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Showing posts with label sci fi. Show all posts
Showing posts with label sci fi. Show all posts

Friday, 1 June 2018

Fragments of Colonization in Ray Bradbury’s “The Long Rain.”


Image from here

We weren’t meant for this; no Earthman was or ever will be able to take it.
                                                                                                                        -p.64
Article may contain spoilers

“The Long Rain,” one of Ray Bradbury’s famed short stories within the collection The Illustrated Man, is first and foremost a science fiction tale. This should be fairly obvious to the reader from the outset; all of the surrounding stories are science fiction, ranging in subject from artificial intelligence, virtual reality, to nuclear apocalypse, also the story is set on Venus (a dead giveaway, some say.) I believe that, intentionally or not, Bradbury has effectively used the short story form to give an allegory for colonization, from the vapid perspective of the colonizer.
            The Illustrated Man was written in 1950 and published in 1951. Although fairly removed from the traditional colonial sphere in America, Bradbury still collected the stories for publishing in the midst of a colonial overhaul; independence movements were springing up across Africa, Asia and the rest of the globe, with India already gaining independence from Britain in 1948, just three years prior to publishing. The twentieth century would continue to see revolutions and recedings as empires in their last formal appearance were beaten back. Although America was and is not usually seen to be an empire in comparison to the former empires of Britain, Germany and other nations, it isn’t impossible that the global backdrop to Bradbury’s working period worked it’s way into his writing thematically.
            The environment of Venus in “The Long Rain” is horrific and treacherous. Bradbury describes it thus:
           
The white, white jungle with the pale cheese- coloured leaves, and the earth carved of wet camembert, and the tree boles like immense toadstools- everything black and white. And how often could you see the soil itself? Wasn’t it mostly a creek, a stream, a puddle, a pool, a lake, a river, and then, at last, the sea?
                                                                                                            -p.55

The image of a jungled and treacherous landscape plagued with dense rains is reminiscient of previously colonized lands such as Bangladesh that have monsoon seasons; many logs from soldiers in 17th century campaigns in these regions complain of the heat, rain, damp, jungle plants & beasts, and disease, as if  they had invaded a forsaken planet rather than another country. It should be noted that the description of the land as being bodies of water is relevant to the colonial experience, as water has frequently acted as a conduit of empire; the Americas were discovered and claimed during Columbus’ voyage to find a quicker way to India, the Atlantic would eventually be crossed time and again for the trade of sugar, spice, and humans as slaves while rivers would be used as prying paths into continents such as South America and Africa.
            Despite the obvious hostility of the Venusian landscape, humans have built abodes on the planet’s surface, called ‘Sun domes.’

A yellow house, round and bright as the sun. A house fifteen feet high by one hundred feet in diameter, in which was warmth and quiet and hot food and freedom from rain. And in the center of the Sun Dome, of course, was a sun. A small floating free globe of yellow fire, drifting in a space at the top of the bulding where you could look at it from where you sat, smoking or reading a book or drinking your hot chocolate crowned with marshmallow dollops. There it would be, the yellow sun, just the size of the Earth sun, and it was warm and continuous, and the rain world of Venus would be forgotten as long as they stayed in that house and idled their time.
                                                                                                                        -p.55

As part of the process of assimilation, the colonizer will bring in their own systems of governance, commerce, finance, and ultimately culture. Bradbury creates an excellent image of this in the mini-earths, complete with mini-suns, existing in ignorance and defiance of the host planet’s own environment. The story ends with the lieutenant entering a Sun Dome, feeling its warmth, looking at all of the luxuries, and abandoning his wet clothes, and indeed the memories of the events outside the dome.
The Venusians themselves never actively appear in the story; instead, the aftermath of one of their attacks is observed at the anguish of the rocket crash survivors, who hoped to find the shelter of a Sun Dome. Instead, it lies in ruins.

Every once in a while the Venusians come up our of the sea and attack a Sun Dome. They know if they can ruin a Sun Dome they can ruin us.

The Venusians took [the Sun Dome survivors] all down to the sea. I hear they have a delightful way of drowning you. It takes about eight hours to drown the way they work it.
                                                                                                                        -p.59

The reader is given only savagery about the alien inhabitants of Venus; we are not offered a view as to why they attack the Sun Domes and torture humans in such a way, but only that they do. We perceive them through the eyes of the colonizer, appalled by the actions of the host inhabitants who may be actively resiting colonization.
Bradbury’s story retains a focus on the journey of a group through a hostile and maddening imaginary landscape where the rains never stops, the storms are lethal and all colour has been washed away, but still the story carries some signifiers at the relationship between colonizer and colonized subjects and objects that were apparent at the time of writing, and remain important in reading the story today.

