Fantastic Metropolis

French SF has a glorious past (remember Jules Verne?) and will, hopefully, have a bright future. But the present situation is a little more complex and difficult to decode, especially when one attempts to evaluate it on the same grounds as American—or Anglo-American—SF. The definition of SF is not exactly the same on both sides of the Atlantic. In the US, it is often confused with sci-fi (Star Trek juveniles, series of fantasy lite or shared universes, to name a few commercial examples) while most French authors claim it is “literature at its best.” Disney versus “the Louvre,” if you know what I mean. Of course, both formulations are too narrow to be entirely true but they’re not entirely false, either. Let’s see why.

1. The cultural background

First, one has to understand that France—and most of Europe, in fact—has a distinct cultural background and that SF does not play the same role as in the English speaking world. French TV, for example, is not really interested in SF. French miniseries are often based on novels from the 18th or 19th century (not as boring as you might think, but rather short on special effects and light sabers—not to mention Depardieu always plays in one of the principal roles). Popular TV series like Star Trek, Babylon 5, Millenium and Doctor Who are almost ignored in France. The X Files was a huge success but we are one year behind the US, which means that several details from The X Files movie did not make sense to most of us.

Neither do we have the direct equivalent of comics books. No Batman, X-Men or Spider-man. No shared universes where Judge Dredd meets the Punisher to fight against the villains… No equivalent to Sandman—which is bad. But we have tons of SF “bande dessinées”, with plenty of famous artists from Moebius to Caza, Bilal, Bourgeon and Mézières (who worked with Besson and was an inspiration to many US series like Babylon 5) as well as many newcomers. The plots are often elaborate and quite complex and they are considered as acceptable cultural objects. However, an album of “bande dessinées” is often priced at over $10. Parents can buy it. Not kids.

And if you’re a famous film maker who wants to shoot a SF movie (Luc Besson, for example, or Jeunet), you’re almost forced to work with Hollywood. It seems that there’s no money available for SF projects in the French cinema, even though the situation may change in the near future.

So, what we call SF in France is mainly “written SF”. The cultural gap between French SF books and the visual equivalent coming from the other side of the Atlantic is quite large.

2. A brief journey in history

French Science-Fiction was nearly killed by World War I and its resurrection as a movement only started in the late 1950s. A few Anticipation books were published in the meantime but with no SF label on them—for instance, Planet of the Apes or Imprudent Traveller.

During the 1960s and the beginning of the 1970s, many important authors from the USA and Great Britain were published regularly in France. Many different imprints—from deluxe hardcovers to paperbacks—were almost entirely devoted to foreign SF. In parallel, a popular imprint entitled Fleuve Noir Anticipation specialized in short novels—French equivalent of pulps—from local authors. At that time, the public considered that French authors were merely pale copies of their Anglophone counterparts.

This situation evolved a little in the mid-1970s when a few French authors—Michel Jeury, Philippe Curval—were published by famous imprints like Ailleurs & Demain (meaning “Elsewhere & Tomorrow”). These books were not only excellent in the traditional Anglophone SF sense, they were different. Inspired by literary experiments like the “Nouveau Roman”, they could be considered as the French equivalent of the British “New Wave”.

In the meantime, a younger generation of angry young men was using Science-Fiction as a means to question the French society as it was. They wished to use SF as a political medium. One of the imprints created at that time was called Ici & Maintenant (“Here & Now”), in answer to the well established Ailleurs & Demain. It is interesting to note that good authors like Jeury or Curval were published by both.

Unfortunately, even though the messages expressed by this “French political SF” were interesting, too many books—and short stories—from that period were seen as poorly written by the public. In reaction, a brief but intense neoformalist movement called “Limite” emerged in the beginning of the 1980s, featuring new authors like Emmanuel Jouanne, Francis Berthelot and Antoine Volodine. They considered Science-Fiction as a medium for literary experimentation and adopted a post-modern attitude toward writing. Several novels and short stories were published independently by the authors but their first common anthology was also their last…

It must be noted that French Science-Fiction was not really interested in space even if a few “space westerns” were published regularly. The “space opera” genre was mostly something associated with Anglo-Saxon SF.

