Thoughts on a solarpunk “canon”
In an upcoming episode of the podcast, Christina and I discuss briefly whether there’s such thing as a canon of solarpunk literature.
Given my background as an English Literature PhD who studied the formation of the Canadian canon of literature at mid-century, I hate the idea. CanLit is a trashfire for many reasons, not least because it was wholly constructed by the academy about 60-70 years ago as a nationalist project by and for a certain type of citizen. That is, educated, upper class white settler cis males who want desperately to be Established and Serious like the Americans and the British (cis females, too; I guess they’re allowed to be educated now too, although when Margaret Atwood was writing her thesis at Harvard University in the early 1960s, they still didn’t allow women into the Lamont Library of modern poetry, so there’s that).
I certainly don’t want solarpunk to follow in that pattern. I don’t know that solarpunk has a type of reader in mind, but I wonder if readers have a type of author in mind when it comes to the concept of a solarpunk “canon”. I mean this in the same way that we think about the canon of American literature and think about dead white dudes who were either sort of adventurous and certainly experienced hardship of a sort (Hemingway, Melville, Twain) or dead white dudes who pontificated about human nature or the wild (Thoreau, Lovecraft), or dead white ladies who also did that but used nicer words and maybe a rhyme or two (Dickinson, Mitchell). Or the British canon, that also features men being super into human nature and the natural world (Blake, Dickens) and ladies who write about literally the same thing but use different words and perspectives (Austen, the Brontës). Et cetera.*
Certainly there’s a list of books that I want handy to readily give to anyone who is looking for solarpunk genre recommendations. But I’m not sure solarpunk will ever quite have the same issues with canonicity as traditional literature.
This is because most solarpunk works are intentionally multi-authored, or explicitly informed by a community. This is evident in the very first works of solarpunk fiction on the market, which could be argued as a good starting point for new readers. They were anthologies, and thus by definition polyvocal.
Not only that, but the very first work of published solarpunk fiction that I ever encountered was actually an edited collection translated from the original Brazilian. So not only were the perspectives different, there weren’t actually any from my corner of the world, using the shorthands I was familiar with, relying on the narrative conventions that western English writing tends to follow, embodying the same philosophical underpinnings that run society in so-called Canada and North America.
Early solarpunk anthologies also experimented with setting, narrative style, and flavouring to the point where genres started colliding, which to me was extremely cool. I think it is happening less now – a consequence of the genre solidifying – but is still a thing. The special issues of Solarpunk Magazine showcase this fluidity and polyvocality.
I think that solarpunk resists a lot of the impulses that inform canon-creation: the single author, the dictated themes and explicit nationalism, the single vision of a future, assuming the readers’ identities, etc. So maybe my kneejerk reaction to shout “NO STOP NEVER” when someone brings up the idea of a “solarpunk canon” is unwarranted.
I get asked a lot, when I tell people about SP, to recommend some of my favourite solarpunk books. Truth is, I don’t really have favourites; I tend to recommend they read the stories that I think they would like. It’s a question that always throws me because I don’t quite know where to start. I also want to be cautious of the impulse to tell them there are some must-read solarpunk works, that there are narratives that define the genre, that they must be familiar with certain stories or else they just won’t “get it.” Whatever “it” is. I feel like there’s been enough of that in various subgroups of genre fiction for years, and I don’t want to play that game.
As someone who studied science fiction, I can tell you quite honestly that there is no real canon of science fiction. Nor is there a canon of feminist science fictions. There is not a canon of military SF nor a canon of social SF. There are just good stories, ones that are referenced a lot, and some that are unjustly pretty looked over, but they’re waiting to be discovered! Anyone who tries to argue for canon in any field of literature, in my opinion, is investing their energy in making other people feel like they are left out. That’s not something to be proud of, but it’s born from the impulse to be taken seriously, and I get it. In the same way that CanLit was created by a country in order to consciously construct a literary/national identity that could compete on the world stage, genre fiction often feels compelled to create an identity based around works of literature that fans can pin their identities to. It all boils down to the impulse of wanting to be like the others. Social acceptance is something that we as humans crave; we’re hardwired for it. And so my interpretation of the creation of CanLit is that it was kind of tragic from the start, to be honest. Any gatekeeping reads, in this light, as incredibly tragic to me. It’s the impulse of a scared, lonely group of individuals who feel unseen, unrecognized, and disrespected by others who have more social cachet, whether those be countries or literary genres.
An online image search for “science fiction canon” resulted in this collage.
What is a canon except a set of stories that people really liked and felt they had truth to them, or spoke to where they were in life, that other authors referenced because they liked them and they were relevant at the time of writing? There’s nothing sacred about canon. I hate that I’m still typing this word.
Controversial opinion, but language is important, especially in how we use it. This might come as a shock to some, but the ideology encoded into the words we choose to use can gesture towards a whole history of meaning. And, you know, triggers in the sense of the word triggering the starting shot of a race down an internet search hole full of phrases like “formal criticism” and “seminal*** authors”
So let’s just not call this a canon, okay? Maybe “solarpunk starting points” or “early solarpunk” or “important solarpunk voices”. Because “canon” is a word with a LOT of baggage.
I want to hear from you, readers. What are some must-read books that are solarpunk starting points, in your opinion? If an acquaintance asked you to recommend them some hopeful climate fiction, what would you recommend?
*Disclaimer: Despite my flippant tone, please know that I actually really like a lot of these books and authors;** I’m just an academic and I immensely enjoy taking apart and and scrutinizing what I love. Even the parts I don’t like. Especially the parts I don’t like.
**Except H.P. Lovecraft, that man was a living garbage dump. At least we can use the compost: his ideas were pretty fun, but as a person I find him incredibly vile and I’m glad he’s dead.
***Don’t use this word. It sounds like semen (’cause that’s what it’s from). Just stop, you’re embarrassing yourself without knowing it and I’m having to suffer the secondhand shame and it’s very uncomfortable in here all of a sudden. Also, you’re implying that whatever you’re talking about wouldn’t exist without the cis male creative impulse which, depending on the context, might not even be true.