DARKNESS AND DAWN BY GEORGE ALLAN ENGLAND ILLUSTRATED —. WITH AN ADDED INTRODUCTORY ESSAY BY THE AUTHOR “THE FANTASTIC IN FICTION” HYPERION PRESS, INC. WESTPORT, CONNECTICUTTHE FANTASTIC IN FICTION* By George Allan England One of the most profitable fields of fiction, if the writer knows how to cultivate it, is that which for lack of a better term we may call “Pseudo-Scientific.” Jules Verne’s signal success is a case in point. The public, especially in these latter days, is insatiably eager for science mingled with fiction. Given a sufficiently arresting premise, a strong imaginative sense, some skill in the distortion of facts and — of course — the essential dramatic instinct without which no fiction-writer can thrive, the literary worker should be able to reap comfortable rewards from this branch of work. | broke into this field as long ago as 1906, with a story called: “The Lunar Advertising Co., Ltd.,” The basis of which was the proposition that with sufficiently strong electric lights and powerful lenses, advertising matter could be thrown on the surface of the moon. As | presented the subject, almost anybody but a technician might have been convinced that the exploit was really possible, and the story “went.” The essential factor in such work, of course, is attention to minute details — but of this | shall speak later. | followed this story up, some time later, with “The Million Dollar Patch,” dealing with the subject of plantin; and resuscitating Egyptian wheat found in a pyramid Science tells that no such wheat, 3000 years or more old, has ever been known to germinate; but the public still likes to believe that it can — hence a story which the Munsey people published. The next of a series, interspersed of course with many “normal” stories, so to speak, was “My time Annihilator,” something along the lines of H.G. Wells’ “Time- Machine,” — which, by the way, | had not at that time read. Wells is, of course, one of the most successful modern “science-fakers.” The skill wherewith he makes the impossible seem possible may well serve as a model “Published Griginally in the July, 1923 issue of The Story World under the title “Facts About Fan- tasy.”"for any aspirants in this line of endeavor. My “House of Transmutation” dealt with some rather horrific adventures in remodeling a gorilla to human form and intelligence. This was a novelette, and attracted a reasonable amount of attention. | had to do a good bit of study on evolution, biology, anatomy and surgery in preparing for it. | will confess to having been a little in- fluenced by that real masterpiece, “The Island of Dr. Moreau” in writing this story, though, of course, the handling was essentially different. And right here let me remark that science-faking requires a great deal of research. One has to “bone” an immense mass of data, in order to give the requisite air of verisimilitude. Slipshod methods simply won’t do. It is the progressive marshalling of minutiae, the commulative assembling of (often willful- ly falsified) data which convinces the reader that: “Well, it’s mighty strange but still there might be something toit, after all.” On a pinch, one can quote learned authorities which never existed, and fabricate weighty conclusions out of whole cloth. If one cannot, it proves that one has not the requisite analytical twist to make one a success at this peculiarly mendacious form of storytelling. In 1909 | launched into a really ambitious story, “Beyond White Seas,” which ran as a serial in one of the Munsey publications. The theme was that, since all our biological development is based on chlorophy|, the life of a region lacking this essential transmuting substance would be radically different. | took a shipload of mutineers into Arctic regions where chlorophl had never existed, and brought them in contact with lifeforms, both lower and humanoid, which furnished about 80,000 words of thrills. At the same time this story managed to get a few truths over and teach a number of lessons. Parenthetical- ly, science-faking really can be made mildly didactic. In the bushel of chaff, a grain of good wheat can be hidden. Let the writer resolve, that for every 100 lies, he shall tell at least one truth of real value to the world, and perhaps he can somewhat salve his conscience. My “Man With the Glass Heart.” adopted a theme which the title sufficiently explains. After reading it over, myself, | was almost convinced that the surgical miracle described was possible. Why shouldn’t immortality be conferred by some mechanical device? Perhaps the im- mortalized world of the year 3500 may yet erect “monuments more enduring than brass” to the memory of one who first conceived this idea. It’s unpatented; go to it! | next, in the same year — 1911 — turned out “The Elixir of Hate,” based on the old Elixir of Life theme. If the Elixir of Life can suspend the advance of age, why might not some similar compound turn back the hands of time and make a man grow progressively younger? The manner in which the aged, scientific villain trapped his enemy and administered the potion, causing the victim eventually to become a child; and the hair-raising way in which the child took