[April 4, 1961] Do women do it better?  (the Second Sex in SF, Part 2)

Welcome to Part 2 in this series on the women actively writing science fiction and fantasy in 1961.  This installment will be a bit different, but don't worry — we'll go back to the original format with the next one.

After I wrote the first part, my wife asked me why I have a preference for woman-penned stories.  That brought me up short.  Why did I look forward to seeing a woman's name on the cover or in the table of contents of one of my science fiction magazines?  After some mental wrangling, I think I've got the answers:

1) I rarely see female characters, and women tend to be more likely to write female protagonists.

H. Beam Piper's Omnilingual, starring Dr. Martha Dane in a role that featured brains and science rather than beauty and romance, opened my eyes to a new world of characterization.  Most science fiction and fantasy is written by men, stars men, and women generally exist to be romantic foils or scenery.  I wasn't even consciously aware that things could be otherwise. 

It was like discovering Japanese cuisine.  Completely alien; thoroughly desirable.

2) Female authors tend to write in a different style and from a different perspective.

With the exception of some, like Norton and Bradley, who are deliberately composing in a male-pulpish style, women write in a manner shaped by the context in which they live.  Their work tends to emphasize emotions and relationships.  There is often the bitter tinge of the downtrodden (for who would argue that the female is the less privileged of the genders, even in our modern time).  They will write about issues unique to them; for instance: motherhood (e.g. Henderson's The Return) and workplace discrimination (e.g. Smith's Softly while you're sleeping).

This phenomenon is common to all minority viewpoints (whether the group be in the numerical or cultural minority) — people write what they know.  When a White man tells a story, it is told from the perspective of power, of a world-conqueror.  Many of the more nuanced and cynical stories come from the pens of the less societally advantaged — for instance, Jewish authors like Sheckley and Davidson.  I have yet to read a story by a Black author (that I know of).  I can't imagine they aren't writing, so I look forward to getting another fresh perspective when they are published.

3) Female authors have to try harder.

One of my readers noted that women do not necessarily write better than men (e.g. Judith Merril's The Tomorrow People).  But women-penned stories, on average, tend to be better than those written by men.  Why is that?  My wife speculates that the prejudice against woman authors causes there to be a higher bar, which women must hurdle to be published at all.  If the playing field were entirely even, we would see parity in the quality of stories written by men and women.

But here's where things get interesting, and it's a secret F&SF has probably figured out.  No matter what, any group of writers is going to obey Sturgeon's Law: 90% of anything is crap.  By limiting the pool of authors, consciously or unconsciously, to men, science fiction publishers necessarily restrict their access to good stories.  Women may write 90% crap, too, but if only the top 2% gets published, there is room to expand.  So, when the bar to women (and Blacks, and Latins, and Asians, etc.) be lifted, my wife asserts, the overall level of magazine quality should rise.  I think she's right.

In Conclusion

It is a truism that once you see something, you cannot "un-see" it.  Discovering the dearth of women and female characters in my favorite genre has colored what I value in it.  Stories with and by women are precious because of rarity, like anything else.  A woman's byline is no guarantee of quality or uniqueness — but the odds are pretty good.  So I smile when I find woman-penned stories.  I am delighted when I read about well-developed female characters.  I am dismayed when I read a magazine devoid of woman authors, of woman characters. 

I am hopeful.  F&SF did offer a nearly 50/50 gender split in the April 1961 issue (to its benefit).  Moreover, twenty years ago, one rarely saw characters of non-European origin.  Now, most who write about the future tend to include Asians, Latins, sometimes even Africans, among their cast. 

Women will be next.

[April 2, 1961] Uprooting itself (The Twilight Zone, Season 2, Episodes 17, 19, 20, 21)

Twenty years ago, even ten (and zero in some places), science fiction was all about the twist ending.  Aliens would seed a dead planet with life only for it to turn out…that planet was EARTH!  Or folks might spend a story in a struggle to stay alive, only to find out THEY WERE ALREADY DEAD!  And so on.  Stories would usually end with a shock sentence, often with copious slammers (!!!)

