A Book proposal in search of a publisher

Copyright 1998.

Philip E. Kaveny

. The Shadow of The Great War

"Images of The Great War in Selected Works

of 20th Century Science Fiction and Fantasy Literature"

By Philip E. Kaveny

My book would focus on the images of The Great War in selected

works of 20th Century science fiction and fantasy literature. It would include work

I have partially presented at the l8th annual Conference of the Mythopoeic Society

at Marquette University, The 1988 Popular Culture Association Conference in New Orleans, and The International

Association for the Fantastic in the Arts Tenth Anniversary Conference Mar 15-19 1989 in Ft.Lauderdale.

My book would be divided into six chapters.

1. Past Memories Reach

This chapter would both foreground the significance of the Great War and ground my work in historical context and establish my analytical framework.

2. Borderlands The Real Becomes the Fantastic:

The Fantastic Becomes Real


Images of the Great War foreshadowed in the early works of Wells,

Days of the Comet, Land Ironclads, War In theAir, The War of the Worlds
and, The World Set Free.

3. The Shattered Mirror: Reflections of Hell

Images of war realized in J. R. R. Tolkien's The Lord of the Rings. Here we would

group J.R.R Tolkien with the war poets Wilfred Owen and Sigfried Sasson.

4. Permanent Landscapes: The Front Becomes Icon

Images of the Great War 50 years later in Walter

Miller's A Canticle for Leibowitz, Kurt Vonnegut's

Slaughterhouse Five, and Joseph Heller's Catch 22

5. The Wasteland: A Bridge to the Last Third of the 20th Century

Does Philip K. Dick write the last post WWI novel in Do

Androids Dream of Electric Sheep.

6. Without Promise of Thunder.

The language of exhaustion. That which is beyond words can

no longer be expressed in the form of the fantastic novel:

William Gibson Neuromancer, and the Bruce Sterling anthology

Miroshades.

&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&

"Images of The Great War in Selected Works

of 20th Century Science Fiction and Fantasy Literature"

I would like to paraphrase Samuel R. Delany and William Carlos

Williams: the text of my paper is only intended to locate a

discourse in time.

My interest in the Great War stretches back across my life.

I was born in 1944 in the midst of another war, but my father was

born in 1898, the same year as Remarque. Incidentally, my father

was a World War I veteran (he was in OCS at Holy Cross University

where they trained with broomsticks) though he never saw the

European theater, as I was fortunate enough to never see Vietnam.

Seventy-five years later the Great War has almost fallen off

the event horizon, and yet its magnitude is such that it is a

cultural watershed of western civilization. Confounding the

understanding of World War I is a problem of numbers. It is

popular to talk of Vietnam and its costs to our generation; yet,

more soldiers died on two days during the Battle of the Somme

than the total American personnel loss throughout the course of

the Vietnam War, a fact forgotten by almost all except military

historians. While World War I is lost in the mists of popular

consciousness it still permeates the literature and literary

tradition of western culture. And in turn these images mediated

through the aesthetic of literature profoundly change the way we

look at and think about war. It is my intent to utilize various

conceptual approaches and analytical tools to discuss the way

this imagery operates through the craft of the artists to assert

their voice during the process of artistic creation.

The forty-some years from the end of the Franco-Prussian War

(1871) as described by such popular historians as Barbara

Tuchman, were a period of geometric acceleration of

industrialization. It would be too boring to make a point by

point comparison of western civilization in 1871 with that of

1914. However, the statistics are certainly available for those

that wish to do so. Perhaps most importantly, the west had

become mass producers and mass consumers. So the factories

turned to "producing death looking for more death." By 1914 it

begins to make sense to start talking about a post-industrial

infrastructure. All the economies, even Czarist Russia, were

engaged in exponential growth and transformation. With the advent

of Bernstein, even Marxist theorists had to redefine the

timetable for world revolution.

It seems that in August of 1914 the Great War was a war

which everyone wanted. International Socialism prostituted

itself by voting nationalism and war credits. Radicals became

patriots, and territorial claims generations forgotten were

resurrected by the necromancers of the newly developed mass

media. And yet it seems that almost no-one had any idea of what

these changes could mean for the nature of warfare. It was

expected that the war would be over by autumn.

