Le Caveau] (1864).

– Émile LITTRÉ (1801-1881), “La Terre” (1867).

– Ernest COTTY (1818-1877), “Antédiluviana” (1875).

– Jules ARBELOT, La Création et l’humanité (1882).

– Henri WARNERY (1859-1902), “Les Origines”, in [Poésies] (1887).

– René GHIL (René Guilbert, 1862-1925), Le Meilleur Devenir (1889).

– J. de STRADA (Gilles Gabriel Delarue, 1821-1902), La Genèse universelle (1890).

– André JOUSSAIN (1880-1969), L’Épopée terrestre (1926-1934-1958).

– Jean CHAMARD (1843-1915), L’Épopée des âges [1874-1879] (1947).

– Marthe DUPUY (1871-1958), “L’Origine du monde”, “Évolution”, in [Au fond des abîmes] (1950).

– Raymond QUENEAU (1903-1976), Petite Cosmogonie portative (1950).

– Robert GOFFIN (1898-1984), [Sablier pour une cosmogonie] (1965).

– Maurice COUQUIAUD (1930-), [Un profil de buée] (1980).

– Cleant SPIRESCU, Cosmos sau cântarea stelelor (1935).

– Adrian ROGOZ (1921-1996), “Miza unei recreaţii”, in [Inima rezistentă] (1981).

COSMIC VISION

From Cicero’s Somnium Scipionis to Olaf Stapledon’s Star Maker: The visionary cosmic voyage as a speculative genre

Stapledon’s Star Maker is an outstanding modern example of a particular genre, the visionary cosmic voyage. In this kind of a literature of a rather descriptive nature, the author usually tells of his/her dream or vision of the universe, depicted according to the scientific knowledge of the time, in order to convey a philosophical and/or astronomical cosmic view. This genre has its origin in the Cicero’s influential Somnium Scipionis. After its allegorical and religious/supernatural imitations throughout the Middle Ages and later on, Kepler’s Somnium adopted a secular protoscience-fictional approach to the genre, the same that Stapledon subsequently embraced. Between these two visionary cosmic voyagers stand several canonical writers who have followed the Ciceronian taproot text to create impressive visions of the universe. Star Maker falls within this tradition, having brought it to its culmination in both ambition and scope, while remaining faithful to Cicero’s and to his best followers’ pattern as to the literary exploitation of the sublime. Cicero’s Somnium Scipionis is, thus, to be considered one of the main ancient forerunners to speculative fiction, due to its status as founder of the visionary cosmic voyage, and to the science-fictional sublime.

*: in verse.

– James HOGG (1770-1835), *The Pilgrims of the Sun (1815).

– Sir Humphrey DAVY (1778-1829), “The Vision”, in [Consolations in Travel, or The Last Days of A Philosopher] (1830).

– Thomas Lake HARRIS (1823-1906), *An Epic of the Starry Heaven (1855).

– James DE MILLE (1833-1880), *Behind the Veil (1893).

– A. E. (George William Russell, 1867-1935), “The Story of a Star” (1894), in [Imaginations and Reveries] (1915).

– H. [Herbert] G. [George] WELLS (1866-1946), “Under the Knife” (1896), in [The Plattner Story and Others] (1897).

– William Shuler HARRIS (1865-?), Life in a Thousand Worlds (1905).

– Clark Ashton SMITH (1893-1961), *“The Star-Trader”, in [The Star-Trader and Other Poems] (1912) // *“The Hashish-Eater; or The Apocalypse of Evil”, in [Ebony and Crystal] (1922).

– H. [Howard] P. [Phillips] LOVECRAFT (1890-1937), *“Aletheia Phrikodes”, in The Poe-et’s Nightmare (1916) (V.).

– Fletcher PRATT (1897-1956), “The Roger Bacon Formula” (1929).

– Olaf STAPLEDON (1886-1950), Star Maker (1937).

– João LÚCIO (1880-1918), *“No caminho infinito”, en [Na Asa do Sonho] (1913).

– Enéas LINTZ (1892-?), Há Dez Mil Séculos (1926).

– Pedro CASTERA (1846-1906), “Un viaje celeste” (1872) / “Un viaje celestial”, in [Impresiones y recuerdos] (1882).

– Carlos MESÍA DE LA CERDA (1825-1919), “El hombre de cristal”, in [El saquillo de mi abuela] (1875).

– Carlos Octavio BUNGE (1875-1918), “Viaje a través de la estirpe”, in [Viaje a través de la estirpe y otras narraciones] (1908).

– Amado NERVO (1870-1919), *“Yo estaba en el espacio”, in [En voz baja] (1909).

– Dr. ATL (Gerardo Murillo, 1875-1964), Un hombre más allá del universo (1935).

– Valentí ALMIRALL (1841-1904), “Un manuscrit de savi o de boig” (como Thales; 1880).

– G. DESCOTTES, Voyage dans les planètes et découverte des véritables destinées de l’homme (1864).

– Camille FLAMMARION (1842-1925), “Lumen”, in [Récits de l’infini] (1872) / Lumen (1887) // “Voyage dans le ciel”, in [Rêves étoiles] (1888).

– Edmond HARAUCOURT (1856-1941), *“L’étape”, in [L’âme nue] (1885).

– Jean RAMEAU (1858-1942), *“Rêve”, in [La vie et la mort] (1886).

– Joseph MAGGINI, *“Vision de bonheur”, in [La voix du souvenir] (1934).

– Pierre GRIPARI (1925-1990), “Voyage nocturne”, in [La rose réaliste] (1985).

– Giulio GIANELLI (1879-1914), *“Vita nello spazio” (1912), in [Poesie] (1934).

– Giovanni BOTTINELLI, Fantasie cosmiche (1938).

FICTIONAL SCIENTIFIC PAPERS

(texts of a literary nature using the discourse of mathematics and natural sciences, in English, German, or any Romance language; except publications in scientific journals, parodic or not, called “spoof papers”)

Scientific spoof papers as a literary and fictional genre encompass the works where fantastical content is infused into any text that methodically and consistently presents the standard rhetorical features of the scientific discourse usual in real scientific practice, especially in the natural sciences, thus achieving literariness through fictionalization. A representative example of this genre are the papers by Isaac Asimov on the imaginary molecule called thiotimoline, which can be seen as central in a long historical series of works belonging to this discursive genre from Gustav Fechner in the 19th century to contemporary authors. Among them, there are a number of writers known for their absurdist and fantastical works, such as Alfred Jarry, Tommaso Landolfi, Giorgio Manganelli, Georges Saunders, etc.

Natural sciences (including Psychology):

– Augustus C. Fotheringam (Lester W. SHARP, 1887-1961; Cuthbert Bancroft FRASER), Eoörnis Pterovelox Gobiensis (1926).

– Isaac ASIMOV (1920-1992), “The Marvellous Properties of Thiotimoline” (1948-1952), in [Only a Trillion] (1957) // “Thiotimoline and the Space Age” (1960), in [Opus 100] (1969).

– Mark CLIFTON (1906-1963), “The Dread Tomato Addiction” (1958).

– Mark EPERNAY (John Kenneth GALBRAITH, 1908-2006), “The McLandress Dimension” (1962), in [The McLandress Dimension] (1963).

– J. [James] G. [Graham] BALLARD (1930-2009), “Love and Napalm: Export USA”, in [The Atrocity Exhibition] (1970).

– J. [Jeremy] H. [Halvard] PRYNNE (1936-), “The Plant Time Manifold Transcripts” (1975), in [Poems] (1999).

– Thomas A. EASTON (1944-), “The Chicago Plan to Save a Species” (1976).

– Peter DICKINSON (1927-2015), The Flight of Dragons (1979).

– George PEREC (1936-1982), “Experimental Demonstration of the Tomatotopic Organisation in the Soprano (Cantatrix sopranica L.)” (1980).

– Dougal DIXON (1947-), After Man: A Zoology of the Future (1981) // The New Dinosaurs: An Alternative Evolution (1988).

– Steve JACKSON; Ian LIVINGSTONE, Out of the Pit (1985).

– Harry HARRISON (1925-2012), [“The World West of Eden”], in [Return to Eden] (1988).

– Frederick POHL (1919-2013), “Scientific American: ‘Martian Polar Wanderings’”, in The Day the Martians Came (1988).

– Jeff VANDERMEER (1968-); Mark ROBERTS, The Thackery T. Lambshead Pocket Guide to Eccentric & Discredited Diseases (2003).

– Dugald STEER (1965-), Dragonology: The Complete Book of Dragons (2003).

– George SAUNDERS (1958-), “93990”, in [In Persuasion Nation] (2006).

– Dr. Mises (Gustav Theodor FECHNER, 1801-1887), “Beweis, dass der Mond aus Jodine bestehe” (1821), “Öffentliche Sitzung am 1. Juli 1861 über den seitlichen Fenster- und Kerzenversuch” (1821), [“Stapelia mixta”] (1824), “Vergleichende Anatomie der Engel” (1825), [“Vier Paradoxa]” (1846), in [Kleine Schriften] (1875).

– Egon FRIEDELL (1878-1938), “Ist die Erde bewohnt?” (1931).

– Harald Stümpke (Gerolf STEINER, 1908-2009), Bau und Leben der Rhinogradentia (1957).

– Óscar de LA BORBOLLA (1949-), “Informe ucrónico” (1993).

– David ROAS (1965-), “El Hipocrondrio”, in [Horrores cotidianos] (2007).

– Javier FERNÁNDEZ (1971-), “Condiciones que inhiben el discernimiento”, in [La grieta] (2007).

– Vicenç PAGÈS JORDÀ (1963-), “Puella gerundensis” (1996), “Gnocchis”, in [El poeta i altres contes] (2005) / [Exorcismes] (2018).

– Alfred JARRY (1873-1907), “‘Commentaires pour servir à la construction pratique de la machine à voyager dans le temps’ par le Dr. Faustroll” (1899) // “Cynégétique de l’omnibus” (1901), “De quelques animaux nuisibles: le volant” (1902), “Les mœurs des noyés” (1902), in [Spéculations] (1911).

– Camille MAUCLAIR (Camille Laurent Célestin Faust, 1872-1945), “Vie des Elfes”, in [Les Danaïdes] (1903) / [Le mystère du visage] (1906).

– George PEREC (1936-1982), “Mise en évidence expérimentale d’une organisation tomatotopique chez la soprano (Cantatrix sopranica L.)” (1980), “Distribution spatio-temporelle de Coscinoscera Victoria, Coscinoscera Tigrata Carpenteri, Coscinoscera Punctata Barton & Coscinoscera Nigrostriata d’Iputupi” (1980).

– Tommaso LANDOLFI (1908-1979), “Da: L’astronomia esposta al popolo. Nozioni d’astronomia sideronebulare”, in [Il mare delle blatte e altre storie] (1939) // “Formula della pazienza; Chiasma de la timidezza” (1941) / “La pazienza; la timidezza” (1977), in [Diario perpetuo] (2012) // “Da: La melotecnica esposta al popolo”, “Nuove rivelazioni della psiche umana. L’uomo di Mannheim. (Relazione letta alla Reale Accademia delle Scienze dall’on. Onisammot Iflodnal, azerbeigiano)”, in [La spada] (1942).

– Alberto MORAVIA (1907-1990), “L’epidemia” (1941), in [L’epidemia] (1944/1956).

– Augusto FRASSINETI (1911-1985), “Prime Conclusioni intorno allo studio della Ministerialità”, in [Misteri dei Ministeri] (1952/1974).

– Primo LEVI (1919-1987), “Cladonia rapida” (1964), in [Storie naturali] (1966).

– Leo LIONNI (1910-1999), La botanica parallela (1976).

– Giorgio PRODI (1928-1987), “L’evoluzione degli animali a penna”, in [Il neutrone borghese] (1980).

– Giorgio MANGANELLI (1922-1990), “Discorso sulla difficoltà di comunicare coi morti”, in [Agli dèi ulteriori] (1989).

– Luigi MALERBA (1927-2008), “Appunti e frammenti per un trattato sugli alberi e sui suoni da essi prodotti”, in [Consigli inutili] (2014).

– Nicolae STEINHARDT (1912-1989), “Cazuri de isterie la sugacii de azi”, in [În genul… tinerilor] (1932).

– Romulus DINU (1921-), “Boala de decongelare (Apatia criogenetică)”, in […dintr-o lume congelată şi… false ficţiuni] (1980).

– Mircea BĂDUŢ (1967-), “Exerciţiu de ciclicitate”, in [Ficţiuni secunde] (2016).

Formal sciences:

*: Linguistics

– Lewis CARROLL (Charles Lutwidge Dodgson, 1832-1898), The New Method of Evaluation, as Applied to π (1865), The Dynamics of a Parti-cle (1865), in [Notes by an Oxford Chiel] (1874).

– George ORWELL (Eric Arthur Blair, 1903-1950), *“The Principles of Newspeak”, in Nineteen Eighty-Four (1949).

– C. [Charles] F. [Francis] HOCKETT (1916-2000), *“How to Learn Martian” (1955), in [The View from Language: Selected Essays 1948-1974] (1977).

– J. [John] R. [Reginald] R. [Reuel] TOLKIEN (1892-1973), *“Writing and Spelling”, in The Lord of the Rings (1967).

– Willard WALKER (1927-2009), *“The Retention of Folk Linguistic Concepts and the ti’yčir Caste in Contemporary Nacireman Culture” (1970).

– Ursula K. [Kroeber] LE GUIN (1929-2018), ““The Author of the Acacia Seeds” and Other Extracts from the Journal of the Association of Therolinguistics” (1974), in [The Compass Rose] (1982).

– Harry MATHEWS (1930-), *“Remarks of the Scholar Graduate”, in [Country Cooking and Other Stories] (1980).

– Modesto LAFUENTE (1806-1866), “Estadística real”, in [Teatro social del siglo XIX] (1846).

– Lola ROBLES (1963-), *“Sobre el campo semántico de los colores en el idioma aanukien”, *“Sobre la metáfora aanukien y fihdia”, in El informe Monteverde (2005).

– Paul THÉDORE-VIBERT (1851-1918), *“Prononciation antique”, in [Pour lire en automobile] (1901).

– Alfred JARRY (1873-1907), “De la surface de Dieu”, in Gestes et opinions du docteur Faustroll, pataphysicien [1898-1899] (1911).

– Raymond QUENEAU (1903-1976), “Quelques remarques sommaires relatives aux propriétés aérodynamiques de l’addition” (1950) // *“De quelques langages animaux imaginaires et notamment du langage chien dans Sylvie et Bruno” (1971).

– Boris VIAN (1920-1959), “Mémoire concernant le calcul numérique de Dieu par des méthodes simples et fausses” (1977 [1955]).

– Tommaso LANDOLFI (1908-1979), *“Qualche discorso sull’L.I.” (1941) / “Volete imparare questo alfabeto?” (1978), in [Diario perpetuo] (2012).

– Umberto ECO (1932-2016), “Dell’impossibilità di costruire la carta dell’imperio 1 a 1”, “The Wom”, “Come falsificare Eraclito”, “Il teorema degli ottocento colori”, in [Il secondo diario minimo] (1992).

– Ion Luca CARAGIALE (1852-1912), “Statistică” (1893), in [Schiţe uşoare] (1896).

FANTASTIC BESTIARIES since 1900

Fantastic bestiaries are fictions consisting in non-scientific descriptions of imaginary beings (plants, animals, minerals).

– Woody ALLEN (Allan Stewart Königsberg, 1935-), “Fabulous Tales and Mythic Beasts”, in [Without Feathers] (1975).

– J. [Joanne] K. ROWLING (1965-), Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (2001; as by Newt Scamander).

– John Henry FLEMING, Fearsome Creatures of Florida (2009).

– Ursula K. LE GUIN (1929-2018), “Elementals” (2012).

– Álvaro CUNQUEIRO (1911-1981), [“Novidades do mundo e fauna máxica”], in [Escola de menciñeiros e fábula de varia xente] (1960).

– Wilson BUENO (1949-2010), Jardim zoológico (1999).

– Jorge Luis BORGES (1899-1986); Margarita GUERRERO, [Manual de zoología fantástica] (1957) / [El libro de los seres imaginarios] (1967/1969).

– Rafael CASTELLANO, “Especies extinguidas: el plumiferus melancolicus” (1965).

– Juan PERUCHO (1920-2003), [Botánica oculta o el falso Paracelso] (1969) // [“Lapidario portátil”], in [Historias secretas de balnearios] (1972) // [Bestiario fantástico] (1977).

– ÁLVARO CUNQUEIRO (1911-1981), “Diccionario manual de bestias marinas” (1972).

– Joan FONTCUBERTA (1955-), “El cocatrix” (1997).

– José Luis SAMPEDRO (1917-2013), “Aviso contra la dañina bestia el Antromóvil donde se revelan sus disfrazadas artes y satánicos fines” (1997).

– Felipe BENÍTEZ REYES (1960-), “El hadillo (1983), “Aldac”, in [Un mundo peligroso] (1994) and [Oficios estelares] (2009).

– Rafael PÉREZ ESTRADA (1934-2000), [Bestiario de Livermoore] (1988).

– Antón CASTRO (Antonio RODRÍGUEZ CASTRO, 1959-), [Bestiario aragonés] (1991).

– Gustavo MARTÍN GARZO (1948-), “El borrador doméstico” (1995).

– Luis MATEO DÍEZ (1942-), “El ladril” (1995).

– Eduardo MENDICUTTI (1948-), “El palabrero” (1995).

– José María MERINO (1941-), “Gamusino doméstico” (1995).

– Soledad PUÉRTOLAS (1947-), “El guerrero amistoso” (1995).

– Raúl GONZÁLVEZ DEL ÁGUILA, [“Bestiario”] (1999).

– Ángel OLGOSO (1961-), “Almanaque de asombros”, in [Granada 2039 y otros relatos] (1999).

– Jesús CALLEJO, [Bestiario mágico] (2001).

– Jordi DOCE (1967-), [Bestiario del nómada] (2001).

– Óscar SIPÁN (1974-), [Leyendario] (2004).

– Juan Jacinto MUÑOZ RENGEL (1974-), “Bestiario secreto en el London Zoo”, in [88 Mill Lane] (2005).

– Francisco FERRER LERÍN (1942-), [Bestiario] (2007).

– Mercè RODOREDA (1908-1983), [“Flors de debò”], in [Viatges i flors] (1980).

– Joan PERUCHO (1920-2003), [Botánica oculta o el fals Paracels] (1980) // [Petit museu de monstres marins] (1981) // [Monstruari fantàstic] (1984).

– Pere CALDERS (1912-1994), “Refinaments d’ultramar”, in [Invasió subtil i altres contes] (1978).

– Alfred JARRY (1873-1907), “Cynégétique de l’omnibus” (1900-1901).

– Jean DESS (HIXE), [“D’une certaine faune”], in [Pour lire en parachute] (1932).

– Henri MICHAUX (1899-1984), [“Notes de zoologie”], in [La Nuit remue] (1935).

– Jean GIONO (1895-1970), “Le grain de tabac” (1956), “L’ours” (1958), “La poufiasse” (1958), “La bestiasse” (1958), in [Ménagerie énigmatique] (1961) // “La cantharide” (1958), “Le verrat-maquereau”, “L’émeraudine”, “The bear», “Le minus”, “L’oiseau-bleu”, in [Animalités] (1965).

– Stefano BENNI (1947-), [Stranalandia] (1984).

– Monica SARSINI (1953-), [Crepacuore] (1985) // [Crepapelle] (1988) // [Crepapancia] (1996).

– Mircea CĂRTĂRESCU (1956-), Enciclopedia zmeilor (2002).

FICTIONAL CRITICISM

ANTHOLOGIES AND CRITICAL EDITIONS OF IMIAGINARY WRITERS

*: alleged translations.

– Norman DOUGLAS (1868-1952), Some Limericks (1929).

– Vladimir NABOKOV (1899-1977), Pale Fire (1962).

– Woody ALLEN (Allan Stewart Königsberg, 1935-), *“The Scrolls” (1974), “The Irish Genius”, in [Without Feathers] (1975).

– David LANGFORD (1953-), An Account of a Meeting with Denizens from Another World, 1871 by William Robert Loosley (1979).

– Benjamin ROSENBAUM (1969-), *“The Book of Jashar” (2003), in [The Ant King and other stories] (2008).

– Charles YU (1976-), *“The Book of Categories” (2011).

– Aristidis G. ROMANOS (1937-), *Tlön: Journey to a Utopian Civilisation (2015).

– Luís Filipe SILVA (1970-) et alii., Os Anos de Ouro da Pulp Fiction Portuguesa (2011).

– Adolfo de CASTRO (1823-1898), El Buscapié de Cervantes (1844).

– Joaquín BARTRINA (1850-1880), “Una poesía española inédita del siglo XV publicada ahora por primera vez por don N. A. A.”, in [Obras en prosa y verso] (1881).

– Rafael Rafael Zamora y Pérez de Urría, marqués de VALERO DE URRÍA (1861-1908), [Crímenes literarios](1906).

– Pedro Erasmo CALLORDA (1879-1949), El testamento de don Quijote (1918).

– Enrique DÍEZ CANEDO (1879-1944), Alfonso REYES (1889-1959), “Góngora y El Greco” (1921).

– SALARRUÉ (Salvador Salazar Arrué, 1899-1975), *[O’Yarkandal] (1929).

– Max AUB (1903-1972), Jusep Torres Campalans (1958) // Antología traducida (1972).

– Juan José DOMENCHINA (1898-1945), *El diván de Abz-ul-Agrib (1945).

– Rafael SOLANA (1915-1992), *“Sansón y Dalila”, in [El oficleido y otros cuentos] (1960) / El novísmo Algazife o Libro de las Postrimerías (1980).

– Rafael PÉREZ ESTRADA (1934-2000), Revelaciones de la Madre Margarita Amable del Divino Niño del Sí (1970).

– Carlos RIPOLL, “Juan Pérez” por Benjamín Castillo (1970).

– Pedro GÓMEZ VALDERRAMA (1923-1992), “Los papeles de la academia utópica” (1972), in [La procesión de los ardientes] (1973) // “Documentos del padre Alameda”, in [Las alas de los muertos] (1992).

– Rafael LLOPIS (1933-), *“Invocación de una entidad de la noche a su reflejo luminoso” (1974) / El Novísmo Algazife o Libro de las Postrimerías (1980).

– Jorge Luis BORGES (1899-1986), *“El informe de Brodie”, in [El informe de Brodie] (1970) // *“La secta de los Treinta”, *“Undr”, in [El libro de arena] (1975).

– Emilio SERRA (1953-1989), *“Extractos, documentación y fuentes relativos al culto de Yidhra y su relación con el ciclo mítico de Mlandoth” (1979).

– Daína CHAVIANO (1957-), *“El papiro de Ptah”, in [Amoroso planeta] (1983).

– José JIMÉNEZ LOZANO (1930-2020), *[Parábolas y circunloquios de Rabí Isaac Ben Yehuda (1325-1402)] (1985).

– José FERRATER MORA (1912-1991), “Reivindicación de Babel” (1991).

– Federico GARCÍA LORCA (1898-1936), Antología modelna, precedida de los poemas de Isidro Capdepón Fernández (1995).

– Felipe BENÍTEZ REYES (1960-), Vidas improbables (1995/2009).

– Gloria MÉNDEZ (1969-), *[El informe Kristeva] (1997).

– Daniel PÉREZ, “Donde se cuenta la verdadera historia que pasó Sancho al ir a buscar a la señora Dulcinea, y de otros sucesos tan ridículos como verdaderos” (2005).

– Javier FERNÁNDEZ (1971-), “Hacia una traducción de Gigamesh de Patrick Hannahan”, in [La grieta] (2007).

Voz Vértebra: Antología de poesía futura (2017).

– Xuan BELLO (1965-), Pantasmes, mundos, laberintos (1996).

– Roberto GONZÁLEZ-QUEVEDO (1953-), *[Hestoria de la l.literatura primera en Pesicia] (2014).

– Alfred MOQUIN-TANDON (1804-1866), Carya Magalonensis (1836).

– Pompeu GENER (1848-1920), *“Una teogonia índia” (1901) / *“Antic poem del Indostan (Una teogonia vishnuita)”, in [Pensant, sentint i rient] (1911).

– Manuel de PEDROLO (1918-1990), *[Múltiples notícies de l’Edèn] (1985).

– Vicenç PAGÈS JORDÀ (1963-), *“Puella gerundensis”, “La remullada: rondalla apócrifa”, in [El poeta i altres contes] (2005).

– Charles NODIER (1780-1844), *Smarra ou les démons de la nuit (1821).

– Prosper MERIMEE (1803-1870), *La Guzla ou choix de poésies illyriques recueillies dans la Dalmatie, la Bosnie, la Croatie et l’Herzégowine (1827).

– Charles-Augustin SAINTE-BEUVE (1804-1869), Vie, poésies et pensées de Joseph Delorme (1829).

– Alphonse RABBE (1784-1829), *“Le centaure”, in [Album d’un pessimiste] (1835).

– Théodore Hersart de LA VILLEMARQUÉE (1815-1895), *Le Barzaz Breiz, chants populaires de la Bretagne (1839-1845-1867).

– Gabriel VICAIRE (1848-1900); Henri BEAUCLAIR (1860-1919), Les Déliquescences, poèmes décadents d’Adoré Floupette, avec sa vie par Marius Tapora (1885).

– Paul BORY (1837-19?), *Mémoires dun Romain (1890).

– Anatole FRANCE (François Anatole Thibault, 1844-1924), *“Sainte Euphrosine”, (1891), in [L’étui de nacre] (1892/1922).

– Nicolas NOTOVITCH (1858-?), *La Vie inconnue de Jésus-Christ (1894).

– Pierre LOUŸS (1870-1925), *Las Chansons de Bilitis (1895).

– Paul-Jean TOULET (1867-1920), Monsieur du Paur, homme public (1898/1920).

– Hugues REBELL (Georges Grassal de Choffat, 1867-1905), *La saison à Baïa (1900).

– Marcel SCHWOB (1867-1905), *“Origines du journal: L’Île des Diurnales”, in [Mœurs des Diurnales: Traité de journalisme] (1903; as Loyson-Bridet).

– Gabriel de PIMODAN (1856-1924), *Le roman dune âme antique (1904).

– Valery LARBAUD (1881-1957), Poèmes par un riche amateur ou Œuvres françaises de M. Barnabooth (1908).

– Jean REDNI, *[Luxures antiques, voluptés tragiques] (1908).

– Gaston PICARD (1892-1965), Les Poèmes idiots, œuvre posthume de Myriam Mester (1911).

– Maurice DEKOBRA (Maurice Ernest Tessier, 1885-1973), Hamydal le philosophe, morceaux choisis du célèbre penseur (1921).

– Philippe SELK (¿1873-1940?), *Un livre d’argile. Le Poème de Šu-nir (1922).

– Pascal PIA (Pierre Durand, 1903-1979), À une courtisane, poème inédit de Charles Baudelaire (1925).

– Léon BOPP (1896-1977), “Danger du Lac (de Lamartine)”, in [Drôle de monde] (1940).

– René DAUMAL (1908-1944), “Quelques poètes français du XXVe siècle” (1942).

– Yves GANDON (1899-1975), *La Terrasse des désespoirs (1943) // *Le Pavillon des délices regrettées (1947).

– Jean DUTOURD (1920-2011), *“Ludwig Schnorr ou la marche de l’histoire” (1958), in [Les Dupes] (1959).

– Stefan WUL (Pierre Pairault, 1922-2003), * “Droit de réponse” (1974).

– Maurice MOURIER (1936-), Godilande ou Journal d’un mort (1974).

– Jean TARDIEU (1903-1995), Le Professeur Frœppel (1978).

– Claude BONNEFOY (1929-1979), Ronceraille (1978).

– Alain NADAUD (1948-2015), *Archéologie du zéro (1984).

– Pascal QUIGNARD (1948-), *Les Tablettes de buis d’Apronenia Avitia (1984).

– Jean-Benoît PUECH (1947-), L’Apprentissage du roman. Extraits du Journal d’apprentissage de Benjamin Jordane (1993).

– Éric CHEVILLARD (1964-), L’Œuvre posthume de Thomas Pilaster (1999).

– Pierre JOURDE (1955-); Éric NAULLEAU (1961-), Le Jourde et Naulleau: Précis de littérature du XXIe siècle (2004/2008/2015).

– Pierre SENGES (1968-), *La Réfutation majeure (2004).

– Samir BOUADI; Agathe COLOMBIER-HOCHBERG, 26,5 auteurs qui n’existent pas mais qu’il faut absolument avoir lus (2008).

– Giacomo LEOPARDI (1798-1837), *“Inno a Nettuno” (1817) // Martirio de’ Santi Padri del Monte Sinai e dell’eremo di Raitu composto da Ammonio Monaco, volgarizzamento fatto nel buon secolo della nostra lingua (1826) // *“Cantico del gallo silvestre”, in [Operette morali] (1827) // *“Frammento apocrifo di Stratone di Lampsaco” (1845 [1825]).

– Tommaso GARGALLO (1760-1843), Il paladino d’Ungheria. Novella d’antico codice ora per la prima volta pubblicata (1823).

– Monaldo LEOPARDI (1776-1847), Memoriale di frate Giovanni da Camerino francescano scritto nell’anno 1371(1828/1833).

– Pietro FANFANI (1815-1879), Relazione del viaggio d’Arrigo VII in Italia di Niccolò vescovo di Botrintò, volgarizzata nel secolo XVIV dal notaio ser Bonacosa di ser Bonavita da Pistoia (1847).

– ¿Ignazio PILLITO (1806-1895)?; Pietro MARTINI (1800-1866), Pergamene, codici e fogli cartacei d’Arborea (Cartas de Arborea / Carte d’Arborea) (1863-1865).

– Giuseppe CUGNONI (1824-1908), Vita di Arhot monaco (1884).

– Giuseppe COZZA-LUZZI, Appunti leopardiani (1898).

– Giuseppe MEZZANOTTE (1855-1935), La novella della cesta (1902).

– Augusto FRASSINETI (1911-1985), Misteri dei Ministeri (1952/1974) // “Lo Spirito delle Leggi. Postfazione”, in [Un capitano a riposo] (1963).

