If I’ve never mentioned before, I was weaned on Star Trek, cut my teeth on Dr. Who, and reared on a healthy diet of Star Wars. I also loved, as a child, to discover science-fiction in my local library. It’s hard to remember them all. Animorphs was a big one, as well as, I Was a Sixth Grade Alien. Aliens Ate My Homework, and the subsequent titles gave me no end of pleasure. There was some title I cannot find anywhere on the internet. It was a series set after the space race, and its four main characters, if I remember them properly, were the self-insert hero, his (I think) Indian friend, a red head whose entire character was being a red head, and an android. I can remember so much, but not the title. In the first book they explore the moon or some asteroid, and they find what amounts to an alien S.O.S. which their robot can communicate with. The S.O.S. message gives the protagonists the technological knowledge of how to travel faster than light and help the struggling planet against their enemies. In the second book, they reach the planet only to discover that the aliens calling for help are anthropomorphic ants, their enemies extremely human in appearance. (If anyone remembers this series, please tell me).
The thing is, as I grew up, science fiction became less and less appealing. As I read the more adult works of science fiction, I found something of the heart, the thing I loved as a child, missing. I want to say that this missing aspect is hope. There were always dire straits, malice, corrupt governments, and just plain bad luck which the heroes strived against, but amidst all that, they strove for the good, for truth, justice, and the American way. Yet the “adult” works of science fiction seem to so often be pornography and bad philosophy.
I have a love hate relationship with science fiction; I want it to be something which it no longer is.