Cyborg Cities
Helena Esser
(Steampunk London
Neo-Victorian Urban
Space and Popular
Transmedia Memory)
Science
fiction critic John Clute viscerally describes how William Gibson and Bruce
Sterling’s seminal steampunk novel The Difference Engine (1990)
radically transforms the Victorian city of memory as follows:
Very soon the face of London begins to convulse into a
Freemason’s wetdream of the City as a monologue of temples: parks and homes are
demolished to make way for entrepreneurial edifices decorated with pharaonic
runes and dedicated to Progress: new thoroughfares slice through the heart of
town, steam gurneys choke the roadways and poison the air; and everywhere one
can hear the sound of the new order being born.1
In so doing, he illustrates
the central subject of this interdisciplinary study: By deconstructing and then
remapping a vaguely familiar but commonly held urban imaginary, steampunk
London emerges as a retro-speculative, alternative ‘Victorian London’ that both
affirms and reimagines its status as emblematic socio-economic nexus and
collective symbol for the Victorian past.
This study explores why
steampunk fiction, as a creative- critical, neo-Victorian, and popular memory
practice, gravitates so often to Victorian London as its potent setting, and
how its anachronistic impulses work both within and against a collective memory
of the Victorian city. It contextualizes steampunk cities against Victorian
cross-media strategies to represent the complexity, simultaneity, and social
challenges of the modern metropolis, and so illustrates how and to what end
steampunk creatively re-imagines London’s urban environments across both
spatial and temporal axes. In so doing, it illustrates how popular fiction at
large, and neo-
Victorianism in particular,
invites participatory consumption and a playful, yet politically informed
re-evaluation of the Victorian past’s legacies, and considers its potential -
and its failures - to interrogate and challenge our relationship with that
Victorian past.
A Short History of Steampunk
Steampunk
is notoriously difficult to define, although easily identifiable as
retro-speculative, Victorian-looking universes populated by airships, automata,
ray guns, or revenants: Steampunk, ‘as a genre and a paradigm resists
definition’.2 It typically infuses neo-Victorian settings, be they
fantastic secondary worlds or identifiably real-world Victorian past, with
retrofuturism and technofantasy3 as either aesthetic marker or temporal concept, and
may incarnate across genres in literature, film, fashion, music, video games,
or sculpture. Termed - although not invented4 - by K.W. Jeter in 1987 for Locus Magazine,5 steampunk initially synthesized 1980s anti-
neo-liberal politics against the collapsing industrial paradigm and has
re-emerged in the internet age as a cross-cultural, collaborative transmedia
subculture that spans fiction, maker culture, music, art, and cosplay.
This maker culture most exemplifies steampunk’s
creative interrogation of our relationship with technology, and has most often
garnered scholarship’s attention.6 It potently illustrates how steampunk synthesizes Victorian
fictions, aesthetics, and materials - ‘the dandified gear of aristocrats,
peculiar brass gear, rather stilted personal relationships, and elaborate and
slightly kinky underwear’, as Sterling postulates - into a culturally charged
visual shorthand,7 and therefore merits a brief overview. Steampunk’s
quest to re-capture a knowability of the technology that saturates and defines
our lives is illustrated by a much-quoted manifesto out of SteamPunk Magazine
by the Catastrophone Orchestra:
First and foremost, steampunk
is a non-luddite critique of technology. [...] It revels in the concrete
reality of technology instead of the over-analytical abstractness
of cybernetics. [S]teampunk machines are real, breathing, coughing, struggling
and rumbling parts of the world. They are not the airy intellectual fairies of
algorithmic mathematics but the hulking manifestations of muscle and mind, the
progeny of sweat, blood, tears and delusions. The technology of steampunk is
natural; it moves, lives, ages and even dies.8
Attempting
to ‘rediscover the inherent dignity of created objects’,9 steampunk’s
online and collaborative maker culture seeks to re-humanize technology by
externalizing its hidden functions in the Arts and Crafts spirit. Steampunk
creations promise accessibility and offer a sensory experience: Their levers,
gears, and boilers can be seen, heard, and touched, in opposition to the
streamlined digital black boxes that refuse us users access or agency over
their inner workings. The Victorian design aesthetic here signifies a complex
network of meta-historical interrelations between production, workmanship,
materiality, capitalism, and identity that are firmly identified with, and
located in, the Victorian past. It so re-thinks and re-applies Victorian
critiques of industrial production and the mass market by Karl Marx, John
Ruskin, or William Morris, and employs similar strategies of reclaiming agency
and dignity through manufacture. However, the industrial design which Victorian
critics rejected now becomes itself the object of reverence, because, now
outdated, it is perceived as picturesque and intriguing. As a postmodern and
post-industrial aesthetic, steampunk also illustrates our collective
re-evaluation of a technological aesthetic once perceived as daunting and
infernal as now quaint and clanky: ‘Steampunk’s key lessons are not about the past,’
reflects Sterling in the Steampunk Bible:
They are about the instability
and obsolescence of our own times. A host of objects and services that we see
each day all around us are not sustainable. [...] Once they’re gone, they’ll
seem every bit as weird and archaic as top hats, crinolines, magic lanterns,