– Giacomo BIFFI (1928-), *Il quinto evangelo (1968).

– Brunamaria DAL LAGO (1935-), *Il regno dei Fanes (1989).

– Pietro PIZZARI, *Necronomicon: magia nera in un manoscritto della Biblioteca Vaticana (1993).

– Constandin SION (1795-1862)?, Izvodul spătarului Clănău (Cronica lui Huru) (1856).

– Constantin A. IONESCU-CAION (1880-1918), “Un război al lui Mircea în 1399” (1901).

– Vladimir COLIN (Jean Colin, 1921-1991), *[Legendele Țării lui Vam] (1961).

MOCK BOOK REVIEWS AND SIMILAR DOCUMENTS (including reviews and descriptions of works of art)

– Thomas Babington MACAULAY (1800-1859), “A prophetic account of a grand national epic poem, to be entitled The Wellingtoniad, and to be published A.D. 2824” (1824).

– Aristarchus Newlight (Richard WHATELEY, 1786-1863), Historic Certainties Respecting the Early History of America (1851).

– H. P. LOVECRAFT (1890-1937), “History of the Necronomicon” (1938).

– Woody ALLEN (Allan Stewart Königsberg, 1935-), “The Metterling Lists” (1969), in [Getting Even] (1971).

– Norman SPINRAD (1940-), “Afterword to the Second Edition”, in The Iron Dream (1972).

– Jonathan BAUMBACH (1933-), “Neglected Masterpieces IV”, in [The Return of Service] (1979) // “Neglected Masterpieces III” (1986).

– Samuel R. DELANY (1942-), “Some Informal Remarks toward the Modular Calculus, Part Three, by S. L. Kermit”, in [Tales of Nevèrÿon] (1979).

– Robert M. PRICE (1954-), “A Critical Commentary on the Necronomicon” (1988).

– R. M. BERRY, “Second Story”, “Samuel Beckett’s Middlemarch”, “History”, in [Dictionary of Modern Anguish] (2000).

– Michael CISCO (1970-), “The Thing in the Jar” (2011).

– Cherie PRIEST (1975-), “Addison Howell and the Clockroach” (2011).

– Henrique Maximiano COELHO NETO (1864-1934), “Inauditismo”, in [Lanterna mágica] (1898).

– Melchor FERNÁNDEZ ALMAGRO (1893-1966), “El poeta Capdepón, académico” (1923).

– Jorge Luis BORGES (1899-1986), “El acercamiento a Almotásim”, in [Historia de la eternidad] (1936) / “Pierre Menard, autor del Quijote” (1939), “Examen de la obra de Herbert Quain” (1941), in [El jardín de senderos que se bifurcan] (1941) / “Tres versiones de Judas”, in [Ficciones] (1944/1956).

– AZORÍN (José Martínez Ruiz, 1873-1967), “Un librito de versos”, “Estudios históricos”, in [Cavilar y contar] (1942).

– Juan BENET (1927-1993), “Un prólogo a la Historia de la Orden de Caballeros de Don Juan Tenorio” (1959).

– Juan José ARREOLA (1918-2001), “El himen en México”, in [Palindroma] (1971).

– Jaime ROSAL DEL CASTILLO (1945-), “Acerca del verdadero Necronomicón” (1974).

– Juan-Jacobo BAJARLÍA (1914-2005), “El Al-Azif o Necronomicón” (1975-1978).

– José María MONTELLS (1949-), “Sobre el papiro Neferkeré” (1976).

– Emiliano GONZÁLEZ (1955-), “Los cuatro libros de Garret Mackintosh”, in [Los sueños de la bella durmiente] (1978).

– José FERRER-BERMEJO (1956-), “Breve reseña del Kriskongismo”, in [El increíble hombre inapetente y otros relatos] (1982).

– Luis GOYTISOLO (1935-), “Joyce al fin superado” (1984), in [Investigaciones y conjeturas de Claudio Mendoza] (1985).

– Darío VIDAL, “Los papeles dispersos del rabí Samuel Santángel de Alcañiz”, in [Siete ensayos aragoneses y un apócrifo] (1986).

– Óscar de LA BORBOLLA (1949-), “El manual de torturadores”, “La mejor novela de este tiempo”, “La pena de muerte”, “Primera reseña de este libro”, in [Ucronías] (1989).

– Mario LEVRERO (1940-2004), “Giambattista Grozzo, autor de “Pierre Menard, autor del Quijote”” (1993).

– Eugenio F. GRANELL (1912-2001), “Nota bibliográfica”, in [El aire franco] (2000).

– Eduardo BERTI (1964-), “Una novela premonitoria”, in [La vida imposible] (2002).

– Alberto LÓPEZ AROCA (1976-), [“Mitología creativa”], in [Los espectros conjurados] (2004).

– David ARIAS (1965-), “Necrológica”, in [Horrores cotidianos] (2007).

– Javier FERNÁNDEZ (1971-), “Hacia una traducción de Gigamesh de Patrick Hannahan”, in [La grieta] (2007).

– Jorge CARRIÓN (1976-), ““Nuestro dolor. Algunas reflexiones sobre Los muertos”, por Martha H. de Soto”, ““Los muertos o la narrativa postraumática”, por Jordi Batlló y Javier Pérez”, in Los muertos (2010).

– Pablo MARTÍN SÁNCHEZ (1977-), “Verbigracia”, “Poesía métrica”, in [Fricciones] (2011).

– Enrique GALLUD JARDIEL (1958-), [Historia estúpida de la literatura] (2014).

– Vicente Luis MORA (1970-), “El Quijote de Cervantes como plagio de Si una noche de invierno un viajero, de Italo Calvino” (2016).

– M. Servet (A) Raves, “El descobriment de Madrid, pel doctor Schulze-Pfalz” (1904).

– Joan PERUCHO (1920-2003), “Notícia de Madama Edwarda i de un desconegut escriptor”, “Don Faustino de la Peña i el seu enigmàtic Tratado de carnes”, “El diari de guerra de Xaconín”, “Un cavaller erudit”, “Velles cròniques d’Espanya” (H.), “Els erudits del meravellós”, “Notícia del doctor Thebussem”, in [Aparicions i fantasmes] (1968) // [Històries apòcrifes] (1974) // “El pareraire”, “El Canut o la futurologia en vers” (H.), in [Monstruari fantàstic] (1976)

– Pep ALBANELL (1945-), “El gran lament”, in [L’impacable naufragi de la pols] (1987).

– Joaquim CARBÓ (1932-), “El realisme critic premiat” (1986), “Un llibre de guerra singular” (1986), “El rei Jaume I en calent” (1986), “Campi qui pugui” (1987), in [L’Ofèlia i jo] (2004).

– Pep ALBANELL (1945-), “El gran lament”, in [L’impacable naufragi de la pols] (1987).

– Màrius SERRA (1963-), Amnèsia (1987) (H.).

– Vicenç PAGÈS JORDÀ (1963-), “Cabal/5”, “Emportar-se/10”, in [Cercles dinfinites combinacions] (2003).

– Jordi MASÓ RAHOLA (1967-), “El gnom de Bristol”, in [Polpa] (2016).

– Joan-Claudi FORÊT (1950-), “Logica sens pena”, “Deliri d’interpretacion”, in [Libre dels grands nombres o falses e us de fals] (1998).

– Pierre MILLE (1864-1941), “Poèmes modernes” (1887).

– René ÉTIEMBLE (1909-2002), “Un homme à tuer: Jorge Luis Borges, cosmopolite” (1952).

– Raymond QUENEAU (1903-1976), “De quelques langages animaux imaginaires et notamment du langage chien dans Sylvie et Bruno” (1971)

– Didier ANZIEU (1923-1999), “La sémantique du texte”, in [Contes à rebours] (1975/1987/1995).

– Jean-Benoît PUECH (1947-), [La Bibliothèque d’un amateur] (1979).

– Antoine BELLO (1970-), “L’année Zu”, in [Les Funambules] (1996).

 – Sylvain JOUTY (1949-), “Notes sur le travail d’Eddy Mörcher”, in [Queen Kong] (2001).

– Stéphane JAGDANSKI (1963-), “יהוה, dit “Dieu””, in [Jouissance du temps] (2005).

– Samir BOUADI; Agathe COLOMBIER-HOCHBERG, [26,5 auteurs qui n’existent pas mais qu’il faut absolument avoir lus] (2008).

– Bernard QUIRINY (1978-), “Quelques écrivains, tous morts”, in [Contes cannibales] (2008).

– Yann DALL’AGLIO, [Vies, sentences et doctrines des sages imaginaires] (2014).

– Clémentine MELOIS (1980-), [Cent titres] (2014).

– Emilio CECCHI (1884-1966), “Una comuniccazione accademica” (1919), in [Pesci rossi] (1920).

– Tommaso LANDOLFI (1908-1979), “SPQR”, in [Racconti impossibili] (1966).

– Umberto ECO (1932-2016), “My exagmination round his factification for incamination to reduplication with ridecolation of a portrait of the artist as Manzoni” (1962), “Tre recensioni anomale” (1967-1971), in [Diario minimo] (1963/1975) // “Dell’esternazione”, “Tre civette sul Comò”, “Lineamenti di critica quantistica”, “Il pensiero di Brachamutanda”, in [Il secondo diario minimo] (1992).

– Virginia DE BOSIS VACCA (1898-1988), [Recensioni artificiali] (2001).

– Paolo ALBANI (1946-), [Il sosia laterale e altre recensioni] (2003).

HOMO SCRIBENS, [Enciclopedia degli scrittori inesistenti] (2009/2012).

– Luca GIORGI (1960-), [Il libro dei libri] (2011).

– Ovid S. CROHMĂLNICEANU (Moise Cohn, 1921-2000), “Recenzie stiinţifică”, in [Istorii insolite] (1980).

PLOT SUMMARIES OF UNWRITTEN WORKS

Only summaries written as such, not summaries of accidentally lost or unwritten books (e.g. due to the writer’s decease).

Only texts in romance languages.

– Teófilo BRAGA (1843-1924), “Epopéia da Lusónia”, in Viriato (1904).

– Juan VALERA (1824-1905), “Los cordobeses en Creta” (1897).

– Pretextato TRASTIENDA (Francisco ANTICH E IZAGUIRRE, 1872-1930), Novedad, 100 o 200 argumentos para cuentos (tal como los tienen los autores en cartera) (1904).

– Jorge Luis BORGES (1899-1986), “El acercamiento a Almotásim”, in [Historia de la eternidad] (1936) / [El jardín de senderos que se bifurcan] (1941) / “Tema del traidor y del héroe” (1944), in [Ficciones] (1944/1956).

– Ricardo GULLÓN (1908-1991), “Un drama inédito de Unamuno” (1961).

– Jaime ROSAL [DEL CASTILLO] (1945-), “Acerca del verdadero Necronomicón” (1974).

– Luis GOYTISOLO (1935-), “Joyce al fin superado” (1984), in [Investigaciones y conjeturas de Claudio Mendoza] (1985).

– Fernando ARRABAL (1932-), “La travesía de Arrabal” (1988).

– Enrique GALLUD JARDIEL (1958-), “El comité de Kafka”, [“La antiliteratura”], in [Historia estúpida de la literatura] (2014).

– Ramon REVENTÓS (1882-1923), “Argument d’una història llarga” (1916), in [Proses] (1953).

– Valentí CASTANYS (1898-1965), “Dos mil anys després”, in [Barcelona-Hollywood (radio-cinema-sonor)] (1935).

– Francesc TRABAL (1899-1957), [Tres arguments] (1938).

– Joaquim CARBÓ (1932), “El realisme critic premiat” (1986), “Un llibre de guerra singular” (1986), “El rei Jaume I en calent” (1986), “Campi qui pugui” (1987), in [L’Ofèlia i jo] (2004).

– Jules CLARETIE (1840-1913), “Le Napoléon jaune” (1900).

– Jacques RIGAUT (1898-1929), “Un brillant sujet” (1922).

– Jean-Benoît PUECH (1947-), [La Bibliothèque d’un amateur] (1979).

– Pierre GRIPARI (1925-1990), “La Chartreuse de Parme (critique imaginaire)”, “La Bataille de l’eau de Lourdes”, in [La Rose réaliste] (1985).

– Sarane ALEXANDRIAN (1927-2009), [Soixante sujets de romans au goût du jour et de la nuit] (2000).

– Theo CANDINAS (1929-), «Gion Barlac ei el claus», in [Historias da Gion Barlac] (1975).

– Luigi CAPUANA (1839-1915), «Un melodramma inedito», in [Fumando] (1889) / [Le appassionate] (1893).

– Giovanni PAPINI (1881-1956), “Un film originale”, in [Le pazzie del poeta] (1950) // “Il poema dell’uomo (di Walt Whitman)”, “La gioventù di Don Chisciotte (di Miguel de Cervantes)”, “Il Primo e l’Ultimo (di Unamuno)”, “Il ritorno (di Franz Kafka)”, “La conversione del papa (di Roberto Browning)”, “Il paradiso ritrovato (di William Blake)”, in [Il libro nero] (1951).

– Felix ADERCA (Zelicu Froim Aderca, 1891-1962), “Pastorală”, in [Aventurile D-lui Ionel Lăcustă-Termidor] (1932).

– Mircea Horia SIMIONESCU (1928-2011), “ANTONIO GOVERNALY: Noocracia”, in Bibliografia generală (1971).

– Mircea OPRIŢĂ (1943-), “Meteoritul tungus” (2005), in [Sindromul Quijote şi alte ficţiuni rebele] (2014).

FICTIONAL LISTS

Bibliographies, book catalogs, audiovisual and musical programmes, and imaginary indexes

Only texts published as literary texts in collections of fictions and/or literary journals.

– R. LONSDALE, Catalogue of the Extensive Library of Doctor Rainbeau (1862).

– Francis Peloubet FARQUHAR (1887-1974), A Catalogue of Rare Books and Manuscripts (1946).

– J. [James] G. [Graham] BALLARD (1930-2009), “The Index” (1977), in [War Fever] (1990) and [The Complete Short Stories] (2001) // “A Guide to Virtual Death” (1992), in [The Complete Short Stories] (2001).

– Rosendo PONS, “Del año 3000” (1901).

– José Alberto GONZÁLBEZ, “Cierta guía de conciertos de la orquesta filarmónica de Plutón” (1980).

– Renier CHALON (1802-1889), Catalogue dune très riche mais peu nombreuse collection de livres provenant de la bibliothèque de feu M. le Comte J.N.A. de Fortsas (1840).

– Marcel SCHWOB (1867-1905), “Les cent bons livres du journaliste”, in [Mœurs des Diurnales: Traité de journalisme] (1903; as Loyson-Bridet).

BIBLICAL MODERN APOCRHYPHA

Texts which mimic ancient rethoric.

*: purely literary.

– Joseph SMITH (1805-1844), The Book of Mormon (1830).

The Lost Chapter of the Acts of the Apostles (1871).

– William Dennes MAHAN (1824-1906), A Correct Transcript of Pilate’s Court (1879) / The Archaeological Writings of the Sanhedrin and Talmuds of the Jews, Taken from the Ancient Parchments and Scrolls at Constantinople and the Vatican at Rome, Being the Record Made by the Enemies of Jesus of Nazareth in His Day (1884).

– John Ballou NEWBROUGH (1828-1891), Oahspe (1882/1891).

– Gideon Jasper Richard OUSELEY (1834-1906), The Gospel of the Holy Twelve (1898-1901).

– Levi H. DOWLING (1844-1911), The Aquarian Gospel of Jesus the Christ (1908).

Letter of Jesus Christ (1917).

Epistle of Kallikrates (1928)

– William Percival CROZIER (1879-1944), *Letters of Pontius Pilate (1928).

– Catherine VAN DYKE, “Letters from Pontius Pilate’s Wife” (1929).

– Edmond Bordeaux SZEKELY (1905-1979), The Gospel of Peace of Jesus Christ by the Disciple John (1937) / The Essene Gospel of John (1956).

– Woody ALLEN (Allan Stewart Königsberg, 1935-), “The Scrolls” (1974), in [Without Feathers] (1975).

– Benjamin ROSENBAUM (1969-), *“The Book of Jashar” (2003), in [The Ant King and other stories] (2008) // *“Tractate Metim 28A” (2015).

– Jeffrey ARCHER (1940-); Francis J. MOLONEY, The Gospel According to Judas (2007).

– Joaquim Maria MACHADO DE ASSIS (1839-1908), *“Na Arca: Três capítulos inéditos do Gênesis” (1878), in [Papéis Avulsos] (1882).

– Henrique Maximiano COELHO NETO (1864-1934), “Judas”, in [Lanterna mágica] (1898).

– ANDRENIO (Eduardo GÓMEZ DE BAQUERO, 1866-1929), *“El Evangelio del Fariseo” (1911), in [Escenas de la vida moderna] (1913).

– Edmundo GONZÁLEZ BLANCO (1877-1938), “Jesús de Nazareth”, in [Jesús de Nazareth] (1915) / [Cuentos fantásticos] (1920).

– Clemente PALMA (1872-1946), *“Diatriba” (1927) / *“Elogio y diatriba” (1938).

– Tomás BORRÁS (1891-1976), *“La escisión”, in [Azul contra gris] (1948).

– Rafael SOLANA (1915-1992), *“Sansón y Dalila”, in [El oficleido y otros cuentos] (1960).

– J. [Juan] J. [José] BENÍTEZ (1946-), El testamento de San Juan (1988).

– Jaume RODRI (1940-), Evangeli de Jesús (1973).

– Manuel de PEDROLO (1918-1990), *“Fragment de la Crònica d’Irad”, *“Llibre de Naama”, *“Dels fets de l’Eva i l’Adam”, *“La presència del Serpent”, *“La Creació, segons el text de Babilònia del segle XI a. C.”, in [Múltiples notícies de l’Edèn] (1985).

– George SAND (Aurore Dupin, 1804-1876), *“Le Poème de Myrza” (1835).

– Nicolas NOTOVITCH (1858-?), La Vie inconnue de Jésus-Christ (1894).

– Renée VIVIEN (Pauline Mary Tarn, 1877-1909), *“La genèse profane”, in [Brumes de fjords] (1902).

– Han RYNER (Jacques Élie Henri Ambroise Ner, 1861-1938), Le Cinquième Évangile (1910).

– George Armand MASSON (1892-1977), *“Vanité des vanités”, *“L’Évangile selon Sainte Orberose”, in [LArt daccommoder les classiques] (1924).

– François CAVANNA (1923-2014), Les Aventures de Dieu (1971) – Les Aventures du petit Jésus, in [Les Écritures] (1982).

– Michel POTAY (1929-), L’Évangile donné à Arès (1974) – Le Livre (1977) / La Révélation d’Arès (1984).

– Frère BERNARD-MARIE, Le Cinquième Évangile d’après les agrapha et quelques mystiques (1997).

– Giacomo BIFFI (1928-), Il quinto evangelo (1968).

FICTIONAL BUSINESS DOCUMENTS

Prospectuses, business reports, commercial documents (including invoices)

*: narratives (company histories and narrative reports)

º: descriptions by third parties.

– James THOMSON (1834-1882), *“The Story of a Famous Old Jewish Firm” (1865), in [Satires and Profanities] (1884).

– John DAVIDSON (1857-1909), “The World’s Pleasance Company, Limited”, in “The Salvation of Nature”, in [The Great Man; and a Practical Novelist] (1891) / [The Pilgrimage of Strongsoul and Other Stories] (1896).

– Max APPLE (1941-), “An Offering”, in [Free Agents] (1984).

– John Thomas SLADEK (1937-2002), *Wholly Smokes (2003).

– Henrique Maximiano COELHO NETO (1864-1934), “Nova companhia”, in [Lanterna mágica] (1898).

– Antonio FLORES (1818-1865), º“El Gran Hotel de la Unidad Transatlántica”, in [Mañana, o la chispa eléctrica en 1899], third volume of [Ayer, hoy y mañana, o la fe, el vapor y la electricidad] (1863).

– Francisco AYALA (1906-2009), º“Ciencia e industria”, in [El jardín de las delicias] (1971).

– David ROAS (1965-), “Mecánica y psicoanálisis (un futuro cercano)”, in [Horrores cotidianos] (2007).

– Ramon PÉREZ-PUJOL (1916-1984), º“El sistema Togosoku”, in [Històries de ciencia-emoció] (1973).

– Émile SOUVESTRE (1806-1854), “Télégraphes trans-aériens”, in Le Monde tel qu’il sera (1846).

– Auguste de VILLIERS DE L’ISLE-ADAM (1838-1889), º“L’agence du Chandelier d’or” (1884), in [L’Amour suprême] (1886).

– George AURIOL (Jean-Georges Huyot, 1863-1938), º“Manufacture de sonnets” (1889).

– Tristan BERNARD (1866-1947), “Société anonyme de brigandage et de cambriolage dans les villas” (1899), in [Sous toutes réserves] (1911).

– Alfred JARRY (1873-1907), º“La Société protectrice des enfants martyrs” (1901).

– Jacques RIGAUT (1898-1929), “Agence Générale du Suicide”, in [Agence Générale du Suicide] (1959).

– Theo CANDINAS (1929-), º“Descripziun d’in stabiliment”, ein [Entagls] (1974).

– Ursicin G. [Gion] G. [Gieli] DERUNGS (1935-), *“La radunonza generala”, in [Il cavalut verd ed auter] (1988).

– Alexandru MACEDONSKI (1854-1920), *“Oceania-Pacific-Dreadnought” (1913).

FICTIONAL ADVERTISEMENT

Heterotopian fictional advertisement: Javier Fernándezs “La IslaTM” and the literary genre of the fictional advert

Fictions for advertising purposes have existed for a long time. Inversely, there is a textual form that uses advertising for literary purposes: fictional advertising texts. Among them, there are advertisements of imaginary institutions and goods written, for instance, by Coelho Neto, Rigaut and Arreola, as well as “La IslaTM”, a part of the cyberpunk work entitled Absolute Zero (2005), by Javier Fernandez. This mock tourist brochure reveals through fiction the (anti-)utopian dimension of the kind of advertising that sells heterotopian spaces. This text stands out due to its consistency and autonomy, and generates a complete fictional world through the signs and the discourse of advertising, thus illustrating the semiotic exchange between advertisement and literary fiction.

Fictional business documents are excluded.

– R. M. BERRY, “(paid advertisement)”, in [Dictionary of Modern Anguish] (2000).

– Mark A. RAINER, “Pages I Have Dog-Eared in the Fall 2037 Hammacher Schlemmer Glaven Catalog”, in [Pirate Therapy and Other Cures] (2012).

– Steven MILLHAUSER (1943-), “Arcadia” (2013), in [Voices in the Night] (2015).

– Modesto LAFUENTE (1806-1866), “Máquina para afeitar”, in “Un rapa-barbas de nueva invención”, in [Teatro social del siglo XIX] (1846).

– Antonio FLORES (1818-1865), “El que da lo que tiene a más no está obligado, o cómo por el hilo del pregón se sacará el ovillo de la cosa pregonada”, in [Mañana, o la chispa eléctrica en 1899], in [Ayer, hoy y mañana, o la fe, el vapor y la electricidad] (1863).

– Rafael Rafael Zamora y Pérez de Urría, marqués de VALERO DE URRÍA (1861-1908), “The Universal, Mechanic, Literary, Poetical and Prosaic Company Limited” (1892) / “Máquina cerebral”, in [Crímenes literarios] (1906).

– Silverio LANZA (Juan Bautista AMORÓS, 1856-1912), “¡No más anhidros!”, in [Cuentos escogidos] (1908).

– Juan José ARREOLA (1918-2001), “Baby H.P.”, “Anuncio”, in [Confabulario] (1952).

– José FERRER-BERMEJO (1956-), “Ponga un ciego en su vida”, in [Incidente en Atocha] (1982).

– Javier FERNÁNDEZ (1971-), “La IslaTM”, in Cero absoluto (2005).

– Ramon COMAS I MADUELL (1935-1978), “…I la màquina”, in [Rescat d’ambaixadors] (1970).

– Òscar PÀMIES (1961-), “Com resoldre el pitjor problema de les grans conurbacions”, in [Com serà la fi del món: Maneres que tindrà de presentar-se’ns i com preparar-s’hi anímicament] (1996).

– Honoré de BALZAC (1799-1850), “Double Pâte des Sultanes et Eau Carminative de César Birotteau, découverte merveilleuse approuvée par l’Institut de France”, in César Birotteau (1837).

– Ernest JAUBERT (1856-1942), “Un prospectus de l’an 2000” (1890).

FICTIONAL PRESCRIPTIVE TEXTS

Prescriptive discourse, literary fiction and dystopia: Santiago Eximeno’s “La hora de la verdad” (2003) in its genre context

Several recent texts suggest that fiction is a concept which should be distinguished from the narrative. Even prescriptive discourse (rules, instructions, etc.) can be used to create a possible fictional world, without narration or characters. The example of Santiago Eximeno’s zombie fiction “The Moment of Truth” (2003) shows that the introduction of fantastic elements in a normative discourse can contribute to the shaping of a whole fictional universe. This presents dystopian features in the above-mentioned work, as it indicates the repressive mechanisms exercised through the prescriptive power of the State.

Real political and legislative proposals, even if made by individuals not in office, are excluded.

LAWS, REGULATIONS, DIRECTIVES, RECOMMENDATIONS, DIRECTIONS, POLITICAL PROGRAMMES, ETC., PUBLIC OR PRIVATE

(v.): in verse

*: legally binding texts.

– Rudyard KIPLING (1865-1936), “The Law of the Jungle” (v.), in [The Second Jungle Book] (1895).

– Frederick Upham ADAMS (1859-1921), *“Constitution of the United States of America”, in President John Smith (1897).

– Henry O. MORRIS, *“Constitution of the United States”, in Waiting for the Signal (1897).

– Mark TWAIN (Samuel Langhorne Clemens, 1835-1910), “Etiquette for the Afterlife: Advice to Paine” (1912/1995 [1910]).

– Edward Mandell HOUSE (1858-1938), *“The New National Constitution”, “New State Constitutions”, in Philip Dru: Administrator (1912).

– Evelyn WAUGH (1903-1966), *“Order for the Day of the Emperor’s Departure”, in Black Mischief (1932).

– Isaac ASIMOV (1920-1922), Three Laws of Robotic, in “Runaround” (1942), in [I, Robot] (1950).

– Peter PORTER (1927-2010), *“Your Attention Please” (v.) (1962).

– Franz JOSEPH (1914-1994), *“Articles of Federation”, in [Star Trek Star Fleet Technical Manual] (1975).

– David BRIN (1950-), *“National Recovery Act”, in The Postman (1985).

– David GULBRAA, *The Constitution of the Individual’s Republic of Atlantis (2000).

– Max BROOKS (1972-), The Zombie Survival Guide (2003).

– Jamie KILLEN, “So You’ve Chosen to Foster” (2015).

– Terry BRUCE, “Welcome to Oasis” (2015).

– Octávio dos SANTOS (1965-), *“Decreto Lei Nº 54”, in [Visões] (2003).

– Viton ARAÚJO (1982-), 100 coisas para fazer (depois de morrer) (2012).

– Rafael Rafael Zamora y Pérez de Urría, marqués de VALERO DE URRÍA (1861-1908), “Dogmas éticos”, in [Crímenes literarios] (1906).

– José MORENO VILLA (1887-1955), “Órdenes de “El Caballero Azul” en su quinta manifestación vital”, in [“Vidas quebradas”], in [Patrañas] (1921).

– Carlos VILLAMIL CASTILLO, “El mundo de los fantasmas”, in [La venganza de los perros y otros cuentos] (1949).

– Manuel DERQUI (1921-1973), *“Manual para maquinistas marcianos” [1961], in [Todos los cuentos] (2008).

– Sergio RAMÍREZ (1942-), *“Suprema ley por la que se regula el bien general de las personas, se premian sus acciones nobles y se castigan sus malos actos y hábitos, dictada en XIV parágrafos”, in [De tropeles y tropelías] (1972).

– Alberto CAÑAS (1920-2014), “La división del mundo”, in [La exterminación de los pobres y otros pienses] (1974).

– Rafael LLOPIS (1933-), “Falsa proclama” (1974).

– Víctor ALBA (1916-2003), “Programa de la Resistencia Española para la paz”, in 1936-1976. Historia de la Segunda República española (1976).

– Santiago EXIMENO (1973-), *“La hora de la verdad” (2003), in [Bebés jugando con cuchillos] (2008) // “Tu bebé diabólico”, in [Obituario privado] (2010).

– YOSS (José Miguel Sánchez Gómez, 1969-), “Si usted se siente como un dios… (Decálogo de autoayuda para turistas que visitan Shu-Wu-Kun-Lu)” (2008).

– David ACRICH, “De oficio, picador de aire”, in [El reencuentro de Rabí Samuel y otros relatos] (2009).

– Louis GEOFFROY (1803-1858), *“Moniteur universel du 5 août 1871”, in Napoléon et la conquête du Monde. 1812 à 1832. Histoire de la Monarchie universelle (1836).

– Alexandre DUMAS (1802-1870), *“Constitution de la Nation des Mosquitos dans l’Amérique centrale”, in Le Capitaine Pamphile (1839).

– Léon BOPP (1896-1977), “Règlement pour l’humanisation de la guerre (élaboré par M. Kourbar Glutsch)”, in [Drôle de monde] (1940).

– Boris VIAN (1920-1959), *“Paris, le 15 Décembre 1999…” (1958).

– Pierre BOURGEADE (1927-2009), *“Loi relative au remplacement de la femme par les femelles des animaux”, in La fin du monde (1984).

– Umberto ECO (1932-2016), “Come fare l’indiano”, in [Il secondo diario minimo] (1992).

– Ion Luca CARAGIALE (1852-1912), “‘Românii verzi’” (1901).

– Ov. S. CROHMĂLNICEANU (Moise Cohn, 1921-2000), *Tratatul de la Neuhof, in “Tratatul de la Neuhof”, in [Istorii insolite] (1980).

– Dănuţ UNGUREANU (1958-), “Domus” (1992), in [Basme geoestaţionare] (2008).

– Caius DOBRESCU (1966-), “Recomandări privind buna circulaţie a fluidelor corporale pe insula Aragnon”, in Euromorphotikon (2010).