At that time—the mid-1980s—many new authors had appeared and French SF boasted more than forty professional writers. (Professional meaning of course they were published professionally, though very few earned enough money to make a living. The French market was simply too small and French books were rarely translated for publication elsewhere.) A monthly magazine—Fiction—featured one or more short stories by French authors in every issue, with eight to ten “new authors” every year. Regular anthologies were open to French stories and a special one-shot anthology entitled Futurs au Présent was entirely devoted to new, not-yet-professional, authors. Futurs au Présent revealed Serge Brussolo and Jean-Marc Ligny—two major French SF authors—and was followed by Superfuturs, a few years later. In the meantime, Editions Fleuve Noir published nearly sixty French books every year. Young authors were slowly replacing their elders.

Tragically, though, the end of the 1980s and the beginning of the 1990s was marked by a major editorial crisis.

At that time, Fiction disappeared, along with the annual anthology series “Univers”. Many SF publishers reduced their activity and most of them stopped publishing new French authors. The only major exception was Fleuve Noir Anticipation—but they only put out thirty French SF books a year while making several unsuccessful attempts at publishing Star Trek novels or Fantasy lite series. Fleuve Noir revealed almost all the new authors of the early 1990s like Ayerdhal and Serge Lehman—not to mention the Belgian Alain le Bussy, the Swiss Wildy Petoud or the Canadian Jean-Louis Trudel. The sole exception was Pierre Bordage, a brilliant novelist who was discovered by a regional press and climbed his way to fame in a year or so!

The situation remained more or less the same until 1995, when three SF magazines were launched almost simultaneously. The first was CyberDreams, which intended to be the French equivalent of Interzone. It played a major role in revealing the new generation of British authors and in publishing several French stories.

Bifrost and Galaxies soon followed, coming out the same month and contributing to clear more space for new authors. Each magazine published about 30 issues so far.

In the meantime, two French short story anthologies edited by famous French authors were released: Genèses, edited by Ayerdhal in 1996 through major French publisher J’ai lu, and Escales sur l’horizon, edited by Serge Lehman in 1998 (it was followed by Escales 2000 last summer, which I was in charge of, and Escales 2001 released last year).

Escales sur l’horizon was a huge book with short stories and novellas from sixteen French and Canadian authors. It also contained a very important preface by Serge Lehman, which might be considered the “French SF Manifesto” of the end of the century. These two collections were well received by the public—both won prizes—and now the press refers to us as the new “French SF wonderboys”. Don’t laugh!

In fact, even though the situation is becoming better—each major French publisher is creating or revamping its own Science-Fiction/Fantasy/Gothic line and the public seems more interested in what the future will look like (probably an effect of the millennium change)—the only way for French SF to survive is to cross borders and find readers outside Europe.

And then we went back to space—were it all started.

A good example of a writer along that trend is Laurent Genefort. He is one of our wunderkind (he is thirty, with nearly as many books behind him) and he is famous for his depiction of alien environments and strange planets. He wrote a series of independent novels that take place in a galaxy once populated by a very ancient race called the “Vangk”. The Vangk disappeared but left behind a fantastic collection of artefacts—from doors that allow travel between distant stars to an entire planet shaped like a Dyson sphere where humans as well as other creatures have been transferred en masse for some kind of experiment. This is something that you can find in books by other Europeans—Alastair Reynolds and his Revelation Space come to mind, or Juan Miguel Aguilera.