What is now so apparent to all is that the energies of the

transformed economic infrastructure were mobilized for the

wholesale extermination of a generation. Some have suggested

that the Great War was fought by opposing boards of directors.

And yet, it was as if those who ran the war were still dominated

by the romantic imagery of an earlier age, calling out the flower

of a past age to stop the onslaught of the enemy.

The literature I am interested in is that in which the muted

voice of socio-economic reality asserts itself in the text. In a

sense, the literature I alluded to darkly reflects, as through

the stainless steel mirror in a field kit, the brutal totality of

modern war.

H. G. Wells certainly had a sense of the shape of things to

come in The Land Ironclads (publication date 1905) where he

predicts the importance of the tank in the Great War. He also

foreshadows the scope of the destruction of World War I in Days

of the Comet (publication date 1908), and War in The Air

(Copyright the same year, but published in 1910) . Here, though,

the vision is somewhat apocalyptical. My point might be

stretched a bit to include War of the Worlds (publication date

1896), but it certainly depicts a proud British Empire desolated.

In Tolkien's work we see World War I imagery realized in his

construction of the landscape of Mordor. What I am talking about

here is influence rather than some kind of mimetic ratio for the

reproduction of a particular reality. My original idea for this

paper came as I was going through 1917 National Geographic

magazines that contained aerial photographs of the Western Front.

The French forces in white are seen advancing across a landscape

devoid of vegetation, pocked with shell holes filled with

stagnant water and blocked with concertina barbed wire. It was

as if they were crawling across a landscape of the moon. The

Germans dressed in black were scrabbling out to meet them. It's

my observation that the scenes in these photographs sure as hell

look like Mordor.

Here it is interesting to group Tolkien with two of his

contemporaries: the war poets Wilfred Owen and Siegfried Sasson,

who both served at the front line at the Somme. Siegfried

Sassoon served with his battalion at the front line at the Somme,

during the first few days. Wilfred Owen also served on and off

there for two years. I am choosing these two poets for two

reasons. First and most obvious, they, along with Tolkien,

served during the Great War. Second and more important, they

were artists whose work directly reflected their Great War

experience. In fact I only mention the two poets in passing as a

benchmark to locate the works of Tolkien.

Shaun Hughes has argued in an unpublished paper "The Battle

of the Somme and the Fall of Gondolin" that Tolkien drew directly

from his 1916 experiences at the Western Front in the tales of

Beren, Luthien, Turin, and most particularly Tour.

But Tolkien, unlike his contemporaries, leaves us with more

than these images of desolation. Evil must not have its way, the

forces of good and evil must be in balance. There is more to

hope for than a mere possibility of escape in Tolkien's work,

there is the quest and the marvelous journey. Some of us chose

to drink straight double shots of despair and others chose to mix

it with a little hope.

At Sarajevo, according to Bothilo, also a veteran of trench

warfare, in his Twelve Against the Gods the assassination of the

Archduke was like a note struck by an invisible orchestra. It is

that invisible orchestra which interests me and has for as long

as I can remember. It is this conceptual framework that was

instrumental in the development of my view of literature.

I have a kind of utilitarian view of literature, a view

which has its roots in my early study of platonistic philosophy.

Platonism professes an underlying reality of the world as a pure

form, such as can be expressed in mathematics, with apparent

reality only a replication of that purer higher form. Therefore

that which is real to our senses is only the faded copy of the

real world. What this means is that a work gets interesting when

a masked historical reality manifests itself in an artistic

creation.

There is a section of Moby Dick where Ahab tells Ishmael why

he hunts the whale. He alludes to a universe of forms which

underlies apparent reality. For most of the time the underlying

reality is not accessible to us except for certain rifts. The

whale, Moby Dick, was such a rift, through which the Captain

could reach and smite the heart of pure evil.

In All Quiet on the Western Front there is a low key passage

in which the company gets double rations. Why? Because the

other half of the company has been killed. The poignancy lies in

the reader's overt knowledge of the brutal slaughter that is

unshared by the characters, except subliminally.