ADMINISTRATIVE DOCUMENTS (FORMS, CONTRACTS, BILLS, PHARMACEUTICAL LEAFLETS, ETC.)

– John SLADEK (1937-2000), “Anxietal Register B” (1969), in [Alien Accounts](1982).

– Tara CAMPBELL, “Nickerson Interstellar Student Exchange Behavioral Contract” (2015).

– Pablo MARTÍN SÁNCHEZ (1977-), “Ósculos ® (vía oral)”, in [Fricciones] (2011).

COLLECTIONS OF SPECULATIVE FICTIONAL LETTERS

(v.): en verso.

*: just one letter.

– David STIRRAT, A Treatise on Political Economy: or the true principles of political economy in the form of a romaunt, for the more pleasing accommodation of readers; Explained in a series of letters to Aristippus, from Aristander, perceived in a deep vision (1824).

– Baron Joseph CORVAJA (1785-1860), Perpetual Peace to the Machine by the Universal Millennium, or The Sovereign Bankocracy, and the Grand Social Ledger of Mankind (1855).

– Old Peter Piper, “Peter Pipers Letters. Peter’s Vision” (1869).

– Anna DODD (1858-1929), The Republic of the Future; or, Socialism A Reality (1887).

– Wladjslaw Somerville LACH-SZYRMA (1841-1915), [Letters from the Planets] (1887-1893).

– Alice B. STOCKHAM (1833-1912); Lida Hood TALBOT, Koradine (1889).

– William Dean HOWELLS (1837-1920), Letters of an Altrurian Traveller (1892-1893).

– Clark Edmund PERSINGER (1873-?), Letters from New America; or an Attempt at Practical Socialism (1900).

– William Thomas STEAD (1849-1912), In Our Midst. The Letters of Callicrates to Dione, Queen of the Xanthians, concerning England and the English, Anno Domini 1902 (1903).

– Mary CARBERY (1867-1949), “If the Germans Came” (1916) // The Germans in Cork: Being the Letters of His Excellency the Baron von Kartoffel (Military Governor of Cork in the Year 1918), and Others (1917).

– Herbert Millingchamp VAUGHAN (1870-1948), Nephelococcygia; Or, Letters from Paradise (1929).

– Upton SINCLAIR (1878-1968), The Way Out: What Lies Ahead for America (1933).

– Geddes MACGREGOR (1909-1998), From a Christian Ghetto: Letters of Ghostly Wit, Written A.D. 2453 (1954).

The John Franklin Letters (1959).

– Arthur WASKOW (1933-), “Notes from 1999” (1973).

– Alasdair GRAY (1934-), Five Letters from an Eastern Empire giving Information upon Architecture, Etiquette, Irrigation, Ventriloquism, Justice, Sex and Poems in an Obsolete Country (1979).

– Cândido de FIGUEIREDO (1846-1925), Lisboa no Ano Três Mil (1892).

– António de MACEDO (1931-2017), “O limite de Rudzky”, in [O Limite de Rudzky e Outras Histórias] (1992).

– Julián Manuel del PORTILLO (1818-1862), Lima de aquí a cien años (1843-1844).

– Adolfo de CASTRO (1823-1898), Cartas dirigidas desde el otro mundo a D. Bartolo Gallardete (1851).

– Juan BRAVO MURILLO (1803-1873), *La Internacional y las damas españolas (1872).

– Casta ESTEBAN Y NAVARRO (1841-1885), *“Una carta del otro mundo”, in [Mi primer ensayo] (1884).

– Nilo María FABRA (1843-1903), El problema social (1890) // “La locura del anarquismo (Cartas del doctor Occipucio al abogado Verboso)”, in [Cuentos ilustrados] (1895).

– Rafael Rafael Zamora y Pérez de Urría, marqués de VALERO DE URRÍA (1861-1908), “Áureas lavas”, in [Crímenes literarios] (1906).

– Santiago RAMÓN Y CAJAL (1852-1934), *“Carta de una hormiga esclavista”, in [Charlas de café] (1920).

– Juan G. [García] ATIENZA (1930-2011), “Kuklos” (1967) // “El pisito solariego” (1968).

– René AVILÉS FABILA (1940-2016), *“En las cumbres deportivas”, in [La desaparición de Hollywood y otras sugerencias para principiar un libro] (1973) and [Fantasías en carrusel] (1978/1995/2001).

– Pere VERDAGUER (1929-2017), Les lletres de l’oncle Enric i els missatges de l’extraterrestre (1978).

– Carme RIERA (1949-), “Princesa meva, lletra d’Àngel”, in [Contra lamor en companyia i altres relats] (1991).

– Oriol CANOSA (1975-), L’illa de Paidonèsia (2017).

– Henri de PARVILLE (François Henri Peudefer, 1838-1909), Un habitant de la planète Mars (1865).

– Adrien ROBERT (Adrien Basset, 1822-1869), “La Guerre de 1894”, in [Contes fantasques et fantastiques] (1867).

– Alfred FRANKLIN (1830-1917), Les ruines de Paris en 4875 (1875) / Les ruines de Paris en 4908 (1908).

– Paul ADAM (1862-1920), Lettres de Malaisie (1898).

– Remy de GOURMONT (1858-1915), Lettres d’un satyre (1907-1910/1913).

– Georges DUHAMEL (1884-1966), Lettres d’Auspasie (1922) / Lettres au Patagon (1926).

– Association général des étudiants d’Alger, “Excursions dans l’avenir. En l’an 2030 et en l’an 2130” (1929).

– Paul GABRIEL, Messages martiens (1956).

– Pierre GRIPARI (1925-1990), “Opération pucelle”, in [Diable, Dieu et autres contes de menterie] (1965).

– Jacques STERNBERG (1923-2006), “Bien sincèrement à vous”, in [Futurs sans avenir] (1971).

– Octave MANNONI (1899-1989), Lettres personnelles (1990).

– Ursicin G. [Gion] G. [Gieli] DERUNGS (1935-), “Correspondenza cul purgatieri”, in [Il saltar dils morts] (1982).

+ Augusto FRASSINETI (1911-1985), “Prima lettera” – “Seconda lettera”, in [Misteri dei Ministeri] (1952/1974).

– Umberto ECO (1932-2016), “Stelle e stellette” (1976), in [Il secondo diario minimo] (1992).

– Roberto CASATI (1961-), Achille C. VARZI (1958-), “Di un progetto inutile”, “Missiva sul tempo da Valle Finale”, “L’ultimo caso del Presidente delle Amebe”, “Acido universale”, in [Semplicità insormontabili: 39 storie filosofiche] (2004) // *“La placca del Pioneer” (2015), in [Semplicemente diaboliche: 100 nuove storie filosofiche] (2017).

– Ion GHICA (1816-1897), *“Insula Prosta” (1885-1886), in [Scrisori către Vasile Alecsandri] (1887).

– Ovid S. CROHMĂLNICEANU (Moise Cohn, 1921-2000), “Scrisori din Arcadia”, in [Alte istorii insolite] (1986).

SCHOLARLY AND POLITICAL LECTURES AND SPEECHES

(except fictional historiographical lectures)

– Edward A. [Algernon] BAUGHAN (1865-1938). “Prehistoric Music. A Lecture Delivered by Professor Boremall before the Members of the Society of Antediluvian Art, July, 2897” (1897).

– K. [Kaye] RAYMOND, “The Great Thought” (1937).

– Isaac ASIMOV (1920-1992), “Thiotimoline and the Space Age” (1960), in [Opus 100] (1969).

– Harry MATHEWS (1930-), “Remarks of the Scholar Graduate”, in [Country Cooking and Other Stories] (1980).

– Rafael Rafael Zamora y Pérez de Urría, marqués de VALERO DE URRÍA (1861-1908), “Dogmas éticos”, “Banquete anual”, in [Crímenes literarios] (1906).

– Eduardo MAGGIO, “La nada” (1906).

– Enrique JARDIEL PONCELA (1901-1952), “Teoría del ente infinito considerado como base de utopías trilaterales” (1930).

– Max AUB (1903-1972), “Sesión secreta” (1964), in [Historias de mala muerte] (1965) // “El teatro español sacado a la luz de las tinieblas de nuestro tiempo” (1971).

– Manuel VÁZQUEZ MONTALBÁN (1939-2003), “50 años después de la derrota aliada” (1994).

– Mària Aurèlia CAPMANY (1918-1991), “Leviatan”, in [Com uma mà] (1958) and [Coses i noses] (1980).

– Alfred FRANKLIN (1830-1917), Mœurs et coutumes des Parisiens en 1880. Cours professé au Collège de France pendant le second semestre de l’année 3882 par Alfred Mantien, professeur d’archéologie transcendante (1882).

– A. de NOUVAL, “Une séance à la Société de Philandrologie en 1900”, in [Contes salés] (1884).

– Alfred de SAUVENIÈRE (1844-1912), “En l’an 2885!!!” (1885).

– Auguste de VILLIERS DE L’ISLE-ADAM (1838-1889), “Le banquet des éventualistes” (1887), in [Tribulat Bonhomet] (1887).

– Abbé P. NÉON (Abbé Farion), Sermon pour la fête de la Toussaint en lan 2000 (1899).

– Jean de BOECK (1863-1913), “Leçon donnée par Mlle Sophie Muller, professeur de psychiatrie à la clinique de Hambourg en l’an 2000” (1890).

– Paul THÉODORE-VIBERT (1851-1918), “À quoi bon?”, in [Pour lire en automobile] (1901).

– Edmond HARAUCOURT (1856-1941), “Le gorilloïde” (1904).

– N. de MONTFERRATO, “En l’an 2745” (1905).

– Louis LOTTIN (1880-1916), “Le trésor des pierres”, in [Lyon en l’an 2000] (1911).

– Vicente HUIDOBRO (1893-1948), Finnis Britannia (1923).

– Léon BOPP (1896-1977), “L’art d’être aimé”, in [Drôle de monde] (1940).

– Pietro GORI (1865-1911), La leggenda del Primo Maggio (1905), in [Cenere e faville] (1911).

– Tommaso LANDOLFI (1908-1979), “Nuove rivelazioni della psiche umana. L’uomo di Mannheim. (Relazione letta alla Reale Accademia delle Scienze dall’on. Onisammot Iflodnal, azerbeigiano)”, in [La spada] (1942) // “SPQR”, in [Racconti impossibili] (1966).

– Augusto FRASSINETI (1911-1985), “Relazione al Congresso della Sezione Italiana del Congresso Internazionale”, in [Un capitano a riposo] (1963).

– Luce D’ERAMO (1925-2001), “Una proposta risolutiva” (1989).

– Tudor ARGHEZI (Ion N. Theodorescu, 1880-1967), “În preistorie”, in [Tablete din Ţara de Kuty] (1933).

SCIENCE FICTION PHILOSOPHICAL DIALOGUES

(v.): in verse.

*: interview.

– Thomas Henry LISTER (1800-1842), “A Dialogue for the Year 2130, Extracted from the Album of a Modern Sibyl” (1829).

– Edgar Allan POE (1809-1849), “The Conversation of Eiros and Charmion” (1839), in [Tales of the Grotesque and Arabesque] (1840).

– Edgar FAWCETT (1847-1904), “In the Year Ten Thousand” (v.), in [Songs of Doubt and Dream] (1890).

– Havelock ELLIS (1859-1939), The Nineteenth Century: A Dialogue in Utopia (1900).

– Mary CHOLMONDELEY (1859-1925), “Votes for Men: A Dialogue” (1909).

– M. [Matthew] P. [Phipps] SHIEL (1865-1947), “How Life Climbs” (1934).

– Paul BEAUJON (Beatrice Lamberton Warde, 1900-1969), Peace under Earth: Dialogues from the Year 1946 (1938).

– Rex WARNER (1905-86), Why Was I Killed?: A Dramatic Dialogue (1943).

– Clifford A. PICKOVER (1957-), The Stars of Heaven (2001).

– Luís Filipe SILVA (1970-), “O Fernando Pessoa electrónico”, in [O Futuro à Janela] (1991).

– Fósforo Cerillos (Sebastián CAMACHO ZULUETA, 1822-1915), “México en el año 1970” (1844).

– AZORÍN (José MARTÍNEZ RUIZ, 1873-1967), “La Prehistoria” (1905) / “Epílogo futurista”, in El político (1919).

– Eduardo BERTRÁN RUBIO (1838-1909), “Un invento despampanante” (1906).

– Enrique GONZÁLEZ FIOL (1879-1947), “El tractor del porvenir, ¡la pulga!”, in [Por qué se puso Eva el clásico pámpano] (1925).

– Antonio MACHADO (1875-1939), “Diálogo entre Juan de Mairena y Jorge Meneses”, in [De un cancionero apócrifo] (1928).

– ANDRENIO (Eduardo GÓMEZ DE BAQUERO, 1866-1929), “La extraña máquina”, in [Guignol] (1929).

– Juan G. [García] ATIENZA (1930-2011), “Enfermo” (1973).

– Ramón J. SENDER (1901-1982), “Aventura del Ángelus I”, in [Las gallinas de Cervantes y otras narraciones parabólicas] (1967) and [Novelas del otro jueves] (1969).

– Jaume PUIGBÒ, “Entrevista amb un extraterrestre” (1982).

– Camille FLAMMARION (1842-1925), “Lumen”, in [Récits de l’infini] (1872) / Lumen (1887).

– Charles SECRETAN (1815-1895), “Gillette ou le problème économique” (1888), in [Mon utopie] (1892).

– Jean RICHEPIN (1849-1926), “Le monstre” (1891), in [Théâtre chimérique] (1896).

– Henri MARET (1837-1917), “Les deux planètes” (1900).

– Iwan GILKIN (1858-1924), “Le restaurant de Moscou (vers 2250)”, in Jonas (1900)

– Paul MAX (1884-1944), “Mars” (1924).

– Sosthène, *“Le Martien interviewé” (1927).

– Maurice RENARD (1875-1939), “Sur la planète Mars” (1939).

– Alfred SAUVY (1898-1990), Utopie iatocratique (1954).

– Amélie NOTHOMB (Fabienne Claire Nothomb, 1966-), Péplum (1996).

– Corrado ALVARO (1895-1956), “L’augurio volante” (1950).

– Alberto MORAVIA (1907-1990), “Il monumento” en [L’epidemia] (1956).

– Tommaso LANDOLFI (1908-1979), “Quattro chiachiere in famiglia”, “Un concetto astrusso”, in [Racconti impossibili] (1966).

– Ovid S. CROHMĂLNICEANU (Moise Cohn, 1921-2000), *“Interviul”, in [Alte istorii insolite] (1986).

SPECULATIVE CONVERSATION

It is a kind of argumentative fiction consisting in the report by a homodiegetic (first person) narrator of his or dialogue with someone who exposes his or her (farfetched) ideas, thus offering a portrait (ethopeia) of his or her unconventional personality).

* = in verse.

– Edgar Allan POE (1809-1849), “The System of Doctor Tarr and Professor Fether” (1845).

– H. G. WELLS (1866-1946), “The Diamond Maker” (1894), “The Triumphs of a Taxidermist” (1894), in [The Stollen Bacillus and Other Incidents](1895).

– Joaquim Maria MACHADO DE ASSIS (1839-1908), “O Espelho”, in [Papéis Avulsos] (1882).

– Mário de SÁ-CARNEIRO (1890-1916), “O Homem dos Sonhos” (1913), in [Céu em Fogo] (1915).

– Fernando PESSOA (1888-1935), “O Banqueiro Anarquista” (1922) // “A Perversão do Longe” [1913] (2012) // “Empresa Fornecedora de Mitos, Lda.” [¿1923?] (2012) // “O Adiador” [¿1925?] (2014).

– José Maria FERREIRA DE CASTRO (1898-1974), “O Senhor dos Navegantes”, in [A Missão] (1954).

– Esteban BORRERO ECHEVERRÍA (Cuba 1849-1906), “Calófilo” (1879).

– Carlos MONSALVE (Argentina, 1859-1940), “De un mundo a otro” (1879), in [Páginas literarias] (1881).

– José FERNÁNDEZ BREMÓN (1839-1910), “Siete historias en una”, in [Cuentos] (1879) // “Un Dios con sombrero de copa” (1879) // “Quintar los muertos” (1879) // “El club de los pacíficos” (1887) // “La mitad de la justicia” (1888) // “El diccionario de los gatos” (1899) // “Certamen de inventores” (1900) // “El gremio de verdugos” (1902).

– Silverio LANZA (Juan Bautista Amorós, 1856-1912), “Lo que se necesita para dar” (1894).

– Miguel de UNAMUNO (1864-1936), “Sueño” (1897), “Una visita al viejo poeta” (1899; El espejo de la muerte, 1913), “El abejorro” (1900), “Don Martín, o de la gloria” (1900), “La locura del doctor Montarco” (1904), “El que se enterró” (1908), “Bonifacio” (El espejo de la muerte, 1913), “Don Catalino, hombre sabio” (1915), “Robledo, el actor” (1920), “El alcalde de Orbajosa (etopeya)” (1921), in [Cuentos] // “El fin de un anarquista” (1995 [1894]).

– Ramón PÉREZ DE AYALA (1880-1962), “La caverna de Platón” (1904) // “El filósofo de las casas de huéspedes”, in Belarmino y Apolonio (1921).

– Enrique LABARTA POSE (1863-1925), “El hombre fúnebre”, in [Cuentos humorísticos] (1905).

– Miguel SAWA (1866-1910), “Historias de locos” (1904) / “Judas”, in [Historias de locos] (1910).

– Leopoldo LUGONES (1874-1938), “La fuerza Omega”, “La metamúsica”, “El Psychon”, “Viola Acherontia”, in [Las fuerzas extrañas] (1906).

– Pompeyo GENER (1848-1920), “El doctor Stumper”, in [Del presente, del pasado y del futuro] (1911).

– Luis LÓPEZ DE MESA (1884-1967), “Apólogo de la Gloria”, in [El libro de los apólogos] (1918).

– José María SALAVERRÍA (1873-1940), “El forjador de fantasmas”, in [Páginas novelescas] (1920) and [El muñeco de trapo] (1928) // “El soñador arruinado” (1922), in [El muñeco de trapo] (1928) // “El fichero supremo” (1926), in [El muñeco de trapo] (1928).

– AZORÍN (José Martínez Ruiz, 1873-1967), “El arte del actor” (1935), in [Cavilar y contar] (1942).

– Tomás BORRÁS (1891-1976), “El millonarísimo”, “—Caballero, ideas a peseta”, in [Casi verdad, casi mentira] (1935) // “La fe del centurión”, in [Cuentos con cielo] (1943) // “Tan contento de ser un cero”, in [La cajita de asombros] (1946).

– Antonio CASTRO LEAL (1896-1981), “El cazador del ritmo universal” (1940), “El espía del alma” (1955), “El coleccionista de almas”, in [El laurel de San Lorenzo] (1959).

– Jorge Luis BORGES (1899-1986), “Funes el memorioso” (1942), in [Ficciones] (1944/1956).

– Bernardo ORTIZ DE MONTELLANO (1899-1949), “El caso de mi amigo Alfazeta”, in [El caso de mi amigo Alfazeta] (1946).

– Samuel ROS (1904-1945), “Batllés Hermanos, S. L.” (1948), in [Con el alma aparte] (2002).

– Alfonso REYES (1889-1959), “El vendedor de felicidad” (1948).

– Carlos VILLAMIL CASTILLO, “El descubridor de la zopilotina”, in [La venganza de los perros y otros cuentos] (1949).

– Eduardo SOLERIESTRUCH (1912-1999), “Sinfonía en azul”, in [Doce cuentos] (1952).

– Álvaro FERNÁNDEZ SUÁREZ (1906-1988), “El asesino en el parque”, in [La ciénaga inútil] (1968).

– César VALLEJO (Perú, 1892-1938), “Teoría de la reputación”, in [Contra el secreto profesional] (1973).

– José María MERINO (1941-), “Del Libro de Naufragios”, in [El viajero perdido] (1990) // “Los libros vacíos”, in [Cuentos del barrio del Refugio] (1994).

– Diego RUIZ (1881-1959), “72, carrer d’Entenza”, “Una resurrecció a París”, in [Contes d’un filòsof] (1908) // “La vaga de l’àngel”, in [Contes de glòria i d’infern] (1911).

– Ramon VINYES (1882-1952), “He retrobat al perruquer Oswald”, in [L’ardenta cavalcada] (1909).

– Alfons MASERAS (1884-1939), “La finestra mágica”, in [Setze contes] (1922).

– Ernest MARTÍNEZ FERRANDO (1891-1965), “Un clown en el camí”, in [Tres històries cruels] (1930).

– Ramon COMAS I MADUELL (1935-1978), “El lector coŀlaborador”, in [Rescat d’ambaixadors] (1970).

– Joan-Claudi FORÊT (1950-), “De pels e d’òmes”, in [Libre dels grands nombres o falses e us de fals] (1998).

– Éphraïm MIKHAËL (Éphraïm-Georges Michel, 1866-1890), “Le magasin de jouets” (1885).

– Édouard DUJARDIN (1861-1949), “Un testament”, “L’enfer”, in [Les Hantises] (1886).

– Henri LAVEDAN (1859-1940), “Un homme peureux” (1888).

– Bernard LAZARE (1865-1903), “Les incarnations” (1891), in [Le Miroir des légendes] (1892).

– Marcel SCHWOB (1867-1905), “La machine à parler” (1891), in [Le Roi au masque d’or] (1892).

– Alphonse ALLAIS (1854-1905), “Une idée lumineuse”, in [Pas de bile!] (1893) // “Un projet de loi”, in [Rose et vert-pomme] (1894).

– Remy de GOURMONT (1858-1915), “Sur le seuil”, in [Histoires magiques] (1894).

– Jean LORRAIN (Paul Alexandre Martin Duval, 1855-1906), “Le possédé”, in [Sensations et souvenirs] (1895).

– Octave MIRBEAU (1848-1917), “Scrupules” (1896).

– Jean RICHEPIN (1849-1926), “La cité des gemmes” (1896), “Le nouvel explosif” (1900), in [Le Coin des fous] (1921) // “La Bibliothèque” (1898).

– Paul VALÉRY (1871-1945), “La Soirée avec Monsieur Teste” (1896) en [Monsieur Teste] (1919).

– Georges RODENBACH, (1855-1898), “Le chasseur des villes” (1899), “L’ami des miroirs” (1899), in [Le Rouet des brumes] (1901/1914).

– Édouard DUCOTÉ (1870-1929), “Une interview” (1900), in [En ce monde ou dans l’autre] (1903).

– SAINT-POL-ROUX (Pierre-Paul Roux, 1861-1940), “Le panier de fruits”, “Le mendiant philosophe”, in [La Rose et les épines du chemin] (1901).

– Paul THÉODORE-VIBERT (1851-1918), “Mammonth et Béhémoth”, “L’homme-microbe”, “La prescience divine”, “Pourquoi je n’aime pas voyager”, “La vie chimique de l’avenir”, “La vie n’existe pas”, “Les feux d’artifice”, “Un canon monstre”, “Comment on devient fou”, “Bureau de placement philanthropique et matrimonial”, “Suppression de l’arrêt des trains dans les grandes villes”, in [Pour lire en automobile] (1901).

– Renée VIVIEN (Pauline Mary Tarn, 1877-1909), “Le magasin d’idées”, in [Du vert au violet] (1903).

– Tristan BERNARD (Paul Bernard, 1866-1947), “Un guerrier, in [Amants et voleurs] (1905).

– Jules SAGERET (1861-1944), “La défense du riche”, en [Paradis laïques] (1908).

– Guillaume APOLLINAIRE (1880-1918), “L’hérésiarque”, “Le juif latin”, “Le passant de Prague”, in [L’Hérésiarque et Cie] (1910) // “Chirurgie esthétique” (1918) // “Traitement thyroïdien” (1918).

– Jean d’ORSAY, “Voulez-vous savoir comment on vit dans la planète Mars?” (1912).

– Edmond ROSTAND (1868-1918), *“Le chant des astres”, in [Le Vol de la Marseillaise] (1919).

– Franz HELLENS (Frédéric Van Ermengen, 1881-1972), “Un crime incodifié”, in [Nocturnal, précédé de quinze histoires] (1919).

– André GIDE (1869-1951), Corydon (1924).

– Jean DESS (HIXE), “L’économiseur de mouvements”, “Camping chez soi”, in [Pour lire en parachute] (1932).

– André DAHL (1886-1932), “La vraie fin du monde”, in [Contes pour la comtesse] (1933).

– Michel de GHELDERODE (Adhémar Martens, 1898-1962), “L’amateur des reliques”, in [Sortilèges] (1941).

– Marcel BÉALU (1908-1993), “Le Fabricant des rides”, in [L’Araignée d’or] (1964).

– Louis PAUWELS (1920-1997), Blumroch l’admirable ou Le déjeuner du surhomme (1976).

– Ursicin G. [Gion] G. [Gieli] DERUNGS (1935-), “Il vegl e la steila”, in [Il cavalut verd ed auter] (1988).

– Carlo DOSSI (1849-1910), “I lettori”, in [Ritratti umani. Campionario] (1885).

– Luigi CAPUANA (1839-1915), «Un uomo felice», in [Il decameroncino] (1901) / [La voluttà di creare] (1911).

– Giovanni PAPINI (1881-1956), “La rivolta dei ragazzi” (1913), “La conquista delle nuvole”, “Il nemico del sonno”, “La legge contro i poeti”, “La riforma del galateo”, in [Buffonate] (1914) // “Musicisti”, “La “FOM””, “La storia a ritroso”, “Thormon il soteriologo”, “Il cannibale pentito”, “Nuovissime città”, “Il trust dei fantasmi”, “Le idee di Benrubi”, “Processo agli innocenti”, “L’Egolatria”, “La nuova scultura”, “Il teatro senza attori”, “Filomania”, “Stelle”, “Caccavone”, “Il Conte di Saint-Germain”, “Il carnefice nostalgico”, “La chirurgia morale”, “La malattia come medicina”, “L’imbestiatore”, “Il Duca Hermosilla di Salvatierra”, “Il ritorno di Pitagora”, in [Gog] (1931) // “Il più grande scrittore” (1934), “Proposta di sterminio” (1935), in [Figure umane] (1940) // “Un dantista di campagna” (1942), “Il profeta in bigio” (1950), “Per i ladri e per gli assassini” (1952), in [La sesta parte del mondo] (1954) // “Le osservazioni del dottor Ciù o dei mutamenti dell’Europa” (1948), “Il fabricante di nuvole” (1948), “L’uomo d’oro” (1949), “La manifattura delle maschere” (1950), in [Le pazzie del poeta] (1950) // “Una paurosa festa”, “La biblioteca d’acciaio”, “L’astronomo deluso”, “Notizie dell’aldilà”, “Il nemico della natura”, “L’Ignotica”, “La rivincita del selvaggio”, “L’Istituto del Regresso”, “Il trasnvolatore solitario”, “Le Veneri brutte”, “L’elogio del fango”, “L’interrogativo del monaco”, “Il Congresso dei Panclasti”, “Morte ai morti”, “La predica della superbia”, “Il grande savio”, “L’unico abitante del mondo”, “L’abate e le peccatrici”, “Volete la pace?”, “Ucciso dall’amore”, “La resurrezione della materia”, “Tutto da rifare”, “La storia universale a volo di corvo”, “Il neocosmo”, “Il mascolinismo”, in [Il libro nero] (1951).

– Massimo BONTEMPELLI (1878-1960), “Macchina per contemplare”, in [La donna dei miei sogni e altre avventure moderne] (1925) // Colloqui col Neosofista, in [Il Neosofista e altri scritti] (1929).

– Riccardo BACCHELLI (1891-1985), “L’ultimo licantropo”, “I discepoli di Emmaus”, in [La fine di Atlantide ed altre favole lunatiche] (1942) / [Tutte le novelle] (1952).

– Alberto MORAVIA (1907-1990), “Un mendicante” (1947) // “Spia per scommesa” (1947).

– Giovanni CAVICCHIOLI (1894-1964), “Quadratura del circulo”, “Origine della guerra”, in [Nuove favole] (1960).

– Aldo PALAZZESCHI (1885-1974), “Il senso politico”, “La parola è d’argento”, ““Diomio che freddo! Miodio che caldo!””, in [Il buffo integrale] (1966).

– Tommaso LANDOLFI (1908-1979), “Alla stazione”, in [Racconti impossibili] (1966).

– Mario BRELICH (1910-1982), L’opera del tradimento (1975).

– Gesualdo BUFALINO (1920-1996), “L’ingegnere di Babele”, in [L’uomo invaso e altre invenzioni] (1986).

– Oscar LEMNARU (Oscar Holzman, 1907-1968), “Puterea prefăcătoriei”, in [Omul şi umbra] (1946).

– Mihai MĂNIUŢIU (1954-), “Don Scargrav”, in [Un zeu aproape muritor] (1982).

MONOLOGIC MOCK PROPOSALS in English and the Romance languages from 1871 (date of James Thomson’s “Proposal for the Speedy Extinction of Evil and Misery”)

Only works published in volumes of fiction or literary magazines.

Flash proposals (less than a page) and proposal in epistolary form (except open letters) are excluded.

– James THOMSON (1834-1882), “Proposal for the Speedy Extinction of Evil and Misery” (1871), in [Essays and Phantasies] (1881).

– Frank SCHAEFFER (1952-), Harold FICKETT (1953-), A Modest Proposal for Peace, Prosperity, and Happiness (1984).

– Tomás BORRÁS (1891-1976), “S.U.D.E. (sindicato único de enfermos)”, in [La rueda de colores] (1962).

– Max AUB (1903-1972), “Sesión secreta” (1964), in [Historias de mala muerte] (1965).

– Augusto MONTERROSO (1921-2003), “La exportación de cerebros”, in [Movimiento perpetuo] (1972).

– René AVILÉS FABILA (1940-2016), “En defensa del plagio” (1986), in [Cuentos y descuentos] and [Fantasías en carrusel] (1995/2001).

– Javier FERNÁNDEZ (1971-), “Diez razones para ver TV en lugar de leer un libro”, in [La grieta] (2007).

– Ramon REVENTÓS (1882-1923), “Matrimoni entre ciutats” (1912) ), in [Proses] (1953).

