Shared Worlds, a creative writing experience for students in grades 8 to 12 to be held from July 19 to Aug. 1 at Wofford College, asked prominent science fiction and fantasy writers the question “What’s your pick for the top real-life fantasy or science fiction city?” Writer Jeff Vandermeer, Shared Worlds assistant director and instructor, asked the question of current and past Shared Worlds instructors on his blog here, and SF Signal asked the question as part of its Mind Meld series here. The Shared Worlds post put out a general call for anyone to contribute their own blog posts on the subject. I thought I’d share mine as part of that general call.
My choice for the most science-fictional real-life city is Washington, D.C., specifically the area of the National Mall.
An odd choice? Let’s take a little tour.
The Washington Monument in Washington, D.C., is a 555-foot-tall obelisk. By law, no building can be built in the city taller than it. It’s massive, but not oppressive. Stand at its base on a sunny, windy day and look up.
What, nothing? It’s a monumental monolith. If you don’t feel awe while standing beside the Washington Monument, slap yourself with a copy of 2001: A Space Odyssey.
The first section of the Metro, Washington’s subway system, opened in 1976. Its designers sought to avoid the problems other cities had with their underground systems. To prevent graffiti, for example, there are large gaps between all walls and walkways. The designers of the Metro clearly sought to involve themselves in forward-thinking planning and design. Flashing lights, audible instructions and tiles that feel different underfoot in different areas made the system accessible to those with disabilities. The stations are open and airy. The trains whoosh you to all the major points of the city.
Beyond that, they made something aesthetically pleasing. The stations and cars of the system are not boxlike, not strictly utilitarian. Vaulted ceilings sweep over one’s head. Pylons (monoliths again) are strategically placed with directional information. The carpeted interiors of the cars are comfortable and colorful.
Metro Center (Photo by Ben Schumin)
The Metro wasn’t ahead of its time; it was of its time, engaging a futuristic aesthetic that isn’t around anymore.
Walk through the welcoming doors of the East Wing of the National Gallery of Art – better yet, don’t. Walk into the east side of the West Wing of the gallery instead, go all the way down the stairs and enter the underground area there. Here you’ll find a gift shop, a restaurant, and a glass wall that lets in light from above and down which a waterfall cascades. Here also is an underground moving walkway that takes you to the East Wing. It is overarched with a curving, silvery ceiling. The lighting is dim. Sound is echoey. This is something straight out of Logan’s Run. This is the nexus of science-fictional Washington. Enjoy the ride.
The East Wing itself is a spatial maelstrom, an architectural fugue. It is all triangles. Even the skylights place triangular patterns of sun at your feet. Skywalks with glass sides crisscross within the building. You will get dizzy walking along the one that runs below the massive Alexander Calder mobile that slowly rotates as if it will sweep you off, but you’ll also feel that you are walking in a city of the future.
National Gallery of Art, East Wing (Photo by Fritz Geller-Grimm)
The photo I found of the East Wing makes it look too regular, but there is nothing discordant about the building. It is all of a piece, harmonious. It surprises, because glimpses of other levels come when you least expect them. That triangularity is remarkable. Outside, two walls come together at about a 30-degree angle to form a sharp point.
The only problem with the East Wing of the National Gallery of Art, designed by I.M. Pei, is that it is itself a piece of art. It outshines all of its contents. I can never summon any interest in its exhibits when visiting it; I am too engaged with the building itself.
Have I proved anything yet? Maybe not. The Mall is flanked by several museums, and has the Capitol building on one end and the Lincoln Memorial on the other. Perhaps what makes Washington, D.C., and its National Mall truly science fictional, however, is not what it has but what it has not. The Mall is a giant, vast empty space. It’s that empty space that makes the monumental truly monumental. Without it, the Washington Monument would be just another tall building.
The National Mall
Many cities have grand boulevards and great plazas, but not like this one. This isn’t a paved avenue for troops to parade down. It’s all grass, with some gravel pathways intersecting it. It wasn’t made for tanks and soldiers to show the might of a nation. It’s a place where people can gather peaceably, lots of ‘em, and they have.
Ever been to the Smithsonian Kite Festival, with the sky full of dancing color around the Washington Monument? Ever been to the National Book Festival? The Folklife Festival? Ever been to a massive demonstration there? A concert? The Fourth of July fireworks display? A presidential inauguration?
The National Mall is for the people.
After having said all this I can’t truly explain why the National Mall is science fictional to me. It just is. Maybe that’s the point I’m making after all. I grew up near Washington and visited it many times. I rode the Metro as a kid back and forth, back and forth, feeling, or pretending, like I was in a city of the future. Perhaps science fiction is only where you make it.
My question for the students at Shared Worlds is, What makes you feel awe? What makes you feel wonder? Write that. Write it down. Write it now.
