People forget that Lewis was a poet. I have quoted him before about my profession.

The poem I wanted to quote I have already posted: if is of late love, and as such is painfully honest.

I never had a selfless thought since I was born.
I am mercenary and self-seeking through and through:

But this is about science fiction. And how it became progressive, converged, broken, before, well before the turning of 1968: after Orwell it became progressive (or Libertarian, which has never stopped the progressives).

We need to take our culture back. High and Low.

An Expostulation

Against too many writers of science fiction

Why did you lure us on like this,
Light-year on light-year, through the abyss,
Building (as though we cared for size!)
Empires that cover galaxies
If at the journey’s end we find
The same old stuff we left behind,
Well-worn Tellurian stories of
Crooks, spies, conspirators, or love,
Whose setting might as well have been
The Bronx, Montmartre, or Bedinal Green?

Why should I leave this green-floored cell,
Roofed with blue air, in which we dwell,
Unless, outside its guarded gates,
Long, long desired, the Unearthly waits
Strangeness that moves us more than fear,
Beauty that stabs with tingling spear,
Or Wonder, laying on one’s heart
That finger-tip at which we start
As if some thought too swift and shy
For reason’s grasp had just gone by?

Clive Staples Lewis

Lewis wrote one of the best Science Fiction trilogies, now forgotten. For it is explicitly Chridtian, taken neat. When a government calls the National Institute of Clinical Evidence (NICE) such, they have hever read “That Hideous Strength: with infernal planned experiments to make us better.

Let science fiction be strange, weird, and in the gutter. From there we can look at the stars, as evensong is heard from the college choirs still remaining in the parts of Oxford not quite destroyed by the current Red guards.