Why Sf/f?

"Isn't it interesting that the same people who laugh at science fiction listen to weather forecasts and economists?"--Kelvin Throop III

One question I've run into, after dealing with many English teachers and others, is: why would anyone want to read or write such juvenile crap (meaning science fiction and/or fantasy)?

Answer Part One: Because much of the field isn't juvenile crap. For some people, sf has taken on the connotations of bad Star Trek episodes, clichéd "mad scientist, beautiful daughter and suave villain" stories, and guys with ray guns. This dates back to the genre's early days, when pulp sf often lived down to these expectations. For others, fantasy implies cutesy fairytales (they should read some of the original Märchen), wizards throwing fireballs, and damsels in distress. I'm tempted to blame at least part of this on Dungeons & Dragons as well as the prevalence of bad Tolkien rip-offs. People with these preconceptions are unlikely to look any further.

Answer Part Two: Because both fields have merit...even, dare I say, literary merit? Or, if you don't like the term, lasting value. Often mainstream literature views works like Orwell's 1984 and Bradbury's Fahrenheit 451 as the only worthwhile sf. I disagree. These are time-tested works, but there are others worth looking at, which are daring and entertaining (entertainment as a literary function is too often devalued) and at least as valuable.

Sf is one of the few genres that deals, realistically or not, with the future. With social issues past and present and impending. With science and ethical concerns about its practice. (Sf writers were way ahead of the brouhaha on cloning.) With legal issues. With the effects of environment and technology on the human psyche. It is not necessarily explicit prediction (in the sense of the author saying "This is how things will be"), though some authors have done that. Sf also functions as "myth" for a modern era where tradition and myth have sunk beneath the periphery of awareness. (All those who are familiar with Joseph Campbell, please raise your hands.)

This argument has been voiced by more venerable voices than mine. But the message isn't penetrating as deeply as it needs to. Well-meaning English teachers wondered why I was wasting my time on "adolescent trash." They never stopped to look at the possible merits of what I was reading (when they bothered finding out). Consider, for example:

Arthur C. Clarke's "The Star" is an exploration of (the Christian) religion confronting science. Other tales have dealt with this theme, and whether or not you hold religious views, religion remains an important social force and can't be ignored.
Isaac Asimov's "The Bicentennial Man" addresses the issue of humanity: what defines it? On the surface, this is the tale of an intelligent, creative robot who desires recognition as a human. On the scientific front (if we ever do develop good AI, or artificial intelligence), there may well be ethical issues in dealing with a non-human, created intelligence. On the metaphorical front, people throughout history have been denied acknowledgement as fellow human beings due to different skin color, sexual orientation, background, blood, I-wot-not. In this sense, a robot may be seen as a "human with metal skin," and the story addresses prejudice. I don't know if Asimov intended all this, and I'm sure there are other readings, but it makes you think.
Harlan Ellison's "'Repent, Harlequin!' Cried the Ticktockman" deals with the (Western) obsession with time: schedules, I'm going to be late for my meeting, why didn't he hand this in on the deadline, we just missed the plane. The story takes this obsession to extremes and delivers a scathing critique in doing so...while being entertaining and witty (you have to admire a title like this one).
For a less-well-known short story, try James Alan Gardner's "Three Hearings on the Existence of Snakes in the Human Bloodstream." It's a funny/scary alternate history, and alternate histories allow writer and reader to explore alternate paths and contemplate the fragility of human events: What if it had gone the other way? Counterfactual history (as Prof. Barry Strauss liked to point out) forces us to examine our assumptions about why things turned out the way they did, about what counts. Also, an awareness of history is no bad thing.
On the scientific end, the best sf is also scientifically accurate or extrapolated from a plausible premise. (Some isn't, whether by design or carelessness or an earlier knowledge of how the world worked.) Tom Godwin's "The Cold Equations" deals with the implacability of physical law, which, as arbiter, can't be appealed to; the situation depicted hinges on the fact that a ship with X mass needs Y fuel to get where it's going. Hard sf encourages the reader to think about how the world works, how the universe's rules might be ameliorated by human (or alien) cleverness, how to approach reality in a scientific manner.
Alien sf: how about Barry B. Longyear's "Enemy Mine"? As sf it's dated, but the story is about the Other (standing in, perhaps, for various Others in our own cultures) and it asks: how do we go about reconciling differences? Not all alien-human relations are pleasant in sf, but considering we still have trouble with human-human relations....

As for fantasy, consider the following (shorter) case studies:

Orson Scott Card's Hart's Hope can be read as a gruesome fantasy adventure about a king seeking to regain his throne. You also find ethics: at what price conquest, or revenge? Palicroval sought to consolidate his rule by raping a young girl, who in her turn turned to dark sorcery for revenge. Where do the wrongs begin?
David Feintuch's The Still is a bildungsroman, and if a mainstream bildungsroman is a worthy category, I fail to see why a fantasy bildungsroman should be excluded. The story on the surface is about a spoiled prince trying to recover his kingdom. But the magic of the kingdom--the Still--can only be wielded by the kingdom's rightful and honest ruler, and it symbolizes the prince's hard-won maturity.
Robin McKinley's Deerskin is a retelling of a Perrault fairytale, one that usually doesn't make it into collections. It's a harrowing portrayal of incest, family trauma, and post-traumatic stress disorder. One of the virtues of fantasy tackling such issues is that the fantastic nature of the setting both distances the reader (allowing him/her to read on without feeling overwhelmed) while encouraging the reader to think of parallel situations in our own, unmagical world where such things happen...and what can be done about them.

If I haven't made my point by now, it's hopeless. Most readers don't pick up sf/f looking for social significance. They look for a good read; don't we all? But social significance sometimes exists, and sf/f shouldn't be dismissed without a closer look.

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