I all but stopped reading any science fiction when I became a scientist. To me, a science fiction story should incorporate real physical principles. A story that depends on pure fantasy disguised in a sciency-looking wrapper is neither science fiction nor fantasy.
I do read fantasy; it is more honest because no one is trying to pass off the physically impossible as being futuristic.
I also can’t stand the political correctness permeating so many stories. Sometimes, the story is good enough that it can transcend the author’s politically correct moralizing, but usually, it becomes unreadable. There are many good authors out there who do not try to moralize, but just tell a story. This isn’t to say that morals are not incorporated in their stories, but that their stories are not vehicles for trying to ram far-leftist ideals down our throats.
Terry Goodkind, Orson Scott Card, Terry Brooks are just a few living authors who tell good stories. Of course, we cannot forget the past masters—Isaac Asimov, Ray Bradbury, Arthur C. Clark, JRR Tolkein...
With your science background, you’ll find this interesting:
http://www.airspacemag.com/daily-planet/science-publishing-some-skepticism-required-180954871/
Thoughts?
There’s a lot of good science fiction written by people who know at least some science well. Especially short stories.
One of the great things about FR is shared experience. I wasn’t quite sure if SF was becoming more preachy and leftwing, or if I just hadn’t noticed it when I was younger, or if I’d just matured and outgrown it.
It would be nice to have a source with Amazon-like reviews that was by and for conservatives. I’d consider reading an occasional SF novel again if I could be assured of not having leftwing claptrap spewed at me.
BTW, I give 3+ stars to Crichton’s “State of Fear”. It’s somewhat the rightwing style of preaching and not as good as some of his other work, but the message/warning is worth thinking about.
There's some good SF written by people who know science.
Travis Taylor is a scientist and engineer who writes some good stuff, especially when partnered with John Ringo.
Baen Books has some great authors, and for most of the books you can read the first few chapters online to see if you like it, then either order the physical book, or download an ebook to Kindle. Baen also has a library of free eBooks by selected authors.
Some of my current favorite authors are John Ringo, Travis Taylor, Tom Kratman, Larry Correia, Orson Scott Card, and David Drake.
Alastair Reynolds writes amazing hard SF, although his work tends to be very dystopian.
It's not just Sci-Fi, but the current fiction in general I can no longer read, for the same reason. Everything seems to have a feminist or left-wing agenda. I would stick to anything before 1970.
“Of course we did it! We had to do it!” the skinny young man yelled, spittle flying from his lips, straining forward against the ropes we used to tie him to the wooden chair “If we hadn't firebombed the mosque, how would we demonize you right-wing goons and win the election?”
“So you admit it?” I asked incredulously “You admit you did this?”
“What can you do about it? Put it on your blog?” he asked with a smirk and a laugh “Who cares?”
“So you admit that it was you who started this war?”
“Whatever. Everyone knows who the bad guys are, that is the important thing. It's you who is being hunted down! You are finally getting what you deserve” the boy said, he was now calm- for the moment. No doubt the next statement will be smothered in hateful anger. He was as crazy as the rest of them.
“And what will happen when the public finds out the truth?”
“They won't find out” the boy said “The media knew the truth before they ever wrote their stories, before the first television breaking newscast interrupted prime time television. The people who organized the candle-light vigils for the poor dead Muslims, and the marches against right-wing haters like you, they all knew who torched the place”
“Why?” I asked, knowing the answer. “Why did you burn down the mosque and kill all those people?”
He sighed and shook his head. “You still don't get it?”
“Because it makes no logical sense” I said
“Logic. Who cares about logic? Who cares about the truth? We are at war, you are the enemy. So what if we had to dupe the public to get them on our side?” the young man was getting louder again “We are the good guys!”
“So the good guys are the ones who commit mass murder and lie to the public and lead lynchings against other innocent people? Are you sure about that?” I asked calmly. He huffed and snarled against the ropes again, but he was getting tired.
“You people are always going on and on about freedom and individual rights. That is crazy. The new order will crush the individual back into his place.” he said.
“And what does this new order look like? I am guessing there isn't a lot of freedom”
He shook his head and turned a bit red in the face before relaxing, as if giving up the fight against the restraints. “The new order will grant rights to blacks, hispanics, women and sexual minorities....”
“Grant rights?” I asked “So they also have the power to take away those so-called 'rights'?”
