Punk Fiction: Back to the Future

By Charles A. Cornell

IF YOU’VE EVER SEEN A BOOK JACKET with a hero and/or heroine dressed in Victorian garb, festooned in leather accessories, wearing round brass aviator goggles, standing on the deck of a steam-driven airship holding an octopus as a pet, and there are lots of clockwork gears in the background, then you’ve probably come across the visually quirky genre of Steampunk. It professes to be a form of science fiction, or alternative history, or paranormal adventure, or really any combination of all of them. And why not?

Your immediate reaction is ... not for me, thank you, I’ll pass. After all, anything that takes that much work to describe and doesn’t conform to the de rigueur formulas or codes of conduct of the traditional science fiction genres must be more of a carnival sideshow than serious work and definitely a passing fad, without literary merit. Right?

But admit it ... you’re curious. So you decide to do a bit of web browsing and googling and you come up with a plethora of other “punk” sub-sub-genres like Atompunk, Biopunk, Teslapunk, Decopunk, Petrolpunk and ... Dieselpunk. Now you’re really pissed off. And even more confused. I mean, really? That much punk? Does every story need to create its own sub-genre? That’s ridiculous! You draw your light saber, beam up an army of bots and stand ready to defend pure science fiction to your last breath! And I don’t blame you.

That’s why I call punk fiction “melodramas inside a mélange; a melding of genres together like the ceaseless hammering of wrought iron in a forge.” And now you know why. Yes, it’s new (ish). Yes, it can be experimental. And yes, it most likely is outside the comfort zone of traditionalists. Personally, as a Dieselpunk author who is constantly asked “what is punk fiction?” I think it’s time to organize my neurons around some foundational principles that put all this punkishness into some kind of cosmic order. Like an intergalactic peace treaty between the rulers of classic science fiction and the mutants.

Steampunk and Cyperpunk are arguably the most well known of the “punk” genres. They trace their origins back to the 1980s; and the popularity of Steampunk, in particular, has grown large enough to create a strong international subculture of art, design, fashion, and cosplay celebrated by Steampunk societies and conventions that are springing up everywhere.

What makes punk fiction different from classical science fiction? At the very heart of this question is a concept called retro-futurism. Dictionaries are having a bit of trouble defining retro-futurism. Some definitions I’ve seen are akin to saying “a tiger is a big cat (see cat).” And then under the listing for cat: “a small animal like a tiger without stripes (see tiger).” Not very helpful.

The Oxford Dictionary comes the closest by defining retro-futurism as “the use of a style or aesthetic considered futuristic in an earlier era.” Still not very specific, so I came up with my own definition.

Charles A. Cornell’s Definition of Retro-Futurism: Retro-futurism is an expression of creativity that either: (1) projects the future as those in a past time period might have seen it, or; (2) is set in a future world that conveys the vibe of a bygone era.

With this definition, we can describe the aesthetic of the time period that applies to the punk fiction in question and then collapse any references to science fiction or alternative history into one broad term, retro-futurism. Retro-futurism allows the writer to meld various elements of science fiction together, often blended within an alternative set of historical events, or set in a future world with anachronistic social outlooks typical of that bygone era.

In the case of steampunk, the bygone era involved is the Victorian through the Edwardian periods. For Dieselpunk, it is the 1920s to 1940s. Atompunk is the 1950s and early 1960s.

I define Dieselpunk as “the retro-futuristic themes and aesthetics reflecting the politics, society, culture, and technology from the 1920s to the 1940s, expressed in creative form in order to project to others the future as those in this past era might have seen it, or to convey to others how this era’s vibe would look like in a future imaginary world.”

With this definition, Decopunk, Retro-crime noir, Teslapunk, Petrolpunk and Weird War Science would fall under the general umbrella of Dieselpunk because they derive their aesthetics from the period of the 1920s to 1940s. And by using the term “expressed in creative form,” I hope to be inclusive, to encompass the cultural elements of art, design, photography, fashion, and so on, in the term Dieselpunk, not just restrict it to works of fiction.

So a key element for a punk fiction writer is to adapt to a different time period’s way of looking at the future: by incorporating elements of language and vocabulary; by using archaic technological insights; and by including social attitudes that might not seem PC by our standards today. I think all of that is fair game if it is intended to set a retro-futuristic mood.

In other words, if I was transported back into that era and looked at the future through the eyes of someone in that society, what would I see? If I was a contemporary of Jules Verne or H.G. Wells, what would I write? If rockets weren’t invented, would I invent them?

