Did you know that each of the top four, as well as five of the top ten and nine of the top twenty, top grossing motion pictures of all time, are science fiction or fantasy? Unsurprisingly, Jurassic Park has now knocked off ET as the undisputed number one. Is SF's high profile popular movie culture a good or bad thing for the SF genre as a whole? Write and tell me what you think.
Speaking of SF movies, the SF SIG will be holding its first video marathon in Perth on Saturday January 8 1994. Entry is free to SIG members, and $9 for non-members (which includes membership at no extra cost). I must say that I am not expecting a huge turnout from interstate (and there only two Perth members!), but I hope to attract some new locals along boost the SIG's numbers. Likely inclusions on the list of videos to be screened are Akira, Emissary (the pilot episode of Star Trek: Deep Space 9), the extended version of The Abyss, Brazil, the Star Wars trilogy, various Doctor Who, War of the Worlds, Blake's 7, Star Trek and The Prisoner episodes, Total Recall and Metropolis. Please phone me on 341 1560 if you would like to come, and if you have any particular videos which you would like to see.
The contents of this issue? With one short and two short-short stories, it appears to contain something of a feature on fiction. However last issue's feature on Doctor Who also resurfaces in a review of a Masters thesis by Hawaiian Mensan Sandra Martino, entitled The Narrative Theory in Science Fiction: A Critical Analysis of Fantasy Themes in the Seventeenth Season of Doctor Who. (Many thanks to Michael Gamble for supplying me with a copy of the thesis). Incidentally, Doctor Who fans may be interested to know of a Doctor Who SIG attached to UK Mensa, which welcomes overseas members. It publishes an extremely odd fanzine entitled Ice Hot Doctor, and I'm sure I will be able to come up with a prize of some description for the first person to write in telling me which Doctor Who story that title is a quote from! Write to <deleted by request> for details, enclosing an international reply coupon.
Finally, Happy New Year!
Short-Short Story
Competition Winners
Congratulations to Ted Witham, who is the winner of the inaugural IQ SF short-short story competition. Ted's entry, Timely Eggs, clocks in at exactly 200 words, and is reproduced below. He is now the proud owner of the SF book of his choice; The Restaurant at the End of the Universe by Douglas Adams.
Another excellent entry (albeit one which clocks in somewhat over the 200 word limit!) is Paradisiac Aphrodisiac by Jo Green. Sorry, no runner-up prize this time (alas, the financial tribulations of fanzine editorship!), but doesn't it feed good to be a published author?
He's almost fanatical, Rachel thought as Ed piloted the egg-shaped machine along the sparkling thread of cosmic dust through space-time.
Headlines proclaimed it A JOURNEY INTO OUR ORIGINS. Ed's cunning and technical knowledge had garnered funding for the time-travel project, dubbed "romantic" by colleagues. For Ed and Rachel, the one opportunity to prove time-travel.
The machine, Rachel recalled, was the smooth colour of brass... actually heat-resistant plastic.
The digital read-out became clearer. Four million years before Christ. They steadied, slowed. Videos picked out fiery mountains and steamy swamps.
"Activate the door!" Ed's voice was urgent with delight. But Rachel's eyes on the visuals saw - to her amazement - similar machines - eggshaped, like brass in texture and colour - the pile, how would you say, like a nest.
A thought crossed her mind. "This is the first nest of all humanity. But at four million years, but would that mean? She punched the code to open the door. Her screens shaded. Something huge, primeval, yet maternal.
"Eve - a dinosaur!" she screamed, reversing the code.
As the door closed in front of them, they knew it would be a long time before they needed to worry about that.
The people on the blue planet were tall and strong, sombre but not unfriendly. They had astounding self-control, never complaining about the work or the long, cold nights, or even the pain of occasional accidents. They called this control Eikrata - the fruit of their Learning. With their help Eva and Adam gathered an extraordinary amount of ethnological data in a short time on everything except families. There were no children.
The Oparin then called them to his home and said "You have the science of spaceships and language machines and much besides. Do you nave the science of fertility?"
"Some", replied Adam. "We'll do what we can."
"Thank you" said the Oparin, "but you must do nothing to interfere with our immortality."
Stunned, Adam and Eva set to work. They found no obvious barrier to conception, and, finally, Eva said "Let's try sexology."
