At the heart of J. R. R. Tolkien's(1892-1973) work is a strife between his two worldviews, that of Catholic Christianity and that of the Norse myths. This strife plays a major role in how Tolkien's religious cosmology plays out its linear progress from creation of the world to the final, future defeat of Melkor. The former has Redemption of the humanity, and for a time after the return of Jesus Christ, of the world at its core. Humanity not only can but will find Salvation through embracing Christ's message. The latter is more bleak - there will be no redemption, only destruction of the world and its gods. As guaranteed as the Redemption is in Catholic Christianity, as certain is the Ragnarök in the Norse. No matter how noble and courageous struggle is fought, there will be no salvation. The end of the world will spare no one, not even the gods. Tolkien's Middle-Earth is balanced precariously between these two. It embraces far more of the latter while giving er
Edmond Hamilton's(1904-1977 ) The Man Who Evolved (1931) presents a particular type of science fiction that in its most evolved form (sic) consist mostly of a middle-brow version of the info-dump so common on those early pulp days: A story told through talk or thought, with little actual action shown. It might seem like a cardinal sin; after all, we are told so often show and not tell; but not only does this type of story often reach heights like James Tipree Jr's(1915-1987) And I Awoke and Found Me Here on the Cold Hill's Side (1972), it has illustrious forbears in the so-called serious mainstream literature. Much of the existentialist literature, from its roots in the work of Fyodor Dostoyevsky(1821-1881) through Albert Camus(1913-1960) and forward, is of this type. So, we might well forgive and applaud. Yet, this telling instead of showing is still a weakness. It's the weakness of an idea confined to a too little a space - and, admittedly, a weakness in the