“Don't interrupt me” he said, imperiously “White people and men will be taken down a notch or three”
“So much for equality” I pretended to sigh.
“No such thing as equality. The new order will work it all out.” he said “Now that we have total control of the government, the media and the education system, nothing can stop us”
I smiled. “You forgot about the war”
“What? You think that will change anything?”
“It will change many things” I told him “For one, there are now large swaths of the country where the government has been replaced. Where the people are told the truth. Where people value their freedom and prosperity and their childrens' as well”
He laughed “We can outlast you, we have been fighting this war for decades before you even knew there was a fight.”
“Except for one thing. Your side cannot win any fight. Your side is a paper tiger because it has no foundation except for rage and hate. Once people see that they are fighting for lies and for their own enslavement, your side will crumble into dust” I told him “I know your media hasn't reported it but did you know that Boston was cut off? It is under siege. It has been for more than two weeks, no food has been allowed into that city.”
“Impossible, we are winning!”
I shook my head “You are deluded”
“They said we took out your shock-troops in Tulsa” he said, searching his thoughts.
“No. Those were protesters, they were protesting against your governments war against their Christian faith. Your government dropped bombs on a thousand black men, women and children who were peacefully marching to the federal building”
“No!” he said, wanting to close his ears. Then he calmed down. “They were Christians, so they probably deserved it”
“Really? Do you really think good guys think that way?” I asked him “Just how many hate crimes have you faked since you became one of their provocateurs?”
He looked lost. “Activist” I offered.
“Why does it matter?” he said “It's all your fault.”
“Wow. So its okay for you to commit hate-crimes, staged to make it seem like a white male Christian did it, for PR reasons, because you are good and we are bad?” I asked “Maybe, just maybe, you have it backwards?”
He was dismissive.
“You have killed a lot of innocent people for a 'good guy' but you don't seem the least bit frightened of evil ol' me, why is that? Is it because you know I'm not a killer? That I am not the bad person you have brainwashed yourself into believing? Of course. You know full well that it was all a lie, didn't you?”
He looked surprised by this. “No! Why are you making me into a psychopath?”
I sat back and pretended to make a mark in a notebook. “I'm just the interviewer here. You are prisoner #3,258, you are the one who faces trial and execution for your crimes.”
“That again?”
“Did you know Malcolm Hendrick?” I asked.
He looked totally stunned. “Never heard of him” he squeaked.
“You were at the same college. He was the star running back, so you must have at least known of him” I explained “You had some classes together”
“Doesn't ring a bell”
“So you really do not remember American Literature class on March 8th?”
He just stared at the ceiling.
“My notes say that while discussing a book, Brave New World was it?, that you and Malcolm took opposite sides. Maybe that is when he became a target?”
No change.
“You lynched him. Left fake white supremacist literature around that you printed from the internet. Are you proud to be a murderer? Were you proud to have struck a blow for the cause?”
He said nothing. Soon enough the guards dragged him back to his cage. “I am not a psychopath!” he screamed over and over.
A week later he had been found guilty and sentenced to death. I met him again before the sentence was carried out.
“There was an old saying that the revolution will not be televised” I said, sitting in a chair next to the cage but too far to be in danger of an outburst. “It was though. The radicals like you totally controlled the television channels, it became more and more clear that a revolution had taken place as time went on”
He was sitting on the floor looking off into space. “I'm going to die soon” he mumbled “but victory shall be sweet. I will be a martyr”
“No. You will be forgotten like a speck of dust” I corrected him.
“Even among your movement, people like you are discarded like so much trash” I told him “Now that their grab at power is failing – and they will lose – you mean less than nothing to them. Do you think Lenin made national heroes out of anonymous assassins? They even airbrushed heroes out of photographs once they were no longer useful, and you would never have risen to that. You were a pawn, if that.”
“We can't lose” he said, seemingly to himself.
I took a small TV out of my pocket and held it toward him. It was a live broadcast from one of the big networks, showing devastation in downtown Washington DC. The title underneath was “Federal District Food Riots Cause Mayhem”.
“It's only a matter of time now. All the major cities are starving. People are turning against your government, seeing that we were right all along.”
He was still quiet but there were some tears. Somehow near the end, he was human again. At least a little bit.
“I know you don't believe in God, but it can comfort a soul to pray before the end” I told him “I can bring a priest or pastor or rabbi or whatever”
I walked toward the door. “Can you pray with me?” a quiet voice asked. “I'm scared”