But the genre matured.  Characters, writing, and fully explored concepts appeared.  These days, the "gimmick" often takes the back seat, facilitating rather than dominating the story.

The Twilight Zone, the science fiction/fantasy/horror anthology created by Rod Serling, is generally a cut above anything else on TV.  This includes its pale competitors like One Step Beyond and Way Out.  Unfortunately, several times in the first season, and more frequently in this, the second season, the show has aped the gimmick stories of print sf.  The result is a run of predictable, sub-par episodes.  There is light at the end of this tunnel, however – the most recent episodes have returned the focus to interesting characters and genuine drama. 

First, we have to get there:

The episode preceding the lackluster The Odyssey of Flight 33 was the lackluster 22.  In it, a young dancer has been committed to hospital for an apparent case of nerves.  She repeats a chilling dream: she awakens, a glass crashes to the floor, she follows a nurse to the hospital basement, and there she finds the nurse waiting behind a door marked "22" – the morgue.  It is a clear case of precognition, though no one believes her, including herself.  At the episode's end, the dancer, wide awake, is about to board a plane.  Just before she does, something crashes to the terminal floor, and she notes the plane is number 22, its stewardess the nurse of her dreams.  She falls in hysterics and watches wide-eyed as the plane takes off without her…and explodes over the runway.

It sounds a lot better when I type it than when you watch it, which is the problem.  It's yet another of the episodes captured on videotape rather than film, an unsuccessful experiment I hope is ended soon.  The acting is a notch too broad, particularly the sardonic, uncaring doctor (though perhaps this is intended to make us think that even the dancer's waking scenes are dreams).  In short, good concept, mediocre presentation.  Two stars.

Burgess Meredith is back for the silly Mr. Dingle, the Strong.  Take the most nebbishy of folks and give him the strength of Superman; then sit back and watch the fun unfold.  Of course, you can't leave it there, so rob him of his powers at a critical juncture to ensure maximum humiliation. 

It's somehow not awful.  In particular, the strength effects are nicely done.  Lots of scenes with a scrawny fellow lifting heavy objects, punching holes in walls, etc.  Also, the aliens that bestow strength are genuinely hilarious.  Bad concept…but good presentation.  Three stars.

The dreary Static, in which a regretful old man tunes into the past on a magic radio, could have been good.  Like any bad gimmick story, it draws out far too long without developing the characters beyond bare pencil sketches.  Videotape doesn't help this one either.  One star.

Things end on a high note, though.  The Prime Mover is an excellent character study that starts right – with the focus on the players, not the twist.  Ace Larsen is a fellow who feels down on his luck, despite co-ownership of a little coffee shop, the love of a lovely co-worker, Kitty, and the unflagging friendship of the other owner, Jimbo Cobb.  It's Ace's desire for more, what he considers his due, that promises to be his undoing, especially when it turns out Cobb has the power of psychokinesis, able to manipulate items with his mind.

They end up in Vegas, with Ace raking in the dough at the craps and roulette tables.  With winnings totaling $200,000, both Kitty and Cobb urge Ace to pack it in, but Ace wants one more game, even if it means losing Kitty, and perhaps, sight of what's really important.  At a high-stakes craps bout with a notorious gangster, Cobb "blows a fuse" right as Ace lets his fortune ride.  Ace is left with nothing.

Or is he?  The event proves a watershed for the basically good-hearted Ace.  He laughs off the loss, returns back to the restaurant and proposes to Kitty, who accepts.  As a coda, we see that the seemingly simple Cobb hadn't lost his power at all.  It was all orchestrated for Ace's maximum benefit.  Now there's a friend. 

The episode works because the gimmick, Cobb's psionic ability, is almost incidental.  It isn't even revealed until almost a quarter-way through.  While I was pretty sure Ace was going to lose his winnings in the end, I was delighted to see that it wasn't the point.  Excellent acting and cinematography help, too.  Five stars.

More good news: the succeeding episode was also good…but you'll just have to wait until the next round-up to read about it!

Coming up, Part 2 of my article on the Women of Science Fiction.  Expect it day-after-day-after-tomorrow.