In the 1902 French silent film, “A Trip to the Moon,” directed by Georges Méliès, an adaptation of Jules Verne’s novel “From the Earth to the Moon,” scientists launch “astronauts” to the moon in a capsule lowered into a super-gun and fired like a cannon shell because that was the future they saw [left]. Even in the 1930s, the science of rocketry was so fledgling it was known to only a few boffins. Robert Goddard issued the first rocket patents in 1914, but he received very little public support for his research and in the 1930s the press ridiculed his theories of spaceflight.

In my novel “DragonFly,” set in an alternative WWII, some readers had concerns that some of the ideas expressed weren’t PC. By whose standards? Ours, today? Or theirs of yesterday? In WWII, there was hyper-misogyny in the military that reflected the role of women in society in the late 1930s and early 1940s. It’s the whole theme of the heroine’s quest. This was woven into “DragonFly’s” narrative, not to condone it but to help me portray that particular era’s aesthetic and bring the reader, who has not grown up with those perspectives, into the retro-futuristic world I’m building and make it seem real. If you’re going to write punk fiction, you have to be brave enough to look through the lens of a different era’s telescope.

At the end of the day, it’s all about story. All fiction is based on the concept of the hero’s journey and the lessons the hero learns along the way. Yes, the gears, cogs, brass, etc., are the retro-futuristic aesthetics of Steampunk fiction and, to those who follow Steampunk, appear to be common elements in those stories. But I look at these simply as devices like stage props in a playhouse. If your play is dark, the backdrop is black and hung with cobwebs. A Shakespearean farce has the characters wearing foppish, exaggerated clothing. Steampunkers like clocks and octopi. Who knew? But beneath all that superficiality there still needs to be a compelling story arc, with rich characters acting with purpose. So in that respect, the punk genres are like the traditional ones. Badly written stories make for bad Steampunk just the same as they would for bad science fiction. The presence of an octopus doesn’t make the prose any better if it’s not that good to begin with. Or don’t judge a book by the octopus on the cover, but by its content. The same rules apply.

So what are the elements of the Dieselpunk aesthetic? Where do I receive my inspiration? Dieselpunk derives its imagery from the pulp fiction and comics of the 1930s and 1940s, and from key events like Prohibition, the rise of fascism, and WWII.

In retro-futuristic crime noir Dieselpunk, for example, the defining images are the hard-boiled private detective with the requisite fedoras, trench coats, machine guns, and gangster lingo, set in a futuristic Gotham of dark alleyways and shady nightclubs. But with androids. Bard Constantine’s “Troubleshooter” series is an excellent example of this kind of retro-crime science fiction.

Art Deco defined this era’s architecture. It was the dawn of the Metropolis, the Age of Aviation, and the Jazz Age of radio and mass communications. Substitute stainless steel and chrome for brass, add a bit of bakelite, some vacuum tubes and tons of concrete, mix in forests of skyscrapers in big impersonal cities, festoon the sky-high halls with the flags and emblems of totalitarian regimes, shake, and you have the perfect Dieselpunk cocktail!

You’ve seen Dieselpunk before and might not have know that you did. Two iconic movies of this genre, “The Rocketeer” and “Sky Captain and The World of Tomorrow” capture this visual aesthetic perfectly. “Indiana Jones” and “Captain America” are Dieselpunk. So are “Sin City” and “Sucker Punch.”

Historical what-ifs can also play a big role in punk fiction in order to set the stage or, as I call it, re-imagine the future through the eyes of someone in the past. In the alternative WWII of “DragonFly,” there are many what-ifs sprinkled throughout the novel. The biggest one is ... what if women pilots were allowed in combat? That’s why I decided to write “DragonFly” in first person female point-of-view which, for a male writer, is the ultimate challenge. It’s a totally different perspective. It challenged me to look at the issues of that era in a completely different light.

In the real WWII, women were sent into the factories to build the planes but never flew them in combat (with one rare exception, the Night Witches of the Soviet Air Force). How would this war be viewed from behind a woman’s eyes as she fights alongside men? The story of “DragonFly” is an accelerating collection of what-ifs. What if the military technologies (jets, rockets) the Nazis developed at the end of the war were brought forward in time? What if Hitler hadn’t invaded Russia, avoiding his biggest mistake? What if the Nazis’ fascination with the occult was more than just a philosophy?

In alternative history, authors try to be faithful to the real environment (political, social, technological) and twist events to create a different outcome. In Dieselpunk or Steampunk, the author uses elements of the fantastic to blur the lines between what could have been, historically, and what could have been, scientifically. Punk fiction is closer to science fiction than it is to alternative history, but as you start reading in the punk genres, you will find alternative history is a widely used color on the punk fiction writer’s palette.

