From its inception at the hands of Mary Shelley in 1818 (scholars nowadays unanimously agree that Frankenstein, or, The Modern Prometheus was the first true work in the genre) to the end of the 19th century, science fiction was essentially a European phenomenon. During the 1860s and ‘70s, it was the Frenchman Jules Verne who, through his Voyages Extraordinaires—Twenty Thousand Leagues Under the Sea, Journey to the Centre of the Earth, From the Earth to the Moon—laid a firm groundwork for the field. The mantle was then taken up by the British author H G Wells, whose unforgettable ‘scientific romance’ novels such as The Time Machine, The Invisible Man, The War of the Worlds and The Island of Doctor Moreau made science fiction popular among the masses. After that, literary luminaries like Arthur Conan Doyle, Rudyard Kipling and Jack London dabbled in the craft of SF and succeeded admirably. Their oeuvres not only gave the genre a sheen of respectability but also helped in expanding its horizons further.

It was not until the beginning of the 20th century that the pendulum started to swing towards American domination of science fiction, and the advent of the pulps (magazines printed on cheap and low-quality papers made from wood pulp) had a key role to play in that. The change began with Munsey’s Magazine and Argosy—two periodicals keen on publishing action-adventure garbed in the attires of SF and Fantasy, and featuring the likes of H Rider Haggard and Edgar Rice Burroughs within their pages. The early 1920s saw the appearance of Weird Tales, which, apart from its usual quota of horror and supernatural, published occasional science fiction. But to be honest, none of these were driven by the agenda of making SF available to a greater audience.

The scenario changed in 1926 when Hugo Gernsback, an entrepreneur in the electronics industry, launched Amazing Stories—the first-ever magazine solely dedicated to science fiction. The inaugural issue came out in April of that year and created quite an uproar. The initial issues mainly focused on reprinting the classics; however, original stories by contemporary authors started appearing soon enough. As the founder-editor, Gernsback was all in for shaping the magazine as per his ideals. He coined the term ‘Scientifiction’ for the kind of stories he wanted to publish— “75 per cent literature interwoven with 25 per cent science”. People looking to read fresh and innovative fiction flocked to the newsstands to buy its copies, and the journey of Amazing was underway.

In spite of his enthusiasm and perseverance, Gernsback was not without foibles. He had an almost unhealthy fondness for flashy gadgets and considered stories containing descriptions of gadgetry the best kind of SF. Additionally, he frequently included lengthy editorial comments, often in the form of unnecessary footnotes or annotations, which the readers found unappreciative. In 1929, due to some bad financial decisions, Gernsback went bankrupt and lost ownership of his magazine. New editors came and went, none, with the exception of Ray Palmer, lasting for more than a few years. Amazing managed to limp on through the hardships for another couple of decades but was never the same as before. It ultimately fizzled out, but not before cementing its legacy as the pioneer magazine of SF and establishing Hugo Gernsback’s reputation of being the ‘Father of Modern Science Fiction’.

Astounding Stories of Super-Science, under the editorship of first Harry Bates and then F Orlin Tremaine, followed in the footsteps of Amazing and became its chief rival in the early ’30s. Big names like Captain S P Meek, Ray Cummings and E E ‘Doc’ Smith wrote regularly for the magazine—endearing it to SF aficionados. But after one point, the writers grew complacent and began producing substandard, ham-handed stuff. As a result, melodramatic stories featuring bug-eyed aliens and bloodthirsty space bandits started littering the pages of the magazine. Rubbish plots, cardboard-stiff characters and ridiculous dialogues abounded; the ‘science’ in science fiction was nowhere to be found. It was at this juncture that John Wood Campbell, a fine writer of SF in his own right, took charge of Astounding and created history.

Campbell’s first major input as editor was to change the name of the magazine to Astounding Science Fiction. An MIT dropout, he knew more about science than most and didn’t hesitate in banishing the hackworks completely from his magazine and introducing the concept of ‘Hard SF’ (a branch of science fiction dealing with correct scientific facts and plausible speculations). Campbell promptly built around himself a stable of young but immensely gifted writers, many of whom afterwards went on to become giants in the field. The July 1939 issue of Astounding made a resounding statement, boasting terrific content including A E Van Vogt’s scintillating maiden story, The Black Destroyer, Asimov’s superb debut effort Trends and C L Moore’s unputdownable Greater than Gods. The fans were delighted, the critics awestruck; The Golden Age of Science Fiction was ushered in with great aplomb.

