avid Brin, whose first novel, Sundiver, is now in its 12th printing since 1980, and whose second novel, Startide Rising, is in its 27th, continues his stride through speculative fiction.
This author-father-husband-scholar of science has written many dynamic collections and novels, not the least among them being the Nebula and Hugo-nominated The Postman, which went on to win the Locus award and was adapted to the big screen. Both The Uplift War and Earthwere nominated for the Hugo award, as was his latest novel, Kiln People.
He has also written on the science behind the SF for respected magazines such as Analog and Science Fiction Age, becoming a recognized voice in matters involving political and social concerns.
David Brin's home on the Web is www.davidbrin.com.
SF has been used to great effect by a number of authors to tell stories of human interest, and how one decision affects many, all the while making the message easier to digest. Technology can take a back seat to this.
Brin: Only a fraction of SF authors have backgrounds in science. The topic that nearly all of us tend to read for pleasure is history. I often thought a better name for our genre might be speculative history—extending the human saga in what Einstein called gedankeneksperimenten, or collaborative thought-experiments, with the reader as an active partner. The future is one dimension for such experiments. Others may involve filling in a plausible past or an alternate present, as even Nabakov tried to do, in his novel Ada.
In a general sense, SF is about expanding the available range of settings beyond the parochial present or familiar, freeing literature by extending the human story into realms of the possible. Fantasy goes further, by diving into the improbable. This happens to match what's done by the most recent and powerful portion of the human brain, the prefrontal lobes, or the "lamps on the brow" that we use every day to explore our options, making up scenarios about tomorrow or the next day. Nothing could be more human. Yet some appear compelled to disparage SF with a caricature—that it consists solely of Star Wars pastiches in outer space. That's like claiming all detective films star Cheech and Chong. I have no idea why they do it.
Keeping that in mind, what is your take on cloning?
Brin: Cloning is as inevitable as flight or electricity. It needn't damn us. The key moral point is that a clone of any person will be a living, organic person, with his or her full suite of human rights. Duplicated genes won't change this, any more than we view one identical twin as a "spare" of the other. If we make this stand, the straw-man moral quandaries—like rich people growing a fresh organs to harvest from a new self in the basement—nearly all vanish. That's not a spare. It's a child, imprisoned by a monster.
Glory Season dealt with cloning in a far future. Kiln People is about something quite different—making truly disposable temporary copies of yourself. Fashioned of clay and lasting just a day, these dittos—or golems—aren't independent organic beings, but extensions of the original person, who redeposit their memories at day's end, offering people the convenience of being in two or more places at once. In other words, it's a busy person's wish-fantasy—with consequences.
Do you have a special approach to showing how people deal with change?
Brin: Well, I try to avoid putting the New Thing solely in the hands of some convenient, secretive elite—some dark cabal, government agency, corporation or mad scientist. These conventions have made for some cool stories—on their way to becoming terrible cliches.
Instead, I like to imagine—what if everybody gets to share the New Thing? Bottle it. Give it to the masses. Not only is this more interesting, it's what we do.
What's on the horizon for uplift?
Brin: Some readers want the same experience, over and over again. Fortunately, most of my fans say, "Take me somewhere I've never been before. Surprise me." That's what they liked about Startide Rising and Earth. Of course I love the Uplift universe, and I do
hope to get back to Tom and Creideiki. But there are other stories to tell along the way. Meanwhile, I've posted a few gifts for Uplift fans on my Web site.
Did being born in Southern California have an effect on your writing?
Brin: Does the environment of your upbringing affect your writing? Science fiction flourishes under conditions like those I knew as a child—a mix of optimistic confidence and new kinds of abstract terror. One never imagined hunger or serious privation as a personal possibility, but witnessed them abundantly portrayed on TV. One saw unprecedented abundance, yet felt a daily burning in the lungs from smoggy poisons that filled the Los Angeles basin. History books show that every other time in human history was more violent than my calm neighborhood, a safety that felt amazingly frail, balanced by an almost certain expectation that the world might, at any moment, fry in nuclear war.
These juxtapositions meant that I—and many other Californian writers—felt safe to discuss and explore flamboyantly, with total lack of personal inhibition. No threat of being burned at the stake! At the same time, we weren't calm. From a position of safety, we could stare in horror at a myriad failure modes, 10,000 ways that bright hopes can go bad. It taught the habit of always asking—"what if?" Of course this wasn't the first time that paradox fostered exploration. In every culture, there have always been a few crazy children of the aristocracy willing to challenge convention. Only now those few numbered many, many thousands, and not just scions of the rich. Eccentricity has become the most admired personal trait—at least as portrayed in mass media. Something definitely changed, and sci-fi played a role.
Was being pigeonholed as a science-fiction author ever a concern for you?