clockwork automatons, absinthe, walking-sticks and paper-scrolled player
pianos.10
As such, steampunk is intrinsically bound up with the
neoVictorian project of re-assessing the nineteenth century’s legacies, here
from a technological perspective. It condenses ideas about agency, artistry, and accessibility that
defined object-user relationships amid the Industrial Revolution into a
retro-speculative aesthetic shorthand11 and adds irony and adventure. Its anachronistic,
(re-)created objects become understandable, emotionally valuable, and full of
(dangerous) possibility: ‘Through the recovery of the everyday danger of
interacting with volatile objects, steampunk practitioners desire to re-engage
with the physical world, subverting the sterile and safe relationships they
perceive to exist between people and objects in contemporary society’.12
Despite
its semi-ironic reverence for Victorian materiality and aesthetic, steampunk
remains conscious of the social and ecological cost of Victorian industrial
production, and steampunks are called to ‘punk responsibly’ and remember that
‘steampunking is a political act’.13 Ultimately,
steampunk is animated by a semi-nostalgic, semi-ironic celebration of a
perceived sense of escalation and hubris associated with the Victorian age as a
riotous, dirty, adventurous age of invention, romance, and exploration. As
Diana Pho explains: ‘Modern science fiction tells us: “Oh god, don’t go build
giant robots. They’ll kill us all!” But Victorian science fiction says: “Yay!
Let’s go build giant robots! Oh shoot, they killed us” ’.14
Steampunk
is a self-aware, meta-historical, transmedia aesthetic that flaunts playful,
retro-speculative anachronisms as its defining feature, and so collapses linear
timelines into an imaginative and often semi-ironical triple exposure of past,
present, and future. It usually includes techno-fantastical impulses and
incorporates multiple, often paradoxical tensions. Marked by an inherent
hybridity that blends genres and modes, such as the neo-Victorian with science
fiction, it resists ontological coherence and unsettles dichotomies between
fact and fiction, past and present, history and speculation, irony and
nostalgia, the familiar and the strange. As such, it resembles Donna Haraway’s
cyborg in that it may ‘contain contradictions that do not resolve into larger
wholes’, instead holding ‘incompatible things together, because both or all are
necessary and true’.15
It is the thesis of this study
that, for steampunk fiction to function and deliver a satisfactory audience
experience, it mobilizes a variety of popular cross-genre, transmedia tropes
and mechanisms, with which its contemporary, transmedialiterate and globally
connected audience of what one might call post-modern natives is intrinsically,
if subconsciously, familiar. Through its anachronistic remix, steampunk creates
ludic, irreverent relationships with space and time, here centred on and
embodied through the Victorian metropolis, opening the past to interventions
that play on the tensions and ironies of our hindsight position towards
history. As such, it creates an active reader position and invites audiences to
reimagine their subject position in relation to material culture, here the
shared memory of ‘the Victorian’, and urban space, and to evaluate competing
collective narratives of the Victorian past. Steampunk so creates a unique
interplay between (perceived) past and present, which in turn reflects back on
our contemporary identity politics. Thus, depending on which historical
meta-narratives are mobilized and how, steampunk holds the potential to shape
its audiences as active political agents in pop culture discourse. Indeed,
ongoing debates about the re-signification of post-colonial legacies and
reparative re-shaping have been an integral part of the steampunk culture since
its beginnings,16 and so align it
with the neo-Victorian project.
Neo-Victorianism and the Popular Imagination
As a meta-historical remix of popular memory,
steampunk is always, if sometimes unconsciously so, engaged in what has been
established as neo-Victorianism’s core-principle, namely that it must ‘in some
respect be self-consciously engaged with the act of (re)interpretation,
(re)discovery and (re)vision concerning the Victorians.’17 It is also a
decidedly popular incarnation of post-modern ‘historiographic metafiction’,
‘those well-known and popular novels which are both intensely self-reflexive
and yet paradoxically also lay claim to historical events and personages’,18 and, in its
re-evaluation of the conditions, enduring traumas, and legacies of the
nineteenth century in light of the present moment and its (usually)
post-colonial and post-neo-liberal identity politics,19 is likewise
resurrecting the ghost(s) of the past, searching out
its dark secrets and shameful mysteries, insisting obsessively on the lurid
details of Victorian life, reliving the period’s nightmares and traumas. At the
same time, neoVictorianism also tries to understand the nineteenth century as
the contemporary self’s uncanny Doppelganger, exploring the uncertain
limit between what is vanished (dead) and surviving (still living), celebrating
the bygone even while lauding the demise of some of the period’s most
oppressive aspects, like institutionalised slavery and legally sanctioned
sexism and 20 racism.20
Steampunk, while
its origins lie somewhat far afield of those of neo-Victorianism, is then
nonetheless an essentially neo-Victorian mode, as it, too, constitutes an
active site of interpretive struggle over the (re-)signification of cultural
memory and, by extension, the collective identity of imagined communities,21 only steampunk’s
neo-Victorian reinterpretation is infused with playful retro-speculation.
