ALL FANTASTICAL LITERATURE depends on a state of being known as the ‘willful suspension of disbelief.’ That is, the reader enters the story prepared to toss all skepticism aside for the sake of the story! This term was coined by Samuel Taylor Coleridge in 1817 in his Biographia literaria (or ‘biographical sketches of my literary life’) and opinions he wrote:
“In this idea originated the plan of the Lyrical Ballads; in which it was agreed, that my endeavours should be directed to persons and characters supernatural, or at least romantic, yet so as to transfer from our inward nature a human interest and a semblance of truth sufficient to procure for these shadows of imagination that willing suspension of disbelief for the moment, which constitutes poetic faith.”
The meaning of the term has changed since then: “The phrase suspension of disbelief came to be used more loosely in the later 20th century, often used to imply that the burden was on the reader, rather than the writer, to achieve it. This might be used to refer to the willingness of the audience to overlook the limitations of a medium so that these do not interfere with the acceptance of those premises.” (Wikipedia)
Today it essentially means that once the author has the reader’s tacit agreement to stop not believing in something—that he will accept the improbable as probable—he can tell his tale regardless of its flights of fancy.
This comic book version of The Time Machine from Classics Illustrated was a faithful adaptation of the novel. It cost 15¢ in 1956, a pretty penny indeed for a funnybook!
The unwritten law of the gimme
In science fiction, once that agreement has been made, a few rules unique to science fiction come into play. And these are not the ‘laws’ previously discussed. One of the rules—at least one that I remember—was that a writer was allowed one gimme per story. And a novel is one story, regardless of the number of subplots.
Basically, a gimme (from “gimme a break”) is a literary device in the story in which the writer requires that the reader willingly suspend his disbelief. A science fiction story’s plot usually hangs on the gimme.
The gimme is usually something that does not exist in contemporary consensual reality (that reality that average humans seem to agree that they share). The gimme’s existence may be theoretical or otherwise conceivable.
The reason for this unstated law of only one per story is to keep the narrative grounded so that we do not lose ourselves in the author’s fantasies. Stories that do not adhere to this rule tend to become convoluted or silly or unbelievable despite our willingly suspending our disbelief. It is almost always unsatisfying to those intelligent, articulate readers that science fiction had gathered about itself.
Among the more common gimmes in science fiction are the existence of technologically advanced species from other worlds, time travel, mental telepathy and telekinesis, and physically traveling faster than the speed of light.
As an example, if the writer uses time travel as his gimme, that is the only break he gets: everything else in the story must conform to a reasonable facsimile of consensual reality and be at least probable. For example, if the protagonist travels backward in time, then everything about the period he travels to in the past must be historically accurate (although not necessarily factual).
On the other hand, historical figures for which we know little may be used (or abused) as the writer sees fit. The same applies to fictional characters of the past.
This comic book version of The Time Machine was a reasonable adaptation of George Pal’s movie, itself a reasonable adaptation of the novel. It sold for the usual 10¢, standard fare for a 36-page comic of the time.
Regarding characters in the past
The personalities and behavior of well-documented, historical characters should remain true to history. Julius Caesar, Ben Franklin, and Madame Curie must act in a manner consistent with what the historical records indicate their manner was.
The one gimme per story rule may be set aside when the protagonist travels far into the future. While it may be prudent of the author to keep things as realistic as possible, who is to say that a time traveler (the primary gimme) moving 1,000 years into the future would discover that the ability to travel faster than the speed of light or tap into mental abilities such as telepathy and telekinesis could not be possible?
So that is how I remember the concept of the gimme. Searching the internet I found little of substance on “science fiction gimme rule”—regardless of how I worded my search. (Oddly, there are lots of listings for a band called Me First & The Gimme Gimmes who have a single called Science Fiction!)
I did find a few other sites where it was mentioned, but none dwelled on it like I am doing here. They just took for granted that their readers knew and understood the concept.
In the next two parts of this essay, I will return to the concept of the gimme in regard to several sub-genres of fantastic literature.
HEADER IMAGE: For “Modern Science Fiction and the Gimme Part 2” I selected a picture of one of the most famous models in cinematic history: the time machine used by George (Rod Taylor) in the George Pal movie The Time Machine (1960). Time travel is one of the dearests of science fiction gimmes and both the novel and the movie do a good job of leaving other gimmes alone.
Mystically liberal Virgo enjoys long walks alone in the city at night in the rain with an umbrella and a flask of 10-year-old Laphroaig who strives to live by the maxim, “It ain’t what you know that gets you into trouble; it’s what you know that just ain’t so.
I’ve been a puppet, a pauper, a pirate, a poet, a pawn, and a college dropout (twice!). Occupationally, I have been a bartender, jewelry engraver, bouncer, landscape artist, and FEMA crew chief following the Great Flood of ’72 (and that was a job that I should never, ever have left).
I am also the final author of the original O’Sullivan Woodside price guides for record collectors and the original author of the Goldmine price guides for record collectors. As such, I was often referred to as the Price Guide Guru, and—as everyone should know—it behooves one to heed the words of a guru. (Unless, of course, you’re the Beatles.)