2. "Affective Reasons"

It would be easy to say simply that I found the plot of More Than Human "intriguing," the final affirmation "uplifting," and the prose "scintillating"--to borrow some phrases. It would also defeat the purpose of this paper, which is an attempt to establish that science fiction, at least occasionally, has literary merit. While the "objective reasons" cited above may not be convincing alone, an attempt to specify several of the grounds on which the book may be expected to appeal psychologically to most readers should be adequate to tip the balance. An induction based on introspection, which is what I propose to perform, is admittedly lacking in philosophical rigor; but it is also what most critics seem to do when they make a value judgement. The best I can do, then, is merely to list and comment on some of the features of the novel which strike me as appealing.

To begin, I must make two confessions; one of them has no effect on the value judgement, the other does but need not be endorsed by the reader. That is, 1) I find myself in sympathy with the humanistic philosophy with which the book ends and which is a necessary result of the context which is established; and 2) I am to a large extent in sympathy with those literary critics who apply psychoanalytic considerations in their criticism.

Now the philosophy expressed or implied by a work of art should not detract from its artistic merit, but may even add to it if the presentation is skillful. As an example, let us note that Mr. Nabakov is not Humbert Humbert; whether or not nymphetophilia repels us does not detract from the skill with which the author maintains his persona and rationalizes its views to itself, and I am ashamed to even mention the possiblity of a reader's reacting to Lolita by piously proclaiming that we really shouldn't aIl go out and seduce twelve year olds and that Mr. Nabakov is simply disgusting for even suggesting it. By the same token, Sturgeon is to be commended for his development of the proposition that humanity must be considered to be the parent of its evolutionary successor not because we as readers prefer humanism to the God of the Old or New Testaments or to the Proletariat or to the Almighty Dollar, but because he has underpinned the need for a parent in the broken family relationships which were causal links in the formation of the gestalt emotionally, and in the importance of species survival philosophically. My personal endorsement of the philosophy has, as I said, no bearing on the value judgment I shall finally make; but the artist's presentation of it is a distinct plus value for the novel.

As to the appeal of the plot, my second confession does have a bearing. In psychoanalytic terms, the "humanizing' of Lone in Part One represents a discovery of the familiar, which Freud (in "Wit and Its Relation to the Unconscious") posits as being pleasurable in itself. The supernormal powers of Lone and especially of Gerry in Part Two appeals to the childhood fantasy of the omnipotence of thoughts, and the pleasure of vicariously experiencing Gerry's omnipotence (which is effected through thought) is sufficient to compensate for the distaste one feels for his nastiness. (I omit sadistic appeal on the grounds of slight relevance to plot, and also because most readers probably would not admit to feeling it.) Finally, Gerry becomes "humanized" and becomes part of an omnipotent thinker, thus appealing to both of the principles which underlie the appeals of the first two parts. The idiocy of Lone and the nastiness of Gerry give rise to a superficial weakness of the book in that the reader is less likely to identify with them. However, not only can he enjoy feeling superior to Lone (for a while) and being powerful with Gerry, but also when the rather conventionally "human" character of Hip bcomes the major character in Part Three and the unhuman gestalt becomes humanized at the end, the reader is both relieved and satisfied by the affirmation. In rule-of-thumb psychological terms, the alien quality of Lone and Gerry operates as a goad, pushing the reader into sympathy with Hip, and into sympathy--though not necessarily belief--with the conclusion.

I should like to consider three other major areas which seem to furnish grounds for general psychological appeal before simply tossing into the pot some random factors which I enjoyed and which I think may well be shared by most readers. The first of these is "magic." Quite possibly an off-shoot of the omnipotence of thought fantasy, magical phenomena are enjoyable to contemplate, and their vicarious performance is appealing psychologically. Things magical proliferate in MoreThan Human: the mind-reading eyes "with their irises just about to spin" of Lone and Gerry; the call Lone feels which leads him to Evelyn; the "miracles" of Lone's "growing up," as the Prodds call them; Janie's telekinetic powers; the twins' teleportation. Not only are there the concrete instances just mentioned, but also there are the magical associations enjoyed by the concept of immortality, and by the giving of names to things (magically gaining power over them) which goes on throughout. To be brief, there is magic in the book and magic is fun.

