The Metabolist Imagination: Visions of the City in Postwar Japanese Architecture and Science Fiction by William O. Gardner

2021 ◽  
Vol 47 (2) ◽  
pp. 532-536
Author(s):  
Tomoko Tamari
2011 ◽  
Vol 53 (4) ◽  
pp. 722-756
Author(s):  
Jon Adams ◽  
Edmund Ramsden

Nestled among E. M. Forster's careful studies of Edwardian social mores is a short story called “The Machine Stops.” Set many years in the future, it is a work of science fiction that imagines all humanity housed in giant high-density cities buried deep below a lifeless surface. With each citizen cocooned in an identical private chamber, all interaction is mediated through the workings of “the Machine,” a totalizing social system that controls every aspect of human life. Cultural variety has ceded to rigorous organization: everywhere is the same, everyone lives the same life. So hopelessly reliant is humanity upon the efficient operation of the Machine, that when the system begins to fail there is little the people can do, and so tightly ordered is the system that the failure spreads. At the story's conclusion, the collapse is total, and Forster's closing image offers a condemnation of the world they had built, and a hopeful glimpse of the world that might, in their absence, return: “The whole city was broken like a honeycomb. […] For a moment they saw the nations of the dead, and, before they joined them, scraps of the untainted sky” (2001: 123). In physically breaking apart the city, there is an extent to which Forster is literalizing the device of the broken society, but it is also the case that the infrastructure of the Machine is so inseparable from its social structure that the failure of one causes the failure of the other. The city has—in the vocabulary of present-day engineers—“failed badly.”


2021 ◽  
Author(s):  
◽  
Georgia Hight

<p>Kurt Vonnegut’s Slaughterhouse-Five (1969) and Doris Lessing’s The Memoirs of a Survivor (1974) are both novels that blend autobiography with science fiction. In a review of Vonnegut’s Mother Night, Lessing writes that he “makes nonsense of the little categories”. The same applies to Lessing. These two novels live in the porous borders between genre—between fiction and non-fiction.  Vonnegut writes that he can’t remember much of his experiences in the firebombing of Dresden in the Second World War. The war novel he writes about them has a protagonist who is “unstuck in time”. I frame my discussion of Slaughterhouse around problems of temporal and narrative ordering. Through use of fractured time, repetitions, and the chronotope, Vonnegut finds a way to express his missing and traumatic memories of the war.  Lessing’s memories are of her early childhood in Persia and Southern Rhodesia. These memories are warped, claustrophobic, and difficult to articulate. Like Slaughterhouse, Memoirs fractures time and space. I organise my discussion of Lessing’s novel around the latter, focusing on a literalised porous border: her dissolving living room wall. Borders and portals between spaces in Memoirs blend the dystopian, science-fiction world of the city with the world of Lessing’s memories; dreams with reality; and the static with the dynamic.  I pose several answers to the question of why science fiction and autobiography. A shared occupation of the two authors was a concern for the madness and dissolution of society, and science fiction engages in a tradition of expressing these concerns. Additionally, Vonnegut and Lessing use the tools of a genre in which it is acceptable for time and space to be warped or fractured. These tools not only allow for the expression of memories that are fragmented, difficult, and half forgotten, but produce worlds that mirror the form of these personal memories.</p>


2015 ◽  
pp. 69-82
Author(s):  
Mélanie Joseph-Vilain

This article examines how three South African novelists, Margie Orford, Lauren Beukes and Henrietta Rose-Innes, use crime fiction to write their country. After a brief survey of the rapid development of crime fiction in South Africa and of the critical response it received, the article proposes a reading of Like Clockwork, Zoo City and Nineveh, whereby their respective contribution to crime fiction displays three major features : first, Orford’s novel chimes in with generic conventions ; second, Beukes’s novel combines features borrowed from both crime fiction and science fiction ; and last, Rose-Innes’s novel displaces the detective story narrative into a context where « murder » is invested with a symbolic meaning. By handling the investigation theme in a variety of ways, the three novelists adapt it to the South African context and besides show that the feminine body fits in more or less problematically within the space of the city and of the nation.


2018 ◽  
pp. 73-92
Author(s):  
Gary Westfahl

Unlike other science fiction writers, this chapter explains, Clarke rarely envisions humanity colonizing interstellar space and forging a galactic empire, anticipating limitations on human development. Though unconcerned about nuclear wars or alien invasions, Clarke regularly predicts humanity’s extinction, due to climate change or competing new species, or long periods of decadence. If humans avoid these fates, evolution may transform them into a new species, unlike present-day humans. Such scenarios unfold in Clarke’s major novels about humanity’s destiny: in Against the Fall of Night (1953), revised as The City and the Stars (1956), residents of an unchanging future city rediscover their ambitions but still face eventual demise; and in Childhood’s End (1953) humans guided by alien Overlords become a group intelligence to join a transcendent Overmind.


Religions ◽  
2018 ◽  
Vol 9 (10) ◽  
pp. 292
Author(s):  
Sylvie Magerstädt

The role of romantic love in cinema–and its redeeming aspects–has been extensively explored in film studies and beyond. However, non-romantic aspects of love, especially love for the neighbour, have not yet received as much attention. This is particularly true when looking at mainstream science fiction cinema. This is surprising as the interstellar outlook of many of these films and consequently the interaction with a whole range of new ‘neighbours’ raises an entirely new set of challenges. In this article, the author explores these issues with regard to Luc Besson’s science fiction spectacles The Fifth Element (1997) and Valerian and the City of a Thousand Planets (2017). Both films have divided fans and critics and it is indeed easy to dismiss them as mere spectacle with little depth or message, as many reviewers have done. Yet, as this article demonstrates, beneath their shiny, colourful surface, both films make a distinct contribution to the theme of neighbourly love. What is more, Besson’s films often seem to develop a close link between more common notions of romantic love and agapic forms of love and thus offer a perspective of exploring our relationship to the alien as our neighbour.


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