There was a time in my life when I read only Literature. Steinbeck. Faulkner. Vonnegut. Joyce (took me a while though).

If I strayed from Literature I only read cutting edge new fiction that the commentators on NPR would commend me for undertaking.

The past two years have been different. I’ve cast aside my pseudo-intellectualism for stories and novels that tickle my mind, excite my sense of adventure and let my imagination soar into lands that are yet untouched by man, or even unimagined.

They are stories of allegory and whimsy. Satire and commentary, written by authors who have one foot in the present, one foot in the future and another unnamed appendage in their imagination.

By my description, one would think I’m speaking of high literary art. And I am, but few fell that way.

I’m talking about Science Fiction. This is a genre that many people feel the need to urinate on. And, often, rightly so. There is a plethora of pastiche that is written by little boys who never grew up and feel the need to splay out their bizarre sexual fantasies that involve princesses of other worlds and imaginary animals. Men who, though they are financially wealthy, still live in their parents’ basement write them.

The Sci-Fi I’m reading is considered “hard sci-fi.” What does this mean? The stories contain technology that is either on the horizon, or should be. The best example of this is anything written by Arthur C. Clarke. Remember that space elevator I mentioned last week? Clarke’s idea. Solar sail? Clarke’s idea. A space faring propulsion system that uses water? Clarke’s idea. The communications satellite? Clarke’s idea.

This is actual science based upon real physics theories that are being expounded to day by the likes of Hawking, Barrow and Kaku. Or based on theories that were posited by the likes of Richard Feynman and are now beginning to take shape.

Using technology as a device, these books and stories look at the world we have created and what may be happening to it. They deal not with the geeky aspect of science (though that is a part), but they look at how we are reshaping the world.

Any great story is simply an allegory. Whether it is a murder mystery, romance, or science fiction, a great story can teach you something about yourself. It doesn’t matter that it takes place on a space colony or on a different planet. The characters that inhabit this imaginary world are human and, as we’ve learned so brutally, human beings never change. But their toys do.

Once upon a time the chain and mace was a weapon of mass destruction that was replaced by the catapult that was replaced by a cannon that was replaced by a missile and so on. Science Fiction merely takes a step beyond and looks at what we may do with the power we’ve discovered in the future. Often, it is as bleak picture because . . . well. . . we’re an odd damn species.

Satire, allegory, morality. These are the benchmarks of great literature. Where I once felt a pang of guilt for reading what I once considered tripe, I now feel great pride. Why? Because I have discovered something that few realize.

That Science Fiction, great Science Fiction, is a mirror of our own lives, obsessions, fears and faults. That a great story, no matter what the form, is a great story.

It is no more my fault that Piers Anthony writes juvenile tripe, as it is your fault that John Grisham writes juvenile tripe.

Paul Auster? Great modern author who has peered into our souls and writes absurd, poignant, funny stories. John Varley? Great modern author who has peered into our future and writes absurd, poignant funny stories.

But few will agree. I blame Ice Pirates.