The Critics’ Corner:
the Structure of “Singapore”

by Don Webb

“A man walked into a bar...” is the opening line of innumerable jokes. And that is the basis of Ian Cordingley’s short short story, “Singapore.” But a joke it is not; it is quite serious. Readers who are used to taking their science fiction long and straight and dry, à la Robert A. Heinlein or Ray Cummings, may find it baffling. They need not and should not.

The structure is simple: Danny walks into the bar “Singapore,” reminisces with the barmaid, Jenny, and then walks out. But what an oversimplification! In that meeting, we learn about a future history of human expansion into the Solar System and the kinds of people who would make that history.

What is Singapore? The name refers not to one of the crossroads of south Asia but to a future equivalent: a public social establishment — a bar — located on the Moon. It has a long history: Danny and Brad had built it during the excavations of the first underground Lunar habitations. It has since become an “institution,” an interplanetary landmark. It is described briefly and colorfully; for example: the early graffiti in the tunnel walls have since given way to neon lights.

Who is Danny? A miner who has worked throughout the Solar System. He has always been very skilled: “Danny had done a lot of the drilling. He was good with his hands and machines.” Now he wears a TerraMaster spacesuit permanently; his reference to “the Solar System’s worst seismic tantrum” makes it understandable why he is reluctant to remove that suit.

Who is Jenny? She was one of the group who built the first Moon colonies, especially Singapore. She never followed her friends farther out into space; rather she has stayed at Singapore because it became a lucrative and interesting business: “things have really come along up here, since the breaking of the trusts.”

What do Danny and Jenny reminisce about? Old friends, particularly Brad and Naomi. Their mutual relationship had been complicated, but Danny and Jenny do not dwell on it. In the fifteen years since their early days on the Moon, Brad has taken a prestigious position on Mars, and his erstwhile companion, Naomi, has become a rival.

Jenny’s reference to the “trusts” provides a glimpse of a larger story. In the early days, monopolies had dominated the colonization of the Solar System. Breaking up the old monopolies has allowed space exploration and colonization to expand apace. “The latest expansion had been building for so long.”

With freer enterprise, all four of the old friends — Brad, Naomi, Danny, and Jenny — have been able to achieve at least some measure of success on their own. Danny works as an independent contractor, not as an employee of a monopoly: “Last time he contracted for that company.”

The reminiscence allows for time compression on a grand scale. It ranges from the time of the first Lunar settlements to the time of the story: “From the bottom up, poking through the concrete grey regolith, there were tiny dots of light, more domes over craters. The people were happier now. Families were even being started.”

A less skilled writer would have presented the history as pure exposition, in a block. Instead, the history is interwoven with Danny’s and Jenny’s reminiscences; it thus provides the background to their story, and it remains there, where it belongs.

At the end, historical time merges with human time. Danny and Jenny were young when Singapore was first built. Now, Lunar colonists are starting families. Danny and Jenny might have children of their own in those colonies by now, but that bittersweet story is left for them to infer. Now Danny is growing old. At the beginning, the doorman sees him as an anachronism: “The doorman was confused. He didn’t see too many of them.” And Jenny sees Danny the same way but in the light of memory: “He shuffled out of the bar. From the slight mannerisms, Jenny imagined she could see the young man somewhere inside.”

The spacesuit symbolizes the distance that has grown up — or may have always existed — between Danny and Jenny and their old friends. “They embraced again. He could have scooped her up in his arms and have room left for several more people. By touch it did not feel right.”

At the same time, the spacesuit represents Danny himself: “Tough, simple and reliable: a combination that never failed. It was boasted you never had to take it off. And many wearers never did.”

Throughout, the emotional distance is emphasized by Danny’s part of the conversation: we never hear his voice; his words are always reported indirectly. We hear only Jenny speaking aloud. Is Danny’s voice muffled somehow by the spacesuit? That would be an external detail and, in the end, irrelevant. Danny’s voice comes to Jenny — and to the readers — almost second-hand, from the far reaches of time and space.

“Singapore” is a small gem in a postmodern style: a human story with the background of a “larger story,” all within Bewildering Stories’ flash-fiction limit of one thousand words.

However, readers may have one reservation, which is valid: what does Danny’s and Jenny’s meeting mean to them? Danny does not meet Jenny by chance in the bar at Singapore; we sense that he expects to find her there. We also sense that Jenny cares for Danny: she still remembers his favorite drink, and she gives him a long straw.

For his part, Danny gives Jenny a hug: “He could have scooped her up in his arms and have room left for several more people. By touch it did not feel right.” There is a hint of a deeper meaning in that embrace, but the hint is not quite enough: what did Danny and Jenny once feel for each other? An additional sentence or two somewhere in the story might suffice to give full meaning to their last goodbye.

With that in mind, I encourage Ian Cordingley to revise the story and send it to Analog. It’s worth a try.

Copyright © 2008 by Don Webb