Fact vs. fantasy—science writing meets science fiction

For communicating factual science, we’ve talked about using techniques from fiction. And we’ve workshopped fiction that’s intended to communicate about factual science. But is there a difference, actually, between writing nonfiction and fiction, and if so, what is it? And for that matter, is fiction really even fictional? We were surprised what some scientist-writers had to say about all this.

What's the difference between writing nonfiction and fiction?

First, we looked at thoughts about this question from one of the most popular American fiction writers working today whose subject matter is often science-adjacent, George Saunders. In his Story Club newsletter, Saunders recently described (in his March 17, 2024 edition of "Office Hours", for subscribers) the difference between writing nonfiction and fiction this way:

In both forms, the writer might be seen as a curator, who arranges certain language-moments to produce a feeling; but in non-fiction, the writer is, in a sense, given a bag full of pre-chosen items (i.e., “that which really happened”) and has to work with these; in fiction, the writer gets to (has to) first create the items in the bag. ... The fiction writer doesn’t necessarily know, in advance, what experience she’s trying to produce—she uncovers/discovers this along the way. ... So, maybe, I’m unearthing a meaning in a piece of non-fiction, and conjuring up a meaning in fiction. ... In a work of non-fiction, I do see myself there—my best-thinking, most rigorous self. In a work of fiction, I get a glimpse of someone I don’t entirely recognize, who might even scare or offend me a little bit.

Someone whom you don't entirely recognize, who might scare you, happened also to be a feature of the draft short story we workshopped next.

Can fiction give us new ways to engage with factual science?

What we workshopped next was a somewhat terrifying fictional text—a short story titled "Heartachoke"—that combined the narrative style of Edgar Allen Poe with plausible parasite biology and invasive-species science. This unconventional combination seduced us as readers inside the human body and forced us to question normal notions of the separation between species. Such questioning isn't necessarily unscientific—indeed, it could be metaphorically connected to various aspects of cutting-edge science, such as recent research on the large-scale smuggling of DNA between species.

Um ... what if a lot of fiction is actually fact?

The story draft we workshopped was spooky enough, but alongside it was an even spookier idea: what if fiction isn't just metaphor, or isn't even fiction? The astrophysicist, science writer, and novelist John Gribbin recently posted some freaky musings that we considered, which certainly left us wondering:

There’s a school of thought which holds that all fiction is science fiction, because it doesn’t happen in “our” world. On that basis, novels such as Pride and Prejudice, or Bridget Jones’ Diary, have to be regarded as set in parallel worlds. ... So let’s look at the fuzzy boundary between science fact and science fiction, [but] as applied to the Multiverse. ...

My preferred version of the Many Worlds Interpretation of Quantum Mechanics (MWI) ... was suggested by one of the greatest physicists of the 20th century, Erwin Schrödinger. ... [And] if I am going to mention Schrödinger, it is, of course, obligatory that I mention his famous cat puzzle. ... At the time Schrödinger came up with the cat puzzle, the standard version of quantum theory ... said that the quantum device, and therefore the cat, remained in a kind of suspended animation (called a superposition of states) until someone opened the door and looked inside, at which point it “collapsed” into one or other state, with either dead cat or a live cat.

Schrödinger did not believe this. He was poking fun at people who did believe it. [Rather, Schrödinger held that] all the quantum options are equally valid—or real—all the time. In the cat example, this means that there were two identical universes (“fungible” is the technical term) up to the point where the quantum “choice” is made. In one universe, the cat lives, in the other the cat dies, so after that moment they are no longer fungible. By opening the door and taking a look, all the observer is doing is finding out which universe they are living in. ... [So,] one of the greatest physicists of the 20th century said that all possible universes “really happen simultaneously”. ... [Today,] respectable physicists ... fully accept the implication from standard quantum theory that all possible universes exist as part of the Multiverse. Such physicists are in a minority, but they by no means constitute a lunatic fringe. ...

[Thus,] according to the equations, it is indeed true that any world, or story, you can imagine which obeys the laws of physics really does exist somewhere (or somewhen) in the Multiverse, but fantasies in which those laws are broken do not correspond to genuine alternative realities. So, there really is at least one (arguably, an infinity of) “Jane Austen” world(s) in which the events portrayed in her novels actually happened, exactly as she described. But there are no Harry Potter worlds, or Neil Gaiman Stardust worlds, because they do not obey the laws of physics. ...

This raises many speculations. Not least, is there anyone (or any thing) writing our story? If these ideas are correct, there must be! I’m reminded of Alice’s musing at the end of her adventure in Wonderland: “He was part of my dream, of course — but then I was part of his dream, too.” ...

A good scientist doesn’t “believe” anything, in the everyday sense. Blind faith is the prerogative of religion. Scientists ought to be agnostic, accepting the evidence available at present but willing to take on board new ideas (and if necessary reject old ideas) when new evidence turns up. So, although (for example) I “believe” in the Big Bang in a sense, what I mean by that is that I find the present evidence for an early hot phase of the Universe compelling. In that sense, I also “believe” in the reality of fictional worlds in the Multiverse. The laws of physics say that the world(s) must be like that, and the same laws of physics explain, among other things, how the Sun keeps shining, and how how the twin strands of the DNA double helix are held together by hydrogen bonds. The laws of physics don’t come in a variety pack from which you can pick and choose the bits you want to accept. ...

Apparently, [the “dean” of science fiction writers, the novelist] Robert Heinlein worried about this in later life. He was quite concerned about the possibility that the beings of his imagination really suffered the lives that he put them through. But, does the author create those “imaginary” people and societies or is (s)he simply recounting their tales?

So maybe I had my opening thought backwards. It isn’t so much that all mainstream fiction is science fiction, rather all of that kind of story is non-fiction. Something to ponder when you are reading the so-called fiction in the latest magazine. Which of the stories obey the laws of physics and describe real events in alternative realities? And which ones are undeniably fantasy?

Naturally, we were left wondering whether the laws of physics had fully applied in the story we workshopped—"Heartachoke". If so, and if  a real parasitic plant might actually have taken over the body of a person in a real parallel universe ...

—Trevor Corson

Image: Gerardo Giuseppe Ramos Granada, Vecteezy