My favorite of that series is Pacific Edge , the Utopia. What’s yours? Are there any particular problems in writing a Utopia?
My favorite is The Gold Coast, for personal reasons, but I think Pacific Edge is more important to us now. Anyone can do a dystopia these days just by making a collage of newspaper headlines, but utopias are hard, and important, because we need to imagine what it might be like if we did things well enough to say to our kids, we did our best, this is about as good as it was when it was handed to us, take care of it and do better. Some kind of narrative vision of what we’re trying for as a civilization. It’s a slim tradition since More invented the word, but a very interesting one, and at certain points important: the Bellamy clubs after Edward Bellamy’s Looking Back from the Year 2000 had a big impact on the Progressive movement in American politics, and H.G. Wells’s stubborn persistence in writing utopias over about fifty years (not his big sellers) conveyed the vision that got turned into the postwar order of social security and some kind of government-by-meritocracy. So utopias have had effects in the real world. More recently I think Ecotopia by Callenbach had a big impact on how the hippie generation tried to live in the years after, building families and communities.
There are a lot of problems in writing utopias, but they can be opportunities. The usual objections, that they must be boring, are often political attacks, or ignorant repeating of a line, or another way of saying “No expository lumps please, it has to be about me.” The political attacks are interesting to parse. “Utopia would be boring because there would be no conflicts, history would stop, there would be no great art, no drama, no magnificence.” This is always said by white people with a full belly. My feeling is that if they were hungry and sick and living in a cardboard shack they would be more willing to give utopia a try. And if we did achieve a just and sustainable world civilization, I’m confident there would still be enough drama, as I tried to show in Pacific Edge. There would still be love lost, there would still be death. That would be enough. The horribleness of unnecessary tragedy may be lessened and the people who like that kind of thing would have to deal with a reduction in their supply of drama.
So, the writing of utopia comes down to figuring out ways of talking about just these issues in an interesting way; how tenuous it would be, how fragile, how much a tightrope walk and a work in progress. That along with the usual science fiction problem of handling exposition. It could be done, and I wish it were being done more often.
Your two early “stand-alones” anticipated some later themes: super-longevity and terraforming in Icehenge . And in Memory of Whiteness the exploration of ten-dimensional space. What keeps you coming back to these themes?
I like the super-longevity theme because I’d like to live five hundred years, and also from time to time when I think back on my past, it feels like I’ve lived five hundred years, so it works as both wish and metaphor.
And the whole thrust of medicine leads toward that wish, I think. So it’s good science fiction. Same with terraforming Mars, which is very achievable, and even the idea of terraforming other places is interesting to contemplate. It’s also a good metaphor for what we now have to do here on Earth, for the rest of human time. As for ten-dimensional space, physicists keep coming back to it, ever since Kaluza and Klein in the twenties, and I keep thinking, what the heck can it mean? It seems to stand in for all the deep weirdness of modern physics and what they are saying about this world we live in, but apparently don’t see very well. Also, if you have foolishly taken on a time travel story, it’s the only way to make it look like it makes sense.
Are you sorry Pluto is no longer a planet?
No, not at all. I think it’s a good lesson in words.
These books came out at about the same time as the Three Californias . Were they written earlier? Or in between?
I somewhat wrote them all at once, or overlapping through those years. It went something like, Icehenge part 3, Memory of Whiteness early drafts, Icehenge part 1, Wild Shore, Icehenge part 2, and Memory of Whiteness final drafts. The Gold Coast and Pacific Edge came later.
You once said that a writer had to perch on a three-legged stool. I think (!) you meant that you had three readerships: the SF community, the science community, and the more “literary” types. Does that still work for you?
Yes, I think that might describe the three parts of my adult audience, although I think college students and high school students form a group as big as any of these three. Also, leftists, environmentalists, and wilderness people. I like all these readerships very much, indeed I am deeply grateful to them, as providing me my career and my sense of myself as a writer. I’m not a writer without them. So, thinking of the SF community as my home town, I guess I think of the “literary” community as another small town, with pretensions, while scientists are the real big city, but they tend to act like a big city, in that they don’t know each other and usually don’t read fiction; so word of mouth doesn’t work as well there as in the other communities. Younger readers use word of mouth and also listen to their teachers, a bit, so they are crucial. Getting word to people who would enjoy my books if they were to give them a try; this is the big problem, and ultimately it comes down to word of mouth. So again I depend on my readership. It’s a real dependency!
You are firmly ensconced in a genre (SF). Many writers regard that as a trap, and others as an opportunity. How do you see it? Is working in a field with a developed, opinionated and rambunctious “fandom” a blessing or a curse?
It’s the home town. It’s a floor and a ceiling, in some respects. I love the genre and the community, but want readers who don’t usually think of themselves as SF readers to give me a try, as they have in the past for Bradbury, Asimov, Frank Herbert, Ursula Le Guin, and so on.