That the question of ‘what it means to fashion the
past for consumption in the present’22 is as contested
today as it was in the wake of neo-liberalism is painfully evident in Britain’s
Brexit era. Indeed, whereas the ‘Victorian’ marker, delineating Great Britain
between 1837 and 1901, or what Eric Hobsbawm has termed the Long Nineteenth
Century (17891914), is as potent as it is constricting and Anglo-centric,
steampunk, like neo-Victorianism, is a global phenomenon with global potential.23 What, then,
comprises ‘Victorian-ness’ for international popular audiences? What is the
symbolic significance of Victorian London especially as a potent essence of and
emblem for that ‘Victorian-ness’ across national boundaries? How does steampunk
London encapsulate, re-negotiate, or re-inscribe collective cultural memory
which, as Jan Assmann suggests, is both externalized in symbolic spaces such as
the urban sphere, and repeatedly communicated in and through everyday
interaction?24
This study’s aim is to pry
apart and interrogate the multiple cultural mechanisms and meta-narratives
about ‘the Victorian’ at play in the steampunk city in order to gain a deeper
understanding of how a popular cultural memory of the Victorian past is shaped
and transmitted. Steampunk emblematizes the production of communicative and
cultural memory, not by relegated specialized authorities, but through the
participatory space of popular culture, which Stuart Hall, after all, defines
as a dynamic, ongoing process that both produces and reproduces a dominant
cultural order: ‘Popular culture is one of the sites where this struggle for
and against a culture of the powerful is engaged: it is also the stake to be
won or lost in that struggle. It is the arena of consent and resistance.
It is partly where hegemony arises, and where it is secured.’25 Notably, he also
identifies popular culture as deeply rooted in nineteenth-century mass media,
which is why a comparative approach to collectively constructed notions of
Victorian London - both Victorian and neo-Victorian - will be especially
productive: Considering that widely consumed media lastingly shape popular
perception and illustrate ‘what we want to imagine the period to have been like
for diverse reasons, including affirmations of national identity, the struggle
for symbolic restorative justice, and indulgence in escapist exoticism’,26 which persisting
meta-narratives about the city reflect back our projected fantasies about the
nineteenth-century? Which narratives are prioritized in an imagined
teleological genealogy towards our present collective identity? Which
stereotypes persist in the popular reception, potentially hampering a
productive re-negotiation of the past? For example, given that, as Diana M. Pho
argues, steampunk’s ironically self-reflexive play dismantles homogeneous
historical narratives, and rejects nostalgia in favour of transformative
critique,27 how does it reckon
- or fail to reckon - with the nineteenth century’s colonial legacies,
especially regarding London as the Empire’s capital?
Indeed, as Antonija
Primorac notes, ‘audiences’ expectations are moulded less by a knowledge of the
period based on the archival data (maps, blueprints, lithographs, paintings,
photographs, life-writing, fictional and newspaper accounts), but more by the
images generated by other, preceding, films and TV series set in the same
period’.28 ‘In
a sense’, Kohlke and Gutleben diagnose, ‘the neo-Victorian is by definition
hyperreal, since it has no direct access to the Victorian real, instead relying
entirely on Victorian texts and documents, that is, on signs of the past’.29 Popular
neo- Victoriana, sourcing from a pre-established collective idea of ‘the
Victorian’, therefore often re-construct and perpetuate ‘already accepted ideas
about the Victorians for the sake of period authenticity. [...] [This means:]
stereotypes about the Victorian past are (still) an important foundation on
which popular adaptations rely’.30 This
may include persistent stereotypes about gender, or the almost reflexive,
non-critical perpetuation of Gothic tropes, which are entangled in fraught
Victorian ideas about race and Otherness. Popular neo- Victoriana and steampunk
fiction may thus powerfully illustrate how our collective, politically
conscious desire to reckon with the legacies of the Victorian past may be
shaped by and entangled with shared fantasies and stereotypes about the period
- and embodied, not least, through the ‘Victorian’ urban imaginary.