Second, there is the area of mystery. The many examples cited as incomplete revelations earlier need not be rehashed. Let us note, however, that they all lend an air of mystery to the enterprise. Who is Thompson? Why is Janie interested in Hip? The natural desire of the reader to learn the answers gives a sense of speed, of pace, to the book. One rushes from revelation to revelation, carried along with the tide of the action. The presence of mystery or "suspense" in a piece of literature is also grounds for psychological appeal.

Third, and perhaps less clearly appealling, is the area of syntax or diction--the problem of how the author "says" what he says. There are two aspects here: First is the "mood," or tone, of the narration, which should relate to the action to qualify as good style--form complementing content if you will. Even a cursory examination shows that this is indeed the case: the opening pages are slow and hazy, the descriptions indirect, suggesting the lost and aimless existence of the Idiot; Mr. Key is dealt with in a straight exposition, befitting his crudeness; Evelyn appears in "poetic" passages, as she is an innocent and hence the object of at least one sort of poetry; Gerry snaps at Stern when called Sonny, "Look, if a midget walks in here, what do you say--sit over there, Shorty?" (p. 79) thus establishing a proper hostility toward the therapist; the sheriff's abominable grammar show him up as a no-good, and gives a comic tone because of the contrast with his attempted gravity; and as a last example, Hip's grammar starts off as bad as the sheriff's (though he regains his powers of clear speech soon), suggesting his beaten condition.

In the second aspect of the syntax lies the problem: that is, the so-called "poetic prose" which occurs here and there throughout the book. Not only is it difficult to define what is meant by "poetic" prose except by pointing at it, but some readers may feel that its use is an affectation, rather than a contribution to the whole of the work. In an instance such as the first paragraph of the book which was applauded by Demon Knight, the justification is clear in terms of mood:

The idiot lived in a black and gray world, punctuated by the white lightning of hunger and the flickering of fear. His clothes were old and many-windowed. Here peeped a shinbone, sharp as a cold chisel, and there in the torn coat were ribs like the fingers of a fist. He was tall and flat. His eyes were calm and his face was dead. [p. 3]

The disembodied impression induced by the indirect description and the imagery of the "black and gray world" and the "white lightning" place the Idiot in an other-worldly, unhuman context. The paradox of finding at a pinnacle the rugged foot of a mountain is also an effective image, suggesting the further "climb" which the gestalt is to undergo in the final parts of the book before it succeeds in knowing itself. A possibly bad example is Gerry's saying, when recounting to Stern his meeting with Lone and the kids, "The air had a haze of smoke and such a wonderful heart-breaking, candy-and-crackling smell of food that a little hose squirted inside my mouth." (p. 88) Such a description is apparently not in keeping with Gerry's "nasty" character. However, this weakness is also a possible strength, for "poetry" has been associated with "goodness" through Evelyn, and the suggestion would seem to be that even Gerry has a latent, balancing modicum of goodness in him. This is reasonable, for if Gerry had been depicted as entirely bad, the final conversion to and acceptance of the ethos would be implausible.

Whether or not the majority of readers will agree with my general personal preference for "poetic prose" actually has very little bearing on the overall effect of the book on them. The "poetic prose" is a possible plus-value, but is not grounds for condemnation as its use, whether appreciated by the individual reader or not, can be justified in terms of the unities of the book.

To conclude the discussion of Affective Reasons, I should like to note four "gimmicks" which Sturgeon employs in various places which strike me as being effective touches--as evoking approbation, if you will. Most obvious of these is his use of meaningful names. "Kew" can be taken as punning on "cue," in the sense that the Kews furnish Lone's cue for getting into the real world and eventually becoming human. There might also be a covert reference to Kew, the place, which is noted for its botanical gardens, for the trees around the estate and its foliage in general are important to the complex of Nature images. Prodd, of course, has only to lose the final "d" to describe literally what the Prodds do to Lone--they prod him out of his withdrawn state, out of his idiocy and into a reasonable facsimile of a comunicating human being. Stern is a beautiful name for an authority figure such as a psychiatrist. "Hip" connotes precisely the "wiseguy" nature of the young Hip Barrows to one familiar wtth the jazz idiom. Also, there is the possible pun from Janie to genie.

