Is pulp Sci-Fi making a comeback? Is this a good thing for Christian readers?

As a lad I consumed bushel basketfuls of what were, even then, vintage paperbacks from the Golden Age of Science Fiction. Voraciously. Much of it blatant (and unabashed) pulp fiction, but some of it extremely well-written. There were even a few unsung masterpieces, glittering jewels which still shine bright in memory while the thousands upon thousands of others have been forgotten.

So it’s been with a sense of remorse that, in recent years, I’ve largely abandoned the genre. It’s just too frustrating to pick up book after book after book, all of which look so appealing on the shelf, only to find inside those glowing covers an endless array of tiresome and alarmist Climate Change diatribes, LGBTQ normalization, and various other flavors of cultural indoctrination too numerous to mention.

I mean, come on Lois McMaster Bujold! Miles Vorkosigan is a great read, and so much fun. Why you gotta mess it up like that?

It makes a guy want to give up. At least I did. Nearly.

But every now and again, I give it another try. I won’t say this week’s selection is a classic that will continue to inhabit memory for decades. But it was a story worthy of attention.

Nether Station by Kevin J. Anderson is a tale that hearkens back to those of my youth. The story itself evinces memories of Arthur C. Clarke, Larry Niven, Poul Anderson and company. A great concept and an exciting tale, just enough action and mystery to keep the pages turning.

What keeps this from being one of those timeless jewels, at least for me, are but a few minor annoyances.

First, I sense in the backstory a hint of what may develop, in later books, into a full-blown case of transpermia. At least in the spiritual sense, if not the literal. Those faint echoes, vaguely reminiscent of Chariots of the Gods, are even now beginning to give me hives. (Okay, fine- look it up if you can’t resist, but don’t waste your time reading it- other than as a cautionary example of the dangerous places the unrestrained and God-denying imagination . . . and fraudulent archaeology . . . can go) Where’d I put that Calamine lotion, anyway?

But I hope I’m wrong, and I guess I’ll have to read on to find out if Kevin was really hinting that Satan was nothing more than a really mean alien visitor. Will he seriously go there?

Second is this. I nearly broke a molar gritting my teeth every time I heard the words “he knew” and “he realized” and “he wondered”. A circumstance which occurred repeatedly. In every paragraph.

Is it just me just me? After all, much of that Golden Age Sci Fi I spoke of was a mishmash of Omniscient POV, shallow sensory detail, non-existent internal dialogue, thumb-fisted narrative “telling”, and head-hopping.

The thing is- over time, fiction has trended to a closer, deeper POV, a more tightly focused mental “camera” and a less intrusive narrator. This change has been good, in my opinion. Give me compelling deep POV, put me INSIDE the head of the protagonist, make me FEEL what he’s feeling. Don’t tell me about it.

Lately I’ve noticed that a lot of modern hard Sci-Fi is written in that older, “telling” narrative style. Perhaps it’s intentional? I’ve had several people, both readers and writers, tell me they prefer this. I’ve even heard it suggested it’s making a comeback. A new trend.

However, I contend that Strunk and White’s Elements of Style was around long before the Golden Age of Science Fiction. That these are not valid writing styles but errors which impede the story. That the transformation of narrative style has been a good thing- creating more evocative, deeper, more compelling fiction.

But perhaps I’m wrong. Perhaps there is a contingent out there that really enjoys this style. If you’re one of those folks, let me know. Send me an email- tell me I’m wrong. And why.

Now, back to the story . . . and in this case, thankfully, we’re talking about a “clean” story that a Christian Man could enjoy, even through the occasional gritted jaw. And aside from the (potential) denial of the history of Creation that I sense waiting in the wings- one worthy of your time . . . when you, like I, can’t find great Christian-made fiction for men.

A condition that still, even in the midst of our epic and ongoing search for great Christian fiction, I still all-too-often suffer.