Change came very slowly but at last the women began to giggle and the men began to smirk. In a few months there were pregnancies. The Oparin called Adam and Eva again.
"You have indeed given us the fruits of your science", he said. "But your methods were very unexpected.... You have destroyed Eikrata.... I alone have known, but now I will tell you. Eikrata - the fruit of our learning - carried the seeds of our Immortality. Now that, too, has gone in all but me. Your reward, therefore, will be a mixed one. You will not leave this planet. You will not be allowed to have children. You will keep me company! You will learn Eikrata and become immortal - if you learn quickly."
Adam and Eva turned, together, to leave. This was ABSURDITY! They wanted desperately to laugh, then were amazed to find they could not. As the door closed in front of them they knew it would be a long time before they needed to worry about that.
"So, what's the radiation level like out there?"
Back to Contents 
Back to Index
"The Narrative Theory in Science Fiction: A Critical Analysis of Fantasy Themes in the Seventeenth Season of Doctor Who" is the title of a Masters thesis in Communication written by Sandra Martino, a Mensan from the University of Hawaii. The thesis is an examination of the major "fantasy themes" which recur in science fiction generally, Doctor Who as a whole and its 17th season in particular.
The 17th season of Doctor Who was the
penultimate of Tom Baker's seven years as the Doctor, and
consisted of the stories Destiny of the Daleks, City of
Death, The Creature from the Pit, Nightmare of Eden
and The Horns of Nimon. (A sixth story, Shada, was
never completed due to industrial action, and is not covered in
the thesis. However, it has recently been released on BBC Video
with the missing segments narrated by Tom Baker.) The 17th season
is noted amongst Doctor Who fans for its extreme
silliness. Indeed, The Horns of Nimon has been rated as
the second-worst Doctor Who story of all time (after The
Gunfighters, another very silly story starring William
Hartnell as the Doctor). Credit (or, more commonly, blame) for
the tone of the season is inevitably laid at the feet of its
script editor; one Douglas Adams, of Hitchhikers' Guide to the
Galaxy fame. Luckily, the wrath of Doctor Who fans
worldwide didn't damage Adams' ego enough to stop him from going
on to become a multi-millionaire a few years later (or from
reusing much of the plot of Shada and some of City of
Death in his best-seller Dirk Gently's Holistic Detective
Agency).
Despite its reputation, the author's fondness for the 17th season shines through the objective academic-speak of her thesis. She, in common with many others, is less of a Doctor Who fan than a Tom Baker fan. No other Doctor, as she notes, and few other actors in any television have imprinted their characters so much upon it as to be considered the series' "auteur". The author concedes that many of the themes which recur in Doctor Who and which she examines (eg. humanism, morality, science and religion), are far from unique in SF television. But compared to the traditional square-jawed superheroes of many other SF series, the eccentric character of the fourth Doctor serves better to accentuate the struggle of humanity and individuality against the forces of dehumanising technology. Although his bumbling eccentricity may seem like a weakness to his enemies, the series features it as the hallmark of the Doctor's humanity, and hence his strength. To highlight this, the author observes that during the 17th season, the Doctor was always filmed from an angle which emphasised his size compared to that of his often more physically imposing enemies, whenever they appeared together.
However I would tend to disagree with the author's suggestion that the "humanity" of the Doctor is more than a counterpoint to the faceless inhumanity of his enemies, but is intended to act as a bridge allowing viewers to apply the series (the "text" in academic-speak) to their everyday lives. On this view Doctor Who is simply a symbolic discourse on man's relationship with science and technology, intended to reassure viewers of the adequacy of the social discourses they apply in real life. (The author notes other perspectives from which the series can be analysed, including a Jungian analysis whereby the Doctor's companions represent his female side, and the TARDIS his mother (!), but the first mentioned analysis appears to be the one which she prefers). I do not deny that the Doctor often presents a very human face and deals with problems of relevance to human beings. However, he also more than occasionally encounters characters, worlds and situations so alien that it is difficult to see what application they could have to the lives of 20th century earthlings. Similarly, the Doctor himself often acts in a manner with which it is difficult or impossible for viewers to sympathise. The best example of this is the very alien sixth Doctor, played by Colin Baker, who once denied that Time Lords possess compassion, and attempted to strangle his companion without cause. (On the other hand, he was also the only Doctor to be sacked by the BBC after only two seasons.)