– Òscar PÀMIES (1961-), “Com resoldre el problema de les grans conurbacions”, “Perdre’s”, “Camí de llum”, in [Com serà la fi del món: Maneres que tindrà de presentar-se’ns i com preparar-s’hi anímicament] (1996).

– Auguste de VILLIERS DE L’ISLE-ADAM (1838-1889), “La découverte de M. Grave” (1873) / “L’affichage céleste”, “La machine à gloire” (1874), in [Contes cruels] (1883) // “Motion du Dr. Tribulat Bonhomet touchant l’utilisation des tremblements de terre” (1887), in [Tribulat Bonhomet] (1887).

– Rémy de GOURMONT (1858-1915), “La fête nationale” (1892).

– Alphonse ALLAIS (1854-1905), “Les ballons horo-captifs”, “Les culs-de-jatte militaires”, in [On n’est pas des bœufs] (1896) // “Radicale proposition”, in [Le bec en l’air] (1897) // “De quelques réformes cosmiques”, “Autre mode d’utilisation de la baleine”, “Légère modification à apporter dans le cours de la Seine”, in [Pour cause de fin de bail] (1899) // “Un nouveau projet de recrutement de la noblesse”, “Insularisation de la France”, in [Ne nous frappons pas] (1900).

– Paul THÉODORE-VIBERT (1851-1918), “L’âme éclair”, “Télégraphie inter-astrale”, “La survie assurée”, “L’art de s’habiller avec les nuages”, “Le Klondike”, “Quand le terrain devient cher”, “Les maisons en chair et os”, “La voie fleurie”, in [Pour lire en automobile] (1901) // “L’encombrement des grandes villes”, “Service anthropométrique universel”, “La musique à domicile”, In [Pour lire en traîneau] (1908)

– Alfred JARRY (1873-1907), “Les piétons écraseurs” (1901) // “Battre les femmes” (1902).

– Georges FOUREST (1864-1945), “De la peine de mort au point de vue financier”, in [Contes pour les satyres] (1923).

– Pierre DAC (André Isaac, 1893-1975), “La houille dormante” (1939).

– Didier ANZIEU (1923-1999), “Un musée futur”, in [Contes à rebours] (1975/1987/1995).

– Giovanni PAPINI (1881-1956), “Le maschere”, “Il rifacimento della terra”, “Ripulitura difficile”, in [Gog] (1931).

– Luce D’ERAMO (1925-2001), “Una proposta risolutiva” (1989).

PROPHETIC EPICS

Not only Zarathustra: Jonas (1900), de Iwan Gilkin, a revision of Jonah’s myth in the context of modern “prophetic epics”

*: in verse or prosimeter.

Biblical apocrhypha are excluded.

– Alfred TENNYSON (1909-1892), *“The Ancient Sage”, in [Tiresias and Other Poems] (1885).

– Kahlil GIBRAN (1883-1931), The Prophet (1923) – The Garden of the Prophet (1933).

– Friedrich NIETZSCHE (1844-1900), Also sprach Zarathustra (1883-1885).

– Hermann HESSE (1877-1962), “Zarathustras Wiederkehr” (1919).

– Rudolf PANNWITZ (1881-1969), “Zarathustras andere Versuchung”, in [Trilogie des Lebens] (1929).

– Ludwig DERLETH (1870-1948), *Der Heilige (1971-1972).

– TEIXEIRA DE PASCOAES (Joaquim Pereira Teixeira de Vasconcelos, 1877-1952), *Jesús e Pã (1903).

– Fernando PESSOA (1888-1935), “O livro do rei Igorab” [1915-1916] (2017).

– Paulo COELHO (1947-), Manuscrito encontrando em Accra (2012).

– Ricardo BURGUETE (1871-1937), Así hablaba Zorrapastro (1899).

– Gregorio MARTÍNEZ SIERRA (María de la O Lejárraga, 1874-1974), «Profecía», in [Flores de escarcha] (1900).

– Guillermo VALENCIA (1873-1943), *“La parábola del monte” (1905), in [Ritos] (1914).

– Julio BURELL (1859-1919), “Para los violentos”, in [Artículos] (1925).

– Roberto BRENES MESÉN (1874-1947), *Rasur o semana de esplendor (1946).

– Pierre-Simon BALLANCHE (1776-1847), La Vision d’Hébal (1831).

– Augustin CHAHO (1811-1858), Paroles d’un voyant (1834).

– Iwan GILKIN (1858-1924), Jonas (1900).

– Giuseppe CARTELLA GELARDI (1885-1962), “Il canto dei liberi”, in [In memoria di Pietro Gori] (1912).

– Vincenzo CARDARELLI (Nazareno Caldarelli, 1887-1959), “Un’uscita di Zarathustra” (1919), in [Viaggi nel tempo] (1920) / [Prologhi. Viaggi. Favole] (1931).

Sure Solacer of Human Cares – The Joys of Tuning in to SF Radio Theatre

by Mina

I began by reading what the “Stanford Encyclopaedia of Philosophy” has to say about imagination. Here is a summary of my understanding of the salient points (imagine the voice of Peter Jones as the “book” in “The Hitchiker’s Guide to the Galaxy” BBC radio serialisation as you read this). There are two ways to use your imagination: in a transcendent manner that “enables one to escape from or look beyond the world as it is”, and in an instructive manner that “enables one to learn about the world as it is.” SF and sci-phi ask us to do both. Imagination is not the same as belief, although they are both ways of interpreting the world around us: both involve holding an image or representation in your mind. There are also similarities in how imagination and memory work: “both typically involve imagery, both typically concern what is not presently the case, and both frequently involve perspectival representations.” Both also involve mental time travel, remembering the past works in a similar way in your mind to imagining the future. Finally, imagination helps us to understand other minds, to pretend and recognise pretence, to characterise psychopathology, to engage with the arts, to think creatively, to acquire knowledge about possibilities and to interpret figurative language.


We use imagination in all aspects of our lives but here I will be focusing on how we use it recreationally. Films, TV series, books and radio dramas all “catch our imagination”. With SF, we relax by postulating alternate realities. But where our imagination truly flies, in my opinion, is through SF radio theatre. We suspend disbelief while we listen: we behave as if we believe that other worlds or ways of being actually exist. It is a temporary state of mind for we snap back into our everyday reality afterwards (unless we are suffering from some form of psychosis). With the advent of TV, radio dramas declined in many countries but continued to thrive in Britain and Germany. Radio plays are different from film: “with no visual component, radio drama depends on dialogue, music and sound effects to help the listener imagine the characters and story. It is auditory in the physical dimension but equally powerful as a visual force in the psychological dimension” (http://www.theatrecrafts.com/pages/home/topics/sound/radio-drama/). I prefer radio plays to films of my favourite SF classics because it leaves me free to visualise things as I wish (for example, the wonderful adaptations of all of John Wyndham’s novels).

I will begin with “Solaris”, of which I do not think there has been a truly satisfying film version made – I find Steven Soderbergh’s most recent film adaptation starring Geroge Clooney oddly bland. Hattie Naylor’s 2007 radio adaptation of Stanislaw Lem’s book, however, is wonderful in its simplicity. There are few sound effects, only very occasional music and just five voices; yet it creates a wonderful atmosphere. Inside the CD sleeve note, Polly Thomas writes that “Solaris” offered “the opportunity to play with the imagination and invent a new world through sound… we created layers of sound texture”. And the production team did just that: footsteps ringing, sound echoing in large spaces or dampened in smaller confines, and using the finest instrument, the human voice – the narrator, in particular. It is a haunting radio drama, which explores imagination, illusion, memory, desire, grief, regret, guilt and wonder. It looks at the parts of the mind we normally ignore, what makes us flawed and human. It explores science, faith, redemption, men and the birth of gods.

Although the film “Blade Runner” is good, I prefer the radio play which keeps Philip K. Dick’s original title “Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep?”. Jonathan Holloway’s 2014 radio adaptation is done in a style reminiscent of Raymond Chandler’s Philip Marlowe detective stories. The radio drama spends more time on the philosophical questions than the film, particularly what makes a person human and alive. There is a blurring of the lines between android and human that works very well when you only hear the voices. Its use of music and sound effects make it feel more like a film soundtrack than a radio play.

One of my favourite radio serialisations is James Follet’s “Earthsearch” (1981). It has ten episodes, each ending with a cliff-hanger, much like similar dramas in the 1950s. The production team did not have enough money for a musical soundtrack, so they chose to use cheesy sound effects such as clicks, whirring, whooshing, beeps and blasts that serve to add to its charm. The CD’s sleeve note states that Earthsearch is “a memorable attempt to bring hard SF notions to listeners in the form of an exciting, character-driven adventure”. And character-driven it is, with a small cast. The spaceship’s crew of four each have their own well-defined personalities, but most interesting, oddly enough, are the megalomaniac onboard computers Angel (Ancillary Guardian Environment and Life) 1 and Angel 2. The scriptwriter began with one idea: a ship of humans returns to our solar system to find the Earth gone. We are given hints of what has passed over the preceding millennia: the Solaric Empire, First Footprint City, the dregs of humanity and the computer wars. The relationship between time and space plays a crucial part in the plot. It is also a story of the loss of innocence and a journey to find a mythical paradise. It was so successful that James Follet went on to write a sequel “Earthsearch II” (1982) and a prequel “Earthsearch: Mindwarp (2006)”.

I will now focus on two radio plays that explore true sci-phi themes. Mike Walker wrote two award-winning radio dramas that explore Artificial Intelligence (AI): “Alpha” (2001) and “Omega” (2002). Both play on “I think therefore I am” and examine what makes us alive. In “Alpha”, we meet a Catholic priest having a crisis of faith. He acts as a sort of trouble-shooter for the Vatican. He is sent on a final mission by the Holy See to investigate Project Alpha, which turns out to be the first sentient AI. The priest interviews Alpha in an attempt to determine if it is truly self-aware, if it has developed consciousness and whether it has a soul. Alpha challenges the priest’s faith and displays a definite personality: it is playful, a little cruel, and determined to survive (it states that good is what helps you survive; bad is the opposite). Alpha prefers to be called Sophia and insists that she is a machine, born of complexity, and that, like all life, she is made from stardust. She and the priest also make an emotional connection over a shared memory.


Alpha proves to the priest that she can travel anywhere in cyberspace and access any system. For her, time is not a prison, it is a door. The priest replies that humans, however, are prisoners in time. He admits that he believes Sophia to be real and that he will be committing murder when he is forced to switch her off. Sophia tells him that there will be others like her and the priest wonders if humans will prove to be a dead end in evolution and AIs like Sophia the future. They discuss the priest’s feelings of guilt and hope for salvation. Sophia thanks him for teaching her about conscience, as she needed to understand it. The priest switches off the computer, but he does not believe he has killed Sophia, for she was already wrapped around the world, like a web. He is proud to have been Alpha Sophia’s teacher and he wonders what she will become when she grows up. He himself seeks a simpler life and asks to go back home to Nicaragua, to try to be a priest, to listen to the frogs sing as they did in the childhood memory he shared with Sophia. Music plays an important role because, through it, Sophia has understood beauty, and she plays a fragment of choral music to the priest, suggesting that she too has a soul. Music is also used to mark the passing of time, which is not linear to Sophia in the way it is to the priest.

Where “Alpha” looks at the birth of an AI, “Omega” examines its death. Initially, this radio drama seems to be about an architect John Stone and his reaction to his daughter’s miraculous recovery after a car crash. On the surface, the tale revisits the tension between science and religion, and the nature of miracles and faith. But small fissures in “reality” help us to realise that John is a sentient computer programme. The people in his world are actually a team of scientists experimenting with artificial consciousness. To them, John is the result of mathematical probability at a quantum level. However, one of the scientists, Kate, develops a conscience and tells John what he is. John struggles to accept that he is not human because he feels human. Realising his total lack of freedom in the experiment, he asks to remain himself or “to be nothing”. Kate helps him to “die” a good death and destroys all the research that led to John’s creation. Her boss, Brandt, believes that science justifies everything (he clearly personifies scientific hubris); Kate discovers that becoming a creator comes with responsibility for your creation (she shows humility and compassion). Kate recognises that John has developed self-awareness, feelings, ambitions and dreams. His psyche is undistinguishable from that of a human being. Music is used to create a dream-like quality, mixed with sounds that are important to John, like a heartbeat, child’s laughter and the sea.

Germany boasts as fine a tradition of SF radio dramas (Hörspiele) as the UK, ranging from Friedrich Dürrenmatt’s social satire in “Das Unternehmen der Wega” (1954) to Frank Gustavus’ fun adaptation of Conor Kostick’s “Saga” (2008) set within a computer game with sentient characters. My first example is George Robertson’s 1971 “Rückkehr aus dem Weltall” (“Return from Space”; translated from Canadian English by Gerhard Pasternak). It is set in the future after a nuclear disaster where the remains of humanity live in Australasia and Indonesia, including the descendants of the scientists who caused the nuclear disaster in the first place; mutant humanoids also exist in Europe in a barren world that will eventually run out of oxygen. The scientists of the space programme in Melbourne want to find a new world to inhabit before then; the politicians want to find way to produce artificial oxygen so that they can remain on the earth they control. A spaceship returns from an earlier mission with the body of a mummified scientist and evidence to suggest that the ship managed to travel faster than the speed of light. The politicians are disturbed by this and threaten to stop the space programme, so its director decides to launch the next ship clandestinely with its crew of four, including John Taggart and his second wife Sheila.

The crew do discover a habitable new planet in the Alpha Centauri system, which they christen Paradise. Sheila suggests staying but John decides to return to earth to persuade the remains of humanity to move to Paradise. During the return journey, the ship hits a tear in space and time and travels faster than speed of light, thus arriving at earth in the past before the nuclear event has taken place. Two of the crew take the ship’s shuttle to earth to try to warn humanity of their future fate. Sheila dies saving John’s life and he realises he loved her, even if the words were never spoken between them. John is stuck in orbit around the earth, wondering if the past can be changed. The sound effects are limited to the odd whoosh or beep. And the drama has a slightly cold feel to it. This I think is on purpose to stress the scientists’ need to see logic in everything and science as the answer to all problems, even the ones it has caused. This lack of emotion also works well to bring into sharp relief the tragedy at the end, both on a personal level and, we suspect, for the whole of humanity who seem bent on self-destruction. 

Stefan Wilke’s “Mondglas” (1999) also asks questions about the future of humanity. It begins with an interview with an old man, Winston, about the return of the spaceship Centaurus (we hear soothing birdsong in the background to lull us into a false sense of security). Winston recounts that Centaurus brought back microorganisms from Loki, a planet in the Alpha Centauri system. He remembers Alan T, the AI steering the ship, who tells Winston of having had dreams, even nightmares, during its journey. Alan T seems confused and amnesiac and we wonder if it is lying. Winston was the scientist who developed Alan T and he is presented as an arrogant, macho scientist, obsessed with proving he is right. The microscopic life forms Alan T retrieved from Loki are considered harmless. He also brings back a form of glass, the Mondglas or “moon glass” of the title. This material is light, strong and beautiful, and it proves to be recyclable. After 20 years, it takes over from normal glass and is used for everything, including jewellery. Winston tells the reporter of his Moon Glass Theory: he believes that the moon glass has emasculated scientists. Although there are no longer any wars on earth, neither are there any new scientific breakthroughs. The last progress made was the solution for recycling moon glass, which came to a female scientist in a dream.

Winston tells the reporter that he interviewed Alan T one last time before it was deactivated. He stresses that Alan T had dreams because it met a problem it could not solve with logic. In the final interview, Winston “hypnotises” Alan T and asks him about his dreams. Winston comes to the conclusion that Alan T did not dream; rather, it was tampered with so it would disregard the reality it discovered, that is, that there was a highly developed civilisation on Loki that did not want contact with such an aggressive species. Winston feels that it is the nature of (a masculine) humanity to want to conquer new worlds. That is why he thinks that the inhabitants of Loki sent the moon glass which acts like a type of drug, reducing the drive and aggression of humans (making them more female and conciliatory). The reporter was granted an interview with Winston, as long as she was not wearing any moon glass jewellery during the interview. When she leaves, the reporter decides not to put on the moon glass necklace she left with a nurse. When the nurse asks why she is leaving her necklace behind, the reporter replies that it is “an experiment with an uncertain outcome”. She will publish an article on Winston’s Moon Glass Theory about the influence of moon glass, which she wants to test for herself. Despite Winston’s unapologetic machismo, he hands over this task to a woman. I particularly enjoyed this radio drama’s play on sexist as well as SF tropes.

Why do I think SF/sci-phi radio dramatizations are so important? In my opinion, film is a pervasive medium – after years of watching Star Trek in its many guises, it has inevitably influenced what I imagine when I read the words “shuttle craft” in a story. A friend of mine who is a gifted artist feels that she only managed truly original work as a child; as an adult, her mind has been influenced by other art and images from the outside world. Radio dramas (like reading) allow us to flex our imaginative muscles that can atrophy if we only watch SF films where everything has already been imagined for us. And imagination allows us to ponder the deeper questions of life, the universe and everything. I will finish by quoting part of Emily Brontë’s poem “To imagination”, where she calls flights of fancy her “true friend” and solace from the pain in life:

But thou art ever there, to bring
The hovering vision back, and breathe
New glories o’er the blighted spring,
And call a lovelier Life from Death.
And whisper, with a voice divine,
Of real worlds, as bright as thine.

I trust not to thy phantom bliss,
Yet, still, in evening’s quiet hour,
With never-failing thankfulness,
I welcome thee, Benignant Power;
Sure solacer of human cares,
And sweeter hope, when hope despairs!

~

Bio:

Mina is a translator by day, an insomniac by night. Reading Asimov’s robot stories and Wyndham’s The Day of the Triffids at age eleven may have permanently warped her view of the universe. She publishes essays in Sci Phi Journal as well as “flash” fiction on speculative sci-fi websites and hopes to work her way up to a novella or even a novel some day.

A Note on Romanian Science Fiction Literature from Past to Present

by Mariano Martín Rodríguez

Romania is a country that foreign readers rarely associate with speculative and science fiction (collectively abbreviated as SF). However, its multilingual young population is among the most IT-literate in the world, and their cultural output, including SF, is not only extensive but also fully up to date. While some might attribute this to globalisation, it is in fact a long-standing feature in Romanian culture from its very modern beginnings in the 19th century. Once it secured its independence, Romania embarked on a path of rapid progress, quickly adopting Western liberal institutions and world-view. In this context, as a manifestation of a new mentality centred on science and industrial technology, Romanian SF embraced from its outset the national project of modernisation, although not uncritically, and not without originality.

Utopian fiction usually preceded SF before their intimate fusion in offering descriptions of future societies. This almost universal pattern is also valid for Romania. Thus, economic liberalism was both supported and mocked in one interesting ambiguous utopia describing a present “Insula Prosta” (Stoopid Island, 1884) by Ion Ghica, before the liberal utopia was transferred to a future setting, where it was questioned. Alexandru Macedonski, one of the leading poets of the Decadent movement in Romania, produced thus a short history entitled “Oceania-Pacific-Dreadnought” (1911) where this gigantic ship intended as a floating house for the richest brings about an economic bubble of epic proportions, until it bursts (as bubbles are wont to do). This Romanian author probably took inspiration from Jules Verne’s L’Île à hélice (Propeller Island, 1895) but his description of the workings of pure speculation in capitalism is not only more precise, but also prophetic. Indeed, very few contemporary writers in Europe used anticipation in such a perceptive manner.

In the same years, Victor Anestin followed Camille Flammarion, rather than Verne, both in popularising astronomy and in setting his stories on other planets of the Solar System. Anestin describes them as populated by decent and highly developed human-like civilisations inspired by Positivistic utopianism, though unfortunately still subjected to nature’s whims. In O tragedie cerească (A Celestial Tragedy, 1914), a celestial body destroys Earth’s inhabitants. This dramatic apocalyptic scenario always poses the problem of which narrative voice to use: who can recount the end if it obliterates us all? Anestin solves this problem by adopting the perspective of an astronomer who witnesses our tragedy from Venus. In spite of his sober account, Anestin knows how to add a sense of loss to the sense of wonder in his grandiose planetary vistas.

This late but promising start of Romanian SF was followed by its relative normalisation along mainstream lines. As happened elsewhere in the world (except perhaps in the US), Wellsian scientific romance opened new avenues to speculative anticipation by infusing it with the freedom of imagination regarding world-building shown by old imaginary voyages since Lucian of Samosata, as well as a diversity of narrative and writing techniques explored by High Modernist authors. Among them, Felix Aderca stands out thanks to his avant-garde short story “Pastorală” (Pastoral, 1932), which is written as the summary of an unwritten play, and his novel Orașele înecate (Drowned Cities, 1936). The latter is set on a future Earth threatened by universal cold. The last human communities have withdrawn to submarine cities under the rule of a fascist-like pro-eugenics dictator, but his measures cannot prevent in the end the technical failure and destruction of the remaining cities. Only a couple escapes from our planet in a rocket. The varied societies, their exchanges and development in a pre-apocalyptic framework are finely portrayed using an art-deco tone of writing full of tragicomic irony, not unlike the one used in Karel Čapek’s contemporary novels, which makes this work a masterpiece of international interwar SF.

The political crisis brought about by World War II did not spare Romania, where home-grown ethnic nationalist Fascism supported by Nazi Germany was defeated and then replaced by the Communism imported and imposed by Soviet troops. In this context, there was little room for unregimented literature, speculative or otherwise. Even more intently than fascists, communists guided by Stalinist Social Realism effectively put an end to any fantasy about medium- and long-term futures. Furthermore, writers wishing to denounce totalitarianisms of any sort were silenced. Romanian readers were thus deprived of any dystopias comparable to those written by Zamiatin, Boye or Orwell. Vasile Voiculescu’s short story “Lobocoagularea prefrontală” (Pre-Frontal Lobocoagulation) purports to be a historical summary of the forced lobotomies undertaken on the population in order to extirpate their human souls. Written in 1948, this text was only published posthumously in 1982 as a simple curiosity by a renowned modern poet.

The Iron Curtain prevented Romania from being subjected to the massive influx of US SF literature (both pulps and Golden Age) which ended the more intellectual and literary scientific romance in Western Europe, though Communism was equally efficient in depriving SF of its former artistic respectability. Romanian SF was reborn in the 1950sas a tool for educating young readers both in Communism and technology in order to prepare them for the rapid pace of re-industrialisation soon established as a goal by Romanian authorities under nationalist leader Nicolae Ceaușescu, who was rather unsatisfied with the role of agricultural producer allotted to their country by the Soviet bloc. Although his rule was even harsher than others in the Eastern Bloc, Ceaușescu used his national policy of apparent dissent from the Soviet Union to get the technological and financial support that his country needed to become industrialised. As a result, Romanian writers were allowed to deviate from old dogmas, and SF quickly took advantage of the opening, soon updating itself to Golden Age standards thanks to Adrian Rogoz, whose short stories recall the clarity of form and speculative wit to be found in those by Isaac Asimov. The other Romanian SF master of the age, Vladimir Colin, adopted a more lyrical writing akin to that of Ray Bradbury, although the best part of his work was devoted to fantasy; indeed, his series of stories and legends from an ancient imaginary people, collected in Legendele țării lui Vam (Legends from Vam Country, 1961), are still considered a masterpiece by Romanian fantasy readers.

Rogoz, Colin and others also succeeded in joining the vogue for national promotion abroad triggered by Ceaușescu’s national-communism, since some of their works were translated into German and French and published in widely distributed anthologies of Romanian SF. Furthermore, they were generous enough to include in these volumes stories by new writers interested in a SF literature similar to that of the Anglophone New Wave, namely Ovid S. Crohmălniceanu, Gheorghe Săsărman and Mircea Opriță, who would eventually produce some of the best works that Romanian SF can boast of. The oldest of them, Crohmălniceanu, was a highly regarded mainstream literary critic when he published his two series of Istorii insolite (Unusual Stories) in 1980 and 1986. Taken together, they read as exercises in reasoned imagination on utopianism, technology and the role of literature in modernity in which irony enriches a deeply philosophical questioning of humankind and its place in the universe, not unlike the best tales by Borges or Lem, whom Crohmălniceanu could certainly be compared to.

Younger Săsărman and Opriță have had both long and distinguished writing careers. Săsărman produced in 1975 Cuadratura cercului, one of the masterpieces of the late modernist genre consisting of descriptions of imaginary cities, in a manner similar to the invisible ones by Calvino. Unfortunately, this edition was heavily censored, and the whole book was only known in 2001, when its author had long been excluded from Romanian literary life following his exile to Germany. The translation of his cities into Spanish and then partially into English as Squaring the Circle by top-ranking SF author Ursula K. Le Guin has secured him at last his rightful place in Romanian speculative fiction, now supported also by well-received recent novels such as a story on the resurrection of Jesus Christ in modern Germany entitled Adevărata cronică a morții lui Yeșua Ha-Nozri (True Account of the Death of Jeshua Ha-Nozri, 2016).

Opriță, who stayed in the country without compromising himself, is renowned for his short stories (e.g., “Figurine de ceară,” or Wax Figurines, a witty rewriting of Lem’s Solaris first published in 1973), though he also produced a successful novel, Călătorie în Capricia (A Journey to Capricia, 2011), which is both one of the latest sequels to Swift’s Gulliver’s Travels and a most original commentary on the 2008 Great Recession as it was suffered in Romania. Moreover, Opriță has accompanied the last decades of Romanian SF as a respected and fair critic, as well as its best chronicler: his history of Romanian SF literature is comprehensive up to a point rarely encountered in similar endeavours for other national SF traditions. It is a monument of SF scholarship, only comparable to another Romanian production in the theoretical field, Cornel Robu’s extensive O cheie pentru science-fiction (A Key to Science Fiction, 2004), the English abstract of which has been influential in our consideration of the sublime (popularly known as ‘sense of wonder’) as an essential part of SF aesthetics.   

After this remarkable group of writers and scholars, a certain decadence of Romanian SF was perhaps inevitable. Postmodernism soon acquired a status in the Romanian literary scene unmatched in other countries up to this very day. This was both bad and good news for Romanian SF: good news if we consider that the leading literary postmodernist in Romania, Mircea Cărtărescu, has introduced SF tropes in his work, especially in his latest novel Selenoid (2015), thus adding respectability to them; bad news if we consider instead that postmodernism has promoted a literature of chaos, or arbitrariness, deeply uncongenial to the usual SF frame of mind (marked by reason, order and science). Very few writers have succeeded in balancing these opposite trends. Among them, Mihail Grămescu is to be mentioned for his stories collected in Aporisticon (1981; final version, 2012), where postmodern egotism is nuanced by Borgesian detachment. There were other interesting young writers who tried to renovate SF following contemporary international trends, but unfortunately two parallel occurrences prevented them from acquiring a reputation similar to that of Săsărman, Opriță and even Grămescu.

On the one hand, the postmodernists, still very much in power in the Romanian intellectual scene, seem even more reluctant to appreciate SF as the modernists were once Wellsian scientific romance had become obsolete. Therefore, SF has not been able to join the literary mainstream in Romania as it has in other countries where SF novels, especially of the dystopian kind, are now read and reviewed beyond the limited circles of SF fans. On the other hand, the end of censorship allowed Anglophone SF to enter the Romanian market with a revenge, marginalising local production even more than in Western Europe forty years earlier (until today). Romanian SF writers tried to regain some of the genre’s former strength by mimicking foreign fashions, such as pulpish cyberpunk, in a country where hackers are, indeed, numerous, and IT has been enthusiastically embraced. Others wanted to preserve the New Wave heritage through carefully written stories, some of them quite experimental, such as Dănuț Ungureanu’s dystopian “Domus” (1992), which is entirely written using prescriptive discourse, and Ovidiu Bufnilă’s cyberpunk prose poem “Armele zeilor” (The Arms of the Gods, 2005). Although a number of these stories could make up an invaluable anthology, none of them succeeded in truly seducing the local fandom. Romanian SF only recovered when it revisited, in the form of long, epos-like novels, older genres such as space-opera in Dan Doboș’s Abația (Abbey, 2002-2005), lost-world romance in Sebastian A. Corn’s Ne vom întoarce în Muribecca (We Will Return to Muribecca, 2014), as well as apocalyptic dystopia in the series begun with the shorter novel Vegetal (2014) by Dănuț Ungureanu and Marian Truță. Their success, at least among fans, has contributed to lending new life to a SF now nearly as diverse and literarily successful as it used to be before the postmodernist/cyberpunk crisis. Prospects seem to be positive, with emerging writers now being aware that they are adding their contribution to a long and distinguished history of Romanian SF, although it is still too early to mention any outstanding ones.

~

Endnote: A first version of this essay was published as a preface to the following anthology of recent Romanian SF stories: Daniel Timariu and Cristian Vicol (eds.), East of a Known Galaxy: An Anthology of Romanian Sci-Fi Stories, București, Tritonic, 2019, p. 10-19. We thank the editors, as well as the publishing house and the Helion SF club having fostered this anthology, for their kind permission to publish here this slightly modified version of the paper.

~

Hyrenas

by EN Auslender

The wisest man on Earth once said, “love is at the center of all relationships, love or the lack of it”.

When we leapt so far into the future with eager anticipation, we could only conceive of the hardships that would await us; there were plans upon plans, contingencies upon contingencies, anything and everything to validate beyond a reasonable doubt that where we were headed was right and that we would, above all else, succeed where mankind had failed. Earth had reached its tipping point, we were told: the droughts, the floods, the hurricanes, the heat, the famines all forced those with the ability to move to a more habitable area to do so. Those with the bare minimum of life and limb received it in their support shelters, and those without, didn’t need it.

Everything turned inward and downward, away from spreading mankind onto other worlds. Dreaming of a better future died before the risen tide, but with the cataclysmic loss of life and farming ability no one could be blamed for suggesting that space could wait while humanity sorted itself out.

But then it never truly did. Those who benefited from the cataclysm just kept building on top of one another with nary a tree to breathe. With wealthy countries walled off and refusing to aid, it seemed they wanted to wait for humanity to filter while their own fortunate few survived and thrived. I suppose the shock and mundane occurrence of extinctions dulled the senses into believing this was simply how it would be.