What draws me to write Dieselpunk? It offers incredible degrees of freedom for a writer’s creativity. The science fiction elements in “DragonFly” involve my creating alternative chemistry and physics (such as quadra-hydrogen). The opportunity to act as a world-builder, as if I was actually in that era looking into the future, is very exciting. I can redefine the entire history of WWII: its technology, its society, its battles, and ultimately the outcome. I have some exciting departures planned for the sequel, “Spies in Manhattan” set in a Dieselpunk New York City.

Which brings me to my final point. How can you tell if a novel is a work of punk fiction? We’ve used the retro-futuristic test. Is that the only one? Is a story like “Afrika Reich” by Guy Saville, set in a fictitious 1952 where Nazis colonize Africa and have jets aplenty, an alternative history or is it Dieselpunk—or is it both?

To science fiction readers, the storyline and setting in “Afrika Reich” is not science fiction. It’s alternative history. End of debate. But to readers of the punk fiction world, is altering history enough to make a work of fiction “punked?” Is alternative history a form of retro-futurism? I say maybe, or maybe not, and just so you traditional science fiction fans don’t fall asleep on me during this debate, here’s a concept I’m calling the “Spectrum of the Fantastic” to help explain. Maybe there’s nothing new here, but let me end my article by opening up a future conversation.

I look at speculative fiction as being like a dial on a rheostat or like the temperature knob on a cooker. Dial setting 0 is realism.

As you turn the dial to setting 100, alternative history, the protagonist’s journey unfolds within a realistic contextual framework. The plot line has twisted real historical events to generate a different outcome. But there are no elements of science fiction—no weird science, no artificial or alien beings, no time travel involving characters out of context with the era ...

At dial setting 200, the reader encounters a story based on a single fantastic disturbance. The otherwise realistic world is “disturbed” by either:

An extraordinary character with unique powers. An extraordinary change in science. A disruptive otherworldly event.

What would be examples of a single fantastic disturbance? You’ve seen plenty of them in science fiction stories, often called tropes:

Time Travelers: with the help of extraordinary science, characters who have no extraordinary powers can move between time periods that are still realistic. Aliens landing on Earth: An alien interacts with ordinary people in a realistic world. Zombies: A mutated creature, the result of a disease, terrorizes an ordinary world. Dystopian/Post-Apocalyptic events: In Hugh Howey’s “Wool,” for instance, the human race emerges from the remnants of nuclear missile silos after a cataclysm (the disruptive event). The world has changed but the laws of science have not.

At dial setting 300, the reader encounters multiple fantastic disturbances. These are any combination of extraordinary characters and/or events with any kind of future technology, weird science, or extraterrestrials. In other words, anything goes as long as the writer builds a world where the reader doesn’t suspend belief in it. In novels of the multiple fantastic kind, heroes and villains can have super-powers. Other worlds exist with all kinds of advanced science. Time travel is not only possible, it’s a desired way of taking a vacation. Most science fiction dwells in the ambient temperature of dial setting 300. Examples are:

“Star Wars”: a space opera where both sides have futuristic science at their disposal. “Resident Evil”: a battle rages between a special military unit and an out-of-control supercomputer. “Star Trek,” “Ender’s Game,” “The Matrix”: these all have combinations of many fantastic elements sewn together in a tapestry of imagination.

At dial setting 400, we have full-on, no holds barred, retro-futurism. This is the main realm of punk fiction. It has all the heat of dial setting 300 (multiple fantastic disturbances) but adds an extra burst of microwaves so the story can be:

Set in a bygone era that is viewed by the characters from the social perspective of that era; or set in a future world with anachronistic technologies and/or the social attitudes of a bygone era.

So now you know where Steampunk and Dieselpunk fit in science fiction. Steam-driven Victorian airships battle each other to control cities in the sky. Sherlock Holmes solves the mystery of a mutant murderer. Our protagonist is trapped in a future world run by a fascist dictator in a one-party state where law and order is secured with bio-mechanical police. A fedora-wearing private detective chases the robots of a mad scientist through an underworld of 1930s era gangsters flying jet-propelled limousines. Oh, and the dame makes a fantastic cocktail!

Punk fiction. It’s not that hard to understand after all. Welcome back to the future. 

Charles A. Cornell began writing seriously more than ten years ago. His debut novel, “Tiger Paw,” won the 2012 Best Thriller Award from the Florida Wriers Association. His latest work is the two-part science fiction dieselpunk series “Dragonfly.”