A Monumental City: The Shared Worlds Question
Washington Monument (Photo by David Iliff)
Shared Worlds, a creative writing experience for students in grades 8 to 12 to be held from July 19 to Aug. 1 at Wofford College, asked prominent science fiction and fantasy writers the question “What’s your pick for the top real-life fantasy or science fiction city?” Writer Jeff Vandermeer, Shared Worlds assistant director and instructor, asked the question of current and past Shared Worlds instructors on his blog here, and SF Signal asked the question as part of its Mind Meld series here. The Shared Worlds post put out a general call for anyone to contribute their own blog posts on the subject. I thought I’d share mine as part of that general call.
My choice for the most science-fictional real-life city is Washington, D.C., specifically the area of the National Mall.
An odd choice? Let’s take a little tour.
The Washington Monument in Washington, D.C., is a 555-foot-tall obelisk. By law, no building can be built in the city taller than it. It’s massive, but not oppressive. Stand at its base on a sunny, windy day and look up.
What, nothing? It’s a monumental monolith. If you don’t feel awe while standing beside the Washington Monument, slap yourself with a copy of 2001: A Space Odyssey.
The first section of the Metro, Washington’s subway system, opened in 1976. Its designers sought to avoid the problems other cities had with their underground systems. To prevent graffiti, for example, there are large gaps between all walls and walkways. The designers of the Metro clearly sought to involve themselves in forward-thinking planning and design. Flashing lights, audible instructions and tiles that feel different underfoot in different areas made the system accessible to those with disabilities. The stations are open and airy. The trains whoosh you to all the major points of the city.
Beyond that, they made something aesthetically pleasing. The stations and cars of the system are not boxlike, not strictly utilitarian. Vaulted ceilings sweep over one’s head. Pylons (monoliths again) are strategically placed with directional information. The carpeted interiors of the cars are comfortable and colorful.
Metro Center (Photo by Ben Schumin)
The Metro wasn’t ahead of its time; it was of its time, engaging a futuristic aesthetic that isn’t around anymore.
Walk through the welcoming doors of the East Wing of the National Gallery of Art – better yet, don’t. Walk into the east side of the West Wing of the gallery instead, go all the way down the stairs and enter the underground area there. Here you’ll find a gift shop, a restaurant, and a glass wall that lets in light from above and down which a waterfall cascades. Here also is an underground moving walkway that takes you to the East Wing. It is overarched with a curving, silvery ceiling. The lighting is dim. Sound is echoey. This is something straight out of Logan’s Run. This is the nexus of science-fictional Washington. Enjoy the ride.
The East Wing itself is a spatial maelstrom, an architectural fugue. It is all triangles. Even the skylights place triangular patterns of sun at your feet. Skywalks with glass sides crisscross within the building. You will get dizzy walking along the one that runs below the massive Alexander Calder mobile that slowly rotates as if it will sweep you off, but you’ll also feel that you are walking in a city of the future.
National Gallery of Art, East Wing (Photo by Fritz Geller-Grimm)
The photo I found of the East Wing makes it look too regular, but there is nothing discordant about the building. It is all of a piece, harmonious. It surprises, because glimpses of other levels come when you least expect them. That triangularity is remarkable. Outside, two walls come together at about a 30-degree angle to form a sharp point.
The only problem with the East Wing of the National Gallery of Art, designed by I.M. Pei, is that it is itself a piece of art. It outshines all of its contents. I can never summon any interest in its exhibits when visiting it; I am too engaged with the building itself.
Have I proved anything yet? Maybe not. The Mall is flanked by several museums, and has the Capitol building on one end and the Lincoln Memorial on the other. Perhaps what makes Washington, D.C., and its National Mall truly science fictional, however, is not what it has but what it has not. The Mall is a giant, vast empty space. It’s that empty space that makes the monumental truly monumental. Without it, the Washington Monument would be just another tall building.
The National Mall
Many cities have grand boulevards and great plazas, but not like this one. This isn’t a paved avenue for troops to parade down. It’s all grass, with some gravel pathways intersecting it. It wasn’t made for tanks and soldiers to show the might of a nation. It’s a place where people can gather peaceably, lots of ‘em, and they have.
Ever been to the Smithsonian Kite Festival, with the sky full of dancing color around the Washington Monument? Ever been to the National Book Festival? The Folklife Festival? Ever been to a massive demonstration there? A concert? The Fourth of July fireworks display? A presidential inauguration?
The National Mall is for the people.
After having said all this I can’t truly explain why the National Mall is science fictional to me. It just is. Maybe that’s the point I’m making after all. I grew up near Washington and visited it many times. I rode the Metro as a kid back and forth, back and forth, feeling, or pretending, like I was in a city of the future. Perhaps science fiction is only where you make it.
My question for the students at Shared Worlds is, What makes you feel awe? What makes you feel wonder? Write that. Write it down. Write it now.
And don’t forget to dream — dream big.
Dream monumental.
.
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Click on the following links to access attributions and Creative Commons licenses for photos: Washington Monument, National Gallery of Art, National Mall, and Metro Center. March on Washington photo is in the public domain.