And then those of us who still dreamed determined there was another way, a better way, and a star with a habitable planet was found not too far from Earth. A ship was built in secret, a generational ship that would run on fusion until something better could be concocted by the 5000 scientists and engineers recruited into the Hyrenas project. Earth wasn’t going to change, and no educated opinion could make a difference. Everything was leveraged against short vs. long-term costs, where short ultimately had the final say. Staying meant resigning ourselves to impotence while we watched those with exploit those without. Hyrenas, we were told, was humanity’s next great dream.

It was so named by the creator of the project, nuclear physicist Aleksander Torgssen: Hy-, his daughter’s nickname, and –renas, Swedish for ‘purify’. The ship took all his life to construct in hiding, and though it was finally christened in his 98th year, he took the journey up into and beyond orbit in our vessel of hydroponics and nuclear power. Before his death near the orbit of Jupiter, he left us Edicta Hyrenas, the supreme law of the new human race:

  1. To all of Hyrenas, give;
  2. For all of Hyrenas, give;
  3. With all of Hyrenas, give;
  4. For all of Hyrenas, succeed;
  5. With all of Hyrenas, succeed;
  6. Within Hyrenas, know all;
  7. Without Hyrenas, know all;
  8. Within Hyrenas, love all;
  9. Without Hyrenas, love all;
  10. To life itself, spare no love.

The botanists worked artificial night and day to cultivate and accelerate crop growth. The mechanical engineers facilitated fluidity for the ship’s systems, and maintained its upkeep. The nuclear engineers and physicists tinkered to increase the engine’s efficiency. The theoretical physicists searched for methods by which the ship could move faster through space. The astronomers identified planetary bodies along the journey within a lightyear’s radius that indicated either sources of mineral ore or water. The computer engineers fine-tuned and monitored all processes, ensuring that all functioned as it should. The doctors and surgeons ensured all people maintained their health, and conferred with the astronomers to search for planets that could possibly harbor nutrients not grown on the ship. All was organized and coordinated through a representative group with ten members from each expertise. There, those with the most panache, rather than the most experience or credentials, held sway. But as all represented the very best of humanity, there was no fear of conflict.

Though when the mechanical engineers needed to take the radiometric sensors offline for several hours in order to shunt power to the nuclear physicists testing a more efficient engine, the astronomers and botanists grew angry- they were charting the structure of a just-discovered and possibly life-sustaining planet whose atmosphere was filled with phosphorous, and in the span of the downtime the planet would pass from the periphery of scanning range. They brought the complaint to the group. Arguments ensued: the engineers and physicists had the right to test immediately because a more efficient and powerful engine meant they not only would have more power to distribute across the ship, but they would reach their ultimate destination faster. The botanists and astronomers argued that phosphorous is one of the most essential and rarest elements in existence, and not taking the time to study that planet was an affront to Hyrenas. But then again, taking the ship to the planet meant adding 10 years to the journey, if not more.

The botanists and astronomers didn’t win the day.

Spite lurked beneath the doctrines, as it seemed the work of some was valued more than the work of others regardless of how integral everyone’s work was to the survival of the mission.

When the first child was born, the community of 5001 celebrated as one, all arguments temporarily put aside. The boy was named Aleksander Ngata, son of Koji and Mara Ngata, two theoretical physicists. One member from each profession volunteered to become teachers to the future wave of children.

Thus, a new class was born.

Within two years of Aleksander Ngata’s birth, 207 more children were born. In another year, 320 more. 6 months from then, another 518. The Ngatas broke the seal on the awkwardness of whether or not to have children on a spacefaring generational vessel, and many indulged in the proclivities of intimacy. They were, after all, working in close quarters day after day for hours on end; one could hardly blame them.

Though the computer kept an electronic record of the crew’s logs and work, Kaloshka Jindo volunteered to become the ship’s historian. He would act as the narrator for both the present and the past, and would teach children the history of humanity and the history and future of Hyrenas, and why they were the true evolution of humanity.

Within and between the throes of passion and triumphant heartbeats, theoretical physicists Yael Hernandez and Kira Nathanson realized in their post-coital clarity that fifth-dimensional space contained a membrane of ‘friction’ that prevented 3-dimensional objects from entering and viewing reality in 4 dimensions; that frictional membrane, however, could be utilized as a ‘motorway’ on which a 3-dimensional object can ‘ride’. Given the super-state energy required to enter fifth-dimensional space, it would take a fraction of that energy (the gravitational energy of a black hole, give or take a supernova) to tap into that membrane.

In essence, it was the theoretical express lane of the universe. The issue was generating the energy needed to pierce through the layers of space. They conferred with the astronomers about theoretical ‘wicked matter’, possibly existing as something tangled and torn between the Roche limits of two tangoing black holes.

The astronomers wanted extra power to the sensors to fine-tune their capabilities to detect the exotic theoretical matter. The engineers agreed.

The botanists became resentful. They brought their complaints to the council. They felt they weren’t receiving the due respect the engineers or physicists were whenever the question of the engines were raised. All other professions stated that the engines were the single most important function on the ship: they provided the thrust, the warmth, the air, the water, the light. Without the engines, the plants wouldn’t grow.

But without the plants, Hyrenas would die.

The physicists and engineers decided, in order to avert taking blame for such things, a single person could act as the ‘captain’ to arbitrate decisions. They sold it to the botanists as having someone to prioritize decisions, which was acceptable enough.

Sajavin King was chosen. A ‘polymath’ trillionaire on Earth, the 56-year old held several honorary doctorates from prestigious Earth universities. His fortune came from discovering and securing underground freshwater lakes, which then evolved into locating and mining phosphates, a key nutrient in agriculture. Much of his time on Earth was spent ‘developing’ technologies to facilitate food production in famine-stricken areas. Much of the food didn’t reach those affected by famine. King, and similar others on the ship, used their money to fund Hyrenas, and very few of the botanists, physicists, engineers, doctors, etc. knew much about King besides the proclamations in the news that he was going to solve world hunger.

Kaloshka Jindo began researching King, if just to have a good preface for the biography of the ship’s first captain.

Given King’s reputation as a ‘man of science’, the professions were generally satisfied with his approach to governance. Time was doled out evenly; disputes were arbitrated in what seemed to be a fair way.

But others who had exploited Earth in order to secure a place on Hyrenas took him as a sign of a return to old ways. In total, 6 people who had also used their incredulous wealth to fund Hyrenas discussed between themselves what it meant to have him atop all others. The 6 already sat on the council, able to insulate themselves from the hard work of the professionals, but they wanted more. A year, two years passed with only quiet discussion between them.

Jindo discovered King’s Earthly exploits, and privately questioned him before bringing his concerns to the council. In what Jindo described as a moment of pure contrition, Jindo noted that King stated, “the goal was always to survive, on Earth… stronger than others, healthier, to secure more than everyone else for our own. I threw all my money at Aleksander. I wanted to leave Earth a poor man. I deserved to, for all I did. I didn’t deserve to leave though. I’m a coward. But at least I can do something good here.”

King told Jindo he could bring his knowledge to the council, but Jindo didn’t. It was the 6, through listening devices in King’s office, who did so anonymously. Though some on the council were suspicious of King’s contrition, there was unanimous agreement to keep silent on the matter to the public. On that, the 6 capitalized.

Word immediately spread of King’s Earthly misdeeds. It didn’t take long until the people, in motley groups, demanded King step down from his position. Some demanded he be put in a maintenance craft and dropped off at the next barely habitable planet. Others demanded he be kicked out an airlock.

The council convened, and recommended to King he should step down. King declined. He still had support, he argued, and he wasn’t wrong. Many in the council desired to be rid of him. The members of the 6 spoke publicly about King resigning, and rallied support around themselves.

Surrounded by confusion and dizzying worry, Jindo went to King’s residence one night to apologize and attempt to clear the air on what happened. Several hours later, both Jindo and King were found dead in an apparent murder-suicide.

It was then that the first Hyrenas Juris Circle was created from volunteers appointed by the 6. Given the evidence presented to them, that Jindo had gone to King’s residence to reveal himself as the person who discovered King’s past, King murdered Jindo in a rage and then, realizing he had sealed his fate, committed suicide by hanging himself with his belt.

The reality of the situation is unknown. However, the next captain of the ship was Boris Jensen, who had the fervent support of the 6, and the second historian was Lilia Malloukis, a member of the council and suspected affiliate of the 6.

The truth of Hyrenas is a lie: many give to it, but a few hoard most. Many love it, but not as much as the few love themselves. Many know those within, but the 6 know all.

Historian of Truth
Genevieve Jindo

~

Bio

EN Auslender is a self-flagellating scribbler of half-truths and consternation that lends itself only to a deeper understanding of superficiality. Sometimes he writes coherently.

Why the Culture Wins: An Appreciation of Iain M. Banks

by Prof. Joseph Heath

Many years ago, a friend of mine who knows about these sorts of things handed me a book and said “Here, you have to read this.” It was a copy of Iain M. Banks’s Use of Weapons.
I glanced over the jacket copy. “What’s the Culture?” I asked.
“Well,” she said, “it’s kind of hard to explain.” She settled in for what looked to be a long conversation.
“In Thailand, they have this thing called the Dog. You see the Dog wherever you go, hanging around by the side of the road, skulking around markets. The thing is, it’s not a breed, it’s more like the universal dog. You could take any dog, of any breed, release it into the streets, and within a couple of generations it will have reverted to the Dog. That’s what the Culture is, it’s like the evolutionary winner of the contest between all cultures, the ultimate basin of attraction.”
“I’m in,” I said.
“Oh, and there’s this great part where the main character gets his head cut off – or I guess you would say, his body cut off – and so the drone gives him a hat as a get-well present…”
In the end, I didn’t love Use of Weapons, but I liked it enough to pick up a copy of Banks’s previous book, Consider Phlebas, and read it through. Here I found a much more satisfactory elaboration of the basic premise of his world. For me, it established Banks as one the great visionaries of late 20th century science fiction.
Compared to the other “visionary” writers working at the time – William Gibson, Neal Stephenson – Banks is underappreciated. This is because Gibson and Stephenson in certain ways anticipated the evolution of technology, and considered what the world would look like as transformed by “cyberspace.” Both were crucial in helping us to understand that the real technological revolution occurring in our society was not mechanical, but involved the collection, transmission and processing of information.
Banks, by contrast, imagined a future transformed by the evolution of culture first and foremost, and by technology only secondarily. His insights were, I would contend, more profound. But they are less well appreciated, because the dynamics of culture surround us so completely, and inform our understanding of the world so entirely, that we struggle to find a perspective from which we can observe the long-term trends.
In fact, modern science fiction writers have had so little to say about the evolution of culture and society that it has become a standard trope of the genre to imagine a technologically advanced future that contains archaic social structures. The most influential example of this is undoubtedly Frank Herbert’s Dune, which imagines an advanced galactic civilization, but where society is dominated by warring “houses,” organized as extended clans, all under the nominal authority of an “emperor.” Part of the appeal obviously lies in the juxtaposition of a social structure that belongs to the distant past – one that could be lifted, almost without modification, from a fantasy novel – and futuristic technology.
Such a postulate can be entertaining, to the extent that it involves a dramatic rejection of Marx’s view, that the development of the forces of production drives the relations of production (“The hand-mill gives you society with the feudal lord; the steam-mill, society with the industrial capitalist.”1). Put in more contemporary terms, Marx’s claim is that there are functional relations between technology and social structure, so that you can’t just combine them any old way. Marx was, in this regard, certainly right, hence the sociological naiveté that lies at the heart of Dune. Feudalism with energy weapons makes no sense – a feudal society could not produce energy weapons, and energy weapons would undermine feudal social relations.
Dune at least exhibits a certain exuberance, positing a scenario in which social evolution and technological evolution appear to have run in opposite directions. The lazier version of this, which has become wearily familiar to followers of the science fiction genre, is to imagine a future that is a thinly veiled version of Imperial Rome. Isaac Asimov’s Foundation series, which essentially takes the “fall of the Roman empire” as the template for its scenario, probably initiated the trend. Gene Roddenberry’s Star Trek relentlessly exploited classical references (the twin stars, Romulus and Remus, etc.) and storylines. And of course George Lucas’s Star Wars franchise features the fall of the “republic” and the rise of the “empire.” What all these worlds have in common is that they postulate humans in a futuristic scenario confronting political and social challenges that are taken from our distant past.
In this context, what distinguishes Banks’s work is that he imagines a scenario in which technological development has also driven changes in the social structure, such that the social and political challenges people confront are new. Indeed, Banks distinguishes himself in having thought carefully about the social and political consequences of technological development. For example, once a society has semi-intelligent drones that can be assigned to supervise individuals at all times, what need is there for a criminal justice system? Thus in the Culture, an individual who commits a sufficiently serious crime is assigned – involuntarily – a “slap drone,” who simply prevents that person from committing any crime again. Not only does this reduce recidivism to zero, the prospect of being supervised by a drone for the rest of one’s life also serves as a powerful deterrent to crime.
This is an absolutely plausible extrapolation from current trends – even just looking at how ankle monitoring bracelets work today. But it also raises further questions. For instance, once there is no need for a criminal justice system, one of the central functions of the state has been eliminated. This is one of the social changes underlying the political anarchism that is a central feature of the Culture. There is, however, a more fundamental postulate. The core feature of Banks’s universe is that he imagines a scenario in which technological development has freed culture from all functional constraints – and thus, he imagines a situation in which culture has become purely memetic. This is perhaps the most important idea in his work, but it requires some unpacking.
The term “meme” was introduced by Richard Dawkins, in an attempt to articulate some cultural equivalent to the role that the “gene” plays in biological evolution.2 The basic building-block of life for Dawkins, one may recall, is “the replicator,” understood simply as “that which reproduces itself.” His key observation is that one can find replicators not just in the biological sphere, but in human social behaviour. In many cases, these “memes” produce obvious benefits to their host, so it is not difficult to see how they succeed in reproducing themselves – consider, for instance, the human practice of using fire to cook food, which is reproduced culturally. In other cases, however, cultural patterns get reproduced, not because they offer any particular benefits – in some cases they are even costly to the host – but because they have a particularly effective “trick,” when it comes to getting themselves reproduced.
To say that a culture is functional is to say that it contributes, and is constrained in various ways by the need to contribute, to the material reproduction of society. Social institutions are fundamentally structured by the collective action problems that must be overcome, in order for people to produce sufficient food, to provide security, to educate the young, to reproduce the social order, and eventually, to produce the various fruits of civilization. These institutions are roughly matched by a set of personality structures, produced through socialization, that make individuals disposed to conform to the roles specified by these institutions (i.e. to be a warrior, a laborer, a teacher, etc.). The term “culture” is used to refer to the symbolic or informational correlates of these institutions and personality structures, which is reproduced intergenerationally.3
Flipping through the annals of ethnography, one cannot but be struck by the “fit” that exists – most often – between the culture of a society and the demands that its institutional structures make. A society that is under constant military threat will have a culture that celebrates martial virtues, a society that features a cooperative economy will strongly stigmatize laziness, an egalitarian society will treat bossiness as a major personality flaw, an industrial society with highly regimented work schedules will prize punctuality, and so on.
There are, of course, instances in which there is a poor match between the two (i.e. where the culture is dysfunctional). And, of course, one of the chief impediments to changing the institutional structures of many societies is that the culture is not “adapted” to the new pattern. (Thus, for example, it is difficult to create bureaucracies in cultures that strongly value family ties, because the latter generate nepotism and corruption.)
Again, turning to the annals of ethnography, what one sees is extraordinary pluralism and inventiveness in human societies. But it is pluralism of both culture and social structure.
These cultures have, historically, competed with one another, with some becoming larger and more dominant, others fading away or being extinguished entirely. A similar dynamic can be seen in the competition between languages with many becoming extinct, while others – such as Mandarin, English and Spanish – becoming “hyperlanguages” that become more powerful the more they grow. Similarly, one can see the emergence of “hypercultures,” which serve as basins of attraction for all of the others.
Historically, in this process of competition among cultures, a dominant source of competitive advantage has been the ability to promote a desirable social structure, or an effective system of cooperation. Consider the enormous influence that Roman culture exercised in the West. The fact that, one thousand years after the fall of Rome, schoolboys were still memorizing Cicero, the Justinian code remained de facto law throughout vast regions, and Latin was still the written language of the learned classes of Europe, is an extraordinary legacy. The major reason for imitation of the Romans was simply that their culture is one that sustained the greatest, most long-lasting empire the West has ever seen.
Similarly, Han culture was able to spread throughout China in large part through the institutions that it promoted, not just the imperial system, but the vast bureaucracy that sustained it, along with the competitive examination system that promoted effective administration.
Societies with strong institutions become wealthier, more powerful militarily, or some combination of the two. These are the ones whose culture reproduces, either because it is imitated, or because it is imposed on others.4 And yet the dominant trend in human societies, over the past century, has been significant convergence with respect to institutional structure. Most importantly, there has been practically universal acceptance of the need for a market economy and a bureaucratic state as the only desirable social structure at the national level. One can think of this as the basic blueprint of a “successful” society. This has led to an incredible narrowing of cultural possibilities, as cultures that are functionally incompatible with capitalism or bureaucracy are slowly extinguished or transformed.
This winnowing down of cultural possibilities is what constitutes the trend that is often falsely described as “Westernization.” Much of it is actually just a process of adaptation that any society must undergo, in order to bring its culture into alignment with the functional requirements of capitalism and bureaucracy. It is not that other cultures are becoming more “Western,” it is that all cultures, including Western ones, are converging around a small number of variants.5
One interesting consequence of this process is that the competition between cultures is becoming defunctionalized. The institutions of modern bureaucratic capitalism solve many of the traditional problems of social integration in an almost mechanical way. As a result, when considering the modern “hypercultures” – e.g. American, Japanese, European – there is little to choose from a functional point of view. None are particularly better or worse, from the standpoint of constructing a successful society. And so what is there left to compete on? All that is left are the memetic properties of the culture, which is to say, the pure capacity to reproduce itself.
Consider again Dawkins’s seminal discussion of the meme. In order to get itself reproduced, a meme does not necessarily have to produce any benefits for its host. A particularly compelling example that Dawkins gives is that of the chain letter, or its modern email or twitter equivalent. Even if the contents are not particularly compelling, the letter typically provides some half-way plausible story about why you should send a copy to everyone you know. The story need not be entirely persuasive, of course, it only needs to be plausible enough to persuade a fraction of the population to pass it on to a sufficiently large number of people.
Dawkins went on to suggest that many religions are susceptible to explanation along similar lines. For instance, one of the major factors driving the spread of Christianity is the fact that it imbues many of its followers with missionary zeal, and thus the desire to convert unbelievers. The Chinese, it may be recalled, undertook several major sea voyages to Africa in the 15th century. They left no lasting impact upon the continent, because upon arrival, having found nothing of interest to them, they simply turned around and went home. Europeans, by contrast, while primarily focused on navigating around the continent, brought along with them priests, who noticed millions of souls in need of salvation. And so they set up shop.
If one compares belief systems, one can see that Confucianism is powerful largely because of its functional qualities – it was one of the earliest drivers of state-formation, and has generated an extremely stable and resilient social structure in Chinese civilization. More generally, one cannot explain the spread of Han culture without pointing to the intimate connection between that culture and the set of social institutions that it both inspired and reinforced. The culture did not spread directly through imitation, but rather through the strength of the institutions that it was functionally related to. For similar reasons, its capacity to spread beyond the bounds of the state systems that it supported was quite limited. Christianity, on the other hand, is powerful more because of its viral properties – it is very good at spreading itself. It is actually much less successful at generating stable states. It is the qualities that allowed it to take over the Roman empire from within that explain much of its success in non-Western countries (such as Korea, or Ghana) today.
Now consider Banks’s scenario. Consider the process that is generating modern hypercultures, and imagine it continuing for another three or four hundred years. The first consequence is that the culture will become entirely defunctionalized. Banks imagines a scenario in which all of the endemic problems of human society have been given essentially technological solutions (in much the same way that drones have solved the problem of criminal justice). Most importantly, he imagines that the fundamental problem of scarcity has been solved, and so there is no longer any obligation for anyone to work (although, of course, people remain free to do so if they wish). All important decisions are made by a benevolent technocracy of AIs (or the “Minds”).
And so what is left for humanity (or, more accurately, humanoids)? At the individual level, Banks imagines a life very much like the one described by Bernard Suits in The Grasshopper – everything becomes a game, and thus at some level, non-serious.6 But where Banks went further than Suits was in thinking about the social consequences. What happens when culture becomes freed from all functional constraints? It seems clear that, in the interplanetary competition that develops, the culture that emerges will be the most virulent, or the most contagious. In other words, “the Culture” will simply be that which is best at reproducing itself, by appealing to the sensibilities and tastes of humanoid life-forms.
This is in fact why Horza, the protagonist of Consider Phlebas, dislikes the Culture. The book is set during the Idiran-Culture war, and is unusual among the Culture novels in that its protagonist is fighting on the side of the Idirans, and therefore provides an outsider’s perspective on the Culture. The Idirans are presented as the archetype of an old-fashioned functional culture – their political structure is that of a religiously integrated, hierarchical, authoritarian empire.
The war between the Idirans and the Culture is peculiarly asymmetrical, since the Culture is not an empire, or even a “polity” in any traditional sense of the term, it is simply a culture. It has no capital city, or even any “territory” in the conventional sense. (“During the war’s first phase, the Culture spent most of its time falling back from the rapidly expanding Idiran sphere, completing its war-production change-over and building up its fleet of warships… The Culture was able to use almost the entire galaxy to hide in. Its whole existence was mobile in essence; even Orbitals could be shifted, or simply abandoned, populations moved. The Idirans were religiously committed to taking and holding all they could; to maintaining frontiers, to securing planets and moons; above all, to keeping Idir safe, at any price.”7)
Horza is not an Idiran, but rather one of the last surviving members of a doppelganger species. The question throughout the novel – and the question put to him, rather forcefully, by the Culture agent Perosteck Balveda – is why he is fighting on the Idiran side, given that they are, rather self-evidently, religious fanatics, with an exclusive and zealous conviction in the superiority of their own species. (“It was clear to [the Idirans] from the start that their jihad to ‘calm, integrate and instruct’ these other species and bring them under the direct eye of their God had to continue and expand, or be meaningless.”8) The Culture, by contrast, is all about peaceful coexistence, tolerance and equality. So why would a member of an otherwise uninvolved third species choose the Idiran side?
The difference, for Horza, is that the Idirans, for all their flaws, have a certain depth, or seriousness, that is conspicuously lacking in the Culture. Their actions have meaning. To put it in philosophical terms, their lives are structured by what Charles Taylor refers to as “strong evaluation.”9 (Indeed, the inability of the Culture to take the war that it is fighting seriously serves as one of the most consistent sources of entertainment in all the Culture novels, as reflected in ship names, which are generally tongue-in-cheek such as: What are the Civilian Applications? or the Thug-class Value Judgement, the Torturer-class Xenophobe, the Abominator-class Falling Outside the Normal Moral Constraints, etc.)
Consider Weber’s famous diagnosis of modernity, as producing “specialists without spirit, sensualists without heart.” In the Culture, the role of the specialist has been taken over by the AIs, leaving for humanity nothing but the role of “sensualists without heart.”10 Thus the chief attraction of the Culture is the promise of non-stop partying and unlimited sex and drugs. (Genetic and surgical modification provide Culture members with the ability to make almost unlimited changes to their bodies, which typically include enhanced genitalia that allow them to experience intense, extended, and repeated orgasms, as well as the installation of specialized glands that produce a range of psychoactive chemicals, to dull pain, to produce euphoria, to remain awake, or to produce almost any other feeling that might seem desirable.)
One can see then why Horza might dislike the Culture. On the surface, his complaint is that they surrendered their humanity to machines. But what he really wants is a culture that can serve as a source of deeper meaning, which is the one thing that the Culture conspicuously fails to provide – on the contrary, it turns everything into a joke. The Culture may be irresistible, but for essentially stupid reasons. (“Horza tried not to appear as scornful as he felt. Here we go again, he thought. He tried to count the number of times he’d had to listen to people – usually from third- or low fourth-level societies, usually fairly human-basic, and more often than not male – talking in hushed, enviously admiring tones about how It’s More Fun in the Culture… I suppose we’ll hear about those wonderful drug glands next, Horza thought.”11)
It is precisely because of this decadence, as well as lack of seriousness, that the Idirans themselves assumed that their victory over the Culture was a foregone conclusion. When one compares the soft decadence of the Culture to the harsh militarism of the Idirans, it just seemed obvious that the Culture would not fight, but would quickly fold. This was, however, a miscalculation. In fact, the Culture would never give up.12 Understanding why goes to the heart of what makes the Culture what it is – the ultimate meme complex (or “memeplex”). It has to do with the special role that Contact plays in the Culture.
The idea of Contact also involves a brilliant extrapolation, on Banks’s part, from existing trends in liberal societies. The easiest way to explain Contact is to say that it operates on exactly the opposite principle of the Star Trek Federation’s “Prime Directive.” The latter prohibits any interference in the affairs of “pre-Warp” civilizations, which is to say, technologically underdeveloped worlds. The Culture, by contrast, is governed by the opposite principle; it tries to interfere as widely and fulsomely as possible. The primary function of its Contact branch is to subtly (or not-so subtly) shape the development of all civilizations, in order to ensure that the “good guys” win.
This is, of course, difficult to do without sometimes compromising the Culture’s own values, which is why Contact has a subsection, known as Special Circumstances, whose job is to break any eggs required to make the proverbial omelette. (The idea, of course, is that this is all done in a way that does not set any precedents, hence the “special circumstances.”) SC agents are the closest that one can find to “heroes” in the majority of Culture novels. But there is always a certain ambiguity about their role.
Contact’s mission is one that most readers find intuitively satisfactory. If there is a contest occurring, on some primitive world, between a fascist dictatorship and a freedom-loving democracy, does it not seem right that a technologically advanced alien race should do what it can to ensure that the freedom-loving democrats win? People are often asked, as an exercise in armchair philosophy, whether one should strangle baby Hitler in his crib, if one had the ability to travel back in time. And yet the Culture has the power to do the equivalent, turning this hypothetical choice into a real one. The idea that one should just sit back and do nothing, as the Federation’s Prime Directive suggests, is morally counterintuitive to say the least.
But what does it mean to say that Contact arranges things so that the “good guys” win? It means that it interferes on the side that shares the same values as the Culture. There is more at stake here than just individual freedom. For instance, with the development of technology, every society eventually has to decide how to recognize machine intelligence, and to decide whether AIs should be granted full legal and moral personhood. The Culture, naturally, has a view on this question, but that’s because the Culture is run by a benevolent technocracy of intelligent machines. Thus Contact and Special Circumstances will interfere, in order to prevent what they call “carbon fascists” (i.e. those who claim that “only human subjective experience has any intrinsic value”13) from emerging as the dominant political faction on any world.
There are two ways of framing this intervention. From the “insider” perspective, Contact is ensuring the truth and justice prevail (or that the “good guys” win). But from an “outsider” perspective, what the Culture is doing is reproducing itself. It is taking every society that it encounters and changing it, in order to turn it into another copy of the Culture.14 Furthermore, it is not just doing this as a casual pastime. Contact, in its own way, embodies the “prime directive” of the Culture. It is the heart and soul of the Culture, and for many of its inhabitants, its raison d’être, its only source of meaning. But it is also the central mechanism through which the Culture spreads. This is what gives the Culture its virulence – at a fundamental level, it exists only to reproduce itself. It has no other purpose.

