Comparative Literature

by Karlos Allen

Jng Somog sat in Davis’s office, quietly sucking on an ampoule of hydrogen cyanide. Davis had had a bad moment the first time Jng had pulled it out, but now it caused him no more problems than his own two fingers of scotch caused Jng.

“You have a fascinating literature, Mr. Davis. I have enjoyed it immensely. Seeing the contrasts and similarities, for instance between Ming China’s Judge Dee and Victorian Britain’s Sherlock Holmes, has opened up my understanding of your psychology in ways that no amount of testing could ever match. And I count myself particularly fortunate that we contacted your people while you still had a vibrant science fiction!”

“Oh? Is this rare?” Davis’s own e-zine Amazing Anecdotes had been taking quite a pounding lately; any good reviews were appreciated. To get them from a recognized extraterrestrial scholar was more than he’d ever hoped for.

“Quite rare. Usually by the time a race encounters galactic civilization, the genre has long since been reabsorbed into the mainstream as either fantasy or adventure stories.” He managed a three-armed Gallic shrug. “After all, when you really are landing on other planets and traveling to the stars, stories about such things are no different from stories about airline flights across the ocean. Interesting, if the story has any merit, but not wonderful in themselves.”

Davis, who had personal — and monetary — reasons to hope that such a thing would never happen on Earth, shook his head. “I don’t think we need to worry about that. Every race is different. While you may have seen this elsewhere, Humanity has a certain sense of wonder, an awe, if you will, that only our genre can satisfy.”

Jng leaned forward, gesturing with his ampoule. “You think so? Do you know why I’ve spent the time reading your fiction? Your news sites say I am a literary critic, and that’s true. However that is only secondary, my side job, as it were. Primarily, I am a xeno-anthropologist. I am tasked with learning about the culture and world-view of a race so as to see how it will fit into our civilization — if at all.”

Davis opened his mouth in protest, but Jng cut him off, “Don’t worry, you will fit in fine. In fact, overall, you are incredibly normal. It’s just that seeing your science fiction while it’s still in flower is a rare treat.”

“Well, I hope you’ve enjoyed it.”

“Oh I plan to. I have not yet been able to make a full survey, mind you. But even in hitting the high points, reading the ‘great’ stories, I have seen enough to learn much about you and which races you resemble.”

“What do you mean?”

Jng put a new ampoule in his mouth and waited while Davis re-filled his scotch. Then, gesturing with his middle arm, he ticked off the points, “Did you know that fifteen different species — well, sixteen, counting your own — independently wrote the Foundation series? Oh yes. Seven invented a character quite similar to the Mule. Three took it all the way to the rise of the Second Empire and another three — including yours — spent time developing the backstory. Can you guess what all sixteen species had in common?”

“What?”

“Each one had developed a statistical outlook on mass psychology, each had an empire in its history that had lasted at least ten lifetimes before slowly decaying, and each had had an author brilliant enough to put it all together. I can supply you with copies, if you like.

“There are other parallels; twenty-five species took fantasy stories and put a science fiction spin on them, much like your Star Wars, and the ‘Retief’ character strongly resembles ‘Chr’, one of the most celebrated diplomats in the fiction of my own species. Oh yes,” he nodded, “we had it too. And discovering those stories here brought back many fond memories.”

Davis set down the scotch and rubbed his stomach, his ulcer was acting up now. “How much longer do we have before it disappears here?”

“Oh, I don’t know exactly, perhaps ten years? First Contact always shuts it down if nothing else has. Reality suddenly becomes so much more interesting.”

Davis shook his head in desperate denial. “I don’t believe that, you yourself said that you haven’t had time to study our science fiction properly. We have threads in our literature that have enormous power. That deeply explore what it is to be human, stories that celebrate our need to explore and to be free. I think you’ll find that there is a lot more life in the genre than you imagine.”

“Oh? I would love for that to be true. Do you have a specific series in mind?”

“Yes, let me show you.” Davis pulled out his phone and touched the screen. Seconds later an odd music started to fill the room. Then a deep voice-over began. “Space: the final frontier...”

Davis dodged as the contents of the ampoule squirted out Jng’s nose. “Oh my!” he laughed, “everybody does Star Trek!”