These days there seems to be a lot of permeability. Chabon’s The Yiddish Policeman’s Union was a great SF novel, an alternative history, but that’s SF too, and it was widely read and enjoyed by people. Maybe Philip K. Dick’s takeover of the movies helped break down part of the barriers.
Anyway there is no reason to pretend it’s a ghetto and we are oppressed artists that the world won’t give a break. In the 1950s that was true and drove many writers mad. Now to hold that position (which some do) would be only a confession that you’d rather be a big fish in a little pond than swim in the big ocean. I like the ocean, but I love SF too. And really, to have a literary community as a kind of feedback amp on stage, loudly talking back to you and ready to talk at any moment—any writer is lucky to have that. The solitude and alienation of many writers from their audiences strikes me as sad. It’s solitary enough as it is, in the daily work.
You wrote your PhD thesis on PK Dick. Did you ever meet him? He seems to be on the verge of replacing Asimov as the most familiar SF name. How do you think he would fit into today’s market?
I met PKD once in a hallway at Cal State Fullerton, where we both had come to see a lecture by Harlan Ellison. PKD rose to his feet during the Q and A after the reading to thank Ellison publicly for raising the level of respect for SF in the general culture; PKD really felt the put-downs of the literary culture back in the 1950s. (This was 1973). Afterwards in the hall I said to him how much I had enjoyed his novel Galactic Pot-Healer. He looked at me like I was insane. He may or may not have said thank you, or anything. But I’m glad I did it.
I guess he is “the SF writer” in American culture now. I think it’s fitting; we live in a PKD reality in a lot of ways, crazier than Asimov’s vision. So many of PKD’s visions now look prescient and like perfect metaphors for life now. He had a big gift that way.
Many of his novels were written in two weeks on speed, and it shows. In today’s market (especially if all his movies had been made) he would have been able to afford to slow down. He was skillful; if he had to start in today’s market, he would do okay; if he were still alive and had his real start, he would be huge. And his books would be very interesting no matter what. He was a good novelist.<
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Tom Disch once said that all SF is really fantasy. Was that just Disch or is there a grain of truth in it?
I think it’s a little of both. Imagining the future; that has to be fantasy, by some definitions. But some of these fantasies of the future can conform to what we think is physically possible, and that would be science fiction, by my lights. A fictional future, meaning there is a historical connection explained or implied between that future and our now, with whatever’s in that future sounding physically possible. This would rule out faster-than-light travel and time travel, which are in science fiction all the time, so maybe that’s what Disch meant. But you can dispense with those and have a “real” SF I think.
Disch got very angry at the SF community, as his home town that had somehow rejected him despite his great work. Too bad. It’s not the whole of his story, by any means, but part of it. I like many of his books and stories, but distrust anything he said about SF. He was too angry.
SF writers are always complaining about the state of publishing. What do you think would be the proper role of SF in a proper publishing world? Would there be genres or categories at all?
I don’t know! That’s a real alternative history. If there were no genres or categories, people might be more open to trying new things. That would be good. I’d love to try it. But it’s not the world we have. Going forward from now, I guess I think every science fiction section in every bookstore should have a sign saying “Science Fiction—You Live Here, why not read about it?” or “Science Fiction, the Most Real Part of This Store” or something like that. Something to remind people of reality, which is that we are all stuck in a big SF novel now, and there’s no escape; might as well accept it and dive in.
You are a minimalist in your long-distance Sierra treks: superlight pack, no tent floor, no poles even, no stove, just a pellet and stones. Does any of this apply to your writing? I know you cover a lot of ground....
No, in my writing I am more of a maximalist. I’ll try anything, include anything; I don’t think I have a method that works for everything, as the literary minimalists seemed to think.
I hike ultra-light in the Sierras because I can be just as comfortable in camp, while suffering less on trail when I’ve got my house on my back. It’s a version of the technological sublime. It’s very high-tech, it’s not a Luddite thing at all. My mountain experiences are philosophically complicated, but they feel like bliss to me, like devotion or prayer in a religion, so I do it and enjoy it, and at home like to think about it too. But I will spare you my ultra-light ultra-cool gear list and technique.
If you were to take up a trade, what would it be? If you could play music what would you play? Do you listen to music when you work?
I like working with stone and would love to be an artsy drywall mason, like Andy Goldsworthy or the more local and practical drywall stone artists in New England. I’d be good I think: it’s like novel writing, the pattern work, and I like stones.
I play the trumpet and would love to play like Louis Armstrong or Clifford Brown, but good luck with that! Every trumpet player says that, but it can’t be done.
I do listen to music when I work, mostly music without lyrics in English, and lots of different kinds. I pick the music to fit the mood I want for the scene I’m writing. I don’t really hear it while working, but I’m sure it has an effect.
