Biographies are a kind of mirage, a layer of one person over another, a layer of time over the past, everything constructed, artificial, or perhaps overly factual in an effort not to be artificial, although there's always a feeling that the entire narrative is an act of fiction and that the subject not only disappears but will never have been once the film is inevitably wiped away. Truth in identity, then, is illegible in domestication, and best avoided. However, the biography of Science Fiction author Alice B. Sheldon, also known as James Tiptree, also known as Racoona Sheldon, compels for illuminating exactly that conflict.

"To grow up as a "girl" is to be nearly fatally spoiled, deformed, confused, and terrified; to be responded to by falsities, to be reacted to as nothing or as a thing - and nearly to become that thing. To have no steady routine of growth and training, but only a series of explosions into unwanted adulation - and then into limbo. The world was not my oyster." - Alice Sheldon 

Julie Phillips doesn't create a vivisection for our study, but delicately knots together the contradictory desperation, drives, and desires that eventually allowed Sheldon in the guise of a man, to reveal herself to the world. From Phillips, we empathize with the intensely, internally mercurial Sheldon and her public elusiveness, even to herself. The relief then, when Tiptree allows Sheldon to drop her own baggage for a moment to speak and be heard, is both in the biography and the work. Her fatalism is there too. In a way, Sheldon's entire life is a coming of age story that is cut short, one in constant flux with it's own narrative, self aware and disguised, but much realer for it.

"Tip" started publishing only in her late years, and that work is some of Sci Fi's best. Dr. Ain, the short story on which 12 Monkeys, and before that, La Jetee, is based, come on like a fever, quaking through the theme of suicide dreamlike and neurotically towards the impending apocalypse, and carrying the fatalism heavily and rationally. Often told from the perspective of "innocent" contemptuous male narrators, Sheldon's stories express a deep outrage for the workings of gender politics, letting slip the masks of female acculturation for those in the know, to reveal the deep rage and violence beneath. At once fielding the morally squishy and hard science with instincts of a thriller, Sheldon's work defies gender authorship but is labile with feminism.

Accordingly, the book takes the temperature and meaning of Sci Fi through decades, first personally for the author and culturally, as context. As a fan, this peep into the heady world of Golden Age and New Wave editing rooms is a particular treat, how our tastes are shaped, what humanist principles those editors were trying to sculpt, and in particular, how institutionalized ideas of gender restricts our understanding of the hard/soft paradigm of Sci Fi at large. Pleasant asides: Sheldon's tentative wooing of various authors through erudite letters assigned to Tiptree, and his penetration into the circle of sometimes similarly reclusive people, their collective work creating a safe harbor for the deranged, the damaged, the insightful and oppressed, in other words - the alien.


Note: Reading this biography was a highly personal experience. But I think anyone who has suffered from or is interested in the effects of repression or depression may gain something from both Sheldon and Phillip's insight. While Mad Men's Sally Draper is definitely an unsympathetic character, I imagine that in some sense she, and all the other women on that show, would empathize in a primal way if not fully understand Sheldon's personal despair of "seeming" just a woman yet "being" so much more.


NPR interview with Julie Phillips.


Rare, for me, promotional Amazon link to Sheldon's short story collection,  Her Smoke Rose Up Forever.