New Wave, New Frontier

We choose to go to the Moon in this decade and do the other things, not because they are easy, but because they are hard . . .

John F. Kennedy, September 12, 1962

Eisenhower, Kennedy, Johnson, Nixon.  Eisenhower began the space program, Johnson saw it through, and Nixon got to be the president who placed a phone call to the first man on the moon. Nevertheless, it is Kennedy we most closely associate with space, largely due to the speech above.

Kennedy’s presidency was short — January 20, 1961 to November 22, 1963 — two years and ten months.

He began by creating the Peace Corps, then failed to provide air support for the Bay of Pigs fiasco. He saw the USSR build the Berlin Wall, faced Khrushchev in the Cuban Missile Crisis, and gave support to Civil Rights activists — but not enough support in the eyes of many.

Kennedy was a young man undergoing extreme on-the-job training. He was beloved by many and hated by many — nothing unusual in that — but a full and balanced evaluation of his Presidency is not possible because it was cut short.

What we can say for certain is that he was a modern President in all senses, and it was his charisma that set us on a path to the moon.

And then he was gone.

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Meanwhile, regarding science fiction . . .

In 1961 Arthur C. Clarke’s A Fall of Moondust became the first SF novel selected to be a Readers Digest condensed book. That seems about right, since Moondust was Clarke at his most bland.

A Clockwork Orange, The Man in the High Castle, Cat’s Cradle, Dune, and Planet of the Apes also came out during the Kennedy years, and they were not bland.

About that same time a movement occurred inside SF which became known as the New Wave. That’s a problematical name, like Roosevelt’s New Deal. The New Deal isn’t so new 93 years later. The New Wave isn’t so new 60-some years later either. Still, if felt new while it was happening.

If a young SF fan today were to read something from the New Wave for the first time, they would be likely to say, “But didn’t people always write like this?” No, they didn’t. Before the New Wave, SF writing covered new and exciting concepts, but the style was generally pretty stodgy.

The New Wave was the era of Harlan Ellison, Ursula K. Le Guin, J.G. Ballard, and Roger Zelazny. And many others, but I am mentioning my favorites. I had loved SF before these folks came along, but the fact is, they just wrote better than those who came before them.

By the time the New Wave had been digested and made the norm, science fiction had generally reached it’s present stage. It was, and still is, a genre loved by a few, read by many, and avoided by even larger numbers. It’s style and tenor is no longer particularly distinguishable from the mainstream. There are a few best-sellers and a lot of stories that appear briefly then disappear into the ooze of indifference.

There were still a few changes to come before we would reach 2025. Computers would make writing — and especially revising — easier, so books got longer. Much longer. In the seventies, SF novels often ran 50,000 words. Today you would have a hard time selling one unless it was twice that long.

No agent or editor in the seventies would have even opened a Neal Stephenson manuscript.

Computers were at the heart of the other main change since the Kennedy/Johnson era. Special effects made it possible to create believable futuristic movies and television programs. While I offer no comments on the variable quality of story and acting, modern SF movies look beautiful. It is no wonder the center of SF attention has moved from books toward video.

I object to that, but who cares what I think.

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When Kennedy was inaugurated, there were about 3000 Americans in Viet Nam. They were not called troops; they were called advisors. By the time Kennedy was assassinated, that number had grown to about 16,000.

Then Lyndon Johnson took over. He lied to the American people. He lied to Congress. He posted weekly kill-counts that were entirely imaginary. He promised victory. He expanded American military activities to adjacent countries. It gained him reelection in 1964, and cost him the chance to run again in 1968.

Nixon won and — in my opinion, since no one will ever know what really went on in that man’s mind — rode the war and the faltering peace talks to reelection in 1972. The he declared victory and pulled out.

Viet Nam fell.

Nixon could have pulled out four years earlier, with the same result. Johnson could have pulled out eight years earlier, with the same result. There would have been one difference, however.

Fifty some thousand Americans died in Viet Nam. According to Encyclopedia Britannica, an estimated two million counting all countries died due to the Viet Nam war. They didn’t need to die.

I occasionally meet Viet Nam vets who wear caps reminding us of their service. I have no quarrel with them. They were sent, they went, they did what their country told them to do. And there but for the grace of God go I.

I was also in that draft, and I enlisted. I spent my four years stateside, but that was nothing but luck. I could have gone over like the ones wearing the Vietnam Vet caps. And if I had, I could now be sixty years in the grave.

Tens of thousands of us knew Viet Nam was a mistake and said so. No one listened. I’m still angry, and I make no apologies for that.

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Bouncing back to science fiction again — to the SF of alternate realities — here is the question all this poses. What would Kennedy have done, if he had lived?

We can’t know the answer; we can only speculate. Kennedy made big mistakes, then stood tall against Khrushchev. He learned. Would he have learned enough? Maybe not — but maybe he would have.

Folks, we are living in our very own alternate reality, initiated by Lee Harvey Oswald on November 22. 1963.

I also have a question for Oswald himself. Why did you shoot Kennedy that day in Dallas? Did you think you were going to make the world a better place?

What were you thinking?

The discussion concludes next week.