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Triffids Beard 2 - The Bearded Triffid

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circumstances behind the production of this book. It might have been the fault of the translator rather<br />

than of Lem himself. On the other hand, perhaps he was trying to tell an alternate world story -- though<br />

if he was, he fails to give any clues and he never uses the situation for anything, so I doubt it.<br />

<strong>The</strong> other side of the coin is admirably demonstrated by Phillip Mann's new novel A Land Fit for<br />

Heroes: Volume 1 Escape to the Wild Wood. Here we really do have an alternate world novel and<br />

the writer invokes a world that never was, but that might have been. For various reasons, the primitive<br />

forest that once covered the whole of the British Isles has never been destroyed. <strong>The</strong>refore this forest<br />

has to be described and lived in during the events of the novel. He never sets a foot wrong. His<br />

evocation of the forest is so strong you can almost smell it. Not only is disbelief willingly suspended,<br />

belief is willingly enforced and the reality of the book is paramount. That is how the trick should be done<br />

and it makes a good yardstick against which to measure the success of other stories.<br />

<strong>The</strong> classic evocation of time and place is, without a doubt, Robert Heinlein's novel Beyond this<br />

Horizon wherein a door dilates and the hero steps through. No more mention is made of it than this one<br />

reference and if you blink you will miss it, but the hero's casual acceptance of a door with an iris in it<br />

anchors the reader's imagination firmly in the future in which the book is set. It simply wouldn't have<br />

worked if Heinlein had drawn attention to it and spent a page and a half lecturing about the history of<br />

doors -- a time and a place must feel lived in and drawing unnecessary attention to commonplace details<br />

is a sure way to make it feel artificial and break the spell. After all, how many novels set in contemporary<br />

times do any more than say something like "He switched on the television and relaxed to watch it."? If<br />

the next few paragraphs explained what a television was we'd give up in disgust. Why should SF be any<br />

different?<br />

John Campbell once remarked that the type of stories he wanted were stories that the characters in<br />

them could conceivably read without getting turned off by the level of unnecessary detail; that it to say<br />

he wanted contemporary stories of the future (and that is not an oxymoron).<br />

You can't be too hard on the writer though. It would not be fair to condemn stories set on the canals of<br />

Mars if the stories were written prior to the gathering of the evidence that refuted the existence of the<br />

canals. A critic is not allowed the 20/20 vision of hindsight. Nevertheless it pays to examine the details<br />

closely. If you ever get hold of a first edition of Larry Niven's Ringworld hang on to it -- his sense of<br />

place was so dislocated that he had the Earth revolving back to front so that the sun rose in the west<br />

and set in the east. This bug has been fixed in all subsequent printings!<br />

A particularly science fictional problem is to make places that nobody currently alive has ever visited<br />

seem real; or even to make places that simply don't exist seem real. If you set your story on a planet of<br />

Alpha Centauri or within the event horizon of a black hole or in a wormhole between universes you face<br />

a much more difficult task. Or perhaps it is an easier task. After all, nobody is going to criticise your<br />

geography (Newfortress could easily be in Eboracumshire -- who could deny it?) In such a situation, all<br />

you can ask yourself is how consistent the whole thing seems to be and also how well described it is.<br />

This latter is particularly important the more outré the place is. I found Larry Niven's <strong>The</strong> Smoke Ring<br />

quite unreadable because the descriptions of the ring were so vague and woolly that I was simply unable<br />

to picture it, and that rendered much of the action of the story incomprehensible. With closer attention<br />

to the sense of place the story would have been a lot stronger.<br />

A sense of time is just as important as (and closely related to) a sense of place. Despite my carping<br />

about the details of Connie Willis' story Jack, she really has done a magnificent job of evoking the time in<br />

which the story is set. <strong>The</strong> past and the present are always a dangerous time for a story because we<br />

know so much about those eras. <strong>The</strong> future is a lot safer because we don't know anything about it yet.<br />

But wherever and whenever a story is set, it is important that the place and time feel lived in.<br />

<strong>The</strong> drama of a story hangs most of all on the characters who act it out. If they don't work, neither will<br />

the story. If they are boring and dull, we simply won't be interested in them. Neither will we care about<br />

them if they never seem to come alive at all.<br />

Characterisation is very difficult. What makes a character? <strong>The</strong> only clues are the physical descriptions

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