Campbell had the farsightedness of properly nurturing his writers, often discussing riveting plot ideas with them and guiding them through the intricate steps of story writing. He encouraged them to think outside the box and offered a bonus payment as a reward whenever they turned out something good. The success of Asimov’s Robot and Foundation series, Heinlein’s Future History series, and Van Vogt’s The World of Null A novel owed a lot to Campbell’s incisive inputs—something which the authors have acknowledged numerous times later in their careers.

During the ’40s, Astounding stood as the epitome of SF greatness—providing the readers with the best that pulp-era science fiction had to offer. But no golden age lasts forever. The slump came suddenly, and Campbell was primarily to blame for it. He grew obsessed with Dianetics, Dean Drive and Psionics—a bunch of pseudoscientific hokum no sane person would put his faith in—and spent considerable time and money printing tales concerning such topics. Some of his best writers parted ways with him because of this; the rest, desperate to sell him their works by any means necessary, pandered to his fetish. Consequently, the quality of the magazine fell drastically, and subscriptions dwindled. After 1955, Astounding was merely a shadow of its former self, and despite a comeback attempt in the ’60s under a new name, Analog Science Fact and Fiction, it never regained its lost status. Still, one can’t ignore its contribution in elevating rudimentary level SF into something far more substantial, nor overlook Campbell’s massive influence on the genre as a whole.

The 1950s saw the emergence of science fiction paperbacks—an event that turned the entire market on its head and caused severe disruption all around. A large number of pulps died untimely deaths; others barely survived by downsizing themselves into digests or quarterlies. But not all was lost for SF magazines; two new monthlies—Galaxy Science Fiction and The Magazine of Fantasy & Science Fiction—boldly entered the arena with the intention of staying.

Galaxy, with the brilliant Horace L Gold at its helm, consciously deviated from Campbell’s notion of rigorous, disciplined science fiction and championed ‘Soft SF’: a subgenre that dealt with mankind’s social, political and psychological issues, putting less emphasis on technological advancements and more on their effect on humanity. Fritz Leiber, Ray Bradbury, Alfred Bester and James Blish readily made themselves known as the torchbearers in this field—penning sublime pieces like The Fireman (Bradbury, 1951), The Demolished Man (Bester, 1952), Surface Tension (Blish, 1952) and Big Time (Leiber, 1958), and in the process, garnering tremendous critical acclaim. F&SF didn’t lag behind either. Fuelled by the inspiring leadership of J. Francis McComas and Anthony Boucher, it kept printing stories with literary merit, among which Richard Matheson’s Born of Man and Woman, Daniel Keyes’ Flowers for Algernon, Algis Budrys’ Rogue Moon and Brian Aldiss’ Hothouse were the most notable.

After Gold quit his position citing bad health, Frederik Pohl stepped into his shoes and took Galaxy to new heights. Likewise, subsequent to the demise of McComas, Boucher single-handedly kept F&SF going. By the ’70s, though, the pulps were well and truly finished. Short story collections and anthologies dominated the market; the magazines that remained were either slicks like Omni and Playboy, or mainstream periodicals not averse to publishing science fiction, such as Esquire and The Saturday Evening Post.

Still, it must be said that the era was a good one while it lasted. The readers got to read excellent stories on diverse subjects, ranging from sweeping space operas to mind-boggling time travel tales, from bleak dystopias to poignant mood pieces, and the genre amply benefitted through the massive exposure it received. Without the pulps, SF wouldn’t have evolved into what it is today—a magnificent doorway to a world of endless possibilities. And for that, for everything, we remain ever so grateful to Gernsback and his ilk.

The writer is an engineer at Steel Authority of India Limited—IISCO Steel Plant. He has also edited nine genre-fiction anthologies.