vengeance, provided shudders for about six issues of the “All Story,” But Lord knows | had to burn the midnight tungsten over books on chemistry and alchemy, to do it. My “Crime Detector” involved some mechanical and electrical effects that would have made Edison, Marconi and even Tesla and Steinmetz turn pale. As for my “In the Fourth Dimension,” | believe even Einstein would have considered it relatively too relative. It brought in the pieces-of-eight, however; and there was nothing intangi- ble or fourth-dimensional about them, either. Nineteen-eleven saw me well launched on my career of scientifically running amok. “Darkness and Dawn” originated in a chance conversation with a scientifically- minded writer. We fell to discussing what would happen to a couple of human beings — a man and a woman, of course, left all alone in the world. For parts of three years | worked at this problem, turning out three complete novels on the subject: “Darkness and Dawn,” “Beyond the Great Oblivion,” and “The Afterglow.” It is only stating a fact to say that these serials “went big” and even after the last was published, demands were made for some further adventures of Allan and Beatrice. My im- agination along this line, however, is ausgespielt. After 225,000 words of solid imagining, there’s.a limit! Small, Maynard Co., lumped the three novels into one book, which enjoyed a very excellent sale, and branded me, without hope of controversy as an incorrigible liar. In 1912, | took up the theme of a superscientist dis- i | a .covering a radi-active principle which, at any distance, could dasolve gold to ashes. The tricks he played with the world’s treasures and with the war-making financiers would have surpassed all credulity had | not bolstered them up with a wealth of convincing data. There's nothing like quotations from eminent authorities, minute descriptions of machinery, discussion of atomic and ionic vibrations, and the like, to gloss the impossible and trick it out in shining garments of Truth. H.K. Fly Company published this novel, after its magazine run, and | bought a car that really went, with the proceeds of my shameless prevarication. — This book really had some moral raison d'etre. It con- tained numerous sugar-coated pellets of anti-militarism; exposed the hideous wastes and cruelties of war; pointed the way toward the socialization of the world’s resources; and taught a good many lessons about the real powers behind the governmental thrones — the powers of Capitalism. Thus, you see, even a fable of this character can convey its kernel of truth. To record all the stories and novels which | have built up on pseudo-scientific themes would convert this brief article into a catalogue. | will mention only a few more. “The Night Horror,” which ran as a novelette in the “Blue Book” handled the theme of scientist transplanting an ex- ecuted murderer’s brain into the skull of a huge dog, resulting in a series of crimes and outrages that must have kept a few timid readers awake o’ nights for a while. At least, | hope so! “The Empire in the Air” dealt with the calamities of the world when invaded by a hostile army of Things from Interstellar Space. | wrote close to 100,000 words on this, and invented calamities enough to please the most exactingly pessimistic; all thoroughly propped with a wealth of scientific details. “The Love Wrecker” recorded the career of a rather outrageous old mis- anthrope who reversed the formula of a love-philter, so that any who partook of it would loathe the formerly- adored object. Unfortunately for himself, the villain by accident took an overdose of his own medicine, and perished by hating himself to death — surely a unique way to shuffle off! If there’s anything in the way of love- philters | didn’t investigate while writing this cheerful novelette, | wonder what it may be? “The Air Trust” dealt with the attempt of two sinister capitalists to corner the air-supply and sell it through meters to the world’s oppressed. When the novel appeared in book form, | wrote a little preface for it, from which let me quote a few lines to illustrate the principle that a scientific fairy-tale must seem to possess a certain logic: “This book is an attempt to carry the monopolistic principle to its logical conclusion. If a monopoly be right in oil, coal, beef, steel or whatnot, it would also be right in larger ways involving the use of the ocean and the air. Had capitalists been able to bring the seas and the at. mosphere under physical control, they would long ago have monopolized them....Granting, then, the premise that the air supply of the world could be controlled, an Air Trust logically follows. Such a Trust would inevitably lead to the utter enslavement of the human race...” How this enslavement was riveted to the world, and what befell therefrom, furnished material for about 80,000 words. It required some hard research study, all very useful. Of course, the grasping monopolists at last fell vic- tim to their own greed, perishing miserably in an im- mense steel chamber of oxygen in their own gigantic Air Plant — which is quite as it should be. And the hero and heroine “lived happy ever after.” This introduces the