The Seven Deadly Sins of Science Fiction
It details seven failures—from gadgetry to emotional sterility—to guide speculative fiction toward logical clarity and profound human consequence.
The book before us, which concerns itself with the nature and responsibilities of speculative fiction, begins with a quiet but firm statement of purpose. It suggests that while imagination is not the sole domain of science fiction, the genre does carry a specific, weighty obligation: it must compel us to think clearly about the future by first thinking clearly about the present. This is not a text of mere complaint, but a logical attempt to organize the frequent errors that cause speculative writing to fall short of its high ambition.
The author has approached the problem systematically, drawing a careful map of seven recurring failures—the so-called sins—which, when allowed to dominate a work, change literature from a stimulating exercise in possibility into something either brittle, deceptive, or simply ornamental. This analytical approach—breaking a complex problem into defined, manageable, and logically connected components—is exactly the kind of intellectual groundwork upon which great systems, like the Foundation or the structure of robotics laws, are built. The book is, in essence, a critical laboratory, dissecting styles and failures using case studies and illustrative examples.
The first two sins deal directly with technology and plot resolution. The first error is mechanical literalism, which is the mistake of confusing elaborate gadgetry with true imagination. A writer guilty of this sin merely piles up devices, assuming that technical cleverness will automatically generate wonder in the reader. The book insists upon a very simple test: if the devices are removed and only the human situation remains, is there still a compelling narrative? If the answer is no, the gadget was never more than superficial decoration. This lack of consequence leads directly to the second error: the sin of deus ex machina. This is not merely a literary technique; it is an evasion of causality. When a plot tightens and the author resorts to an unearned mutation, a sudden intervention, or a convenient technology to resolve the dilemma, the reader rightly feels cheated. The logic of speculative fiction demands that resolutions must extend the existing chain of plausible causes, allowing the conclusion to be, if not predicted, at least foreseeable based on established constraints. Sudden miracles are defined here not as a virtue of imagination, but as a surrender of it.
As the argument builds, the author moves from technical flaws to philosophical and emotional errors. The third sin is scientistic dogmatism. This occurs when science is treated not as a provisional method of inquiry but as a fixed creed. Writers employing this sin often clothe their personal opinions about social outcomes in the guise of technical inevitability, presenting fictional history as if the equations had already been solved. The book argues that certainty of this kind robs fiction of its primary virtue: the ability to pose challenging questions. Science provides tools, but it does not dictate moral verdicts. To use it as an ideology is to reduce profound literature to a simple lecture.
This cold certainty often pairs with the fourth error: emotional sterility. These stories present scenarios that are glossy and ingenious, perhaps describing an interstellar economy flawlessly, but they are populated by flat, "cardboard people". The book reminds us that readers seek not only to admire the architecture of strange new worlds, but to be moved and persuaded by the inhabitants. Character, the text argues, is not an afterthought but the essential engine of speculative inquiry. If a grand technological premise is never tested by genuine human emotion—the ache of missing a loved one, for instance—then that premise remains merely a toy.
The fifth and sixth sins concern the management of scale and language. The fifth is chronological myopia, which is the failure to accurately imagine genuine societal change. This error traps writers in two opposite pitfalls: either they project current prejudices onto a future that should have outgrown them, or they create a future so utterly alien that the reader finds no recognizable human stakes. The solution lies in balance: a plausible future must preserve continuity with core human concerns—ambition, jealousy, curiosity—while still allowing institutions and customs to logically mutate. The reader requires a visible thread connecting the 'now' to the 'then'.
The sixth sin is the careless misuse of scientific jargon. While precise technical detail can lend authenticity, the error lies in using "technobabble" to substitute phony complexity for actual insight. This practice, the book suggests, only serves to flatter the author with a false sense of expertise while simultaneously distancing the reader by making the work impenetrable. The logical remedy is not to avoid science, but to engage in careful translation, making the strange both intelligible and clear. The valuable insight will stand on its own, without requiring a dense army of invented terms.
Finally, the seventh sin is ethical complacency. Speculative fiction is perhaps the best tool we have to isolate variables and shift moral parameters, making ethics tangible. Yet, too often, stories pose profound dilemmas—such as the ownership of minds or the moral cost of survival—only to sketch them superficially or resolve them with easy moralizing. The author argues that the speculating mind must also be a moral imagination. If a story raises a great moral question, it must allow that question to complicate and wound the characters, leaving deep, consequential scars that linger beyond a tidy final page.
Following this diagnostic catalogue, the book transitions seamlessly into prescriptive advice. For every failure identified, a practical remedy is offered. The advice is always tethered to human logic and experience: constrain the plot early and derive the resolution from those constraints; celebrate scientific uncertainty rather than imposing dogma; commit to character before premise; map cultural changes using plausible social mechanics; and, crucially, allow the dilemmas of the story to have teeth.
The book then rounds out its argument by defining the essential virtues. These virtues are not rigid commandments but habits of mind that complement the sins: clarity paired with speculation; curiosity married to compassion; novelty tempered by the continuity of human experience.
In its concluding appeal, the book is modest in tone but possesses large intellectual ambition. The text demonstrates clarity of perception—the ability to precisely name errors and suggest simple, yet profound, remedies. The message is clear and compelling, much like the great themes underlying Asimov's own narrative structures: the ultimate test of any speculative idea is whether it changes the way we look at ourselves. The book itself is an instrument of thought, written to keep the genre honest, interesting, and, above all else, deeply human. It is a necessary handbook for any writer or reader serious about the logical and moral potential of the future.