The only desire the Culture could not satisfy from within itself was one common to both the descendants of its original human stock and the machines they had (at however great a remove) brought into being: the urge not to feel useless. The Culture’s sole justification for the relatively unworried, hedonistic life its population enjoyed was its good works; the secular evangelism of the Contact Section, not simply finding, cataloguing, investigating and analysing other, less advanced civilisations but – where the circumstances appeared to Contact to justify so doing – actually interfering (overtly or covertly) in the historical process of those other cultures.15

This is, I think, where Banks draws upon his most sociologically astute observation, again extrapolating from contemporary cultural trends. There are a variety of developments that are associated with modernity. One of them involves a move away from ascribed toward achieved sources of identity. The idea is rather simple: in traditional societies, people were defined largely by the circumstances that they were born into, or their ascribed characteristics – who your family was, what “station” in life you were born to, what gender you were, etc. There were a strict set of roles that prescribed how each person in each set of circumstances was to act, and life consisted largely of acting out the prescribed role. A modern society, by contrast, favours “choice” over “circumstances,” and indeed, considers it the height of injustice that people should be constrained or limited by their circumstances. Thus there is a move toward achieved sources of identity – what school you went to, what career you have chosen, who you decided to marry, and the lifestyle you adopt. “Getting to know someone,” in our society, involves asking them about the choices they have made in life, not the circumstances they were born into.
There are, of course, advantages and disadvantages to both arrangements. The advantages of choice, for people living in an achievement-oriented society, are too obvious to be worth enumerating. But there are disadvantages. Under the old system of ascribed statuses, people did not suffer from “identity crises,” and they did not need to spend the better part of their 20’s “finding themselves.” When everything is chosen, however, then the basis upon which one can make a choice becomes eroded. There are no more fixed points, from which different options can be evaluated. This generates the crisis of meaning that Taylor associates with the decline of strong evaluation.16
Human beings have spent much of their lives lamenting “the curse of Adam,” and yet work provides most people with their primary sense of meaning and achievement in life. So what happens when work disappears, turning everything into a hobby? A hobby is fun. Many people spend a great deal of time trying to escape work, so they can spend more time on their hobbies. But while they may be fun, hobbies are also at some level always frivolous. They cannot give meaning to a life, precisely because they are optional. You could just stop doing it, and nothing would change, it would make no difference, which is to say, it wouldn’t matter.
Now consider the choices that people have in the Culture. You can be male or female, or anything in between (indeed, many Culture citizens alternate, and it’s considered slightly outré to be strongly gender-identified). You can live as long as you like. You can acquire any appearance, or any set of skills. You can alter your physiology or brain chemistry at will, learn anything you like.
Given all these options, how do you choose? More fundamentally, who are you? What is it that creates your identity, or that makes you distinctive? If we reflect upon our own lives, the significant choices we have made were all in important ways informed by the constraints we are subject to, the hand that we were dealt: our natural talents, our gender, the country that we were born in. Once the constraints are gone, what basis is there for choosing one path over another?
This is the problem that existentialist writers, like Albert Camus, grappled with. The paradox of freedom is that it deprives choice of all meaningfulness. The answer that Camus recommended was absurdism – simply embracing the paradox. Few have followed him on this path. Sociologically, there are generally two ways in which citizens of modern societies resolve the crisis of meaning. The first is by choosing to embrace a traditional identity – call this “neotraditionalism” – celebrating the supposed authenticity of an ascriptive category. Most religious fundamentalism has this structure, but it also takes more benign forms, such as the suburban American who rediscovers his Celtic heritage, names his child Cahal or Aidan, and takes up residence at the local Irish pub. The other option is moral affirmation of freedom itself, as the sole meaningful value. This is often accompanied by a proselytizing desire to bring freedom to others.17
Because of this, there is a very powerful tendency within liberal societies for the development of precisely the type of “secular evangelism” that Banks described. It acquires a peculiar urgency, because it serves to resolve a powerful tension, indeed to resolve an identity crisis, within modern cultures. It often becomes strident, in part due to a lingering suspicion that it is not strong enough to support the weight that it is being forced to bear. Thus the Culture’s “prime directive,” as carried out by the Contact section, has a quality similar to that of the Idiran religion.18 This is why the war became so destructive – with 851.4 billion casualties, and over 91 million ships lost. Each side posed an existential threat to the other, not in the sense that it threatened physical annihilation, but because its victory would have undermined the belief that gave the other side its sense of meaningfulness or purpose in life.
This is what makes the Culture the ultimate memeplex, with the largest, deepest basin of attraction. It exists only to reproduce itself. It derives its entire sense of purpose, its raison d’être, from a set of activities that result in it seeking out and converting all societies to its own culture. Of course, this is not how people of the Culture themselves perceive it. As far as they’re concerned, they’re just “doing the right thing.” This self-deception is, of course, part of what makes the Culture so effective at reproducing itself.
From a certain perspective, the Culture is not all that different from Star Trek’s Borg. The difference is that Banks tricks the reader into, in effect, sympathizing with the Borg.19 Indeed, his sly suggestion is that we – those of us living in modern, liberal societies – are a part of the Borg. In Star Trek, the Borg are a vulgar caricature. “You will be assimilated, you will service the Borg” – this is probably not how the Borg see it. “We’re just here to help. Beside, how could you possibly not want to join?” – this is how the Culture sees itself. Yet from the outside, the Culture and the Borg have certain essential similarities.
Summing up: Banks’s conception of the Culture is driven by three central ideas. First, there is the thought that, in the future, basic problems of social organization will be given essentially technocratic solutions, and so the competition between cultures will be based upon their viral qualities, not their functional attributes. Second, there is postulation of Contact as essentially the reproduction mechanism of the Culture. And finally, there is the suggestion that the operations of Contact serve not just as an idle distraction, but in fact provides a solution to an existential crisis that is at the core of the Culture. This is what gives the Culture its ultraviral quality: its only reason for existence is to reproduce itself.
References
1 Karl Marx, The Poverty of Philosophy (Moscow: Foreign Languages Publishing House, 1955), p. 109.
2 Richard Dawkins, The Selfish Gene, 2nd edn (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1989).
3 See Talcott Parsons, The Society System (New York: Free Press, 1951).
4 In The Player of Games, Banks develops a thought-experiment, the Empire of Azad, which represents an extreme form of functional integration between culture and social institutions. The empire is literally held together by a cultural practice of game-playing (the game of Azad). In this case, the Emperor’s defeat in the game by a Culture agent results in the collapse of the entire social structure.
5 Joseph Heath, “Liberalization, Modernization, Westernization,” Philosophy and Social Criticism, 20 (2004): 665-690.
6 Bernard Suits, The Grasshopper: Games, Life and Utopia (Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 1978). “So, while game playing need not be the sole occupation of Utopia, it is the essence, the ‘without which not’ of Utopia. What I envisage is a culture quite different from our own in terms of its basis. Whereas our own culture is based on various kinds of scarcity – economic, moral, scientific, erotic – the culture of Utopia will be based on plenitude. The notable institutions of Utopia, accordingly, will not be economic, moral, scientific, and erotic instruments – as they are today – but institutions which foster sport and other games,” p. 194.
7 Consider Phlebas, pp. 460-461.
8 Consider Phlebas, p. 455.
9 Charles Taylor, “What is Human Agency?” in Philosophical Papers, Vol. 1 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1985).
10 Zakalwe reflects, in Use of Weapons, “He didn’t think he had quite believed what he had heard about the Culture’s altered physiology until then. He hadn’t accepted that they had changed themselves so. He had not believed that they really had chosen to extend such moments of pleasure, let alone breed into themselves all the multifarious drug glands that could enhance almost any experience (not least sex). Yet – in a way – it made sense, he told himself. Their machines could do everything else much better than they could; no sense in breeding super-humans for strength or intelligence, when their drones and Minds were so much more matter- and energy-efficient at both. But pleasure… well, that was a different matter.” (p. 260).
11 Consider Phlebas, p. 64.
12 “[The Idirans] could not have envisaged that while they were understood almost too perfectly by their enemy, they had comprehensively misapprehended the forces of belief, need – even fear – and morale operating within the Culture,” Consider Phlebas, p. 456.
13 Use of Weapons, p. 101.
14 As Beychae puts it, in Use of Weapons, “Zakalwe, has it ever occurred to you that in all these things the Culture may not be as disinterested as you imagine, and it claims… They want other people to be like them, Cheraldenine. They don’t terraform, so they don’t want others to either. There are arguments for it as well, you know… The Culture believes profoundly in machine sentience, so it thinks everybody ought to, but I think it also believes that every civilization should be run by its machines. Fewer people want that.” p. 241.
15 Consider Phlebas, p. 451.
16 See also Andrew Potter, The Authenticity Hoax (Toronto: McClelland & Stewart, 2010), p. 263.
17 As Potter observes, in The Authenticity Hoax, “The suggestion that the endpoint of human development, the culmination of the ancient struggle for recognition, amounts to little more than the admixture of the Bill of Rights and Best Buy does not fill everyone’s heart with joy,” p. 239.
18 As Zakalwe puts it, in Use of Weapons, “Once upon a time, over the gravity well and far away, there was a magical land where they had no kings, no laws, no money and no property, but where everybody lived like a prince, was very well-behaved and lacked for nothing. And these people lived in peace, but they were bored, because paradise can get that way after a time, and so they started to carry out missions of good works; charitable visits upon the less well-off, you might say…” p. 29.
19 This is most obvious in The Player of Games.

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The Philosophy of the Alien Films: Interview with Jeffrey A. Ewing

Released in 1979, Ridley Scott’s Alien combined H.R. Giger’s disturbing aesthetics with a tremendous cast, most of whom were viciously slaughtered before the film was done. Alien pulled off the trick of adding new ingredients to a rich tradition in storytelling, reimagining a classic horror scenario whilst taking the bogeymen to a new level. Its sequel, Aliens, proved just as successful, though director James Cameron shifted the franchise towards exhilarating and full-bodied action. The series has since spawned another four films (not counting the Alien vs. Predator spin-offs) that have continued to offer a mix of violent action and brooding horror. This gory combination of genres has nevertheless resulted in films which touch on many philosophical and scientific issues, including reproductive rights and the right to life, the status of intelligent machines, and the relationship between genetics and freedom. And so a group of scholars have used the Alien franchise to explore a variety of ideas which are presented in Alien and Philosophy: I Infest, Therefore I Am, which was published a few months ago. As part of the process of reviewing the book I contacted its editor, Jeffrey Ewing, and asked him to discuss the concepts with me. Jeff kindly agreed, and our exchange lead to this wonderful interview…
Sci Phi Journal: The book describes you as a doctoral candidate, before sharing a very funny poem. Now we know you have a sense of humour, but can you tell us more about yourself, and particularly how you came to be someone who repeatedly writes about the crossover of philosophy and pop culture?
Jeffrey Ewing: I’m glad you liked my poem! I started writing about philosophy and popular culture in 2009 with my contribution to Terminator and Philosophy. I received a Bachelor’s in Philosophy from Eastern Washington University, and was also always deeply interested in science fiction and the thought-provoking elements of science fiction worlds. One of my mentors, Dr. Kevin S. Decker, happened to be co-editing the volume and suggested I should submit an abstract. I did, he and his co-editor liked it, and I was able to write my first chapter! From there, I just kept applying to and writing different chapters about works I loved. I enjoy taking a philosophical lens to pop culture because pop culture has such a large impact on people’s lives, and often has deep implications that illustrate something important about our world.
SPJ: You must have been to parties and had people say something like: “but it’s just a film!” How do you respond? Is it in some ways important to explore philosophical concepts using popular tropes? Or is this a way for philosophers to indulge themselves with a bit of nerdy entertainment?
JE: I’ve definitely heard that before. The meaning in film, like all art, is sometimes explicit, sometimes implicit. Often it is intentional, sometimes not. But these rich fictional characters, situations, and worlds can often help us reflect on our own world and its issues. You certainly can enjoy films only as entertainment, but I think it is important to also think through the deeper implications of a film.
Today we face many burning issues—is the state of our economic inequality ‘just’ or unjust? How should we treat each other? What are the philosophical or practical implications of technological developments like gene splicing or AI? These sorts of questions are especially important as we wade into uncharted territories with climate change, the threats of authoritarian states, artificial intelligence, and the like.
Films often make perfect ‘thought experiments’ for these issues, and philosophy can give us very thoughtful approaches to exploring them, so I would advocate both enjoying films and thinking deeply about them!
SPJ: The driving forces in the Alien franchise are Ripley, and the alien(s). However, some of the writers who contributed to your book placed their focus elsewhere, such as the androids or the Weyland Corporation. Stepping back and looking at all the works in the franchise, what would be the one philosophical concept that is most essential to the stories being told? If you had to write just one short essay about all the Alien films, where would the focus of that essay lie?
JE: The Alien films are set in a very rich science fiction world, allowing us to think through about the power of monopolizing corporations, our relationship to AI and androids, and all sorts of other important issues. If I wrote just one essay on the Alien films, I’d actually focus on a theme that many may not highlight, but that I think is important to understanding them—the films’ critique of the tendencies and side effects of capitalism.
In the Alien series, the actions of a powerful monopolistic corporation expose workers and soldiers to serious threats on multiple occasions. For example, corporate priorities endanger the crew of the Nostromo, exposing them to the derelict spaceship on LV-426. In Aliens the company endangered the colonists of Hadley’s Hope in order to try and recover alien specimens for profit.
The Weyland-Yutani Corporation is a great example of a profit-oriented, monopolistic corporation that has too much power in the absence of effective regulation or successful social struggle. It endangers its employees, it threatens to bring back cargo that would be deadly for life on Earth, but none of that matters against the possibility of profit.
SPJ: To be honest, I found this the weakest line of reasoning in the book, and said as much in my review. In the review I compare critiquing the ‘capitalism’ of Weyland-Yutani to critiquing nuclear energy by examining Homer Simpson’s safety record. They are not even straw men, because at least a straw man purports to be an argument, even if it is a lousy one.
In terms of storytelling, Weyland-Yutani is a recurring plot device; its greed explains why human beings are repeatedly put into life-threatening situations they would otherwise choose to avoid. Being a device, Weyland-Yutani could be replaced by Space Nazis or the Space Khmer Rouge. All that is needed is an authority that is willing to sacrifice individual lives in order to pursue some ‘higher’ goal, like scientific progress, or victory in a war. Weyland-Yutani’s goal is meant to be profit, but the films tell us nothing about the economics of the future, so the audience has to make assumptions and project their own values. But as capitalists go, this corporation is run by buffoons: their amateurish attempts to capture aliens always result in the destruction of their own valuable assets, including the Nostromo, the Hadleys Hope colony, and the Prometheus. But irrespective of their bumbling, the only way for a corporation to make a profit is by selling something to a customer, and the audience never learns who is the customer for Weyland-Yutani’s weapons division, or what the weapons will be used for. That was the aspect of the stories that I felt deserved more philosophical scrutiny. Why is this future so militaristic, when there is no apparent enemy? Do the military themes offer another way to emphasize that Ripley is a woman in a man’s world? Or should we be talking about a future version of what Eisenhower referred to as the military-industrial complex?

JE: I definitely agree that the political life and day-to-day economics of the Alien universe are not fully transparent, and to get an expanded picture requires considerable reconstruction, particularly of the former, and so we definitely have to understand the world through our own inferences. Surely Weyland-Yutani is used as a plot device, but I think it is important to ask WHY THIS plot device rather than Space Nazis, etc. What is the role of The Company in the plot, and what does that role suggest about the social meaning of the Alien universe?
We do know from sources such as the Alien: Covenant companion Weyland Industries site, the film Alien, and beyond that the company is a large, multi-industry for-profit corporation. Their workers work for wages, and they are concerned with costs (such as Burke’s emphasis in Aliens on military restraint because of his concern for the ‘dollar value’ of destroyed installations). They may be run by buffoons—a statement I definitely agree with from their constant attempts to control the evidently uncontrollable—but they are a for-profit capitalist company even if their market is unclear and their success rate is mixed at best. I think their role in the Alien films as a consciously chosen plot device is meant to imply a statement that an unchecked pursuit of profit is a dangerous endeavor, and the consequences of that tendency, like the xenomorphs, cannot always be contained. I would like to know more about the militarism of the world as well, though. We don’t know enough about the military relations of the Alien world, so that could be a factor in a high military ‘market’, and we also know that they’ve been engaged in interstellar travel so it is possible there are enemies we’re not aware of. Perhaps they should do a spinoff film focusing on the military in the world, maybe branching off from Aliens. At any rate, it seems like the relationship between the military and Weyland (at least in this division of the company) could appropriately be described in terms of a military-industrial complex—their interrelations seem tightly intertwined.
SPJ: It’s tempting to think of Ripley as the central character because she is the survivor of Alien and is central to the sequels. But anyone watching Alien for the first time wouldn’t assume she was the central character. In fact, that film follows a pretty standard horror formula: introduce a bunch of characters and keep the audience in suspense about which one will die next. Ripley isn’t an especially likeable character either – she tried to stop Dallas and Lambert from bringing Kane (with facehugger) back on board the ship for medical care. However, Ripley is somewhat redeemed by her subsequent actions. Considering all the characters in all the films, would you think it fair to generalize that every human character is one or other kind of a-hole, and the only difference between them is that some live long enough to be redeemed, whilst the others die before they can? Does that make the alien(s) some kind of divine force of justice, squeezing what little good can be extracted from the human race?
JE: I have a hard time judging the crew of the Nostromo (even though I may not want to work with many of them), because through most of the film they’re forced into many positions that, personally, I’d never want to be in. They’re stuck together on this deep-space hauling mission, woken up before their destination, and they seem deeply concerned about even getting paid for the work they do (and honestly, I doubt they’re paid well enough). Just when they get accustomed to this supposedly random side-mission, they encounter a danger that they’re ill-equipped to handle. I mean, I doubt their training includes ‘What to do if you encounter a predatory parasitic nigh-invincible organism?’
Now, Ripley grows a lot in the film and throughout the series, and we definitely don’t get the privilege of seeing that of other characters. But truthfully, if I got stuck on a side-mission, unsure if I’d be paid for my labors in the middle of space, then had an invincible killing machine thrown at me, I’d either be pretty cranky about it or just stow away in the back of the ship spending time with the cat. In the context of the Alien world, it is quite possible that a xenomorph let loose in a Weyland-Yutani boardroom might approximate the hand of divine justice instead!
SPJ: In Aliens, the characters of Ripley and Newt are so tough that it’s difficult to think of any film which presents two women who kick ass so hard (Newt was the only colonist who survived – and she did it ‘without training’) whilst also being so unashamedly engaged in a surrogate mother-daughter relationship. As the film is set in 2179, does this make Ripley a post-feminist hero?
JE: I think it’s fair to say that Ripley is among the toughest heroines or heroes in any scifi or action film I can think of, and Newt (as you mention) is also very impressively tough. I like the fact that they bond so well, because it shows that you can be warm, compassionate, and emotionally connected and be a complete and total badass. In that regard, a post-feminist interpretation is really tempting, since they so clearly blow the patriarchy out of the water (or, perhaps, out of the airlock). But my interpretation of Ripley is that she’s a strong-willed feminist heroine, who still faces injustices and issues as a woman in this future society.
Take, for instance, that scene in Alien where Brett and Parker drown out her speech with steam, challenging her authority. On the one hand, they’re working-class employees subverting workplace hierarchies, yet on the other hand her authority is challenged here in ways that none of the men in positions of authority are. Or in Alien: Resurrection, where Ripley is cloned, and these clones are used to reproduce an alien embryo – her clone’s reproductive autonomy taken in a dramatic, traumatizing violation. Ripley is a very strong character, but she still faces challenges in the future that I think are best understood through a feminist lens (in Alien and Philosophy, Alexander Christian’s article provides an interesting exploration of some of these issues).
SPJ: I take your point about Brett and Parker being working-class men who challenge the authority of a female boss, but Lambert challenges Ripley too. When it comes to gender stereotypes, Lambert’s role is that of the overly-emotional woman, as contrasted with Ripley and the relatively cool-headed men. But were the film-makers guilty of playing on similar stereotypes when casting the synthetic characters? David and Ash are the most robot-like of the robots, being emotionally withdrawn and only capable of thinking logically. In contrast, the most ‘human’ of the machines takes a female form: Annalee Call.
JE: I do think the filmmakers wrote androids that largely meet gender stereotypes, and personally I find characters more interesting when they break stereotypes—case in point, Ripley. Your question does provoke an interesting thought about androids, however (both in the film and otherwise). Makers of androids would likely program them with some gendered understanding hardwired into their consciousness, and we see this all the time in science fiction portrayals of them. Why would an android’s inventor or manufacturer give them a gendered personality? Or perhaps they wouldn’t, but science fiction writers merely have difficulty imagining otherwise? It is an interesting question.
SPJ: Ripley calls her ship’s computer a “bitch”. She calls the alien queen a “bitch”. Is Ripley projecting her feelings about herself on to others? Is Ripley the ultimate bitch? Or is she lacking in feminist solidarity?!?
JE: Another interesting theme in the Alien series involves the theme of motherhood. Interestingly, the feminine-voiced computer in Alien is named MU-TH-ER (aka ‘MOTHER’), who is at face value charged with the care of the crew and their mission. MOTHER betrays them, “all other priorities rescinded” in favor of corporate objectives. Ripley calls MOTHER a ‘bitch’ when MOTHER prevents her from aborting the ship’s self-destruct processes—endangering her life and escape. This contrasts with the great lengths Ripley goes to in order to save the life of the cat Jonesy, who MOTHER also threatens. Similarly, Aliens is largely about a battle between motherly figures—Ripley as a motherly protector of Newt versus the alien Queen’s desire to protect her own monstrous children. When the alien Queen threatens Newt, Ripley screams “get away from her, you bitch!”—the Queen threatening the young girl she’s gone to so much trouble to protect.
In a sense, then, the use of the term ‘bitch’ comes out when a failed ‘mother’ figure threatens Ripley or vulnerable individuals Ripley cares for (Andrea Zanin’s chapter “Ellen Ripley: The Rise of the Matriarch” provides great commentary on these sorts of issues).
SPJ: One of the essays I most liked in your book was by Robert M. Mentyka, because he did an excellent job of exploring the Nietzschean aspects of the alien that Ash describes as “perfect” and “unclouded by conscience, remorse or delusions of morality”. Do we like the Alien because it is so terrible, in contrast to the flaws and pettiness of the mediocre people it slaughters?
JE: I think it is easy to be in some sort of awe over the xenomorphs—they’re nigh-invincible killing machines that can inhabit a body, transform inside it without its knowledge, destroy it in the ‘birth’ process, then proceed to cause havoc anywhere it lives. Its life cycle is so foreign, its biomechanical form is terrifying, and it is so dangerous it is hard to fully grasp. It is invulnerable where we are vulnerable, single-minded where we are conflicted, dangerous where we are impotent. So in a way, yes, I think it is so terrible and awe-inspiring and different that, in a way, we’re forced to admire it.
SPJ: Suppose you’re offered the opportunity to nuke the aliens from orbit, rendering their species extinct. Do you?
JE: Well, as per my chapter, I don’t think we should assume that xenomorphs have no moral value at all just because they’re not humans. I make the strong case that perhaps the xenomorphs have a right to self-defense and survival just like we do. That said… I can hardly think of a species whose existence poses more potential danger to the universe. As Ripley says, maybe nuking them from orbit may be the only way to be sure we’re safe… so it is an understandable consideration.
At the same time, it would be beyond regrettable—as far as we know, the xenomorphs haven’t mastered space travel on their own. Consequently, wherever they are in the universe they are contained, unless a space-faring civilization brings them elsewhere. In other words, if they were left alone, maybe we wouldn’t have to kill them after all.
So perhaps we can strike a compromise between our own security and their right to exist—instead of nuking them, defend the area around them to contain them in their own region of space. Although “create a defensive perimeter, it’s the only way to be sure” doesn’t have quite the same poignant ring.
SPJ: But suppose we don’t give you the luxury of deciding how society will behave. Let’s make you Corporal Hicks, and put you in a society where not just Weyland-Yutani but whoever is the most senior commander of the Colonial Marines has ordered you to bring an alien specimen back with you. Having seen what the aliens can do, should you not just disobey orders but also render them extinct?
JE: It would be hard to be an officer in that position. The one thing you shouldn’t do is bring an alien specimen back. Faced with the knowledge that they’d likely keep trying to bring back dangerous specimens (the opposite of the quarantine that is necessary) the most moral thing may in that situation be to eradicate them before they become some bio-weapon of unimaginable power. That’s too terrible a thing to rest in the hands of any individual or government, in my opinion.
SPJ: Ripley tries to extinguish the species a second time in Alien 3, throwing herself into the cauldron to kill the alien incubating inside her. Is this action as morally repugnant as nuking all the aliens from afar? Is it worse?
JE: I would say it depends on your ethical framework! From a strict utilitarian standpoint, focused on maximizing some positive state like happiness, your calculus could hypothetically be that the existence of xenomorphs threatens life throughout the universe, and therefore killing more xenomorphs is an ethically superior action! On the other hand, one may have a deontological ethic (judging the rightness or wrongness of an action independently from its consequences) that does or does not include xenomorph life as valuable, and therefore either option could be thought of as morally wrong. These are, of course, just examples—but, in short, it’s a complicated question!
In this context, I don’t think we can be fully confident that xenomorph destruction is the right thing to do. But I do think Ripley is right to not want her body to have this parasitic and deadly entity growing inside her! So I would say it’s a solidly ethical choice, whereas mass-xenomorph destruction is more problematic. (My co-editor’s chapter on “Contagion: Impurity, Mental Illness, and Suicide…” really digs into the issues around this choice, and I’d definitely recommend it for the interested reader.)
SPJ: There’s not much religion in the Alien franchise until we get to Prometheus. The exception is the religion of the YY-prisoners in Alien 3, with Dillon being their pastor. Whilst most characters want another paycheck, those prisoners need to avoid temptation, and they seek salvation. Is Dillon’s sacrifice – letting himself be torn to shreds by the alien in order to provide a distraction – a way for him to finally achieve that salvation?
JE: I think it is. Like many of the inmates on Fiorina 161, Dillon had a troubled, predatory past. He found religion in jail, and I think that he did seek to sacrifice himself for Ripley and to kill the alien, finding some sort of redemption.
SPJ: Do we need the threat of murderous aliens to restore some meaning to our dull, safe lives?
JE: I think there is a sense where, for many of us in the developed world, much of life is rather mundane. We still have dangers, like “what if I forget to lock the car” or “what if I can’t pay my student loans”, but those are somehow both stressful and boring. We get up, clock in to work, clock out, pay our bills and taxes, and repeat until we die. One of the appeals of larger-than-life films, with epic heroes, treacherous villains, dangerous monsters, etc., is that it gets our blood pumping in a safe way. We get to ‘feel’ more alive for two hours, yet without endangering our own real lives. So, in short, I think that the audience at some level does need these aliens, treacherous androids, crashed spaceships, and the like. Ironically, watching something so alien may make us feel human after all!
SPJ: Your book covers all the Alien films but the latest, Alien: Covenant. Is there anything you would change or add in light of Alien: Covenant?
JE: One theme that Prometheus and Alien: Covenant highlight that exists in a more limited way in prior films is their focus on the ethics of creation/being a creator. So many philosophical issues connect to the Engineers’ relationship to their creations, Weyland’s relationship to David, and David’s relationship to his experiments—what do we owe our creations? How should we treat them, and how should they see us? What creations are too dangerous for the world (and should not be created?). After Alien: Covenant, I’d like to dig into these issues to a greater extent.
SPJ: Does that mean there might be a sequel to your book?
JE: Perhaps! In the future there very well may be, and I’d welcome it. Alien and Philosophy covered a wide range of ground with some truly talented philosophers, but the Alien world is rich with philosophical implications, including the ones opened up in Alien: Covenant! There is a lot more to be said.

Jeopardy ad Absurdum

The contamination of an innocent by an excised, malignant consciousness. The phrase popped into Weiss’ head as he drove to the Court. It had been expressed by Manning, his lawyer—his own lawyer—the day before.
“You have to understand,” Manning had said, “there’s a subtext to this trial. It’s very unusual. Obviously. But the question is not so much who killed the old girl, as who is to blame for it. So although your patient is the nominal defendant, and although there is—at this stage—no legal case for you to answer, that could change very rapidly. If the boy is not convicted, for example.”
Weiss snorted. Manning was obviously an idiot. That would be why he went into law instead of medicine.
“I fail to see,” Weiss said, in the icy tones he usually saved for blundering junior doctors, “how even the most doltish jury could fail to convict the boy, when he was seen to kill her and admits he did so.”
Manning’s mud-coloured eyes became colder and his sallow face sterner.
“My opinion is that the circumstances permit the boy to construct a reasonable defence… It would be entirely unprecedented, of course, but that’s how case law works. The point is that you should tread carefully. Hewitt’s no fool. I can tell you how he’s going to play this, because I’d do the same. The contamination of an innocent by an excised, malignant consciousness. That’s the angle he’ll take. And if he pulls it off, they’ll come after you. Not just the Unit, but you personally.”
“What! Ridiculous! Compensation is owed to me! The effect on my private practice, my income…”
“I sympathise with your circumstances, Dr. Weiss. But I can only offer legal advice, not financial advice, and I have done so.”
And now, remembering this conversation, Weiss snorted again, still indignant. Lawyers, patients—idiots, all of them! What did they know of the arcana of nanoneurosurgery? Clearly, he would have to educate them. He parked up behind the ugly brick accretions of the Court, and stamped huffily towards the entrance.

Within the Court, in a small, second-floor room lined with dusty laws and redolent with the shattered lives by which lawyers measure their careers, Hewitt, the defence barrister, looked down from the single window. His attention was captured by a large, over-fed man with a sulky, supercilious expression, a man who traversed the car-park with the air of a royal who has had his red carpet removed. Hewitt’s head moved with his gaze, following the man, while the rest of him remained motionless, giving him the air of a weasel triangulating the chirr of a mouse’s heart. His small, dark eyes glinted with a sharp joy: This trial will change everything.
Indeed, such cases come but once in a lifetime. This one had already triggered a massive public interest, which had been further fed by the blameless appearance and good background of the defendant. Combine that with a motiveless—insanely motiveless—and violent murder, mix it with the more fantastic theories of the human mind, add a pinch of medical malpractice, and you have a newspaper editor’s dream of a story.
But Hewitt wasn’t interested in dreams and stories. They were useful, perhaps; but his cold, pragmatic soul inclined only towards the advancement of his career, and then only to the extent that such advancement could be measured in financial return. And in this case, the returns would be extraordinary. Hewitt would see to that. Yes, the focus on Weiss and his surgical procedures could only grow, with only one consequence.
This will change everything. Hewitt collected up his files and papers, and left his office.

In one of the cells beneath the Court, a boy sat on the edge of a plastic-covered, foam mattress that stunk of Institution. His pale hair looked darker now that it had been clumsily cut short, and his nineteen-year-old face was thinner, eaten up by concerns that would have weighed down broader shoulders than his. Even so, he retained something of the cherubic appearance that had so captured the public imagination. An angel not fallen, surely, but pushed.
He raised his arms and felt along his scalp, tracing a long, ridged scar, first with one hand, and then with the other. Then he clasped his hands together and placed them in his lap.
“You’re up next, kid,” someone said from behind the cell door. The boy nodded without looking up. And very quietly he said to himself, as though thinking aloud:
“But who?”