However, and even though many French authors are well aware of the cultural icons and trends of Anglophone Science Fiction, our books have a very distinct flavour. Try our wine, too…

3. Typical French themes: art, flesh and irony

It is somewhat difficult to point out the specificity of French SF —assuming it is specific, which I believe it is. Surrealism was probably a major influence in the 1980s, as well as the “Nouveau Roman” and other literary experiments, but this concerns mainly the way we write our stories, not their subjects. Besides, Surrealism is so “air du temps”—part of the background—here in Europe that it is hard not to be influenced by it.

I think the two main specific themes in French SF since the end of the 1970s are artists and museums of the future—the latest collection of young French authors, published this month, also explores that theme—and the relationship with the body—flesh considered as an experimental territory.

Art in the future was a central theme in the 1980s and it is making a serious comeback. It is interesting to note that the so-called art defined in the future is either a terrorist way to change society—art as a means to stir up the masses and control them—or the ultimate expression of freedom versus totalitarian states. In the just released line “Musées, des mondes énigmatiques” (Museums, enigmatic worlds), most stories describe fugitives from the outside world seeking refuge in a museum. Some of them are trapped and destroyed, some find help from other refugees. Almost no character is interested in art for art’s sake. As a possible metaphor for actual French SF, this is quite frightening.

As for the “experimental territory of the flesh”, the theme is probably linked to Surrealism—Dali, for one, is famous for his statue of the Venus de Milo with drawers. Since Science-Fiction is often seen as a literature of metamorphosis, toying with the idea of artistically rebuilding your body is a natural trend! One must notice that this reconstruction of the body is quite often done for artistic reasons and without resorting to biotechnology or scientific gizmos.

I must add that most French SF writers are neither scientists—I’m one of the few exceptions—nor particularly interested by science (at least hard science).

4. A few personal trajectories

With the exception of the well identified literary movements mentioned above, and whose impact was limited, French SF is composed mainly of individualists who follow very different trajectories.

Serge Brussolo appeared in the early 1980s and started producing four to five novels every year in a very surrealistic style. He became quite popular and wrote a variety of novels, from historical romances to thrillers, through different pseudonyms. In his books, you will find albino cats sold with a set of washable colors so you can paint them the way you want; and oceans replaced by hundreds of millions of dwarves living in the mud, hands up, and who will carry boats along in exchange for food. Of course, every now and then they reproduce, and a tidal wave of dwarves appears with the desire to conquer new territories. However, the coastal patrols have machine guns…

As for the 1990s, I’ll mention:

Ayerdhal—a pseudonym—is most famous for his political space operas featuring complex intrigue and interesting feminine characters. Serge Lehman, a stylist with a good sense of wonder, started his “History of the future” epic in the early 1990s. Pierre Bordage is our sweeping sagas specialist and a best-seller since his first trilogy. Richard Canal, who lives in Africa, tries to merge mainstream and SF in a future dominated by African-like societies. Roland C. Wagner, who appeared early in the 1980s, find his inspiration in rock ‘n’ roll and humorous descriptions of extraterrestrial societies—he won most of the French SF Prizes in 1999.

And a new generation of authors combining SF, Fantasy, Steampunk is rising: David Calvo—whose books lie somewhere between Peter Pan and the lunatic fringe–, Fabrice Colin, Laurent Kloetzer and many, many others.

5. Newcomers from the mainstream: Osmosis and mimicry

One final trend: it seems that Science-Fiction is slowly becoming socially acceptable, at least by some members of the mainstream fiction community. During the last three years, a handful of SF-related novels have been released by major publishers and some of them ranked highly on the best-seller list! One of the latest—Les Particules elémentaires (“The Elementary Particles”), by Michel Houellebecq—was a huge success and an equally huge scandal, partly due to its scenes of explicit sex. But most of the journalists who interviewed him were unable to understand that his book was Science-Fiction and he had to explain SF to them. In detail. I’m glad he wasn’t forced to do the same for the sex scenes!

---

“The Hitch-Hikers Guide to French Science Fiction” first appeared in Altair #4 (1999).