E.S. Raye

Over the last year or so, I’ve found myself reading more classic science fiction than usual. Last year, I read Larry Niven’s Ringworld series for the first time. I just finished my first read-through of Arthur C. Clarke’s Rendezvous with Rama, and now I’m readying Clarke’s Childhood’s End, a favorite of mine from adolescence.

While I loved each of them, I couldn’t help but notice how much these classic works of science fiction clash with the hard-learned lessons I have studied to write my own science fiction.

I am specifically talking about character development and arcs.

None of the aforementioned books really has any character development, let alone anything we might consider a character-driven plot by today’s standards. Instead, they deal specifically with grand ideas and events and how humanity might experience them.

In other words, especially when it comes to Ringworld and Rendezvous with Rama, there’s a lot of “ooo-ing” and “aaah-ing” at these incredible alien artifacts (Niven’s titular ringworld today’s readers would recognize as the inspiration for the Halo from, well, Halo, and Clarke’s Rama, an ancient and mysterious spacecraft containing an inside-out, cylindrical world).

The characters that encounter these artifacts aren’t so much changed by what they experience, as they are used as windows for the reader to experience events with them. There is minimal (in fact, almost no) character conflict. There is no “lie” the character believes that needs to be overcome by the “truth” the story is trying to convey, as we would expect in today’s fiction.

This is also true of Childhood’s End, though in a slightly different way. That story takes place over decades, shifting the focus between different human characters as the story progresses. No one sticks around long enough to have what we would consider a character arc.

Now, compare this to more modern fare.

All Systems Red by Martha Wells, the first in the Murderbot series, follows the story of a security android who spends a lot of time around humans. This leads to it overriding its original programming and developing emotions, a clear character arc.

The Martian by Andy Weir follows an astronaut who is marooned on Mars in the near future. He initially thinks he’s as good as dead and that there is no chance of rescue (his lie). But over the course of the story, he becomes increasingly capable, adapting and changing to meet the challenges he faces.

Even Jurassic Park gives Alan Grant a distinct character arc (although this is more true of the movie than the book). In the movie, he begins the story only interested in the deep past, lost in a world of sand and fossils. And his dislike for children is put on full display. However, by the movie’s end, he is risking his own life for the kids and, symbolically, the future.

This begs the question, why? Why do we now emphasize characters rather than the grand mysteries of the cosmos?

I don’t have a definitive answer, but I suspect it comes down to a few elements. First, it’s simply changing tastes. Today’s audience expects their protagonists to change through the story. We want to see them confront the lie in their life and realize the truth of the world.

Furthermore, using a character arc to make a moral or ethical point feels more natural. If the protagonist starts on one side of an issue the writer wants to discuss, the point can be made more convincing to the audience if the protagonist has to face the reasons they’re wrong and change accordingly.

Secondly, I imagine there is some element of capitalism at play as well—especially in the world of traditional publishing. It is a simple fact that publishers (as well as film production companies) prefer to put their money towards things that are proven to work. Today’s audiences have gotten used to character-driven plots, and thus, character-driven plots get the money and attention.

Now, don’t get me wrong. I’m not advocating for science fiction writers to return to the styles of Clarke and Niven unanimously. But I do think there is room for both.

Case in point: Becky Chamber’s The Long Way to a Small Angry Planet. In my opinion, this book has practically no plot at all. Characters leave on their ship to tunnel a wormhole to a planet. Things happen along the way. Chambers explores different cultures and an optimistic future. It is very character-driven, but there is no singular plot. Still, I loved it.

Science fiction is a window into not only the future but our own present. As such, it must change and evolve, but not necessarily in a singular direction.