Prometheus
Newsletter of the LFS
In her editorial for the Summer 1991 issue of Prometheus, editor Len Jackson asks an interesting question about certain works that have been nominated for the Prometheus award: "What do people see in these dark novels? Lots of them have been nominated." Although she doesn't mention V for Vendetta as an example of darkness, it certainly fits her description of stories that "depict worlds with oppressive governments …" I bring up V because I was hoping that it would win the award, although I believe it lost less for the darkness of its world than because it was in the graphic (i.e., comics) medium. This is not meant to disparage the winning novel.
As tales of horror are about as dark as fiction gets, it seems reasonable to answer Jackson's question in the last installment of this series. What people see in these dark novels is an imaginative commentary on current dangers. But the issue raised by Jackson has absolutely nothing to do with this. She is complaining about that old bugaboo, "Sense of Life"!
Now there have been some question as to what sort of works should be honored by the LFS. The award has been perceived as every bit as much a science fiction award as a libertarian award (the odd fantasy is easily included under the rubric of SF). I have always supported works of a fantastical nature for the award; but I'll be breaking with that tradition for Best Novel of 1991. The overwhelming quality of 's A Tale of the Wind inspires me to sing the praises of a "mainstream" novel this time. Elsewhere in this issue, Victoria Varga reviews this masterful novel. Allow me to add my voice in support of what Varga has to say. 's achievement is worthy of and . It is the best Romantic novel in years and years. But what should be of interest to the LFS is the fact that A Tale of the Wind makes the strongest possible case for human liberty.
I believe that A Tale of the Wind deserves to win for the manner in which it combines high literary quality with a pro-freedom/ anti-tyranny message. If there were an award for Romantic Literature, then deserves to win that award, too. But the trouble with Len Jackson's editorial in the last issue of Prometheus is the suggestion that only Romantic novels should win the award. If anyone doubts that this is what she is saying, I suggest they reread her editorial very carefully. "Libertarian Futurist" may be restricting the award too much… but nowhere does the name of this society say "Libertarian Romantic."
It is strange that I feel called upon to make this particular argument. I have been insisting that much of horror fiction is the dark side of romanticism. You can see the truth of that claim in everything from and to and . Still, it is not necessarily true. Perhaps the greatest horror writer of our century was , and he crafted a consciously anti-romantic approach to fiction. (He also combined science fiction and horror in a manner so original that the reverberations are still being felt.) Still, the romantic sensibility goes fine with horror even in a Lovecraftian universe, as witness the HBO production of Cast a Deadly Spell. When other writers employ 's innovations they rarely resist the temptation of including very unLovecraftian heroes.
In her editorial, Len Jackson tells us that she likes the new movie, The Rocketeer. (Both The Rocketeer and Cast a Deadly Spell use period Los Angeles settings.) I like it, too. It is certainly a very romantic movie. The only SF type picture that could be said to be more romantic in 1991 is Late for Dinner, the best science fiction love story since Time After Time. There is also plenty of romanticism in the SF blockbuster, Terminator 2. Romanticism and movies go hand in hand.
Jackson says she's not sure if there's anything libertarian about The Rocketeer. Her instincts are sound. There isn't anything libertarian about The Rocketeer. She announces that later she will be discussing two other movies as well, Die Hard and Tucker. Well, from where I sit, there isn't anything libertarian about Die Hard either. Tucker, on the other hand, is one of the most libertarian movies of the past decade. I arrive at these conclusions by analyzing subject matter, theme, any speeches the characters make, and stuff like that.
I frankly admit that I allow ideological considerations to come into play when I think about a novel or movie that might deserve to be honored by a libertarian award. Many people have criticized these awards for being so up-front about political motivation. I don't think the LFS has anything to be ashamed of insofar as it is honest about honoring fiction that promotes a libertarian outlook. But Jackson proposes a standard of value (I can use the Randian phrases, too) far more narrow than what this award has been about. She writes that there is a "certain set of rules that make up a good novel. Or, for that matter, a good movie. First, there has to be an heroic main character. …" She then goes on to say that bad novels "show us that any human action is pointless, futile and doomed to failure." Then she tops off her argument with a disparaging comment about novels where "the bad guys always win because they're richer or luckier. …" Good novels, she says, are "just the opposite."
Nonsense. It is true that most of the work honored by the LFS fits these rules, but not all! This is not the Objectivist Literary Award. This is not the Romantic Idealism Award. It's an award for fiction that aids the cause of libertarianism.
When I did a review of a new biography of for National Review, I remembered a speech I gave at the LA WorldCon for the Hall of Fame award going to 1984 … in 1984! Were I to hold Len Jackson's position, I'd have to suggest that we revoke the award for . When later in this article I get to a brief list of some scary novels that might deserve a Hall of Fame, I must begin the list with a novel that has already been so honored; a novel that is the ultimate example of libertarian horror: "He loved Big Big Brother." With those four words, gave me a chill that all the graveyard shrouds in the world couldn't make me feel. WROTE A WARNING. He didn't let the bad guys win because he liked the idea of the bad guys winning. had lived a real life and suffered real danger when he sat down to write, in the twilight of his life, the greatest dystopian novel ever penned. He wrote the book to scare us so we wouldn't let the nightmare become any worse than it already was when he conceived his dark world.