The multifarious barriers noted previously suggest to a fairly great extent a sexual symbolism. The penetration of barriers, especially in the case of Alicia, lends a covert air of sexual triumph to the enterprise. This consideration also would hold in terms of the telepathic process of which Lone and Gerry are capable, which is called "That--'opening up' thing" by Alicia at one point; "super" mental powers are common sexual fantasies. An overtone, granted, but one which probably elicits an unconscious response from the reader.

When Hip establishes dominance over Gerry, the symbol of authority is an eleven inch long knife procured for him by one of the twins. Much as I am loath to introduce cocktail party Freudianism into this discussion, it must be noted that there could be no more apt symbol of the acquisition of mastery than an eleven inch long, terribly phallic, knife. It's a very neat touch.

Finally, I should like to consider an overtone suggested by the repeated use of the same numbers throughout. Aside from a few "mystic" threes and sevens, the number which is thoroughly dominant is four. It takes the twins four days to develop their powers. Janie has to tell everything to Lone four times. The truck breaks down four times. Hip hadn't eaten for four days, and so on. The most important use of four-ness is not mentioned overtly, however. It is the composition of the gestalt itself, which has a head (Lone or Gerry), a memory (Baby), environment manipulators (Janie and the twins), and a conscience (Hip). Lumping Janie and the twins together may seem forced, but the title of the second part of the book (before Hip is integrated) is "Baby is Three" and the suggestion is fairly clear. The importance of the tetrapartite nature of the gestalt organism and its being emphasized by all the other fours' cropping up is probably best accounted for in Jungian terms. The similarity of the über-gestalt to the Jungian collective unconscious is not too farfetched, and with Jung on the scene due note must be taken of his notion of the mandala--"The 'magic circle' which in all cultures, even the most primitive, seems to represent a wholeness to which parts contribute in an essentially fourfold manner"[3] according to a commentator. Children's drawings of people are supposed to be strongly influenced by the mandala: "In their drawings of people the circular head comes first, later elaborated by legs, then by trunk and arms. The four limbs are very prominent, at first with little attention to body proportions."[4] So the reason for the "rightness" of all the fours we find would seem to be that the number has connotations of wholeness and unity by virtue of its association with the mandala. The explanation may be over-ingenious, but the overpowering numerousness of fours in the book required note, and my explanation makes sense in the context of the book as process of unification. The fact that such connotations do apply to fours indicates that, whether or not he was conscious of it, Sturgeon's frequent use of them is both significant and, perhaps, effective. Once again, however, the general reader-effect is hard to estimate.

Simply because the discussion could be so long, the above treatment of "affective reasons" has been deliberately kept quite short. There are probably as many grounds for psychological appeal as there are readers of any piece of literature, however, so the argument is not completable anyway. My suggestions do not intentionally omit any positive points; nor do they intentionally omit any possible grounds for adverse reactions which I think may occur.

Due to the complexity of the question of style on any level, I have merely mentioned some of the points which struck me as good and have sidestepped the larger problem of "style" in general. Also, I have minimized the knotty problem of "poetic prose," as both the very definition of it and also its realm of application are quite subjective. Unless there are reasons dictated by the work's context for not using it, I enjoy poetic prose for itself ..... and at least some of Sturgeon's uses are complementary to the content.

A further reason for not going into more of the ramifications of the Affective Reasons is that it is unnecessary to do so in the frame of reference of this paper. We are merely attempting to determine the presence or absence of literary merit in science fiction. We are not looking for greatness, merely goodness. Suffice it to say that there are no serious objections to More Than Human and that by normal critical standards it is a good book--it has literary merit.

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©2003 Michael A. Padlipsky. All rights reserved.