Because last week, SF consensus reality was cyberpunk, and the week before, it was Galactic Empires spreading Mom and Apple Pie to the stars. I don't buy Singularity--I've said it elsewhere--because I think it's an inherently naive concept, which (as SF, historically, has) ignores the fact that Much Of Humanity Ain't Like Us. Besides, I also kind of think Singularity is being worked pretty hard right now, and it's more interesting to address other things.
And I think the most interesting work done after the cyberpunk wave crested was the work that moved away from cyberpunk and toward something else--the work, in other words, that wasn't the trend. (there's also some interesting discussion of this over in nihilistic_kid today, which is why I went back and read the comments section today)
In other words, the rapture of the geeks is all very nice for the geeks, but what the hell do you do with all those telephone santizers? (Remember those telephone sanitizers? Remember the moral of the story? The moral of the story is, systems break down in unexpected way.) (In a related note, the more conservative definition of Singularity--the one where we can't keep track of the technology any more in any kind of a meaningful fashion? That happened in... 1993. Or thereabouts.)
What do you do with all the people who, for one reason or another, don't want to/get to go?
Very interesting to me, especially since one of the things I wanted to do with Worldwired is deconstruct Singularity a bit. Hammered is not-cyberpunk, or post-cyberpunk, in that I like to think it challenges some of cyberpunk's basic assumptions. Worldwired (and I don't think, given the title, it's too big of a spoiler to mention) does discuss the concepts of Singularity and Transcendent AIs; I wonder if I can claim it as post-Singularity the same way Hammered is post-cyberpunk?
Heh. Well, I probably could. But it would be awfully arrogant to presume I succeeded in what I was attempting, with regard to the genre dialogue. At the very least, I tried to take a few chips out of the monolithic idea.
(I sometimes think I'm a bit at the edge of the bell curve for being an SF writer who grew up working class. My parents and their parents are/were tradesmen and soldiers and white and pink collar workers, immigrants and the children of immigrants. And artists, and thinkers. My dad's a cabinetmaker and a luthier; my mother's a medical unit coordinator and a poet and a breeder of champion show dogs; my grandfather was a plumber and an incredibly talented sketch artist. And all of us were and are science fiction readers, and popular science readers, and mad speculators about the universe. I think it's a strength; makes me a bit suspicious of the middle-class assumptions that a lot of SF makes.)
Transcendent AI, I have different problems with. Which basically boil down to--why do we necessarily assume that thinking faster is thinking better? And what makes us assume that our problems would just be fixed if we were smarter and had smarter, friendlier AIs to look out for us? That's a big assmption right there, and it ignores such things as differences in individual motivation and the fact that the brightest of us can make mistakes. Or be monsters, for that matter.
My name is Ozymandias, king of kings--
I think Alan Moore put paid to that one already.
So yes, to me, a lot of the thought behind Singularity (and the search for it as a positive thing) reminds me of the charming sort of naivete that gave us the Organians and Q. (Which isn't to say that the *work* being done by various SF writers in Singularity-based universes is naive. Some of it is brilliant. But I think it's a wave that's crested already. And I think the idea that a Singularity can be expected in our lifetimes... well. That's unlikely at best.)
Very very smart people aren't necessarily right more often than anybody else. They're just wrong faster, and in more innovative ways. So again, the speed ofchange picks up, and the future becomes a blur, ad things happen before they get started? We're living that now. A science fiction novel I finished editing a year ago is already dated; it used to be you got a decade if you were lucky. Soon, it'll be a week. We can't keep up with the future now.
S'okay. We squint at the target and squeeze off a shot. What happens next is anybody's guess.
Which is cool, really. I didn't get my flying cars, and I didn't get my neural jacks, and I didn't get my galactic federation of Mom and Apple Pie, and I'm not getting the Matrix either. It doesn't matter. Science fiction isn't about predicting the future.
Science fiction is a useful form of allegory. It's is about discussing the now.