question as to the story-element in such work. Romance must always, if possible, be in- terwoven with science. The scientific warp must be shot through with the woof of human interest and love. He who aspires to become a weaver of scientific themes must take heed to keep his patterns well adjusted; for otherwise his appeal will be limited to the scientifically- minded. And for one such reader, scores of romance- eaters exist. Nothing succeeded in checking my deluge of scien- tific vagaries. In 1915 | wrote “The Plunge,” that with much detail described the events sequent on the meteor striking a passenger dirigible in mid-air. | also turned out “The Fatal Gift,” on the theme of a woman being made absolutely and perfectly beautiful by scientific means. A rare old tragedy developed from her excessivepulchritude, you may believe! For this story | invented a preface which gave with utmost detail the various — faked-up — authorities and processes consulted; and so brazenly realistic were my data that I even received letters from anxious readers, wanting to know how they too could be made fatally beautiful! Speaking of limits—! “Cursed,” in 1918, handled a lot of Oriental taboos, imprecations and poisons, and made me sweat not only over books on chemistry and ethnology, but also forced me to study the Malay language. The story repaid me, though, for after its magazine run it went into book-form with Small, Maynard, then — like “The Golden Blight,” — into a Grosset and Dunlap reprint, and finally ended up as a Fox production; one case at least where science-faking made the pot boil merrily. “The Nebula of Death,” in the same year, gave 120,- 000 words of scientific reasons why a nebula of poison gas might easily enough obliterate such of the human race as hasn’t skill enough to combat it. Such a slaughter, my friends! | certainly eliminated the unfit at a marvelous rate. Other writers have killed their thousands, but | have butchered my millions. When murdering, do a good job of it. Anything worth doing at all....you know! “The Flying Legion” was packed full of science, most of it fraudulent. Why stick to facts, when fancies can be tricked out in such alluring guise? Remember, however, you must always build up a presumptive possibility, and lard it well with baits of actual truth. From this you can slip easily to the manifestly impossible so disguised that the bolus goes down without a quiver on the reader’s part. That book —McClurg — was verily well-packed with ions, vibrations, ethric interferences. transmutations of matter and all the rest of it, ad lib. It cost a lot of study, but it paid liberally. Which, after all, is the prime factor for such of us gross materialistis as like to feed regularly and burn gas- oline. Then there was “The Living Head,” involving a lot of biological science and surgical work to make a master crook — blind, with a broken spine and a body complete- ly paralyzed—manage a gang of as sinister malefactors as ever ravaged society. This story paid a lot of grocery bills that had no illusions in them at all. Verb sap. “The Thing from Outside” is a recent member of my Fake Family. It recounts the appaling fate of some luckless explorers attacked by a silent, invisible Thing which wants their brains for experimental Purposes. Oh, a very shuddering sort of story, indeed! | had to read Charles Fort’s “Book of the Damned,” before writing the story. | wonder if Fort will reciprocate by reading my phan- tasmagoria! One redeeming feature of the business is that it really teaches you a lot. You have to buy, beg, borrow or —hm! — otherwise procure scientific books, and read, read, read. Each story you write enlarges your fund of informa- tion as well as your bank account. This is better, is it not? than just shovelling out the he-and-she stuff which con- stitutes so vast a percentage of modern fiction? For Science, even in her fictionized forms is august. She is the conquerer of time and space, of matter and force. And who shall say that today’s fiction may not be tomorrow’s fact? In some cases where credulity might be strained too far, as in my “Collier's” story: “June 6, 2606,” | lay the action so far in the future that no one can ever ac- cuse me of being brother to Ananias. Wise idea, eh? Science-faking has, too, the redeeming feature of making people think. It cannot but incline the reader's mind to what is increasingly becoming the most impor- tant factor in the world’s thought — the scientific habit of mind. To this extent it helps chase away the pestiferous lit- tle imps of supernaturalism and superstition. And to this extent, does it not — in addition to furnishing diversion — Possess a certain social value? By no means do | confine myself to scientific fairy tales. Most of my work is legitimate enough. Only now and then do | break loose, choose an alluring theme, sand the rail, pull out the throttle and gO careering on a mad run through the uplands of Science. It’s an exilarating form of sport; and what's better, it pays. !t amuses the writer, teaches the public something, and helps pay the butcher, the baker and the pneumatic tire maker — and so why shouldn’t everybody, all round, be quite content?