The state of science fiction is as bad as Australian breakdancing

It seems like most of the internet is talking about the hilariously bad breakdancing performance given by Australia at the Paris Olympics. Apparently, the “athlete” in question is actually a university professor named Rachael Gunn who specializes in breakdancing studies, or some such nonsense, and the main reasons she got the nod to compete are 1) the Australian breakdancing scene is woefully small, 2) she’s (allegedly) an LGBTQ+ woman, with all the right political opinions, and 3) her husband was on the committe that made the decision to qualify her. Taking advantage of those three factors, she’s apparently made a name for herself in Australia, even winning some local competitions—because who would dare criticize such a stunning and brave LGBTQ+ woman? So of course, she went on to compete on the international scene… and made such a mockery of herself and her sport that the judges awarded her straight zeroes, and the Olympics committee pulled breakdancing from the 2028 Los Angelos Olympics. Wah wah.

While this story is rightly hilarious, and proves the eternal truth that wokeness ruins everything, I can’t help but notice the parallels between the state of Australian breakdancing, that someone so inept and untalented could leverage a “studies” degree to dominate it, and the current state of science fiction. Specifically, this is the comment that made me think about this, which is worth reading in full:

The relevant part is this:

Rachael represents so much of what is totally lecherous about cultural studies academics. Pick a subject area that will be under-studied in your context, so you can rise through the ranks quickly (how many break dancing academics will there be in Australia?), and wreak absolute havoc in lives of the people you want to study. There is no limit to the sheer disrespect they will dole out, purely for self-advancement.

Now, I don’t think science fiction was ruined in quite the same way, ie by being dominated and colonized by academia through “studies” degrees. Science fiction was probably too large to be overtaken that way. However, the pattern is still similar, and from what I can tell, it goes something like this:

Step 1: Take over the institutions in the field that are primarily responsible for determining and evaluating excellence.

In Australia, the breakdancing field was small enough that academia was able to dominate and (for lack of a better word) colonize it, becoming the arbiters of excellence within that art. It certainly helped that the professor who had carved out this academic niche for herself was married to one of the judges in the committee that was tasked with determining excellence. This created an incestuous (and ultimately nepotistic) relationship between academia and the judging panels.

In science fiction, something similar happened with SFWA and the Hugo and Nebula awards. I’ve written before about how SFWA ruined science fiction, so I won’t repeat all that here. But the basic gist of it is this: as science fiction became more established, the organizations and publications that talked about science fiction became more authoritative on the subject of the genre than the actual writers themselves. Because of this, achieving recognition for excellence became less about creating works of actual merit, and more about gaining the approval of the people who had built their careers talking about science fiction, rather than actually creating it. And the best way to gain their approval was to join those institutions yourself, rising up in the pecking order until everyone else was beneath you.

This basically describes the career trajectories of John Scalzi and Mary Robinette Kowal, two insanely woke authors who leveraged their tenure as SFWA president for award nominations. Both of them seem to have spent at least as much time and effort talking about science fiction as they have in actually creating it: Scalzi through his blog, which he leveraged to get his first book deal, and MRK through both her blog and the Writing Excuses podcast.

Step 2: Purge those institutions until they are ideologically pure.

This step is critical. So long as the instutitions are focused on merit, the only way to climb the ranks is by creating something of merit. But once the institution has become ideologically possessed, with all of those who reject the dominant ideology being purged from positions of power, then merit no longer matters, and the way to the top becomes clear. Those who are the most ideologically pure, as demonstrated by their virtue signalling, will rise to the top. This has the added benefit of quelling all merit-based criticism, since those beneath you fear having their own ideological purity called into question.

From what I can tell, this is how Rachael Gunn rose to prominence in the Australian breakdancing scene. After all, once academia had colonized the field, who would dare question the merits of such a stunning and brave LGBTQ+ woman? In a similar manner, Scalzi and MRK rose to the top of SFWA by virtue signaling their own ideological purity and intersectional victimhood status, squelching any criticism by labeling their critics racist, sexist, bigots, homophobic, etc.

Step 3: Redefine excellence in your own image.