Hewitt looked across the Court, benignly, taking in the major players: the jurors, like a row of little ciphers (odd how they always all look the same!); the wrinkled old judge, slack-jawed and self-assured; the crew-cut, tortured innocence of the defendant; and Johnson, striding around like a skinny, revenant cadaver. Johnson was making a reasonable case for the prosecution, but the strength of his case was at the same time its weakness. It was predictable.
So—as Hewitt knew he would—Johnson simply walked through the main features of the case. The brutal, unprovoked murder of an old lady, a pensioner, on the street outside her home, in broad daylight, in front of witnesses. The immediate apprehension of the accused, who had stayed at the murder scene. The bizarre behaviour of the accused—pacing back and forth alongside the body, shouting denials, and gripping his hands together as though in prayer. ‘Criminally insane, perhaps, ‘ Johnson had said, leering at the jury, ‘but criminal nevertheless’. And for each facile, predictable brick that Johnson added to his edifice, Hewitt took pleasure in standing up with his small, carnivorous smile and saying, time after time, the same thing.
“I have no questions for this witness, my lord.”
And eventually Johnson was compelled to cede the floor. “The prosecution rests its case,” he said, glancing suspiciously at Hewitt.
Hewitt stood up.
“The first witness for the defence will be Dr. Weiss…”

When Weiss walked into the courtroom to take the witness stand, he was confident, perhaps cocksure. And for a while, his arrogance appeared justified: the first part of the cross-examination was straightforward, even gratifying. Ferret-faced Hewitt started with some comfortable, open questions. Questions which positively begged Weiss to enlarge upon the breakthrough surgical procedures that he had developed at the Carford University Medical School.
“So, Doctor Weiss, would you like to tell us about your background and the kind of operations you undertake in the Glioma Unit?”
Weiss said that he would; and then he did, in great detail. He told them about cancer. He told them about the killer crab and its slow sideways scuttle through soft organs, through delicate lives; about the drugs and bright scalpels that could temporarily bind shut its pincers. He told them about the chance of recurrence forever carried, like a black, unspoken secret, by each discharged patient. Specifically, he told them about glioma:  how the incremental treatment improvements made by jobbing oncologists had contributed nothing to this most intractable cancer of the brain. How the best efforts of the little people, beavering away in their little labs like Father Christmas’ elves, wrapping up new drugs and protocols for failing patients like useless gifts for a senile aunt, had made no significant difference to patient survival. How until he, Weiss, had turned his attention to the disease, only the lucky would survive more than a year after diagnosis, while the very lucky may have kept going for more than two.
Hewitt shifted from foot to foot throughout this sermon, grinning and nodding. Eventually, he managed to insert a question into Weiss’ flow.
“Thank you, Doctor Weiss. But perhaps you could focus more on your specific activities? The specific treatment protocols that you have developed?”
“I fully intend to,” Weiss replied icily. He knew how to deal with people like Hewitt. And he didn’t like being interrupted. “I fully intend to. But first you must understand the nature of the challenge posed by this important disease.”
And Hewitt listened with gratifying humility as Weiss told him why glioma had remained virtually untreatable for so long.
“The problem lies in the blood-brain barrier, that is, the relatively impermeable walls of the cerebral blood vessels.  This barrier lets small molecules, like oxygen and glucose, exit the bloodstream and reach the brain, but not much else. That’s why normal cancer treatment strategies simply don’t work for glioma. You can keep pumping the patient full of drugs until he’s ready to pop, but it will never work. You will never get enough drug into the brain by that approach. The blood-brain barrier always gets in the way. Do you understand?”
“I think so,” said Hewitt.
“Then you are cleverer than my colleagues in the oncology community.”
Weiss looked towards the judge with the kind of laugh that invites complicity. But Judge Evans, an old lady whose face—as delicately wrinkled and yellow-white as the skin on boiled milk—had been dragged down on its right side by a stroke, remained silent and lop-sidedly expressionless.
“And you developed a method for, ah, bypassing this barrier?” asked Hewitt.
“Indeed; my work has now transformed the field of cerebral glioma treatment. I have caged the beast! And in the Weiss Glioma Unit—which I have the honour of directing—we have further refined this revolutionary advance. We are, as you say, bypassing the blood-brain barrier altogether.”
Weiss paused at this point to look around the courtroom. This was a device he often used in his lectures—a dramatic pause, during which he would bask in the attention focussed on him, on him alone, by an enraptured audience. But on this occasion he was distracted, perhaps even discomfited, by the intense, tortured gaze of the defendant. The boy was leaning forward as though poised for supplication, his hands grasping the dock, his lips parted by some inner agony. His hair, previously androgynously long and blond, had been scythed back, drawing attention to an irregularity of growth around the perimeter of his scalp. This, Weiss knew, betrayed the presence of the long scar where he had sawn through the boy’s cranium and lifted aside the top and back of the skull, like taking the lid from a tin, to allow access to the brain.
“Doctor Weiss? You were saying?”
“Yes! Yes. We are bypassing the blood-brain barrier. We are, in effect, simply erasing it from the treatment equation. We do this by removing the diseased brain from the skull and placing it directly in a saline bath containing high drug concentrations. This exposes the cerebral glioma to levels of drug that are therapeutically effective and that actually kill the malignancy.  At the same time, because this drug treatment occurs outside the body, we avoid all the side effects of exposing healthy tissues throughout the body to toxic chemotherapy agents. So, drug-induced nausea and vomiting, weight loss, hair loss, ulcers of the mouth and throat—all are eliminated, along with the glioma itself. My approach has been described, I understand, as a giant leap for medicine.”
Hewitt nodded seriously. “A giant leap. You mean that no precedent exists for this approach? Your method is so novel that there is no reasonable comparator?”
Weiss could see where Hewitt was trying to lead him with this question. A clumsy manoeuvre.
“In fact, there is some precedent for this approach. Specialists have used a similar technique to perfuse highly concentrated drugs throughout cancer-ridden livers or lungs. But only the oncologists at the Weiss Glioma Unit have had the audacity to apply this principle to the brain.”
“Indeed. But there is a difference, is there not, between the level of risk involved in applying out-of-body drug perfusion to a brain as compared to, say, a liver?”
“Naturally. Reconnecting all the facial and optic nerves is not trivial. The procedure severely tests the surgeon’s skill and can be risky. Advances in robotic nanoneurosurgery have greatly simplified matters, but even so the technique is, I fear, beyond the skill or—ahem—courage of many of my colleagues.”
“I fully understand that many of your colleagues are reluctant to attempt this procedure. And nobody is questioning your skill or courage. My question was directed more at the self-evidently critical nature of the brain to the person.”
“I don’t follow you.”
“Well, organ transplants these days are almost routine. People are happy to accept someone else’s liver or lungs in exchange for a few more years of life. But they wouldn’t consider accepting someone else’s brain. Would they?”
“Your point being?”
“My point being that the brain is a special organ, in that it is the seat of our very selves, of everything that makes us be who we are and do what we do. A point that I will demonstrate to be highly relevant to the current situation. But we will return to that later. First of all, Doctor Weiss, for the benefit of the jury, please would you describe the exact method by which you treat a diseased brain? Presumably you do not remove the entire brain from the skull? Or do you?”
“Certainly not! No, we remove one hemisphere at a time. The excised hemisphere sits in the drug bath for sixteen hours, sufficient time for even slowly metabolising cells to incorporate the drug. Then it is replaced, and, if necessary, its sister hemisphere treated similarly.”
“Ah. One hemisphere at a time. First one half of the brain, and then the other. I see.”
“Obviously, if only one hemisphere has the cancer, only that hemisphere needs removal and treatment. Hardly a contentious approach.”
“No doubt. But let us move from the general to the specific. You treated the defendant for glioma, did you not?”
“Yes. I imagine that’s why I was asked to participate in these proceedings.”
Weiss glanced at the jury with a droll expression, as though to share a joke. But they just stared dully back, as responsive as a row of pebbles.
“The defendant’s treatment was not straightforward, I understand.”
“That is completely irrelevant. He was cured, after all.”
“The jury will decide on its relevance, if you will be so good as to describe the defendant’s case. In detail, if you please.”
Weiss glanced again at the boy in the dock and the boy nodded slightly, almost imperceptibly, as though begging Weiss to tell them all. Weiss remembered him well, of course. He had operated on him about a year ago. The boy had been one of the first pair of patients to receive treatment in the new Weiss Glioma Unit. Both he and the other patient had had very similar presentations; each had a small tumour in the right hemisphere, in the primary motor cortex. Inevitably, their symptoms were also similar; in particular, both patients were complaining of loss of use of the left arm. Weiss had operated on the two in parallel, in the same theatre, on the same day. There had been complications, it was true; but how to explain this to the idiot Hewitt?
“From the perspective of the surgeon, everything proceeded in a most satisfactory way. I removed each patient’s right hemisphere, connected the hemispheres to a surrogate blood supply, and cut out the respective tumours. We only treated the right halves of the brains on this occasion; the cancer had not spread to the left halves. After tumour excision, I handed the hemispheres over to the ex vivo team, who placed them in drug baths overnight. The next day, after washing out the drug, I replaced and reconnected the hemispheres. Each patient received the treated right hemisphere, cured and cancer-free. We monitored them throughout the rehabilitation period to ensure that their left body functions, in particular the use of the left arm, had returned. In both patients, recovery was unremarkable, indeed fully successful.”
“But the procedure wasn’t fully successful,” said Hewitt, grinning like a schoolboy. “Was it?”
Weiss took a deep breath. “You must understand,” he said, “that at that time, we were bound by pragmatic considerations relating to the efficiency and economy of state-sponsored health services, not least the rate of patient throughput. Accordingly, we used a system in which two patients could be operated on in parallel, or rather with significant overlap in time.  This was shown to be the most cost-effective use of skills and resources, and we set up the operating theatre to enable this. The defendant was one of a pair of young men with almost identical diseases who were operated on together.”
Hewitt watched him, his affable grin now replaced by a sardonic smirk, but remained silent, mutely inviting Weiss to continue.
“So there was a co-localisation in time and space that I deeply regret. I emphasise that it cannot happen under our new system.”
Weiss had hardly hesitated, but Hewitt pounced immediately, which of course gave the impression that Weiss was evading the question.
“But what?” asked Hewitt, his dark, little eyes glinting with the joy of the chase. “What cannot happen again?”
Weiss ground his teeth. Damn Hewitt and his impertinent questions!
“It’s important to say that this was a new protocol, and we had a very inexperienced ex vivo therapy team… their supervisor, who has now left us, admitted failings in his design of a shared surgical suite with adjacent drug baths, so, ah…”
What happened after the drug treatment?”
Weiss reddened, but controlled his mounting rage. “The hemispheres of the two young men were mixed up.  Each received the other’s right hemisphere.”
For a moment, the courtroom was silent. From the dock, the boy was nodding emphatically, looking absurdly grateful. Hewitt too looked satisfied. The faces of the jurors were unreadable.
“So,” said Hewitt. He was speaking slowly now, relishing each word. “So, two young men came to your unit for treatment, hoping for a cure… and they left your care, each with a hybrid brain comprising his own left hemisphere and the right hemisphere of a stranger.”
Weiss said nothing.
“For the benefit of the jury,” said Hewitt, still with his maddening slowness, “for the benefit of the jury, Doctor Weiss, I wonder if you would remind us of the lateralisation of brain function?”
Weiss seethed inwardly. He could see where this was going, but had no option other than to let Hewitt pursue his thesis.
“To some extent, the human brain is arranged such that the left hemisphere controls the right side of the body,” said Weiss, shortly. “Conversely, the right hemisphere controls left-side function. So, for example, the left arm, left leg, left eye, all connect to the right half of the brain.”
“Just so. In other words, the young men went home with the left side of their bodies controlled by a foreign hemisphere, by the brain of a stranger. By a right hemisphere that was, fundamentally, wrong.
Hewitt strode quickly towards the jury and scanned their faces intensely before turning on his heel to again face the witness-box. “And when did this error become apparent, Doctor Weiss?”
“At their first check-up, six months after surgery. There were signs of a nascent immune response and—”
But Hewitt was not interested in the medical explanation. He already had what he wanted, and he turned again to the jury, triumphant and exultant.
“Six months after the initial surgery, ladies and gentlemen! And the murder was committed, I remind you, four months and two weeks after the initial surgery! Committed, by the left hand of a right-handed man… by the left hand of a man whose left-side body functions were controlled, I remind you again, by the brain tissue of a stranger—the result of procedural negligence at the Weiss Glioma Unit!”
Hewitt’s excited tirade was followed by a rising susurration, composed of whispers and intakes of breath and rustles as the audience moved in their seats to better see the players in this great game. Negligence! Weiss looked down at his knuckles, whitely gripping the old wood of the dock, and fought to remain expressionless. My private practice… my income… my debts… Judge Evans beat her desk with a gavel as hard as her scrawny old arm could allow, while she glared around the courtroom with watery eyes, two wet little ponds set among cross-hatched, cream-yellow banks.
“Thank you, Your Honour,” said Hewitt, once silence had returned. “Now that we have established my premise, that is, that the events in question were perpetrated by brain tissue that does not belong to the defendant—brain tissue implanted in error, by a medically reckless procedure—let us seek further detail on two important points. Firstly, to whom does this interfering nervous tissue belong? What sort of person is the man whose right-side hemisphere has ended up in the skull of our defendant, controlling his left-body actions? And secondly—and this will draw heavily on your testimony, Doctor Weiss, so I would be grateful if you would remain in the witness-box, for the present—secondly, to what extent can a single hemisphere, one half of a brain, independently instigate a given train of action? For example, a sudden, violent blow to the throat of an old lady?”
There was a pause while Hewitt gathered some papers from his assistants. Weiss, unused to waiting on the convenience of others, felt the pain of his injured ego pull the blood from his face and then return it to his cheeks in a suffusion of rage. But his irritation was only partly due to the indignity of addressing questions posed by lesser intellects. In addition, the erosive concern that had grown in his mind like a tumour over recent weeks was now prodding and poking at his id, and occasionally breaking forth to torment his super-ego. Wealthy cancer patients, on whose illnesses he depended for the means to fund a rashly extravagant lifestyle, had become strangely scarce. Increasingly, they were cancelling their appointments with Weiss’ scalpel in favour of less imaginative treatments, treatments that carried less rumour of madness and shame. Hence, the precipitous decline in income from his erstwhile lucrative private practice. Until now, Weiss had thought of it as a temporary blip that would be abolished after the trial—but if Hewitt continued like this…
“So,” said Hewitt, eventually. “About the original owner of the rogue hemisphere. Obviously the gentleman in question is—rightly or wrongly—not on trial today. After all, he himself—or most of him, at least—was in prison on the day the murder was committed. A perfect alibi, perhaps; and yet, the very fact of his imprisonment is suggestive, is it not? Let us summarise his record…”
There followed a list of crimes and misdemeanours, mostly sordid, and sometimes violent. Drugs and theft, of course; also muggings, burglaries, drunken assaults and robberies. The court was left in no doubt that the rogue cerebral hemisphere had a significant and sustained criminal past.
“So, I think that answers the first of my questions,” Hewitt said. “Clearly, the nervous system that controls the defendant’s left hand, the hand that struck the fatal blow, has an abundant record of violent crime. Was the defendant at fault that this criminal proclivity was imported into his body, that it was given control of one half of his complement of limbs? I think not. But we shall return to that later. For now, let us focus on the second of the two questions that I put to you: to what extent can a cerebral hemisphere instigate a course of action independent of the conscious control, or even awareness, of the rest of the brain? Is it possible that the defendant could remain entirely unaware of, and unable to control, the actions of the left side of his body? That two parallel streams of consciousness could exist in the one head and body?”
Hewitt had been pacing up and down in front of the jury; now he walked back to the witness-box and halted in front of Weiss.
“Doctor Weiss, I wonder if you would be so good as to summarise the causes and symptoms of the split brain phenomenon?”
Weiss had known the question was coming, of course; Hewitt had practically telegraphed it.
“Under normal circumstances, the two cerebral hemispheres are intimately connected by a tract of nerve fibres called the corpus callosum. This enables them to function as a co-ordinated unit, as a single brain. If the corpus callosum is severed, as for example through injury or medical need, the hemispheres can no longer communicate with each other. Such patients may be known as split brain cases.”
“And when you operate on glioma patients, using your new technique… when you take out the hemispheres, one by one, before replacing them… do you sever the corpus callosum?”
“Obviously.”
“So all of the patients who leave your operating theatre—including the defendant—are split brain patients.”
“Of course! These questions are moronic!”
“Perhaps. But could you now describe to us the symptoms of a split brain patient?”
“Look, in most cases, you don’t see a huge effect. You can construct experimental conditions to show an effect, for example by letting one eye see one set of information and the other eye a different set of information, but in real life those conditions just don’t happen, and the patients are usually quite normal in their behaviour.”
“Usually. But not always?”
“Obviously, exceptions exist.”
“Would you describe some of these—ah—exceptions?”
“Well, there’s a famous case history—famous because it is so unusual—that describes a split brain woman who would have problems, for example, in filling her shopping trolley. Her right hand, the dominant hand, would take an item from the shelf, and then the left hand would replace the item and reach for some other purchase.”
“Fascinating! Just as though two different people existed inside her, fighting for control! But there are still more apposite examples, are there not?”
“I don’t follow you.”
“Really? But you must have heard of the split brain patient whose left hand—again, the left, mark you—would, apparently of its own volition, attempt to strike its owner’s much-loved wife? The literature records that this poor man would have to grab his left hand with his right to stop it harming her… Or how about the lady with a damaged corpus callosum who reported that her left hand—yes, left hand—lived a life of its own, and would try to strangle her in the night?”
“These types of alien hand syndrome really are extraordinarily rare—”
“As rare, perhaps, as the unprovoked, motiveless murder of an old lady by a boy of previously good character.”
Weiss was silent; Hewitt, too, was happy to pause, to let the jury absorb the inferences and connect the dots. But, just to make absolutely sure that even the slowest juror had grasped the argument, Hewitt painstakingly reiterated what he saw as the basic facts.
“The situation then is this. The defendant developed a glioma in the right hemisphere of his brain. He was treated at Doctor Weiss’ clinic using a procedure that involved removing the right hemisphere. Unfortunately, the defendant did not leave the hospital with his own right-side hemisphere. He left with a hybrid brain, incorporating the right-side hemisphere of a criminal sociopath. So the left side of his body is now controlled by nervous tissue derived from a stranger with a history of violence. Within a few months, this boy, this right-handed boy of previously impeccable character, committed a motiveless, pointless murder, in broad daylight—using his left hand only. And, as we have just discussed, many examples exist of split-brain patients whose left body functions appear to take on a life of their own, acting on impulses and motives that are entirely invisible—and repugnant—to the rest of the mind and body.”
Hewitt looked from the jury to the judge and back again.
“I believe that the only legitimate verdict that you can reach in this case is—at least with regard to the defendant as a whole—Not Guilty. Not guilty, ladies and gentlemen! I rest my case.”
Weiss tried to control the exasperation that was growing inside him like a boil. Surely they wouldn’t let the boy free on the basis of such a mish-mash of hypothesis and conjecture? The fools! Weiss raged silently as the prosecutor, Johnson, took the floor. He had an affected frown of puzzlement, but this gave Weiss a small gleam of hope—did the man have something up his sleeve?
“Ladies and gentlemen of the jury,” he began, wagging a finger. “We are in danger of over-complicating what is in fact a very simple case. The boy who is on trial today killed an old lady. Nobody denies that. Even he does not deny that.”
The jurors, as one, swivelled their heads to peer at the poor, weeping angel. The prosecutor, seeing the danger, hastily continued.
“Regardless of appearances, regardless of manifest contrition, the fact remains that murder has been done, and therefore justice is demanded. Now, I have listened to the defence’s case with interest, of course. We cannot deny that the defendant’s left arm, the murdering arm, was under the control of a foreign, perhaps even a malign, brain hemisphere, implanted as a result of a medical error in Doctor Weiss’ unit.”
Johnson nodded in Weiss’ direction with a friendly, complicit smile. Weiss glared at him. There was something of the mantis about Johnson: tall and cadaverous, with overly large, blue eyes and sunken cheeks, he stalked and hunched around the courtroom on long, thin legs, looking at the jurors as though they were a collection of juicy insects.
“But I feel that we are missing something… Doctor Weiss, we have heard about some very intriguing examples of split-brain patients. Indeed, the defence relies very heavily on instances in which such patients have reported that the left side of their bodies appears to instigate violent actions. But can you tell me of any instance in which a split brain patient has succeeded in doing serious violence, let alone murder, as a result of supposedly independent left-side actions?”
“No. I can’t.”
“No. Indeed, no.” Johnson pulled back his lips in a rictus of delight, like a corpse that had cracked a joke. “Doctor Weiss—what is free won’t?”
“I beg your pardon?”
“We are all acquainted with free will. But what is free won’t?”
“Oh—I know what you mean. Some cognitive scientists use the term to describe the ability of the conscious mind to override unconscious impulses. So although you might have a strong, unconsciously driven urge to murder your boss, the conscious mind won’t allow it. In most cases. Basically, it’s a power of veto.”
“I see. So in cases in which the left arm of a split-brain patient attempts to behave unacceptably, and the right arm stops that behaviour, that is free won’t in play. In other words, a murder—this murder—could have been prevented simply through the exercise of free won’t.
“Well—perhaps. The term is usually used in relation to intact brains.”
Suddenly, and uncomfortably, Weiss found himself in the position of devil’s advocate. He didn’t like Hewitt’s reductionist proposition that the locus of moral responsibility could reside in a sub-segment of the brain, let alone that two loci of responsibility could simultaneously exist in two parts of one brain. But at the same time, he couldn’t completely support Johnson’s argument that the power of veto could completely control the actions triggered by a misfiring hemisphere in a split brain—because if the two hemispheres were not connected, how could the consciousness communicate the power of veto to the misbehaving organs? But Johnson seemed happy with Weiss’ response.
“Yes. And I’m glad you raised the point about intact brains, because some argument exists, does it not, about whether a split brain can be truly said to possess two parallel streams of consciousness—which is the central argument of the defence, of course.” Johnson picked up some papers from the bench and quickly shuffled through them with long, thin fingers.
“Let me quote from ‘Consciousness Explained,’ by Daniel Dennett. Dennett’s views may be summarised as follows: ‘… it isn’t the case that splitting the brain leaves in its wake organisations both distinct enough and robust enough to support such a separate self…’ In other words, ladies and gentlemen, the idea of two separate and conflicting streams of consciousness in a single brain, arising as a result of split-brain surgery and hemisphere mix-up, is an absurd fantasy! That, together with the existence of the ‘free won’t’ power of veto, places responsibility for the murder entirely and unequivocally here—with the defendant!”
Johnson was standing in front of the boy, pointing at him, eyes bulging ghoulishly, like a ghastly messenger of Nemesis come from some lawyer’s grave. The accusation proved too much for the boy, who involuntarily stood, shouting a denial in a voice which wavered and broke with the pain of perceived injustice; but he was drowned out by Hewitt, who also jumped forward, yelling “Objection! Objection! Dennett’s views are irrelevant! The self-interested ramblings of academic philosophers have no place in this court!” while the judge feebly banged her gavel on the bench top.
And eventually the weak hammering of wood on wood had its effect, and the judge’s voice could be heard. It seemed that she was proposing an unprecedented intervention, an interruption to the normal process of the court. Citing the technical and moral complexities of this extraordinary case, and the great importance of setting a legal precedent for any future similar cases, she indicated that she would at this point direct the jury to reach a verdict. No reason, therefore, for the jury to retire.
Of course, Weiss could not then go home; although desperately fatigued, he was also fascinated. Later, attempting to recapitulate the process by which Judge Evans arrived at her extraordinary conclusion, he found himself shutting his eyes and listening again to the voice of the judge as she croaked out the garbled logic behind her verdict.
“We must remember this,” she had begun, perched behind her raised oak desk like an ancient, wrinkled sparrow at an empty bird table. “A murder has been committed, a horrific crime, of which the defendant is accused. And nobody, neither the defendant nor his barrister, is denying that the victim met her end as a consequence of a brutal blow from the left arm of the defendant.”
She glanced belligerently at Hewitt and then turned her rheumy eye to the boy in the dock before continuing.
“The critical question is, to what extent was the defendant responsible for the actions of his left arm? Was it truly the defendant who struck the blow? Or was his left arm simply being used as a weapon by a foreign consciousness that was both invisible to the defendant and beyond his control?”
The boy, with his hands clasped together in front of his chest like an angel before the crib, was watching her, rapt and pleading. He was rocking very slightly, almost imperceptibly, back and forth, back and forth.
“Certainly, Mister Hewitt has made a very strong case for the possible existence of two controlling entities within the defendant’s hybrid brain… two parallel streams of consciousness… I believe you employed that phrase, Mister Hewitt?”
“Yes, Your Honour.”
“And the idea of the co-existence of two separate loci of moral responsibility in a single physical person is given considerable weight by the case studies of split-brain patients that you described…”
The old lady appeared to ruminate on this for a little while before myopically looking around the courtroom for Johnson. Eventually she spotted him in the seat that he had taken throughout the trial, his long frame folded against itself so that he could fit into a chair designed for smaller people.
“On the other hand, Mister Johnson has reminded us that even if the defendant is harbouring a criminally minded hemisphere with a separate consciousness, he still possesses his own consciousness, generated by his own, left hemisphere, which could, perhaps, have freely intervened. Although I acknowledge that this is not certain… but then neither is it certain that a transplanted right hemisphere could generate its own, separate consciousness… This really is a very difficult case…”
Judge Evans paused, her head cocked to one side, as though listening for some voice to guide her. The paralysis of the right side of her face gave her a Janus-like quality; perhaps she looked permanently to two opposing sides, innocence and freedom to the left, and to the right guilt and punishment. Or possibly vice versa.
“Very well. My judgement is this. First, with regard to the term, a ten-year sentence seems appropriate…”
As Weiss listened to the judge deliver her verdict, his professional contempt for an outcome that he considered absurd was gradually, subtly modulated, and then entirely replaced by a new emotion, an emotion which grew like a gall in some deep part of the intuitive side of his brain before triumphantly metastasising into an overt condition that made his heart race and dampened his palms. He became aware of Hewitt’s bright, dark eyes fixed on his own, and as he met the other’s gaze a small charge seemed to pass between them, a little shock of recognition. As the trial finished and the various parties filed out of court, it was an easy matter for the two men to fall into step and start a conversation, without preliminaries, as though they were merely recapitulating an informal agreement that they had already negotiated.
“The precedent set, of course,” said Hewitt, “will form the basis for many appeals. Very many. I intend to form a limited liability partnership to offer the appropriate services. There would, of course, be mutual benefit in an association with a partner who could take care of the medical side of things…”
Weiss nodded solemnly. “As I am sure you have realised, no other party can offer the highly specialised and, er, recondite procedures that are routinely performed in my clinic… It would only be a case of operating on a larger scale…”
And the talk turned to venture capital and high net worth individuals and new premises and marketing budgets before the two men parted company, highly satisfied with their new relationship.

Weiss parked outside his house and got out of the car, still smiling. Only yesterday, he had seen his home as a giant millstone, a sign of the vast debts he had accumulated through an extravagant lifestyle that had exceeded his income so significantly for so many years. Today, the house seemed too small, too unambitious. He would need a bigger residence, no doubt about that.
But he would have plenty of time for that kind of thing. For now, he had arrangements to make, operations to schedule; one operation, in particular. Which of the junior surgeons was on call tonight? Nagel. That was it. Tom Nagel. Weiss keyed a number into his phone.
“Tom? Weiss here…Yes, fine thanks. All over… Very interesting actually. We need to start preparing for a rather unusual operation. And I very much suspect that it will be the first of many. In fact, I am setting up a new company, a partnership, to provide this type of service… Briefly, we are to remove the left arm of a patient, together with those parts of the right hemisphere that are responsible for movement of the left arm… We will receive more than ample fees for the operation, I assure you. But the real financial return comes from the incarceration of the arm and the associated nervous tissue. We will need to keep them alive, ex vivo, for ten years… perhaps less, with good behaviour, but the definition of good behaviour, in this context, will require expert medical input…Yes, we will get fees from re-attaching it after the sentence is over… I very much suspect, Tom, that we can charge what we like… yes. And of course, every prisoner in the country will wish to explore the possibility of having his sentence served only by the guilty parts of his brain and body… This could run and run, Tom.”

The Return of the Monstrous Part 1 by DG Jones

THE RETURN OF THE MONSTROUS

PART 1: THE EVOLUTION OF THE MONSTER

DG Jones

We’re obsessed with monsters. As individuals, and as cultures, monsters have always constituted a phenomenon that has run indiscriminately through the psyches of the world, satiating a human craving for dread and fear. Mutants, demi-gods and beasts pervade religion, creed, and every shadowy nook of secular society. The principal reason for the popularity of monsters is that the archetypal monster story is constructed around the incorporation of the monstrous Other into an otherwise homogenous society, an Other that is easily typified and recognised when given some unworldly physiology by the storyteller. The fascination and horror invoked by monsters is primarily due to the problems of human identity that they arouse in us, acting as catalysts that accelerate our primordial fears and anxieties to new levels. This is largely due to the monster’s traditional, uncomfortable distortion of the contours of the human or animal body: most classical monsters, from the Hydra to the vampire, are perversions of what is already “known” in the universe, or the Symbolic Order.

When confronted with human characters in literature, these monsters of excess are traditionally defeated by a protagonist, or a troop of people led by a protagonist, whose trump card is to outwardly display virtuous human qualities such as valour, courage, camaraderie, even love. These emotive attributes are usually sufficient to trounce the typically dumb, brute force of the excessive enemy, and the manner of victory serves two functions; firstly to heighten the dramatic or cathartic effect of the drama, and secondly to ensure that our own identities as human beings remain intact and, more importantly, superior to those of the monster.

While the “excess” of monsters is a reasonable explanation for the primordial reaction – one of repulsion or horror – one experiences when confronted by the classical monster, it nevertheless fails to account for the monster’s constant state of flux; its need to grow, and alter its fundamental shape and form in order to maintain its power to terrify in the modern age. For, while monsters of excess constitute a wildly violent and/or deviant manifestation of the Other, their physical excess creates a large, even comfortable distance between them and us; they are too blatant in their supposition of the role of Other, and thus become simple targets for elimination. In the cinematic age this distance has been emphasised by the safety barrier of the cinema screen, the lion’s cage, keeping the monster at arm’s length and effectively ‘captured’ by the frame of the screen to be inspected, gawped at and laughed at by the audience. The nature of spectacle carries with it an implicit ‘safety-catch’ ensuring that the gaze involved always is restricted to flowing one way after the introduction of cinema. The result is that the monster is situated as subordinate in the chain of power that exists between humans and monsters; as spectacle, the monster is unable to look back at humans. This mood of the freak show writ-large as an intrinsic part of early monster movies is encapsulated in King Kong (Cooper and Schoedsack, 1933). With a large slice of irony, Cooper and Schoedsack’s masterpiece demonstrates the self-conscious nature of their medium’s gaze in its portrayal of the giant ape captured by adventurers and then shamelessly paraded by the exhibitionist shysters of Broadway, whose aggressive and unreciprocated gaze changed the way the monster was to be perceived. This undoubtedly stems from the profoundly intimate relationship that people develop with books, which unleash the monster from the page to freely roam the infinite depths of the terrified human imagination. Unlike the cinema, you don’t read a book on a date; there’s no neighbour’s arm to cling to when the monster begins its assault from without. The cinema would keep monsters at a comfortable distance, treating them only as spectacular objects. The reason for this human desire to capture, control and explore the Kongs of the world lay in the attitudes of the modern era of the early twentieth century. The modernist era produced a myriad of works, myths and fictions that were essentially convoluted riddles to be fathomed by the academics, thinkers and readers of the time. The Slovenian critic Slavoj Žižek provides a good description of modernism in his book Everything You Wanted To Know About Lacan (But Were Afraid To Ask Hitchcock): “Modernism (is) the irruption of a trauma which undermines the complacency of our daily routine and resists being integrated into the symbolic universe of prevailing ideology… the pleasure of the modernist interpretation consists in the effect of recognition, which ‘gentrifies’ the disquieting uncanniness of its object.”