Bradbury, Ray. “The Long Rain” in The Illustrated Man. (Bantam: New York, 1967) pp. 53-65


Wednesday, 17 May 2017

Some thoughts on WALL-E


            I can’t remember when I first saw WALL-E, but I definitely was under the age of 16. Rewatching it now, as a twenty-two year old student, I have realized what an ecological marvel it is; I was pointed to re-watch it in part by a brief analysis in Timothy Morton’s The Ecological Thought.
            I was struck by the overwhelming scale artificial objects were given; everything is gargantuan, such as the ship the Axiom, that blocks out the sky and is filled with unknowningly complex interior workings. Importantly, many giant things are defunct, and simply rubbish. A huge ‘Buy n Large Ultrastore’ sprawls in the urban wasteland, no longer used; enormous freighters are lined up in a row, rusting away and useless.
Most noticeably of all, the amount of waste rampant in the defunct planet is paradoxically larger than the environment it exists in, even in the compacted towers that WALL-E (and supposedly his deceased comrades) worked to turn it into. How can there be more waste than… well, anything else? We find this question crop up again later onboard the Axiom, where WALL-E is trapped in the waste disposal zone. Here, two giant robots work compacting the eternal stream of rubbish thrown into their compartment. Why would a ship with the purpose of conserving human life be so inefficient as to create so much waste?

Interestingly, the robots compacting waste on the Axiom are simply larger versions of WALL-E, suggesting that instead of solving the issue that has apparently followed humans onto the ship (i.e. over-consumption, wasteful lifestyles) humanity has simply upgraded the solution that was there, not necessarily solving anything, but with all the appearance of productivity.

Monday, 9 March 2015

The Birth

I wrote this piece last year for a 'micro-short' story competition, with a word limit of 300 words (I think.) For whatever reason they never got back to me, perhaps an email mess-up on my part. 

edit: more recently, this story was printed in the "Bangin' Lemz" zine, along the theme of 'the birth,' along with a poem entitled 'Foetal. Infantile.' 



The Birth

Crawling from planet to planet, so huge that its great haunches kick these spheres out of their gravitational prisons, hurtling them through space until caught by a greater star, throwing the planet around itself infinitesimally; barely noticed by the hulking creature. Sometimes there is the bubbling of evolution in the placid lakes, sometimes the cusp of a civilisation. All discarded by the immortal beast. He had visited these planets once before, barely a fledgling. They presented no promise, not to the in-built preconceptions reeling in the daemon’s many brains.
            The pulsing mass of sensors on the creatures head rotates, receiving and computing radiations and vibrations, chemicals caught on solar winds. It smelt, tasted, heard and saw everything. It witnessed suns crack open and die, unloading hearts in a tragic finale spanning thousands of years. It saw planets grapple into formation, asteroids closing together, some just making it, others gaining too much weight, or not enough. The qualifications are random, undetermined.
            One of the beast’s many sets of wings would propel it, its great arms outstretched for clumps of rock and dust. Its muscles were humongous, its organs monstrous, pumping dark fluids through continent-wide veins, its brains pulsing with instinctual thoughts.
            In one hand it clutches a small moon, with a species nigh on the brink of developing light-sensing cells in their amoebic bodies, so close to breakthrough. The mighty beast decides that this small moon is not worth it; it has failed. It crushes the rock, dust and particles spiralling out carelessly into the orbit of a nearby planet. The beast continues on its journey.
            Its goal comes into view; the green and blue planet. It seemed most promising in those fertile years hence. The beast stills for a moment, its outlandish organs throbbing and pumping in the deeps of space.
            It caresses the planet; observes the crags and falls of its geography, tastes its mineral rich waters. Eventually satisfied, the beast rises, stirred by internal twinges and workings; with twitching limbs it ensnares the planet, and something hatches from its chest, bursting; a strange blue fluid flowing outward, almost a gas; it fills the sky, entrenches the sea and litters the dirt. Soon it has seeped through, dissolved into the very core of the globe.
            The beast seeps off into the dark of space, observing the planet for a time before turning to a planet on the outer cusp of the universe that it had fertilised aeons past.
It will return when its children have grown.