Now it may be asking too much to expect pampered modern-day libertarians to appreciate a man like , or understand why he became . But I don't think it's asking too much for libertarians to try and use their little gray cells (as Hercule Poirot might say) so as to grasp, however lightly, the idea that works of art can serve different functions. It is possible to like vanilla ice cream without having to dislike chocolate, or positively loathe lime sherbet. It isn't necessary to write a book called The Vanilla Ice Cream Manifesto to decry all other flavors as unworthy because they just don't taste the same as your favorite flavor.
I'm amazed that I'm still making the same arguments in part 3 of this series that I made in part 1. It's as if my painfully simple point (it's only one point, really) is just too difficult to get across. But allow me to present a logical corollary to what has gone before in this seemingly interminable series of mine. IT IS POSSIBLE TO DO A WORK OF ROMANTIC ART THAT IS ANTI-LIBERTARIAN.
All sorts of things may be advanced with a romantic treatment. For example, Fascism may be advanced through romanticism. The National Socialists of Germany had some talented romantics in their ranks who had a sense of theater and drama that served them well when they were cranking out their propaganda. The Italian Fascists had their moments, too, but they just weren't in the same league with the German version. Poor old drab, dull, gray Soviet Totalitarianism never could get the knack of it. The communist evil was so boring that it just kind of crept along long after it died and the world didn't notice it was really dead until the Kremlin made it official. The Nazis, on the other hand, required and got a spectacular send-off. We also have an industry dedicated to the proposition of keeping the Nazi images alive forever, in which regard my Moon of Ice is only the smallest of footnotes. I'm talking about a full-time preoccupation of the mass media.
To wrap up this endless prologue, allow me to suggest a modest thought experiment regarding The Rocketeer. There is a scene where the Rocketeer heroically stands by an American flag right before his takeoff to confront the evil Germans in their villainous zeppelin, which aircraft has an evil swastika on it. Now this is fine. I have no problem with this. I really don't. But the thought experiment goes like this: imagine the Rocketeer is a German, the flag he's standing by is a swastika, the aircraft is American, and there is an American flag on that aircraft. Now this next part is a little harder. Wouldn't the same scene be just as romantic if the symbols were reversed? If the answer is yes (as it must be in simple logic), then we see how romanticism does not guarantee either a pro-libertarian or even a neutral stance. If anyone answers no, then we are operating on a very different idea of what constitutes romanticism.
Enough. On to the list:
I have two problems here. The first is to make a convincing argument that this is horror. When I was getting my masters degree from Rollins college, I wrote a long paper arguing that a comparison of and is productive. Monsters, terror, fear, paranoia … these two guys really knew their stuff. Some academics were as upset with me on this subject as they were with my contention that Moby Dick is a monster story. (There has never been a sperm whale as big, as smart, as indestructible as Moby Dick. Just because used the whale as a symbol in no way diminishes the monster aspect of the tale.) But for people who have a category they mark LITERATURE with a sign next to it reading: Science fiction, fantasy and horror need not apply, the idea that wrote horror is unbearable. For many romantic-loving sci-fi fans, however, is certainly horror. They use that as an argument against the poor guy. For our purposes, the issue is a libertarian one. The Trial is the ultimate indictment of the State's legal machinery. It's another downer where the protagonist of the story is destroyed. Sorry about that. No other work does a better job of making bureaucracy into a threat at the metaphysical level. This novel has influenced many, many, many libertarian works of science fiction. I once wrote that the TV series The Prisoner had the feel of an hero dropped down into the center of 's world of The Trial.
(Several of 's short pieces are every bit as effective for our purposes, among then "An Old Manuscript" and "In the Penal Colony." Alas, the LFS is strictly focused on novel-length work. This leaves out a short story as powerful as his Hall of Fame winning novel, Fahrenheit 451. The story is "The Pedestrian," and it is libertarian through and through. Last time I talked about how 's "Usher II" would qualify if it happened to be a novel. There are many short stories by writers famous for horror that would make the grade. Finding novels to fit the bill is more difficult.)
Filmed twice, once with Vincent Price and once with Charlton Heston, the philosophical power of this short novel has yet to reach the screen. On one level, it's the story of the last man in a world of vampires. But goes way beyond the simple melodramatics of the situation. He demonstrates how class divisions are created and maintained in a manner every bit as striking as what did in The Time Machine. On another level, the story has the same stark power as Anthem and its portrayal of a lone human ego in a world that is a collectivist nightmare.
