Illustration by Crystal Frasier

Sci-Fried: How to make Friends and Influence (fictional) People

Tuesday, December 1, 2009

Cave raptors are sated; it's time to blog!

There's a peculiar quality to the Florida swamps.

Bear with me here, because this story does eventually come around to science fiction.

More than a few feet down, the swamps and bogs of central and southern Florida are just acidic enough and just the right temperature to kill bacteria without destroying delicate tissue. This means that anything organic buried in the swamps (and keep in mind, swamps account for roughly 119% of Florida's land mass) is pickled and preserved for hundreds of years. While in college studying anthropology, I assisted on a dig (more of a 'bail,' really) in one of these swamps. We were excavating the remains of an indigenous Calusa settlement. Our professor uncovered an amazing find: an intact human skull over 1,000 years old. He gathered us all around, brushed away the mud, and raised the skull dramatically.

With a nauseating schlorp, something fell out of the foramen magnum: a one-thousand year old human brain. And that fascinated me: everything this late-adolescent male experienced, every skill he'd learned... It all laid there as a jellied grey-brown puddle in the mud. And it would have remained intact for even longer if we hadn't clumsily stumbled across it and suffered from our Indiana Jones fantasies. Ancient history always fascinated me, but seeing that brain in the mud felt almost like meeting a time-traveler. Since then, the idea of meeting people from the past has fascinated me.

Illustration by Kieran Yanner

It must be a common fascination, because that's what the science fiction classic The Ship of Ishtar covers in incredible detail. The setup is classic: Contemporary John Kenton discovers an artifact that hurls him sideways into a strange new world; but this premise is worth mentioning because A. Merritt's The Ship of Ishtar (written in 1924) is one of the earliest stories to use that device that became such a staple in later pulp. After his arrival, Kenton proceeds to beat up, ally with, or seduce everything on board a magical ship cursed by the Babylonian gods six millennia ago. Merritt narrates with both fists as Kenton interacts with an entire crew who remember a real-world culture long since vanished.

Abraham Merritt's writing style is complex and conversational, more a dramatic old man recounting the story to his grandkids between slugs of whiskey than a piece of literature. His love of exclamation points is almost poetic, and provided a host of new things that my roommates and I now yell at each other from opposite ends of the house. Probably not the most academic endorsement, but it certainly proves The Ship of Ishtar's entertainment chops.

So, in lieu of reconstituting the battered and filthy remnants of a long-dead Calusa's brains, now so much jello mold, I think I'll continue to sate my need for historical contact with fiction. Preferably of the pulp variety.

Seriously, it was disgusting. You should've been there! Seen—brains!

Crystal Frasier
Production Specialist