In the Australian breakdancing scene, this was accomplished through the combination of Rachael Gunn’s academic work and her husband’s position in the committee that qualified the Olympic competitors. And while it probably isn’t quite so blatantly nepotistic in the science fiction world, the pattern still holds true when you look at what the Hugos and Nebulas have become. This was what the Sad Puppies controversy was actually about, and because the Puppies lost, the Hugo and Nebula awards have been insufferably woke ever since:

Step 4: Use the captured institutions to purge the field of potential rivals.

The final step in this projection is to squash all of those people who represent a threat to your domination, because they have merit and you do not. Ignoring her perhaps overly generous assessment of Australian breakdancing, this is what Hannah Berrelli is talking about when she mentions all the “hundreds of Australian athletes who will have dedicated their entire lives to athletic excellence” whose blood, sweat, and tears were overshadowed and rendered irrelevant by Rachael Gunn’s Olympic stunt.

In science fiction, we see this in the fact that David Weber has never been nominated for a Hugo or a Nebula, or that Jim Butcher’s sole Hugo nomination lost to No Award. Both of these men are far better writers than the majority of award-winning authors, especially in our current era. You could make a solid argument that Dan Simmons or Orson Scott Card were superior, but Scalzi? Jemisin? Kingfisher?

And what about all of the new and relatively unknown authors? At least Weber and Butcher already have large followings, which they have rightfully earned through their merit. But when merit is no longer the determining factor in recognizing excellence within the field, what chance do talented up-and-coming authors have if they aren’t willing to play the ideological purity games? Answer: not a hell of a lot.

So while you laugh at how ridiculous Australia’s breakdancing performance was at the Olympics, understand that the same dynamic has been playing out in modern science fiction for years. And honestly, the results are no less ridiculous.

The Short, Victorious War by David Weber

This is it—the big showdown! The war between the Kingdom of Manticore and the People’s Republic of Haven has come!

I’ve really been enjoying this series. Like I said in my review of On Basilisk Station, the Honorverse is what Star Trek wants to be when it grows up. Where Star Trek is campy, the Honorverse is polished. Where Star Trek is preachy, the Honorverse is nuanced. Where Star Trek relies on hand waving and technobabble, the Honorverse shines with complex, believable world-building and incredible attention to detail. And perhaps most importantly, where Star Trek characters do things that are head-shakingly stupid, the characters in the Honorverse all, for the most part, smart, capable people with very good reasons for everything they do.

In any case, while the third book wasn’t quite as good as the previous two, it did not disappoint. In terms of character development, this may have been the best book in the series so far. Honor Harrington confronts a bunch of her private demons in this book, including her near-rape at the hands of Pavel Yong, and Weber did a really good job of that. There was also no shortage of action, seeing as Honor commands one of the biggest and most ferocious RMN warships in the fleet, and goes head to head with the greatest existential threat to the kingdom itself.

That said, in some ways the ending felt… a little too perfect. There was very little of the underdog stuff that really drove the first book, and while the stakes were definitely high, and lots of people died, the way they pulled it off felt a little too flawless. Without getting into spoilers, this was especially true of the intrigue going on within the People’s Republic of Haven itself. There was definitely intrigue and subterfuge, but it didn’t feel complex enough, or messy enough, to really satisfy me. Everything lined up just a little too perfect.

That’s really my only complaint, though. There was no shortage of crowning moments, and some great come-uppances for the bad guys, especially Pavel Young. Quite a few tear-jerking moments as well, especially in the side stories and peripheral conflicts that didn’t involve Honor directly. More than just big guns and explosions, Weber really knows how to personalize a conflict and get you to feel deeply intimate with the characters. In that aspect, this was probably the best book in the series so far.

Great book, and immensely enjoyable, just like the previous two. I heartily recommend it.


I think I’m going to take a break from the Honorverse for a while. I do intend to come back to it eventually, but there’s a bunch of other similar stuff that I want to get to first, like House of Assassins, the Vorkosigan Saga, and David Gemmell’s Troy series. Baen stories are like a rich chocolate cake, and I can only take so many at a time—and yes, I know Gemmell was never a Baen author, but his books scratch the same itch for me. In fact, they may be the richest chocolate cake of them all.