Who are your favorite poets? Who do you read for fun?
I like Gary Snyder and W.S. Merwin among living poets, also many more American poets, especially Stevens, William Bronk, Rexroth, and the whole 20th century American tradition, also the English romantics, and the Elizabethans. I like poetry. I read it for fun, usually one poem last thing before sleeping; before that I’ve read a half hour or so in a novel. I’m always reading a novel, I love novels, and I try to read widely, try new writers. Non-fiction I read for work or at meals.
Your recent “Global Warming” trilogy (40 Signs of Rain ; 50 Degrees Below ; 60 Days and Counting ) was about global warming—which leads to a deep freeze! What do you think of Obama’s “green” agenda? Is it headed in the right directions?
Climate change will mostly be warming, but that will add such energy to the world system that the turbulence will lead to areas of greater cold in winter, as well as more severe storms, etc. So I followed a scenario that describes the “abrupt climate change” that the scientists have found in the historical record, that results when the Gulf Stream is shut down at its north end by too much fresh water flooding the far north Atlantic. That could happen with Greenland melting, though now they think it is lower probability than when I wrote (oh well).
I like Obama’s green agenda and hope his whole team and everyone jumps on board and pushes it as hard as possible.
On thing happening is that the Republican Party in the USA has decided to fight the idea of climate change (polls and studies show the shift over the first decade of this century, in terms of the leadership turning against it and the rank and file following) which is like the Catholic Church denying the Earth went around the sun in Galileo’s time; a big mistake they are going to crawl away from later and pretend never happened. And here the damage could be worse, because we need to act now.
What’s been set up and is playing out now is a Huge World Historical Battle between science and capitalism. Science is insisting more emphatically every day that this is a real and present danger. Capitalism is saying it isn’t, because if it were true it would mean more government control of economies, more social justice (as a climate stabilization technique) and so on. These are the two big players in our civilization, so I say, be aware, watch the heavyweights go at it, and back science every chance you get. I speak to all fellow leftists around the world: science is now a leftism, and thank God; but capitalism is very very strong. So it’s a dangerous moment. People who like their history dramatic and non-utopian should be pleased.
Have you done any audio books? What about film or TV?
I haven’t read for my audio books, but several of my books are on audio books. No film or TV, though the AMC channel is in the early stages of developing Red Mars as a TV series. That would be nice but it’s a long way from happening right now.
Where does Short Sharp Shock fit into your canon? Is it fantasy?
I think of it as my version of fantasy, what I think fantasy ought to be: strange, new imagery, a possible science fiction explanation (science fantasy is that subgenre of science fiction set so far in the future that it looks like fantasy, done well by Vance and Wolfe). My vision of fantasy does not seem to have been picked up on, but what can you do.
I wrote it when our first kid was born and I was not sleeping much nor writing much. I decided I would write no matter what, and it might be best to try a dream narrative. It was right before Red Mars, and I knew I would be spending years on a very rational, historical project, so I thought it might be good to discharge some craziness in the system before I embarked on that. I very much enjoyed working on Short Sharp Shock and I appreciate my publisher Bantam keeping it in print.
You wrote a wonderful book about Everest, Escape from Kathmandu. Was any of that based on personal experience? Was your prediction about Mallory and Irvine based on secret info just luck?
Yes, a lot of it was based on the trek my wife and I took in Nepal in 1985. We ran into Jimmy Carter, laughed hard every day, enjoyed our Sherpa handlers, who took care of us like pets, and loved the country and the mountains. I’d like to go back and write a book called Return to Kathmandu, using George and Freds again. There have been so many changes in the twenty-three years since, but I bet much is the same too. I got some calls right, about the revolutionary forces, and also about the Mallory find on the north side of Everest. That was just luck, but I could see how it would be possible.
How would you describe your politics? What was your relationship to the anti-war movement and the political currents of the 60s? Were you an activist? Are you today?
I call myself an American leftist and t
ry to point to all the left activities in American history as a tradition of resistance, activism and successes. Indeed today I read in the paper about the election of a leftist president in El Salvador, and the chant was “The left—united—will never be defeated.” Very nice thought, especially since the divisions in and among the leftisms have been such a problem. Those are so often what Freud called “the narcissism of small differences” and that is an important concept everyone should study....
I was at UCSD during the anti-war movement, or I should say, after 1970. In the 1960s I was in Orange County in high school and it might as well have been 1953, except for the news of distant places. At UCSD things were more up-to-date, and I transitioned into anti-war sentiments as part of my group cohort feeling, and my draft number (89). I saw Marcuse and Angela Davis speak at a rally at the gym, and gathered on campus a couple times, but I was a follower. By the time I had ideas of my own the war was over.
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