I am taking the time in this article to admit, once and for all, one of my deepest and innermost secrets: I am a closet sci-fi fan.
Yes, it’s true. I am absolutely addicted to “Dr. Who” and “Firefly,” I buy and pore over Orson Scott Card and Douglas Adams novels, and recently I willingly spent $10 to see “Apollo 18,” which incidentally scared the living daylights out of me. I am by no means an expert in all things sci-fi — I am still way behind on my “Star Trek” knowledge, and no, I have not seen the three “Star Wars” prequels, thank you for asking — but I am quite a devotee of the series that I follow and the books I read.
I was fairly surprised to discover my love of science fiction. I grew up reading historical novels and watching Disney movies, and I certainly have not abandoned those beloved genres. But I certainly never would have pegged myself as a sci-fi fan growing up — at least, not until the day we read Ray Bradbury’s short story “All Summer in a Day” in my seventh grade English class. From there, I could not get enough of the genre. I read “Brave New World” in one day and discovered the joys of the “Chronicles of Riddick” series. Their story lines are captivating, and the worlds that the authors and directors create pull you in and don’t let go.
But science fiction goes beyond the fanatics who dress up as Storm Troopers and go to Comic Con every year. Science fiction — in fact, almost every genre of fiction — is intended to stretch our imaginations and make us see our world in a new way. The advantage of sci-fi is how it puts our own world into perspective. The expansion of the universe in these movies, books and shows puts the planet earth into a context where it is not the dominating force, a thought that can be both tantalizing and terrifying. The possibility of extraterrestrial life, of the expansion of the human race onto other planets, and the exploration of the outer depths of our galaxy are all prospects that could very well happen in our lifetimes, and yet no one knows when or if it will. We are pulled into the world of science fiction for the very reason that it is close enough to reality to be plausible, but far enough to still force us to use our imaginations to envision a world with aliens and intergalactic battles. It serves not only as an escape from our daily lives, it takes us into a world that we could possibly be a part of one day, a world that extends far beyond the reaches of what we can even imagine.
So what, then, is the appeal of historical fiction? If we are so enticed by exploring the future of our world, why would we choose to read about things that have already happened? Historical fiction is certainly less imaginative than science fiction, as it is limited (at least to a certain extent) by a historical precedent. So perhaps the appeal of a historical novel is the fact that it embodies the way we were, instead of where we are headed.
People have been writing and reading historical fiction since at least 1800 B.C. when an anonymous Egyptian wrote a manuscript called “The Tale of Sinuhe,” which was set a few centuries prior to its publication. Something about the past fascinates a part of all of us, whether it is re-imagining the military battles of World War II, envisioning the beautiful dresses of noble women in the court of Louis XIV, or reading about the romantic escapades of Henry VIII. But unlike sci-fi, the draw of historical fiction does not result from the imagining of what could be; it focuses instead on what we once were. We imagine what it would have been like to be there, we understand how different things were, and yet we realize that those people are not too unlike us.
Fiction is a mirror of reality, but what we see in the mirror has entranced us for millennia and will continue to do so as long as people are writing books and making movies and television shows. It shows us what we were, what we are, and what we can be. We love these stories because they show us the one thing we can count on: the continuity of the human race.
— Sarah Russell is a junior in history. She can be reached at srusse22@utk.edu.