Brin: It can be mildly irksome. Those who desperately seek to build ghetto walls are often self-proclaimed literary mavens, who foster a reverence for "eternal human verities"—one of the creepiest phrases I can imagine. It extols a belief that human nature is intrinsically static—that the same exact issues of personal angst and confusion, the same transfixing errors and terrors, must plague every generation. They even portray this as a good thing! Don't get me wrong. Rich poignancy can be found in tales of tragedy and repeated error. SF acknowledges the worth of great literature of the past, from Aristophanes to Melville, from Shakespeare to Shelley. But over the long run, must our children wrestle with exactly the same agonies that were portrayed by Euripides, Dostoyevsky and Fitzgerald? Isn't one purpose of a good story to convey empathy for another's pain, so well that others don't have to repeat it?
Might children prove capable of learning from their parents' mistakes, growing larger and better as a result of our own efforts? If so, they will surely have new problems and face new challenges, just as we have taken on tasks our grandparents thought impossible. Instead of "eternal verities," science fiction is obsessed with notions of transformation and change. Exploring possibilities—good and bad—that lie ahead. What genre could be more relevant to the times we live in? But these very same notions terrify would-be arbiters of taste.
On a business level, do you prefer dealing with publishing or filmmakers?
Brin: Hollywood has the advantage of being awash in filthy lucre—at one level or another, you can't resist. Publishing, in contrast, is relatively impoverished. The good side of this is that most of the huge egos get attracted to film. Publishing is much less avaricious and meddlesome. If you prove yourself as an author, you are left pretty much alone to create the exact story you want.
Midway in between these two is the world of graphic novels. My second—a huge, 144 page hardcover titled The Life Eaters [DC Comics, October 2003, seen at right]—has been a fascinating collaboration with a great artist, Scott Hampton, plus letterer Todd Klein, as well as producers, art directors, etc. The scripting process—the give and take—has been very much like directing a movie. A low-budget movie with gorgeous—though flat—special effects and the complex satisfactions that arise from participating in a real team effort. I expect there will be more such intermediate art forms in years to come, till the whole notion of movie-making and storytelling will merge in really complicated ways.
How do you stay on top of current technology?
Brin: People send me stuff. I get invited to speak at scientific conferences. I'm asked to consult as a "techno-futurist" by cutting-edge companies. In other words, I'm well paid to ask questions of the brightest minds around. Dang, life is so unfair. I keep recalling that, in other civilizations, they used to burn guys like me at the stake.
Despite a myriad dangers and rampant stupidities, this is a bona fide renaissance.
What helps to inspire you?
Brin: The dour saga of human history. Every morning that I awaken and find that barbarians have not burned down my home and taken my children starts out a great day. Anyone who denies the palpable existence of progress knows nothing about life in the past.
But it's a frail new hope. It could crash if we are foolish or don't strive as hard as we can. I don't want my children to return to the caves. I want them flying around like gods, in a world that's been saved. Is that too much to ask?
The grouches and nihilists who carp endlessly, without seeing the progress, aren't trying to make things better. They are just enjoying the dopamine rush of resentment, without contributing anything constructive. Anyway, I had better be right. Because only a world filled with smart people will be able to handle the problems that lie ahead. Big problems, worth earnest attention from a mighty civilization.
How much of your writing is instinct and how much is technical?
Brin: We are mixed creatures. I'm comfortable being a blending of ancient and modern. Late at night, I can pound the keys in a frenzy as vehement and emotional as Shelley, screaming at heaven during a lightning storm. By day, the rational me then sighs, rolls up his sleeves and edits all that stuff. Skill and inspiration can work together. You gotta hope so.
Yes, I have written some pieces sharply critical of romanticism [www.davidbrin.com/tolkienarticle1.html] with its arty emphasis on the personal, the metaphorical, the mysterious, nostalgic and feudal. I defend the maligned Enlightenment values of reason, pragmatism, open knowledge-sharing and egalitarian hope. The chief
propagandists of our age—who are mostly romantics—seem bent on portraying these things as cold and sterile. But these values made a world in which the grandchildren of peasants can become billionaire movie directors while spinning fables of mind-blowing splendor.
In truth, we'll be poor creatures if we don't build lives that are rich in both sets of traits.
Did you consult with [Gregory] Benford and/or [Greg] Bear when working on Foundation's Triumph?
Brin: We worked well together. More loosely than in a collaborative novel, but with attention to each others' plot concerns.
Of course, we always remembered the Foundation universe still belongs to Isaac Asimov. Isaac dropped plenty of hints before he died. Hints that made it pretty clear ... at least to Benford and Bear and me ... where the next dilemma lay. Clues and "hanging questions," using these as hooks for the next tale. New books that take up this tradition should continue should keep asking more unanswered questions. What matters is to stay enthralled, ready to be provoked by new thoughts. To keep pushing back the curtain a little bit, learning and discussing more about our future. Whether the topic is robots—how to keep them loyal and interesting—or almost any
other dramatic device of science fiction ... dramatic devices that may become tomorrow's world-wreckers, or household conveniences.
When starting out, did you mimic (for want of a better word) other writers in order to find your own voice?
Brin: One does this unconsciously, of course. I even recommend that beginners "copy" deliberately so they can learn to recognize it, until finding their own voices [see: www.davidbrin.com/advicearticle.html] But no, when I wrote Sundiver it was for the pure fun of combining science fiction with a murder mystery in
which the body is dumped into the sun. When you are ready, you stand up and write what you want.