In Catch 22, Yossarian is trying to face the wound that the

turret gunner has suffered. He treats the superficial wound,

then finds the morphine styrette. The horror of war only becomes

apparent when Yossarian finds a small hole in the gunner's flack

jacket. He opens the gunner's jacket, only to watch the gunner's

stomach and its contents come rolling out, stewed baby tomatoes

and all.

As the image progresses it certainly asserts itself in a

progressively more visceral manner; this underlying historical

process asserts itself in a progressively more didactic manner.

What I am seeking to do is find a bridge between the first and

the last quarter of the twentieth century. I think, perhaps,

that this bridge exists in T. S. Eliot's "The Waste Land"

published in 1922; perhaps (on a cultural level, rather than

intellectual level) the most pervasively influential poem in the

English language. It is not so much that the various landscapes

presented in "The Waste Land" are the Western Front in terms of

the recreation of a physical set of cartographic features against

which humanity must wander; it is more an expression of cultural

influences, which carry on the desolation that is felt after The

Great War on to mid and late twentieth century. For example,

when ex-Federal Communication Chief Newton Minnow is describing

American television in the early sixties it is no accident that

he calls it a "vast wasteland." When a Hipster poet from the

50's appeared on the National Public Radio program "Fresh Air"

she told how she was inspired by "The Waste Land" to write her

first song. Or, when we compare the minimally connected images

that appear on M/TV with the minimally connected images that

Eliot's poetry is characterized by, pervasive is the appropriate

word.

If we telescope twenty-two years ahead , from the

publication of The Waste Land, to Walter Miller's tour of duty at

the battle for the monastery at Casino in Italy in 1944, we see

another author influenced by his expiernce with combat. Casino

was one of the few American battles of World War II that was

reduced to the bloody stagnation of the Western Front from

twenty-eight years before.

Over the next decade Walter Miller wrote one of the master

works of the whole science fiction genre; A Canticle for

Leibowitz published in the Magazine of Fantasy and Science

Fiction in 1955 and 1956. In A Canticle for Leibowitz we see a

version of "The Waste Land" amplified by the atomic bombing of

Hiroshima and Nagasaki and extended for twelve centuries. Miller

trained as an engineer, and was aware of the implications of

nuclear war more accutely through his combat experience than many

of his contemporary academic theorists--for example, Herman Kahnn

and Bernard Brodie.

Miller is able to reduce the unthinkable to human rather

than statistical level. Monastic figues wander across the wasted

landscape of post-flame-deluged western United States, which is

only representative of the world-wide nuclear destruction. Their

goal is spiritual salvation and the conservation of secular

knowledge in a world of simpletons who have in retribution for

nuclear holocust revolted and murdered all who were responsible

for purveying the knowledge that desolated the world.

Walter Miller is unique among his contemporaries because of

the question he poses through all three sections of the novel,

which are set six centuries apart. He asks to what end is

civilization regenerated, only to fall back into oblivion.

In Philip K. Dick's Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep,

published in 1968, we see a very different world from that

represented by Walter Miller. The stakes that the characters are

playing for have been both raised and lowered.

In the case of Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep, the

heroic is expressed in the mundane; yet there is this central

core which links it to A Canticle for Leibowitz. Both are still

set against the backdrop of "The Waste Land." The physical

setting of Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep is a novelistic

realization of the landscapes which permeate T.S. Eliot's "The

Waste Land." T.S. Eliot's "The Waste Land" is profoundly

influenced by landscapes of trench warfare, and in turn T.S.

Eliot influenced Philip Dick. I think that it would not be an

understatement to say that Philip K. Dick's novel literally reeks

with imagery from "The Waste Land." The following are examples:

1. I will show you fear in a handful of dust (Eliot line 30).

2. The morning air, spilling over with radioactive motes, gray

and sun-beclouding, belched about him, haunting his nose; he

sniffed involuntarily the taint of death (Dick 5).

3. Here is no water but only rock

Rock and no water and the sandy road

The road winding above among the mountains

Which are mountains of rock without water

If there were water we should stop and drink

(Eliot lines 331-336).