Several years ago, I had the pleasure of talking to about why his novel was receiving some votes for the Prometheus award. Although not a libertarian, he had no trouble understanding why
those of our point of view would embrace this particular novel. "The Shop" is his version of the most dangerous agencies of the State, the CIA and KGB sort of operations — but for a libertarian, "The Shop" becomes a metaphor for The State, period. Rarely has a hero wreaked more havoc on the bad guys than at the climax of this riveting story. The LFS missed a chance to give it the Prometheus award so how about the Hall of Fame? This novel fits all of the /Jackson criteria to boot! The little girl heroine is a fine romantic portrayal.In this, the third novel of the Perelandra trilogy, comes the closest he ever did to writing an old-time horror thriller. When I’m asked why I so often lump science fiction, fantasy, and horror together, I like pointing to some stories that combine all three (or make it very hard to draw clear lines of demarcation). This is such a work. There are some very gruesome scenes. Fans of may note strange similarities between ’s N.I.C.E. (National Institute for Coordinated Experiments) and the government scientists working on Project X in Atlas Shrugged. (I pointed this out in my afterward to ’s The Rainbow Cadenza, a novel that includes some powerful moments of sheer terror.)
At this point, I can imagine some shrieks of dismay and even accusations of heresy. But I have very good reasons for including this novel, the one time dealt in horror at novel length. (Some stories in his collection, The Unpleasant Profession of Jonathan Hoag, including the title novella, qualify as horror by my definition.) But let me use my best evidence! In Grumbles From the Grave, expresses the following thoughts about softening the impact of his most frightening novel:
"Oh yes — [, science fiction editor for Doubleday] wrote to me about The Puppet Masters; I wrote back agreeing to make all suggested cuts and changes, but nevertheless expressing some difference of opinion as to the advisability of the revisions. In my opinion a horror story — which this is — is not improved commercially by watering it down. wrote a great many things; I own and have read all his works — he is known for about 5% of his published writings, all sheer unadulterated horror, much of it much more grisly than mine…." (January 5, 1951)
All questions of grisliness aside, I can’t imagine a more perfect example of science fiction horror than The Puppet Masters. Although never filmed, one can get an idea of how effective it would be as a movie by watching Siegel’s The Invasion of the Body Snatchers. There is probably no more terrifying concept in science fiction than this one. It is the ultimate portrayal of dehumanization. As for the libertarian angle, what is more potent than the individual trying to protect his humanity against the ultimate THEM?
The first work of science fiction to use anything like genetic engineering, of all the novels this owes the most to the props of the horror story. On one level, it is a fable about evolution and progress. On another level, it’s about a mad scientist filling up an island paradise with monsters. As for libertarian interest, was a socialist, but like he approached socialism in the spirit of individualism. As such, the issue of rights was important to him. To the extent that libertarians are interested in debating Natural Law and rights, this novel raises profound questions. When does an animal (through a process of accelerated evolution) acquire rights? "What is the law?"
Once again, we have something that works on many levels. A Randian approach will focus on the issues of mixed premises; a religious approach will concern itself with questions of sin; a biological approach will explore territoriality and primate psychology. We’re in mad scientist country again, and what was once original has become a cliché over time, but what concerns is how far the individual may explore the myriad possibilities within himself before he violates the rights of his fellow men. As in the case of the novel, this work is only of interest to libertarians to the extent that they are interested in the idea of rights.
At this point, the reader has certainly noticed a preponderance of classics in my list. One thing you can say about the oldies but goodies — they've been around long enough to qualify for the Hall of Fame. If I don't stop here, I'll include Frankenstein and Dracula. I'm even tempted to suggest The Nightland by . (That's no stranger than the very interesting article in Prometheus where Michael Grossberg made the case for .) There are passages and scenes in the work of , , , , , , , (yeah, even a Monarchist has his moments), , , , , and on and on that sort of fit my weird requirements for libertarian horror. I'm so crazy that I even think Shakespeare's Macbeth qualifies. You've got your spooky witches, you've got your power corrupts, you've got the Orson Welles film that looks like the Wolfman is going to jump out and grab somebody by the kilt….
And so as the blood red moon slowly sinks in the black cavern of the night, I end my series on libertarian horror, hoping that others will carry the torch (and pitchfork). The novel I really wanted to promote for an award doesn't exist yet. I'd like to see an Atlas Shrugged of libertarian horror. The person I think most qualified to write such a masterpiece is . After all, he's a Prometheus winner for science fiction… but his greatest success has been in horror. There are moments in his horror novels (particularly the ones with World War II settings) that suggest what such a work might embody. But these are idle musings born of the frustration that much as I love The Keep, I didn't include it in my list.
If I ever do a full-length novel combining horror with a libertarian message, I'll try something that I don't believe has been done yet. I include the suggestion here in case someone has seen a version of the idea and can pass the information on to me. Ideas are a dime a dozen, especially out here in Hollywood where everyone pretends that the most trivial variations on time honored clichés are worth their weight in platinum. Well, it gives the lawyers something to do.
Here's what I'd like to do, or like to see someone do: every representative of the State is a monster of some sort, and every private citizen who doesn't cooperate with the government is fully human. As for those citizens who always do what they're told — who try to follow all the laws and pay all their taxes — well, they're slowly changing into monsters, too. But the change comes slowly.
Now who is going to tell me that that's not LIBERTARIAN HORROR?
is a member of both the Science Fiction Writers of America and the Horror Writers of America. He is currently seeing what trouble he can get into in Hollywood (for example, and are on camera several times during the Horror Hall of Fame II, a syndicated TV show that ran all over the country during October 1991.)
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