Was Foundation's Triumph written with the intention of a book to follow, maybe between the Gaia and Foundations?
Brin: Anything is possible. But there is so little time ... and so many stories to tell. I implied that the core events of the Foundation universe fall into a certain time. I feel Isaac was heading there. Perhaps that part of the saga will be told.
Why was the history of the Interregnum between the Empires left incomplete?
Brin: To a careful reader, the story is now clear. The First Foundation has to prevail. Isaac's universe comes full circle, all the way back to his first love. He implied it all along.
In a different fashion, Earth dealt with some of the same issues [Ursula K.] Le Guin wrote about in The Left Hand of Darkness. Was that intentional?
Brin: I'd be interested in your thoughts on this. I had not seen a parallel.
OK, at the risk of sounding like a thundering loony: structures of government/political bodies, and the contradictions and complements of same.
Brin: Well, I had Le Guin more in mind when I wrote Glory Season. I wanted to give her—and the other pastoral-feminists—what they seem to want. Only without the typical and horribly cliched collapse of civilization that nearly always precedes most
"gender-bending" SF ... a collapse that then justifies relentless anger. I wanted to see if a decent world by/of/for women might be created without undue anger or dread, or convenient
coincidence, but instead arising from calm and deliberate design by dedicated, skilled and determined radicals with a plan. I'm pleased to say that every woman scientist I know who has read Glory Season seems to like it. I sure appreciate and wanted that.
What made you decide to use press clippings between chapters in Earth?
Brin: Not just press clippings but also Web pages! Back in 1989, mind you. I was "algored" a lot about that. (But no, I did not invent the Web.) Earth was inspired by John Brunner's Stand on Zanzibar ... and the novel USA by Dos Passos... in which the reader is offered total immersion into a world, not just a linear narrative thread. Brunner's book also did something I deeply admired. Instead of portraying yet another future in which the masses are like a throng of sheep, clueless and stupid, SOZ suggested that we all may in fact be getting smarter and better ... and then suggested it may not be enough. I deem that possibility to be far more dramatic than the standard, contemptuous notion that all our fellow citizens are sheep, and that they always will be.
What is the responsibility of today's SF writer?
Brin: To be free. To explore. To be warily delighted by change and transformation and to share that wariness—and delight—with the people who will be experiencing rapid change throughout their lives.
How much of a role does social disorientation play in today's SF?
Brin: Too much, I believe. Too few authors are willing to consider the possibility that common folk are smarter than they think. In fact, I find it astonishing how adaptable regular people have proved to be. If they were utter fools—instead of merely foolish lots of
times—we'd all be dead by now. [See: www.futurist.com/portal/future_trends/david_brin_empowerment.htm]
Then why do so many authors act as if they invented moral outrage and black leather? There is no message more common in mass media—from rock videos to movies to novels—than Suspicion of Authority (SOA). We all suckled the message from an early age. I can never get over the near infinite capacity of creative-smart people to convince themselves that they invented the very same
tropes they were weaned on.
What can you tell us about your projects you have in the works?
Brin: The title of my new novel—the most original thing I've done in years—is Kiln People. [Just now nominated for a Hugo award.] Take the notion of golems—temporary clay people—not clones!—and now imagine a near future when everybody can make them. Using a "home copier" you ditto your memories—perhaps even a genuine imprint of your soul—and off goes the duplicate to run your errands, attend your classes or do all the drudgery work. Then, at day's end, you download the golem's memories. This is a book with ideas for grownups ... mixed into a fast-moving noir detective story that's just plain fun.
Paramount and DC-Wildstorm asked me to come up with a new hardcover graphic novel. The Life Eaters covers a much, much darker theme than anything else I've done, building dramatically from a novella called "Thor Meets Captain America" that came in second for a Hugo some years ago. This bold work asks: What might the Nazis have really been up to? Perhaps a hidden agenda that nobody knows about even to this day? The theme is explored with stirring imagery by the brilliant artist Scott Hampton, all the way to a surprising finish. Keep your eyes open for it in fall 2003.
Now published by Bantam Books, Contacting Aliens: An Illustrated Guide to David Brin's Uplift Universe is a fun tour of the many alien races people enjoyed in books like Startide Rising and The Uplift War. And NESFA Press has just published my third story
collection, Tomorrow Happens. Also soon to be revised and released: the legendary Uplift game, Gurps Uplift! In preparation for the long-awaited publication of the new, updated edition, author-designer Stefan Jones has vastly expanded content of interest to gamers and Uplift fans alike. Also in the works, a "Heinleinian" book in which aliens kidnap 3,000 kids from a Californian high school. What a way to start a colony!
Any final advice for living in the 21st century?
Brin: Question assumptions. Bend the expected. My sci-fi author colleagues—my fellow ranting assumption-benders—are actually paid to do this. Many other cultures would have burned us. Hell, this culture might suddenly sour and do just that—it's nearly tipped that way lots of times.
We're lucky just to be alive. But to be appreciated, too? For having loose wires in our minds? What a deal.
I'm loyal to you folks. If you keep asking for stories, I'll keep trying to come up with my share.
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