Thoughts on the portrayal of Antarctica in old SF
Sunday, February 19th, 2006 07:59 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
lethargic_manAfter reading The Mystery of Arthur Gordon Pym a year ago, I mentioned some thoughts on it to ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
rysmiel, who suggested I post them here.
I found it interesting to consider, in the sequence of Edgar Allen Poe's The Narrative of Arthur Gordon Pym, Jules Verne's sequel The Sphinx of the Ice-Fields, and HP Lovecraft's At the Mountains of Madness how three novels trace the dwindling of the world's last terra incognita, the last blank patch on maps. The first was written at a time when nothing was known of Antarctica, and Poe could get away with speculating a warm Antarctic ocean beyond the ice barrier, along with exotic life-forms and strange things happening to the water*.
By the time of Verne's sequel, the author had to water down the weirdness by ignoring such things as Poe's strange water, cool down at least partially the climate, and fit Poe's Antarctic ocean into the gaps in the emerging knowledge of the geography of the region, postulating a passage between the two halves of the Antarctic continent.
By 1935, the time of Lovecraft's novel, the outline of the continent continent had been mapped in its entirety, and the Pole reached, leading Lovecraft to abandon all direct continuity with Poe's novel. Neverthless, there was still sufficient terra incognita for Lovecraft to be able to postulate an unknown mountain range taller than the Himalayas in one of the gaps in the explored areas.
Nowadays, of course, nothing of the sort would be possible.
* E.g.:rysmiel's response was: "This begins to sound organised enough to be a liquid-phase AI."
To which my response was: "<G> There's probably a cool short story lurking in that, there. Particularly if told from the PoV of the AI when Pym comes along. :o))
rysmiel, who suggested I post them here.I found it interesting to consider, in the sequence of Edgar Allen Poe's The Narrative of Arthur Gordon Pym, Jules Verne's sequel The Sphinx of the Ice-Fields, and HP Lovecraft's At the Mountains of Madness how three novels trace the dwindling of the world's last terra incognita, the last blank patch on maps. The first was written at a time when nothing was known of Antarctica, and Poe could get away with speculating a warm Antarctic ocean beyond the ice barrier, along with exotic life-forms and strange things happening to the water*.
By the time of Verne's sequel, the author had to water down the weirdness by ignoring such things as Poe's strange water, cool down at least partially the climate, and fit Poe's Antarctic ocean into the gaps in the emerging knowledge of the geography of the region, postulating a passage between the two halves of the Antarctic continent.
By 1935, the time of Lovecraft's novel, the outline of the continent continent had been mapped in its entirety, and the Pole reached, leading Lovecraft to abandon all direct continuity with Poe's novel. Neverthless, there was still sufficient terra incognita for Lovecraft to be able to postulate an unknown mountain range taller than the Himalayas in one of the gaps in the explored areas.
Nowadays, of course, nothing of the sort would be possible.
* E.g.:
Although it flowed with rapidity in all declivities where common water would do so, yet never, except when falling in a cascade, had it the customary appearance of limpidity. It was, nevertheless, in point of fact, as perfectly limpid as any limestone water in existence, the difference being only in appearance. At first sight, and especially in cases where little declivity was found, it bore resemblance, as regards consistency, to a thick infusion of gum arabic in common water. But this was only the least remarkable of its extraordinary qualities. It was not colourless, nor was it of any one uniform colour—presenting to the eye, as it flowed, every possible shade of purple; like the hues of a changeable silk. This variation in shade was produced in a manner which excited as profound astonishment in the minds of our party as the mirror had done in the case of Too-wit. Upon collecting a basinful, and allowing it to settle thoroughly, we perceived that the whole mass of liquid was made up of a number ofdistinct veins, each of a distinct hue; that these veins did not commingle; and that their cohesion was perfect in regard to their own particles among themselves, and imperfect in regard to neighbouring veins. Upon passing the blade of a knife athwart the veins, the water closed over it immediately, as with us, and also, in withdrawing it, all traces of the passage of the knife were instantly obliterated. If, however, the blade was passed down accurately between the two veins, a perfect separation was effected, which the power of cohesion did not immediately rectify. The phenomena of this water formed the first definite link in that vast chain of apparent miracles with which I was destined to be at length encircled.To which
rysmiel's response was: "This begins to sound organised enough to be a liquid-phase AI."To which my response was: "<G> There's probably a cool short story lurking in that, there. Particularly if told from the PoV of the AI when Pym comes along. :o))