4. The visual image congealed; he saw at once a famous landscape,

the old, brown, barren ascent, with tufts of dried-out bonelike

weeds poking slantedly into a dim and sunless sky. One single

figure, more or less human in form, toiled its way up the

hillside: an elderly man wearing a dull, featureless robe,

covering as meager as if it had been snatched from the hostile

emptiness of the sky (Dick 18).

5.Dead mountain mouth of carious teeth that cannot spit

(Eliot line 339).

6. In the early morning light the land below him extended

seemingly forever, gray and refuse-littered.Pebbles the size of

houses had rolled to a stop next to one another and he thought,

It's like a shipping room when all the merchandise has left. Only

fragments of crates remain, the containers which signify nothing

in themselves. Once, he thought, crops grew here and animals

grazed. What a remarkable thought, that anything could have

cropped grass here (Dick 202).

Dick's protagonists are wandering across a physical

landscape of despair, rather than through eighteen centuries of

future history.

In Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep, images of the Great

War manifest themselves through shared imagery which has become

part of the popular consciousness. This imagery was defined and

expressed by Eliot. This same imagery was drawn upon, I think

intentionally by Philip K. Dick throughout Do Androids Dream of

Electric Sheep.

Imagery of the Great War manifests itself in the landscape

of the San Francisco Bay area after World War Terminus in 2021,

one hundred and three years after the end of the Great War.Life

other than human is almost nonexistent in 2021; nonhuman life

forms, no matter how repulsive, have become a symbol, desperately

held of value from a previous world. Deckard, one of the main

characters, is a bounty hunter whose job it is to issue a Voight

Comp test to distinguish humans from androids. The test is

similar to the touring test that was proposed to distinguish a

human from a computer in a veiled situation. Rick Deckard

perhaps represents humanity's last attempt to maintain itself

separate from the landscape of death. The key here is that in

"The Waste Land" figure wanders across the ground; in Do Androids

Dream of Electric Sheep figure and ground have become inseparable

from the landscape of death. Truly Rick Deckard faces the gray

lead sky protected with nothing but his lead lined jock strap.

Perhaps the tragedy of this situation is delineated in

particular in the spiritual Doctrine Of Mercerism. This is the

most difficut and least discussed aspect of Do Androids Dream of

Electric Sheep. Key to Mercerism is the empathy box by which all

join together to experience a kind of spiritual unity. The

object is to make the dead bones live; so, in a desparate hope of

regeneration, the life and world that was lost can be restored.

Thus Mercerism becomes some sort of travesty of spiritually in

communion.

This is juxtaposed with the presence of a pervasive talkshow

host, Buster Friendly and his friendly friends. Fifty-three

years later than the Great War, and set fifty years in the future

the landscape, figure and ground are merged into one. We can

only wonder at Phil Dick's sardonic irony in which Deckard seems

to have found a toad, thought to be extinct, in the desert which

was northern California. Deckard's salvation hangs on whether

the toad is real or false (that is to say a electro-mechanical

replica of a live toad).

Though Philip K.Dick did not have any direct experience with

the Great War, his father was a veteran of the Western Front and

his biographers have cited direct WWI imagery in a number of his

works.

Let me restate that I am interested in effect imagery rather

than actual portrayals of combat. I would argue that there is a

particular problem in expressing that which is beyond, but must

be expressed in language.

In the late twentieth century, in the world of Blip Verts

(an image drawn from the "Max Headroom" television show), the

problem of expressing the scope, horror, and effect of war are

even more difficult, since attention spans have been shortened,

and since what Kurt Vonnegut has called the death of the modern

novel.

What is required is a renovation of the Jamesian aesthetic

to make these experiences commonly accessible: an aesthetic

which removes one from the immediacy of experience. It is with

the proliferation of mass media technology that we are brought

more into contact with the images of war and at the same time

removed from them. Electronically mediated experience projects a

world that appears inseparable from the real world; thus through

overexposure, mass media numbs us to the impact of reality and

causes us to distance ourselves in protective reaction.

Science fiction and fantasy as a genre allows a more

interesting interaction with the images of war by the reader than

any other genre. In the late twentieth century we search for a

world whose boundaries are not defined by a twenty-five inch

video monitor.

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