Speculiction...: Non-Fiction: Review of The Dreams Our Stuff Is Made Of by Thomas Disch

I guess I am a science fiction nerd. Beyond the fiction, I have also invested in the non-fiction, such as How Great Science Fiction Works by Gary K. Wolfe, In Other Worlds: SF and the Human Imagination by Margaret Atwood, Trillion Year Spree: The History of Science Fiction by Brian Aldiss,The Language of the Night by Ursula K. Le Guin, as well as numerous articles and essays, including Peter Nichols and John Clute's excellent online Encyclopedia of Science Fiction. The meta of science fiction as a literary and cultural movement is just as interesting as the stories themselves. Bring on Thomas Disch's 1998 The Dreams Our Stuff Is Made Of: How Science Fiction Conquered the World.

Of all the non-fiction sf I have read, The Dreams Our Stuff Is Made Of is perhaps the most erudite (despite the title ending on a preposition, natch). Disch brings to the table his experience as a writer of many forms of fiction and poetry (not just sf), his work as a published critic, columnist, and essayist, not to mention broad reading experience outside the genre. Like Aldiss and Atwood, Disch is better positioned than the average genre writer to form an opinion about the context and evolution of science fiction in the world at large.

Throughout The Dreams Our Stuff Is Made Of Disch maintains a high-level view to science fiction. While he does go into detail and quote relevant texts as needed, the majority of effort is invested in unpacking the genre as it relates to broader cultural and social movements. (See the chapter list copied at the end of this post for hints.) He posits, for example, the sf rocket ship came to prominence at the same time as the automobile, and the one is really just a stand in for the other. Aldiss, by contrast, is more insular and encyclopedic in his breakdown, sticking largely to the texts and devices themselves. Thus, for readers who enjoy socio-cultural contextualization, Disch offers a mighty morsel.

As with Aldiss' Trillion Year Spree, Disch segregates science fiction into eras. From its origins to contemporary times, both writers use chapter structure to break down the major periods. But Disch departs from Aldiss in one massive way: what the seminal idea of science fiction is. Aldiss' idea is the more commonly accepted: the presentation of the yet-possible (or alternatively possible) as real. Accordingly, Aldiss posits Mary Shelley's Frankenstein, with its extrapolation on medical possibility, as sf's origin text. Disch specifically calls out Aldiss by negating the idea with his own, that of science fiction as a lie featuring the unreal that writer and reader commune upon. He states that Frankenstein is only an allegory (like Dante, Swift and other classical writers Aldiss credits as sf), not a fake reality, with writer and reader as collaborators temporarily accepting it as real for the purposes of literary enjoyment.

Disch cites Edgar Allen Poe as the first writer who intentionally created such lies, and thus the progenitor of sf. And indeed there is much to be said for the manner in which Poe put escapist literature on the map and has served as the direct and indirect inspiration for in times since. (Aldiss did give Poe similar credit, just not as progenitor.) When looking at science fiction as a pure genre with minimal literary connections, the idea holds some water.

But if the idea of sf as a lie induces skepticism, Disch slowly and steadily builds a case. Within the breakdown of each era of science fiction, he continually draws back to said fake realities and how intentionally readers buy into them. The classic space ship, for example, perhaps the most well-known symbol of sf, is posited as a lie. Faster-than-light travel is not possible, just as quotidian, gravity-based existence onboard a finned rocket in space is not realistic. And yet readers enjoy those fake realities knowing they are lies. Regardless whether the reader agrees or disagrees with Disch, this idea is thought-provoking to the point it forces them to pause their current thinking and give Disch's idea a tumble in the gray matter. Things may settle back into place after the tumble, but at least the gray matter will have been expanded.