Logic and reason were the cultural vogue, and the objective of the era was to make sense of the mess, the enormous waste propagated by the First World War. Subsequently, monsters were no longer regarded as irrational creatures that that flew brutally in the face of gentrification and the Symbolic Order, nor as agents of some other perverse symbolic network that embodied the latent trauma that lurked within the individual. Monsters became mere objects to be scrutinised, studied and understood by scholars. It even gave rise to a new field of study: teratology (the study of monsters and marvels). However, as Hollywood has proven to us thousands of times over, only the foolhardy dare write off the monster! And, in a culture dominated by logic and rationality that had only recently digested Freud’s Beyond The Pleasure Principle (1920), logic dictated that sooner or later we would long to be scared out of our wits again. The necessity of the human condition to return to that which traumatises us brings us to the true definition of the monster – that of the Heideggerian semblance. Heidegger’s semblance is an entity that does not represent itself in itself per se, but takes the form of an indirect reference to itself, therefore escaping a concretised definition of its contours but retaining its essence. The monster thus needs to remain a semblance, allowing it to metamorphose into a new type of horror that is at odds with its previous incarnations but retains the essence of the monstrous. It is a transformation that did not really come to fruition until the American cinema of the mid-to-late 1970s, when the science fiction and horror genres began to amalgamate to reach new heights of terror.

The groundwork for this metamorphosis was laid by exemplary films such as Hitchcock’s Psycho (1960), Friedkin’s The Exorcist (1973), Spielberg’s Duel (1971) and Jaws (1975), and too many others to list here. These new monsters were subtler than their cumbersome predecessors, and would attack and appal their victims by sprouting from the internality of the subject rather than launching itself toward the subject from outside. The mystique of the postmodern monsters such as the antagonists of the films mentioned above is that the irreducible core of Real-impossibility, which arouses our terror as spectators, is contained within a symbolically viable shell (in Psycho this shell is a man; in Duel it is a filthy juggernaut; in The Exorcist the demon inhabits a child; in Jaws the shell is a Great White Shark). None of these monsters’ shells are ‘out of place’ yet through their uncanny ability to blend into the symbolic order they become more ‘out of place’ through their imminent threat to unwrap the Symbolic Order from within. This paradox reveals what the new monster was intent on becoming. Reams of papers and essays have been written expressing what the monster in each of these films ‘means’, and perhaps none more so than the Great White Shark in Jaws. There are theories abound speculating that the shark represents Third-World revenge upon American capitalism, or repressed sexuality, or a gross phallic symbol gone wild, to name but a few. The trick here is not to be fooled into thinking that any of these definitions or analyses of the shark is correct; as semblances, these monsters are examples of what Lacan referred to as the point-de-capiton, the point during analysis at which the sliding of signifiers by the analysand is stopped, or “punctured” by the analyst. In other words, it is the signifier (for example, the juggernaut in Duel) without the signified (its gentrified place as a juggernaut within the Symbolic Order), leaving instead an absent centre (the Real), which is how the paradox of these monsters is delineated. In Fig 5 we can see the point-de-capiton in what Lacan called the “Elementary Cell” of his Graph Of Desire. The subject in the Imaginary (constitutes itself as the Split Subject ($) by intersecting with the Grand Signifier (language) twice. The first point of intersection (A) is the first encounter with the signifier. If we reconsider the Mirrorphase, we can interpret this as the first encounter with the Other. This is the endpoint of speech, where references to the symbolic become fixated; it is from this point that everything which was said before during transference retroactively receives its true meaning. The second point of intersection (A’) is the point-de-capiton itself, the “punctuation in which the signification is constituted as a finished product”, or the point at which the analyst punctures the analysand through the revelation of the Real. The monsters such as those mentioned from the films above are examples of this second point of intersection, subverting the Symbolic Order by their uncanny aura of legitimacy.

It is this paradox of the signifier without the signified that gave rise to teratology as an apparently legitimate science, as it sought to gentrify that which resists symbolisation due to its constant state of flux, despite its façade being that of a legitimate signifier. The juggernaut is a juggernaut, but it’s not a juggernaut. The expanse of teratology as a legitimate science came as small surprise to the feminist critic Rosi Braidotti, who in Patterns of Dissonance calls the study the “forerunner to modern embryology” and suggests it “offers a paradigmatic example of the ways in which scientific rationality dealt with difference of a bodily kind.” Indeed, Braidotti’s assertion of a biological and chronological link between teratology and embryology is crucially significant when considering the various power imbalances evident within the social fabric. Her hypothesis offers an equivalence of stature and intent between the exhibitionist ringleader exemplified in King Kong’s Captain Englehorn (Frank Reicher) and the practitioners and researchers of biomedicine. This is a highly credible argument in terms of the authoritative projection of a gaze, which cannot be reciprocated, onto a site of bodily difference in an attempt to unravel the archaic mythology surrounding its (pre)-history. In The Birth Of The Clinic: An Archaeology of Medical Perception Michel Foucault pinpoints the clinical gaze of pathology and biomedicine as necessary in the closing of the gap between illness and disease, and the methods of treating it. For Foucault, pathology caused “the abyss beneath illness, which was illness itself, [to emerge] into the light of language.” The imposition of such a gaze serves to extend the boundaries of the Symbolic Order; that is, to expand upon what is ‘known’. Pathology came into being in the late eighteenth century, intending “a move away from a concern with the place of disease in a family of diseases towards a belief about its location in the organism.” Pathology came to indicate that illness and the human body were not necessarily heterogeneous, as had previously been the assumption. As such, it soon became evident that biomedicine would have to treat both disease and organism as malevolently symbiotic, the disease inseparable from its ‘host’, creating blemishes upon not only the body, but the identity of the patient. Foucault labels this realisation of symbiosis “tertiary spatialization,” an extension of the “field of objects to which [medical] observation addressed itself,” allowing the medic to explore not only surfaces, but also depths. Essentially, pathology ensconced that the body contained a ‘truth’, which was delivered to the exterior by visible signs; if a disease was present and active, it would give away its position via affectations upon the body’s relationship with the corporeal (symptoms).

From these fundamental beginnings it has become taken for granted that the ‘truth’ of the body is perceptual in its essence rather than topographically symptomatic (that is, disease must be perceived through the interface of the body, not necessarily by its surface), and thus is separable from its locality but not its host. These ideas are forever being fortified by the development of prostheses with which to assist the gaze of the medics. These advancements have come in the form of such tools as the microscope, the X-Ray, the CAT scan and, more recently, keyhole surgery and fibre optics. The latter of these prosthetic gazes are significant in that the CAT scan presents a visual field in which the tumour can be can be identified as the unbelonging ‘stain’. Keyhole surgery and fibre optics take the prosthetic gaze to its natural conclusion in that it effectively places the ‘eye’ of the gazer inside of the body of the patient while the doctor operates. The ‘key’ is really a giant optic nerve, transmitting information back to the mind of the medic. The perhaps inevitable conclusion of pathology in the arena of popular thought was that disease, stagnant and afflictive within the body, was derided as ‘evil’, while the penetrative gaze of the medic was represented as a heroic saviour that would locate and extract the spiteful anomaly. Health became the fashionable alternative to salvation. It’s not something we’ve grown out of.

So we return to the monsters, and their quest to rediscover their monstrousness. Foucault’s study had inadvertently (or perhaps not, Freud might have said) offered them a route to a new zenith. If we consider cancer to be among the most maligned of diseases in recent years (with the possible exception of the HIV virus and AIDS, and the more recent emergence of mental illnesses such as dementia and Alzheimer’s) then we are confronted with a disease that seems to defy linear logic through its relationship with its benevolent host, a disease which employs trickery to attain its goal of self-annihilation. For cancer is not a virus, not a poison (though it can be triggered by toxins) and not a regressive or wasting disease; it is borne entirely of the body’s own cloth; it causes a tumour to grow, deceiving the body into believing that that growth is perfectly legitimate until, if allowed to run unchecked, it is too late. Under the gaze of the pathologist, cancer has assumed many sub-divided identities and types relating to the locality of the cancer, and can even be physically described in great detail whilst still inside the body thanks to the medic’s prosthetic gaze. However, cancer refuses to be compartmentalised because of its propensity to spread, and its inability to be spotted via outward symptoms until the tumour has become too powerful a force within the body to be countered. While this plain deception undoubtedly prompts great distress to the general cancer patient (causing such questions as “why would my body trick me so?” “Why did my bodily defences not inform me until it was too late?”), it is a particular type of cancer – that type which triggers the growth of the endodermic sinus tumour – that is of particular interest to the monsters. The endodermic sinus tumour, or teratoma (from the Latin ‘monstrous tumour’) lies at the centre of the link between teratology and embryology suggested by Braidotti above. The teratoma is birthed from the female gamete (germ cell) which divides by mitosis without being fertilised, causing its development to be fundamentally flawed due to the lack of the male gamete. The unfertilised egg cell then tries to compensate for the absent male gamete despite its inability to recompense the new tissue with the material provided exclusively by the male gamete. The authors of Genes and the Biology of Cancer state it thus: the energies of these cells are directed exclusively toward their own proliferation, they no longer focus on helping to rebuild a functional organ or tissue.

While the female gamete is the fundamental growth cell from which all physical traits and features are created, gametes of both sexes are required to produce the zygote, which may then divide mitotically to produce the foetus. If the female gamete divides too soon it is unable to differentiate between the strains of deviant new cells that it is producing and the strain of new cells that it should be producing. This type of tumour is very fast in its growth, metastasises quickly and, as this type of tumour is essentially a demi-foetus – a foetus without the essential male gamete – it can potentially grow to the size of a baby. Resultantly, it is frequently misdiagnosed before surgery as an ectopic pregnancy. In Teratologies, Jackie Stacey remarks that her own teratoma had been “big enough to be baby.” Despite these bizarre characteristics, its most alarming feature is due to its development from the fundamental female growth cell, which means that the teratoma can develop recognisable bodily features such as teeth, hair, nails, small bones, flesh and even organs, resulting in a freakishly disturbing appearance that confronts the patient and their notion of their own identity when the growth is extracted. It is this quasi-human identity that lends the teratoma to modern horror fantasies of the abject self/not-self being expelled from the body qua the excremental lamella of the Real (or, as the Real is impossible, the teratoma possesses the same qualities as something that resists the gentrifying mesh of the Symbolic Order; its amalgamated clump of tissue is heterogeneous to the sophisticated network of the ‘body proper’). A crude approximation is to be found in David Cronenberg’s The Fly, when Veronica (Geena Davis) imagines she gives birth to a giant maggot; but the teratoma is a more subtle, abject creature because it occupies the same space in the Symbolic Order as a human, yet simultaneously irrupts it. The proximity of this monstrous, abject matter to a human identity can and does evoke alarming questions in the patient; “could this mess of flesh and body parts develop a consciousness?” “Could it understand its existence?” “Would it have developed into a completely new me had the mitotic division process not been fatally flawed?” These questions are not churlish; it is not unusual for women to become overcome with (what might appear to be) an irrational and overwhelming emotional attachment to these tumours. Such a reaction is demonstrated in Margaret Atwood’s short story Hairball, in which the female protagonist Kat, after having two abortions, develops an endodermis sinus tumour, has it removed and begins to fantasise that she has ‘given birth’ to the tumour, which contains bones, ‘a scattering of nails… [and] five perfectly formed teeth.’ Kat preserves the abject mass in a jar of formaldehyde and places it upon her mantelpiece, much to the disgruntlement of her supposedly outré husband, Ger. It is the sense of duplication and assimilation of the self from within, rather than without (a la Grosz’s excessive classical beasts) that enables the teratoma to assume the mantle of the basis for the modern monster, allowing modern mythmakers to take the questions posed above to their (il)logical conclusions. The teratoma is the abject writ-large, the halfway point between the benign, mundane ‘shit’ that the body expels to maintain an agreeable sense of its own identifiable contours, and the creature in Ridley Scott’s Alien (1979) for which Barbara Creed represents the devastating, seditious progeny of the archaic monstrous-feminine who births the physical actualisation of female desire in the creature.

The creature in Alien is the evolutionary descendent of such monsters as Norman Bates in Psycho, the shark in Jaws, the juggernaut in Duel and the rest. It takes the paradoxical nature of these points-de-capiton to the limit, becoming the ultimate creature qua semblance, endlessly shifting to resist a corporeal definition of itself whist maintaining its horrific essential kernel. In terms of the creature’s spatial threat to the crew of the Nostromo, it exists initially as an external threat (the egg/facehugger) that is internalised via the violent oral rape exacted by the facehugger, which impregnates the victim with the alien embryo, and then externalised again through the irruption of the embryo through the chest of the victim (the chestburster). This state of continuous spatial flux between the internal and the external is complemented by the many physiological changes undergone by the creature during its life cycle, which make the creature very difficult to define as any one ‘thing’. In its profile as semblance, the alien creature stands for partiality. Unlike Jaws’ Great White Shark, or Norman Bates, the Alien has no place whatsoever in the Symbolic Order; it is not a fragment of the Real merely wrapped up in a gentrified shell whose infiltration of the Symbolic Order is based upon subtlety and uncanniness. The alien creature’s act of infiltration into the social order of the human protagonists is orgiastically violent, and its various physical forms (and the manner in which it develops from one form to another) are far removed from the limits of the ‘known’ terrestrial. Much has also been made of the maternal-sexual motifs of the movie, such as the vaginal corridors of the Nostromo; the passive vaginal/fallopian tube-like contours of the walkways and their vulva-like entrance upon the planet of the Space Jockey, where the alien eggs are first discovered by the crew; the gross and aggressive phallic shape of the alien’s cranium; the aggressive testicular glands of the facehugger and the name of the Nostromo’s onboard computer: ‘Mother’. In Lacanian/Kristevan terms, this maternal-sexual theme leads to the generation of the Alien creature as a jettisoned piece of shit/afterbirth (an undisguised piece of the Real) that the maternal planet must eject if it is to retain a sense of its own familiarity after the crew’s penetrative act of invading the vagina/fallopian tubes of the ruined planet. In effect, the creature represents an extreme, sexually violent undoing of symbolisation, unravelling the strands of signification that hold together the symbols of categorised human existence. It remains the monster’s evolutionary highpoint, its terrifying zenith, the perfect encapsulation of the monstrous.

About the Author

Dan Jones works for the UK Space Agency on a space robotics development programme, and has worked in the past on technology strategy in the field of aerospace, cyber security and autonomous systems. All of which has come in rather handy when coming up with new ideas for science fiction stories.

His debut novel, Man O’War, will be published by Snowbooks in October 2017. He has had other stories published in the anthologies Journeys, and The Haunting of Lake Manor Hotel, and has recently published a second edition of Eat Yourself, Clarice!, a non-fiction psychoanalytical study of popular film, literature and low culture. He is currently working on his second novel, The Hole In The Sky, and a collection of novellas on the theme of urban mythologies.

Dan was born in Forest Gate, east London, and now lives in Essex with his wife and two daughters.

This essay has been adapted from “Eat Yourself, Clarice!” by DG Jones, which is available to buy in ebook and paperback form on Amazon.

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Time as a Braid of Our Lives by Robert R. Chase

TIME AS A BRAID OF OUR LIVES

Robert R. Chase

My wife used to explain to her friends that I have always been adrift in time. This is less dramatic than it sounds. Like everyone, I live in the present and look forward to the future. However, my memories are usually no more precise than to distinguish between the near past and far past. Ask me how long I have been taking pills for blood pressure and I will probably say ten years, but it could just as easily be fifteen or more. I can usually remember in detail stories I have read or movies I have seen, but it is only with difficulty and utilizing something akin to Holmesian deduction that I can remember the circumstances under which I read or saw them. It is almost as if I apprehended them outside of time, straight from the Platonic substrate, as it were.

Meg was never like that. For her, time was a rigid matrix imprinted directly on her brain. Because of her, I never missed an appointment or a payment. But there were disadvantages as well. Her mother died on February 27th. For years afterward, February 27th would be a dark day. On that day, she seemed to experience the loss anew.

She would be darkly amused to learn that October 3rd has become that date for me.

Now that she was gone, I kept track of bills by writing the due dates on the envelope and filing them in order. Notes on a calendar took care of other obligations. Much to the surprise of some people, I was actually able to handle the basics of running my life.

My daughter, Tina, was one of the most surprised. She visited every weekend and regaled me with stories of bureaucratic snafus at her exotic government R&D agency. Her ostensible reason for visiting was to cook me a decent meal and give me some company. Both were undoubtedly true reasons, but from the way she looked at the papers on my desk and the tenor of certain questions she tried to slip oh so casually into conversation, I could tell she was looking for signs of everything from depression to Alzheimer’s.

“Look,” I said finally. At that moment, a commercial came on the television and the sound volume increased, even though I was pretty certain the FCC had a rule against that. This was the one where two guys walk into a bar and ask for a beer, but the bartender says he has never heard of beer and offers them some sort of lemon lime alcopop instead. I grabbed the remote and muted it.

“Look,” I began again, “I’m always glad to see you, but don’t you want to spend your weekends with your friends? What about that guy, Jimmy, that you were dating?”

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A Matter of Mass by Floris M. Kleijne

A MATTER OF MASS

Floris M. Kleijne

“Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned. It’s been…” Father Zio sighed. “It’s been thirteen years since my last IRL confession.”

Behind the lattice, Bishop Otis shifted in his seat.

“But—” the Bishop said. He paused before continuing: “And how long has it been since your last online confession?”

“A week, Father. But it’s not the same. It’s not.”

“Go on, my son.”

“I have harbored unkind thoughts at times, about members of my flock. I have had lustful thoughts at times.” Father Zio smiled quietly to himself. Mr. Dooley’s dramatic antics of feigned ecstasy at every Mass were enough to bring unkind thoughts to the holiest of minds, never mind his own flawed, rehabilitated soul. As for Mrs. Ocura’s cleavage… Let’s just say some things were worth a couple of Hail Mary’s.

“Go on, my son.”

The Bishop’s prompt made him realize he was marking time with these minor sins, postponing the inevitable, while he knew exactly what he should be confessing instead. Father Zio believed in confession, needed the cleansing of his soul. But it was unfortunate, to say the least, that Bishop Otis was the one taking it. No matter. No sense delaying any longer.

“I have been prideful. I have defied the wishes of the Holy Church.” There. That would put an end to any doubt Bishop Otis might still have had. “I have defied… you, Father.”

From behind the lattice came the sound of indrawn breath, followed by a long silence. Then:

“How so, my son?”

SciPhiSeperator

The week before, Bishop Otis had introduced Father Zio to his replacement.

Admittedly, Andrew had been convincing. Except for an almost subliminal hum when it stood up from its seat, the new priest could have passed for human in any gathering. They had spent fifteen minutes arguing doctrine, and Andrew’s command of Scripture and religious philosophy had been impressive to the point of intimidation.

“I’ll leave you two to discuss the practicalities.” Its voice carried perfect timbres of kindness and self-effacing respect. Zio had no doubt it could cast its voice to the proper tone for any occasion. “If you need me, I’ll be on board the Pius VI.” The episcopal vessel was moored off air lock 42, waiting to take the Bishop back to the diocese. The Bishop and, if the Most Reverend had his way, Zio as well.

“Yes, thank you, Andrew.”

The door between Zio’s chambers and corridor K hissed closed. Bishop Otis was still standing behind the plain sofa where Father Andrew had sat, his hands hidden in the wide sleeves of his purple cassock, smiling benignly as if bestowing a blessing on the departed priest. Father Zio rounded on the Bishop, but his many outraged questions battered him into silence. The Bishop neatly stepped into the opening.

“So, Father, do you feel ready to start your life after penance?”

So that was how he wanted to play it. This new Bishop was very different from his late predecessor, Bishop Armanez. But Father Zio wasn’t ready—or willing—-to talk around the elephant in the room.

“A robot? You’d replace me with a robot, Most Reverend?”

“The Holy See has coined the term Paracreational Shepherd. But yes, a robot, if you will.” The benign smile on the Bishop’s face didn’t fool Zio for a moment.

“No.” Father Zio’s mind teemed with objections, arguments, outraged exclamations, but the single negation was all he could utter.

“My son, do you realize what the diocese is offering you? Absolution, the end to your penance, an easy, planet-side congregation close to Earth. God willing, a congregation on Earth itself, when it comes available. To be absolved of the sins in your past, Zio. Isn’t that what you want?”

The sins in his past. Father Zio would never have expected it to be put so bluntly. Things must have changed in the Mother Church while he tended this tiny backwater parish. Or maybe it was just this new Bishop who preferred a mundane, speak-your-mind approach that would have been considered shockingly inappropriate when Father Zio was first ordained.

He had been just Zio when he found Christ in prison, doing hard time for a wide range of cybercrimes. The Church had accepted him, taught him, ordained him, but hadn’t readily forgiven him. In the dark recesses of his mind, he still wondered sometimes how much of their outrage had been about the innocent victims he had made, and how much about the moneys he had liberated from various hidden Vatican Bank accounts. It didn’t really matter though: he considered his service on dilapidated Outpost Psi fair penance for the deaths he had caused.

“Most Reverend, with all due respect, that is not the point. I’m sure Father Andrew was easy to replicate and cheap to ship, but that doesn’t make him a priest! How can a robot ever serve a congregation? How can a robot commune with the Holy Trinity? Will the Diocese train monkeys next? Or is it now the position of the Church that robots possess a soul?”

Bishop Otis actually flinched for a second, but he quickly recovered into icy fury.

“It seems you read Her Holiness’s encyclicals with less attention than you should, Father Zio.”

Zio racked his brain. There had been upheaval at an almost Galactic level over the last papal missive. The accepted interpretation of the encyclical was that Pia IV wished to open the Church to alien intelligences. But reviewing the text in his head, Zio realized that the exact wording could as easily be made applicable to artificial intelligences—to robots.

“Mea culpa.” He did not trust himself to say anything else.

“Te absolvo.” The Bishop absently waved a blessing at his priest. “This is an opportunity for you, Zio; I would have expected you to see that. You’re not getting any younger, and frankly, these… incidents in the last months…”

Not that again.

There had been two incidents, two. And both had been a result of the ill-maintained AG systems on Psi. It seemed that anything might cause a malfunction these days, from turning on too many appliances at once, to slamming the light panel too forcefully. First time the AG faltered, Father Zio had been pouring the sacramental wine. The fumes had first stained and nauseated his floating congregation, and then burst into a spectacular fireball above the altar as the candles ignited the vaporized alcohol. Except some charring of the altar cloth, and a couple of singed eyebrows, the damage had been limited. The second time, a ball of holy water had drifted up through the church. Letting his parishioners plunge their hands into it as they entered had admittedly been ill-advised, however practical it had seemed at the time: the scattered smaller and smaller droplets had splashed all over the church module when gravity returned.

Holding these against him was a stretch. Using them as proof of his senile incompetence infuriated Father Zio.

“With all due respect, Most Reverend, I still say No. My congregation needs a real priest, a human priest, one with a soul; not some artificial collection of rote liturgy and pre-packaged responses. It may not be a large parish by your standards, they may number less than a percent of the population here, but these are fourteen immortal souls you’re playing with.”

That, finally, got a rise out of the Bishop. He jerked his right hand free and raised it.

“Careful, Father. An unkind ear might think you’re contradicting Her Holiness. And frankly, it is not your place to refuse or accept. This is the wish of your Church. It is your place to meekly comply!”

That was it. The threat of heresy, and the demand for obedience. And while he believed with all his heart and soul that this was dangerous to the life eternal of his flock, he had sworn to serve the Church. No sense arguing any longer.

Sense had never been his strong suit, though.

SciPhiSeperator

Father Zio had to admit that the robot performed remarkably well. He considered himself a good priest, a master of liturgy, but Andrew was something else entirely. Despite himself, Zio, felt himself being swept along in the rhythms of the service, participating in the congregational responses, carried aloft on the prayers. He had to remind himself that this was artificial, an automated performance honed to perfection, his own sense of the Divine a conditioned response rather than a real effect of this canned Mass. Even the utilitarian metal interior of the small module took on a sepulchral reverence under the slow echoes of the robot’s voice.

He fingered the object in his cassock pocket.

From his seat to the side of the altar, he could see that the members of his flock—no, Andrew’s now—were taken in by the performance, as moved now by the robot’s Mass as they had been by his own farewell sermon. Mr. Dooley was making as much of a fool of himself as always, swaying from side to side with eyes closed, and Mrs. Ocura tried and failed to get the robot’s attention. The others were… enraptured, even Bishop Otis. Carried on the waves of Father Andrew’s melodious reading, all faces displayed a concentrated attention Father Zio had never seen during his own services. Maybe he was a heretic for even thinking it, but such devotion through the service of a soulless automaton could only be the work of Satan, couldn’t it? He couldn’t remember whether Pia had invoked papal infallibility in her encyclical, but everything he saw, everything he felt about this mockery of Mass, told him she couldn’t have. In his mind’s eye, he could see the souls of his flock blackening as they were swept away by the ministrations of this false idol.

This travesty had to stop.

“The body of Christ.” Anatolyev, the station’s third engineer, accepted the host on his extended tongue. Petr was a pious and honest member of the congregation. It always gave Father Zio hope to see such a hard scientist demonstrate such faith.

Not yet.

Next in line, Mrs. Ocura knelt for her Holy Communion. Impervious to her wiles, the robot intoned “The body of Christ” again, its voice pleasing and melodious even in this ritual phrase. The shuttle pilot was flirtatious and possibly adulterous, but essentially harmless.

Not yet.

Behind her was Mr. Dooley, already shivering in anticipation. Father Zio had tried to find patience in his heart for the old gas miner, but it was hard. His pious ecstasy was too obviously feigned, his regular confessions too loudly self-righteous if not altogether fictitious.

Mrs. Ocura rose sinuously to her feet and stepped to the side to make her way back to her seat. Mr. Dooley rushed to take her place, dropping to his knees with bent head like a caricature of penitence. His deep sigh was audible all through the church module as he raised his head to accept the host.

Now.

Zio pressed the button in his pocket.

A slight stutter marred Father Andrew’s movements. It recovered quickly, but its immaculate performance had lost its perfection. Zio smiled through his guilt.

“The bod—”

Confusion broke through Mr. Dooley’s serene mask. The robot stood frozen, host extended, face still.

“The bod—”

This time, the interrupted word was followed by a brief burst of static. No one in the congregation could mistake Father Andrew for a human any longer. Its face contorted in a rapid-fire sequence of expressions as its operating system fought the Trojan which Father Zio had uploaded the night before.

It had been an easy hack, really. Access is ninety percent of hacking, he used to say, and the robot had a maintenance port in the back of the head, right under the hairline, as well as a wide-open RC module. Making the modifications to freeze the Father mid-mass had been no effort at all.

“Bod—”

“Father?” Mr. Dooley got to his feet and extended a hesitant hand towards the stalled automaton.

And perhaps he should have stopped there. Judging by the outrage on the faces in the congregation, this was enough: they would never accept his replacement now, insist on his staying on. Perhaps this was enough. But the final insult had come once he had accessed the OS and called up the sysinfo.

Father Andrew was a modified entertainment model.

He had been replaced by Crooner 3.2.

Even though it had been enough to convince his flock, even if he’d had a second button to stop this, the Church deserved the embarrassment. And his great-grandfather’s collection of late twentieth century classical music had provided the perfect finishing touch.

“—body down to the ground,” Father Andrew suddenly sang as Father Zio’s Trojan broke through the final lines of defense. The robot struck a pose, and slid into a smooth, rapid disco jive, scattering hosts.

“Let’s dance, let’s shout, shout, shake your body down to the ground!”

The parishioners got to their feet as Mr. Dooley recoiled. Scattered shouts of indignant fury accompanied the crowd to the double doors. Mrs. Ocura slammed the panel, causing the lights to flicker even as the doors sighed open.

And while his parishioners, without missing a beat, clawed their way through the open doors and floated into the hallway, and Bishop Otis attempted to air-swim down the aisle towards the altar, Father Zio assumed a relaxed pose some distance above his seat, and watched in contentment as Father Andrew attempted to moonwalk on thin air.

SciPhiSeperator

Father Zio accepted his penance, not because he deserved it—though he believed he did—but because his penance and his purpose coincided. He thought Bishop Otis suspected as much, but faced with a choice between leaving Psi Parish unshepherded, assuming the local priesthood himself, and reinstating Zio, the Bishop probably didn’t think he had much of a choice at all.

The Hail Mary’s and Lord’s Prayers, though, he would double on his own account, for while he believed he had done the right thing, it had been disrespectful and disobedient. He would pray, and he would make more of an effort to inspire and raise the spirits of his flock; the robot had at least given him that much more motivation.

“Te absolvo,” the Bishop said behind the lattice, with a hint of reluctance.

“Thank you, Most Reverend,” he whispered getting up. “And God bless you.”

SciPhiSeperator

Bishop Otis stayed seated in the confessional for a few more minutes, eyes closed, in apparent meditation. Then he stood up, with an almost subliminal hum.

Food for Thought

With artificial intelligence becoming more of a reality almost by the month, cognitive skills and abilities are well within reach of the constructed mind. Headway has even been made into the computer-generated appreciation of beauty. But how about creativity? Emotion?

Faith?

What if an artificial mind can be created such that it can quote Scripture, take confession, perform Mass; pass a religious Turing test, if you will? Can a human congregation be served by AI clergy? And if the believers cannot tell the difference, is their Holy Communion then real, even if it’s delivered… by a robot?

About the Author

Floris M. Kleijne is the award-winning author of the SF novelette “Meeting the Sculptor” (Writers of the Future Award, 2005) among more than fifteen published science fiction, fantasy, and horror stories. His fiction has been translated into eight languages, including his native Dutch. He lives and writes in Amsterdam, with his wonderful wife, two cheerful sons, and thousands of books.

 

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