To clarify the analysis which I am attempting to question, I should quote a passage from the thesis itself:
It is reasonable to hypothesise that Doctor Who's world-wide popularity and extremely long run are testimonies to its effectiveness in fulfilling the "group needs" of its loyal audience. These needs are met through the program's depiction of ideas with which its viewers identify. In this way, viewers' own beliefs are often reconfirmed. These ideas, which Bormann calls "fantasy themes", draw on the common social experience of the program's creators and viewers. Such shared experience is a necessary precursor for the program's success; what consumers want most in a television program (or book or movie, etc.) is characters and plots that they can identify with and understand. Without an understanding of these wants, (based on their common predisposition to similar fantasy themes), would-be creators obviously cannot provide a finished product which appeals to enough people to justify its continued production. Examples of programs which failed to draw adequately on common experience abound. One strong example is the recently cancelled Twin Peaks.
Indeed, and many still mourn its loss. But what
about The Twilight Zone or The Prisoner or, to
switch media, 2001? These and other texts manage to
challenge, rather than reinforce our assumptions about reality
and the human condition, yet still pull a popular audience.
Surely it could not be said of SF - of all genres - that its
appeal depends on its ability to comfort its audience by allowing
them to extrapolate the fantastic images of the text to the banal
extra-textual world. Rather, in my opinion, "drawing on
common experience" is at most only one factor which
contributes to the success or failure of an SF text. Star Trek
relied a lot on this factor; Twin Peaks very little. I
believe that Doctor Who lies somewhere in between. It
contains a mixture of accessible stories (such as those in the
17th season) to which the author's theory applies, and more
obscure stories (such as Warriors' Gate, Kinda and Ghostlight)
to which it does not. Thus, Star Trek: The Next Generation
is the top-rating syndicated TV show in America, Twin Peaks
is no more, and Doctor Who, although in indefinite hiatus,
remains as popular as ever.
Another issue raised in the passage quoted above is explained further by the author later on:
Simply put, people do not watch text they don't agree with, so while a popular text may encourage change, it cannot force it. People who do watch particular television programs - and particularly those die-hard fans who watch regularly, like "Whovians" or "Trekkies", do so because they already agree with many of the fantasy themes they present. To try to change the views of these audience members would be fruitless as well as impossible, for it would only be "preaching to the converted".
This seems to me to be truer of Star Trek and "Trekkies" than Doctor Who and (that horrendous Americanism) "Whovians". The value system of the Star Trek universe is well known and pervades the entire series; freedom, egalitarianism, learning, peace, structure, etc. (Interestingly, the value parochialism of the Federation - which mirrors America's own is critiqued in a recent Star Trek novel, From the Depths by Victor Milan). Doctor Who does not share the same unifying ethos, perhaps because it has evolved free of the influence of a single individual, such as Star Trek's "Great Bird of the Galaxy", Gene Roddenberry. The themes which appear in Doctor Who stories are accordingly more varied (some of those identified in the thesis are outlined below). The difficulty which I have with the quotation above is its assumption that these fantasy themes present a unified ideology. I don't see why they should. For instance, although I may agree with the sentiments of Vengeance on Varos, I may disagree with the environmental message of The Green Death; but this does not stop me from watching the series. Moreover, most stories seem for all practical purposes to be politically neutral. Unlike Star Trek, Doctor Who has no agenda for social change.
What, then, are the fantasy themes of Doctor Who
which the author has identified? Some are obvious; eg. democracy
vs totalitarianism, humanism vs dehumanising technology, and
"beauty and the beast" (pulled on us twice in the 17th
season, with the beautiful Movellans in Destiny of the Daleks
and the beasty Erato in The Creature From the Pit). Other
themes are less obvious, such as the recurrent metaphor in the
17th season of the evil genius as a god. The Nimon assumed this
mantle for the power it gave him in The Horns of Nimon,
whereas Davros in Destiny of the Daleks and Scaroth in City
of Death became creator gods to further their own ends - only
to finish up being spurned by their creations. A major theme in
almost every Doctor Who story is what the author terms the
"discourse of individuality". It is further divided
into three struggles; life vs death, freedom vs captivity and
individuality/eccentricity vs conformity. Further discourses of
morality, politics and economics are identified in the thesis,
but are not dwelt on (except to note that The Creature From
the Pit presents a one-sided capitalist view of free trade).
