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Notes Chapter One: Introduction (pages 1–33) 1. For a general introduction to the cultural reception of evolutionary theory in Victorian England, see Fichman; on the impact of evolutionary theory on Victorian anthropology, see Stocking, 145–85; on Social Darwinism, see Hawkins. 2. See Anne McClintock’s analysis in Imperial Leather of the relation between “panoptical time” and “anachronistic space” in imperialist science and popular culture , 36–42. 3. Mulvey constructs her analysis of the cinematic gaze in terms of gender ideology and its uneven distribution of power between the male gaze and the female object of that gaze. However, the application of Mulvey’s term to representations of colonial and postcolonial subjects is not being suggested here for the first time. See E. Ann Kaplan ’s Looking for the Other: Feminism, Film, and the Imperial Gaze. 4. On Gartley’s photography, see Andrews; on the use of such photography in the promotion of the tourist industry, see Bacchilega and Davis. 5. I am indebted for the ideas in these two sentences to Carl Freedman’s thesis in Critical Theory and Science Fiction. 6. One needs to be cautious about Kincaid’s formulation, however. Reducing science fiction to “whatever we are looking for when we look for science fiction” means nothing unless “we” know something about who we are and, more to the point, “we” can be identified on the basis of those who recognize a certain set of conventions. The fact that generic identity always resides in a reading audience, far from reducing the generic conventions to individual whimsy, should operate as a reminder of their historical grounding. 7. The broad and loose approach to defining science fiction taken here corresponds to the practice of Thomas Clareson in Science Fiction in America, 1870s–1930s: An Annotated Bibliography of Primary Sources and Everett Bleiler in Science-Fiction: The Early Years. The ensuing discussion will show how my position differs from Bleiler’s claim that science fiction is “only a commercial term” (Early Years xi). The more drastic difference, however, lies between my approach and that of Darko Suvin, who painstakingly excludes material that does not conform to his strict formal definition of science fiction in the bibliographical section of Victorian Science Fiction in the UK. 8. Samuel R. Delany’s insistence that the history of science fiction goes back no further than about 1910 is directed against professional academic constructions of science fiction that have sought to lend it the prestige of “literature,” in the sense implied by Suvin’s use of the term “sub-literary,” by connecting science fiction to the long traditions of satire, utopia, and marvelous journeys. Delany stresses, in contrast, the importance of the science fiction subculture of writers and fans for understanding the development of science fiction in the mid-twentieth century; see Silent Interviews, 152– 57. Justine Larbalestier’s The Battle of the Sexes in Science Fiction is an excellent example of what can be done along the line of research that Delany advocates. On the relation of Bourdieu’s sociological analyses to the problem of understanding literary canon construction in general, see John Guillory’s Cultural Capital. 9. The “miraculous birth” of science fiction in one or the other of these two texts is an idea that Fredric Jameson throws off, apparently rather off-handedly, twice in his Archaeologies of the Future (1, 57). 10. The most influential identifier of Shelley’s Frankenstein as standing at the origin of science fiction in English is Brian Aldiss, who first elaborated the claim in Billion Year Spree (1974; revised as Trillion Year Spree in 1986); see Aldiss, 25–52; other thoughtful discussions of the importance of this early text to the history of science fiction include Alkon, Science Fiction before 1900, the first sentence of which is, “Science fiction begins with Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein,” and Freedman, Critical Theory and Science Fiction, 48–50. On the publication history and critical reception of Frankenstein in the nineteenth century, see St. Clair. 11. The best surveys of the lost-race motif are Thomas Clareson’s chapter, “Journeys to Unknown Lands,” in Some Kind of Paradise; Clareson’s “Lost Lands, Lost Races;” and Nadia Khouri’s “Lost Worlds and the Revenge of Realism.” Neither Clareson nor Khouri attends consistently to the difference between the adventure-fantasy and satiricalutopian strains of the motif, nor do either of them give anything close to adequate attention to the colonialist and imperialist contexts of lost-race fiction. Khouri in particular reads the...


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