And indeed, the number of ways the “lies” can be applied is engaging. Rocket ships are clear. Readers suspend their reality and accept the lie. But what about New Wave sf and its conceptions and themes? Is equality in society likewise a lie we buy into in order to read certain types of sf? What about the other standard tropes? Is First Contact just another us vs them that offers confidence to the myth of a common human identity? Are cyberpunk corporate dystopias a way of comforting the average Joe? Do robots provide an acceptable stand-in for class differences? And more broadly, are the people who regularly attend sf conventions looking for communal support to buy further into the lie? (Cosplay, anyone?) Again, the reader must make up their own mind as to the relativity of these ideas, but at a minimum the idea of sf as a lie makes for intriguing rumination.

To be clear, however, there are numerous issues with Disch's idea of sf as a lie inherent to Dreams. The biggest is: given the definition of sf as a lie, why do subsequent example texts cling so tightly to the popular conception of sf? Beyond Poe, Disch dips no further into fantasy or horror. Instead, the example texts align with Aldiss's representation of “classic sf”—Wells, Verne, Dick, Heinlein, Le Guin, Asimov, Russ, Silverberg, and many others. If readers are indeed buying into Poe's lies, then Disch should have invested more effort into bringing the history of Poe's complete legacy into the fold—Lovecraft, King, Straub, Joyce, etc. (For this Clute's term fantastika is more useful in capturing all of the so-called speculative fictions—fantasy, horror, sf, slipstream, magic realism, etc., but that is a discussion for another day.)

One of the interesting things about Dreams is the manner in which Disch anticipates the culture wars of today—in sf and beyond. While published in 1998, the forcing of identity-based politics into the genre had already begun. Disch cites Ursula Le Guin's Norton Book of Science Fiction (a curated anthology purporting to represent the history of North American sf) as an example of science fiction wherein politics were prioritized over reality given that the anthology is 50/50 in terms of the authors' gender representation. This is, of course, contrary to the fact the history of NA sf, for better or worse, is male-favored. Writers like Candas Jane Dorsey, Diane Glancy, and Lisa Goldstein are included, while writers like Robert Heinlein and Isaac Asimov are not. In semi-Orwellian fashion Disch purports, such constructs are the creation of history rather than the reporting of it. For Le Guin to deny those writers a place in such a historical work is intentional and indicative of the cancel culture we see in full swing today. I personally do not enjoy the fiction of Heinlein or Asimov, just as much as I do not like that Jefferson or Washington were slave owners, but history is history. It cannot be looked at with blinders just because it doesn't fit a contemporary political bent, something which Disch is likewise vehement of. His views of sf in 2023 would undoubtedly be in favor of merit and competency over identity politics and publisher's cultural agendas.

Overall, The Dreams Our Stuff Is Made Of is an erudite overview to science fiction almost exclusively from a literary perspective. Thus, readers who indulge only in mid- and low-brow sf may not find a sympathetic voice in Disch, whereas readers with broader, more sophisticated reading interests will likely have their mental gears turned by Disch—regardless whether they grind or not. Not an acolyte of the genre, he is unafraid of being critical, pointing out both its immaturity and relevancy. Beyond opinion, one thing that is clear is Disch's voice. Sharp and succinct, his views are distinct and backed with precise diction. Some of the conceptions don't stand tall the more one thinks about them, but in the moment, on a line by line basis, the strength of Disch's voice would make the reader think so.

To close, for readers looking for an objective, encyclopedia-ish history of sf, try Aldiss' Trillion Year History. For readers looking for a core view to sf that soothes the teenage rocket ship soul, try Gary Wolfe's How Great Science Fiction Works. For a dynamic, interesting breakdown of Margaret Atwood's views to sf, try Margaret Atwood's In Other Worlds: SF and the Human Imagination. (I joke, but it is worth reading for the sf nerd.) For an agenda'd yet informative view of what science fiction and fantasy are, try Le Guin's The Language of the Night. And for readers looking for an informed, literary view to sf which challenges preconceived notions, try Disch's The Dreams Our Stuff Is Made Of. I would note Disch's views will hold more value to readers who are already somewhat familiar with the history of sf given how they interact with a lot of commonly held notions. You may not agree with everything Disch has to say, but he does force the mind out of those commonly held beliefs, which is more than one can say about Wolfe's subservient contribution. I'm on to Adam Robert's The History of Science Fiction.