It is interesting how much more one can find in Doctor Who
from the ivory towers of academia than by watching it for
pleasure!
Readers who wish to find out more about Sandra Martino's thesis may contact her at 45-1050B Anoi Road, Kaneohe, Hawaii 96744, USA.
Back to Contents Back to Index
The boy's mother straightened his shirt collar, which she knew she had already done, and stood back with a worried expression, like any mother on her child's first day at school.
She hesitated, then, "You wait here love, I'll just be talking to the teacher. You can come in in a minute." There was no reply, so she quickly ruffled his hair and disappeared around the corner, her high heels tapping like the beat of a metronome. The teacher stood in the half-open door, waiting.
"Mrs King? Come in, please - sit down."
She obeyed. The teacher smiled. There was a short silence, then Mrs King cleared her throat, and said, "I've come about enrolling my boy Immanuel in your school, as you know."
"Fine, fine."
"Er... I didn't tell you everything on the phone."
"Oh?"
Mrs King fiddled with a string of pearls around her neck. He hasn't been to school before, not... not real school. He was taught at the... Institute."
"Institute?"
"Yes; it's really nothing, but I thought I should tell you just to make sure it's all right. Immanuel has a... a problem, with his mind. They - that's the doctors at the Institute- they said there was no reason that he shouldn't go to a proper school like everyone else."
"And what exactly is his problem- is he er... violent?"
"Oh, no no no, " she said quickly, fiddling with her pearls again, " but- I know this may sound a little silly, but he - well he thinks that he's God."
The teacher stopped in the motion of polishing his glasses. "Pardon?"
Mrs King laughed. "I suppose it's our fault really, calling him Immanuel, but- well it was really a bit of a joke. My name's Mary, you see, and my husband's called Joseph. We didn't think it would cause any harm, not at first."
"There's nothing wrong with his intelligence?"
"Oh no, I suppose he just wants attention, or that's what the institute says anyway. He's quite normal in all other respects. He wouldn't be - too much for you to handle, would he?"
"I don't think so, no. I think it's a fine thing that people like Immanuel are allowed to associate with normal children of their own age. Why don't you ask him to come in; I'd like to meet him."
Clearly relieved, Mrs King went to the door, and found Immanuel outside, from here he had obviously been eavesdropping. She ushered him in, blushing slightly. "Immanuel, this is Mr Knightsborough."
"Knightsbridge," he corrected. "Hello, Immanuel. I'll be teaching you this year." He extended his hand.
Immanuel smiled at him, ignoring the hand. From any other child, this would have seemed insolent, but Immanuel did not intend it to be. "Peace be with you," he said simply.
"Er... yes, quite," the teacher laughed, withdrawing his hand awkwardly. "Well, I hope you are happy here."
"Your praise is accepted. Happy are those who welcome the Messiah, for they reserve for themselves a place in Heaven."
Mr Knightsbridge took a deep breath, and met Mrs King's gaze. Her string of pearls snapped and scattered over the floor.
The teacher cleared his throat and the pandemonium of a classroom full of twelve year olds slowly dissolved. "I would like to introduce you all to your new classmate - His name is Immanuel. Everyone say good morning to Immanuel." A half-hearted "Good morning Immanuel" spread across the room. Immanuel started to say something, so Mr Knightsbridge hastily added, "I'm sure you'll find Immanuel a very- interesting- character. He..."
"My father's blessings be upon you all," Immanuel interrupted, smiled at them, and sat down. The class stared at him. Mr Knightsbridge sighed.
There was worse to come, of course. Once, when the teacher had sent a pupil out of the room for passing notes, Immanuel brought him back, forgave his sins and rebuked Mr Knightsbridge for putting his own authority above God's. And then there were scripture lessons. Immanuel practically ran these, telling parables and talking about Jesus' life in the first person. But Mr Knightsbridge couldn't bring himself to take disciplinary action.
The disciplinary action was already being taken. At recess and lunchtimes, Immanuel prayed aloud, for long periods, asking his father to forgive the sins of the teacher, the pupils, and primarily, Victor. Victor, together with his chain of hangers-on, was Immanuel's chief persecutor. At first they mocked him, but he took it seriously ("It is right for you to bow down to your saviour"). So they threw stones ("it is written in the scriptures: Those who welcomed him shall be his persecutors"), tore his clothes ("The scriptures say: They shall divide his clothes up among them"), and bullied him on his way to and from school, but nothing they did could make him raise a fist against them.