The Honor of the Queen by David Weber

I really enjoyed On Basilisk Station, the first book in the Honor Harrington series, and the second book did not disappoint. It had all of the stuff that made the first book so amazingly awesome, plus tons more action and political intrigue.

The dynamics in The Honor of the Queen were a bit different, in that Honor has definitely proved herself by now and is no longer the underdog freshman starship commander in the armpit of the galaxy. This time, she’s been given a small fleet, and assigned to an important diplomatic people with a critical potential ally of the Star Kingdom of Manticore.

But she still has a lot of proving to do, this time to the misogynistic people of Grayson who do not believe that women are capable of military command. If that sets off red flags, don’t worry: David Weber is no SJW, and this book was written long before “protect wamen” was a thing. The misogyny on Grayson has nothing to do with mansplaining, manspreading, or toxic masculinity: rather, it’s a culture that treats women literally as property, with none of the rights that women currently enjoy in the West.

One of the things that makes the Honor Harrington books so fantastic is the meticulous attention to detail. The history of Grayson is complex and nuanced, and presents a consistent and believable explanation for why the culture developed the way it did. Weber’s attention to detail extends beyond the world building to just about every aspect of the story: the characters, tactics, politics, and everything else. There’s a bit of handwaving when it comes to the technology—this is science fiction, after all—but not very much. Certainly, there’s no handwaving when it comes to human nature.

The part of the story that I found most interesting was the political intrigue between the Star Kingdom of Manticore and the People’s Republic of Haven. Honor’s enemy counterpart in the Havenite fleet is no pushover—in many ways, he’s just as sharp and capable as she is. Even though the People’s Republic of Haven are clearly the bad guys, I came away from this book thinking that Weber could easily write a book with the Havenite commander as the protagonist, and it would have been just as good. There are definitely bad guys and good guys, but they’re all still people, with reasons for believing the things that they do, right or wrong as they may be.

My only criticism of this book is that the ending felt a bit Mary Sue-ish with all of the accolades and promotions that Honor Harrington received. I still really enjoyed it, but if I didn’t already love the character, there were a couple of things that would have made me roll my eyes. Then again, truth is stranger than fiction, and I’m sure there are people who have received just as many honors and accolades as Honor Harrington did at the end of this one.

All in all, an excellent continuation to the series that builds on the first book and leaves plenty of room for more, especially in the rivalry between Manticore and Haven. Since that’s one of my favorite things about this series so far, I’m very interested to see what happens in the next book!

On Basilisk Station by David Weber

The Honorverse is what Star Trek wants to be when it grows up.

That’s the best way I can put it. On Basilisk Station is the first book in the series known as the “Honorverse,” which taken as a whole is David Weber’s best known work. Like Star Trek, the Honorverse is a far-future sprawling space opera epic full of exotic planets, interstellar empires, big starships, and big space battles. Unlike Star Trek, though, the Star Kingdom of Manticore has a military that actually functions like a competent, professional military (most of the time), and doesn’t have stupid rules like the Prime Directive that exist solely for the characters to break them. Also, the technobabble isn’t just babble, and the practical implications of the science fiction technology are fully explored.

The thing I liked most about this book was the political intrigue, though the characters come in as a close second. In fact, the two are intricately connected, as the intrigue grows out directly from the interactions between the characters. Like Ender’s Game, it all comes down to leadership, and like Orson Scott Card, David Weber has a keen grasp on human nature and what it takes to be an effective leader—and an effective follower, for that matter.

But unlike Card, Weber also has a keen grasp on how governments and bureaucracies operate, for better or (more likely) for worse. None of the characters in On Basilisk Station operate in a vacuum; they are all constrained by their loyalties, duties, and responsibilities, and their place in the chain of command. They are also constrained by the organizations and nations to which they belong, which in turn have their own positons and agendas, some of which run contrary to the personal beliefs and convictions of the people within them.

Weber is a master not only at pitting smart, competent characters against each other, but at pitting bureaucracies, parties, and governments against each other in ways that make you root for the little guys caught in the middle of it all. And above all else, Honor Harrington is a character worth rooting for. In a fight between Honor and any Star Trek captain (with the possible exception of Kirk), my money would be on Honor.

On Basilisk Station was an excellent start to what promises to be a highly entertaining series. I look forward to reading more!