"Today's reading from the Bible is from 1 Kings 18, verses 20 to 39."
Another scripture lesson, but Mr Knightsbridge had observed that Immanuel had been quiet and pensive today. Hoping for the best, he continued. "In this passage we are told how Elijah challenges the prophets of Baal, to see which god can send fire to light the wood of a sacrifice. 'So Ahab sent out to all the Israelites and assembled the prophets...'"
Victor, normally inattentive at best during this time, listened carefully, his eyes aglow. Then he tore a sheet of paper from his book and scribbled a note on it. in five minutes all his "followers" had read it.
That day Immanuel had no trouble walking home from school. Victor and his followers were nowhere to be seen. Immanuel assumed they had given up at last.
"Hey, Manny!"
Immanuel spun around. It was the next day, and he was walking home from school. They had sneaked up behind him, as they always did. Nigel had his pockets full of rocks, as he always did. The followers were surrounding him on all sides, as they always did. And yet something was different.
"Manny! We've got something to show you."
A rock thudded into his thigh. Another, and another. He ran. They let him. They were obviously trying to lead him somewhere. His legs carried him on and on, never far ahead of the stones and jeering laughter. Immanuel stumbled into a disused field, overgrown with wild oats. There was the rumble of thunder far off.
He found himself surrounded by Victor and his followers. In front of him was what looked like two bonfires, in the middle of a cleared patch of ground. In a horrible moment of realisation, Immanuel knew what was going to happen.
"How would like to play a little game, God-sod?"
"Let me go."
"Oooh! Not "love thy neighbour as thyself now, is it?" Two of the followers grabbed him and bound him to one of the bonfires with a length of thick rope. He didn't bother to struggle.
"Elijah needed God to light his bonfire. You should have no trouble if you are God. All we want is one flame. You light our bonfire," Victor indicated the other pile, "and we worship you. If you can't light our bonfire, we light yours! With you as our sacrifice!" Nigel spat in his face, and the others laughed mechanical laughter on cue.
Immanuel closed his eyes. He could have been praying, he could have been waiting to die. He could have been dead, his face betrayed so little. Again the low boom of thunder, closer now. He didn't look like God, but then he didn't look like a lunatic either. A rock hit him on the forehead, leaving a bloody mark. Immanuel didn't know how long this went on, but he knew that wishing for Victor to go away was useless. He would have to open his eyes and face up to him eventually.
Immanuel smelt acrid smoke, and his eyes flew open, half expecting that his meditation had worked, and that the bonfire was alight. But it was Victor striking a match, getting ready to light the dry straw around his feet. For the first time, he struggled weakly against his bonds. Was it possible that he wasn't God after all? Had he been wrong from the start? Was evil really the stronger force? They called him a lunatic. Maybe they were right. His eyes glistened with tears.
The matches were damp from spending most of their lives in a musty closet. Immanuel felt a glimmer of hope. But Nigel tried again, and that match spluttered into an unsteady flame. He held it against Immanuel's face, taunting him, "Well, God-sod, it looks like you've just run out of time. Hope there's someone else up there waiting to take over when you're gone." The face flaunted a grotesque parody of a smile, hiding a twisted mind, which glorified in its victim's fear, drank it in, savoured it like heady wine. Immanuel sobbed, his divinity nothing more than a memory. His eyes followed the match down to a single strand of hay protruding from the bonfire. The face looked up at him, its repulsive smile indelibly burned into Immanuel's mind.
Immanuel's body convulsed, and he began to yell, screaming out to all who would listen the core that had been the very essence of his life. Why, oh why? If he was not God, was there a God anywhere? If so, why did he ago creatures like this to exist? Why, why, why? He screamed, and screamed, his mind filled with the single potent scream of sadness, of agony and bitterness.
And there was a blistering, cracking, then shattering blast of tumultuous sound. As if from outside his body, Immanuel saw a bolt of lightning twirl its way through the sky, leaping to the earth and igniting Victor into a searing flaming human torch. He saw the fiery corpse collapse onto the other bonfire, scattering the terrified followers. And as the bonfire began to flare, he knew again without a doubt that he was indeed God, and this was only the beginning of his mission on earth. The clouds parted and illuminated Immanuel in a shaft of celestial light.