Cognitive Mapping and the Urban Imaginary
Collective memory is palimpsestically enshrined in the
city. Its urban space is, as Henri Lefebvre conceptualizes, socially produced31 and, whether in
answering the logistic and economic demands of everyday life or encoding
collective identity through lieux de memoire,32 continually accumulates layers
of meaning. Perhaps no modern metropolis embodies this like London, where Roman
ruins can be found near the brutalist sprawl of the Barbican performing arts
centre, or where Leadenhall Market, a colourful Victorian arcade built on a
market site dating from the fourteenth century, stands next to the 1980s’
futuristic Lloyd’s Building. Indeed, London has been the subject of literary
production for centuries, and this study considers prominent approaches such as
urban
Gothic, flanerie, and psychogeography,33 as well as literary
urban studies.34
Here, mobilizing Roland
Barthes’ notion of the city as semiotic and symbolic,35 the material city
is conceived as a multilayered narrative, and the literary text may in turn
become an urban model capturing or simulating the cityscape. Accordingly, my
interest lies in how Victorian media (journalism, fiction, maps, paintings, and
illustrations) aim to represent London’s ‘citiness’36 - its
socio-economic networks, palimpsestic infrastructures, simultaneous movements -
and how their strategies lastingly shape the collectively imagined Victorian
city against which steampunk London is juxtaposed. Literary cities, so Lieven
Ameel states, can be considered ‘realms of the imagination, constellations of
tropes in an intertextual network’.37 Consequently,
collective memory of Victorian London emerges as a transmedia phenomenon in the
vein of Henry Jenkins’ notion of convergence culture, that is as a communally
fostered imaginary constructed and consumed across multiple different media.38 After all, neoVictorian
cities of memory are ‘spaces in which memory is not just continually fostered,
produced, and preserved, but also contested, deconstructed, and sometimes
deliberately distorted or fabricated’.39
This study’s main
interests are in understanding how a shared urban imaginary is constructed,
maintained, or reframed across media and across time, and how that imaginary
informs collective identity politics. Following Edward Said’s concept of
imagined geographies, it conceives of identity as spatial: Identity arises from
how and where we locate, in our mental map of the world, the local and the strange,
them and us, here and there, and is as such inherently political.40 The city, too, functions as a
microcosm of what Fredric Jameson terms cognitive mapping: Its paths and
cornerstones externalize Lacanian notions of ideology as ‘the representation of
the subject’s Imaginary relationship to his or her Real conditions of
existence’,41 and so ‘enable a
situational representation on the part of the individual subject to that vaster and properly unrepresentable totality which is
the ensemble of society’s structures as a whole’.42 The urban
environment serves as an embodied, spatial analogy for how we situate ourselves
in relation to larger social systems, and so serves as ‘our mental and
cognitive mapping of urban reality, and the interpretive grids through which we
think about, experience, evaluate, and decide to act in these places, spaces, and
communities in which we live’.43 However, urban
imaginaries, here of Victorian London, may function not only as mental maps of
real spaces, but also as spatialized metaphors for our social and historical
relationships.
This
is why the steampunk city, albeit purely virtual because inherently fantastic
and anachronistic, may illustrate how and to what end collective memory works
in unique ways. As David Pike notes, ‘a key element to the allure of Victorian
London for steampunk is its limitless capacity to contain not only the world,
as the imperial narrative would maintain, but also the multiverse—this world,
all alternative worlds, and all the holes, fissures, and folds in between’44 - all encoded in and through the city. Steampunk
London acts as a projected theatre of ‘Victorian-ness’ that is open to
participatory play. It re-calibrates our ‘interpretive grids’ and so acts a
heterotopic counter-site to historical memory, ‘a kind of effectively enacted
utopia in which the real sites, all the other real sites that can be found
within the culture, are simultaneously represented, contested, and inverted’.45 Putting
into play Kohlke and Gutleben’s claim that, ‘[p]alimpsestically, we read the
past city through the overlaid present, but conversely, we also read the
present city backwards through the underlying and resurfacing past’,46 the
steampunk city understands urban space as a cumulative texture, but also
re-shuffles its palimpsestic layers. It draws attention to the process of
memory-making and playfully invites audiences to re-think their subject
position in relation to those processes and the identities they produce.
Book Overview
This book
approaches the complex, multilayered nature of steampunk London from a variety
of different angles and a multitude of texts. While the first two chapters
focus on how steampunk comes into being through various cultural influences and
collective memory-making, the latter two chapters ask why, that is for what
purpose, and for whom, steampunk re-imagines the Victorian past. In all of
them, Victorian London, whether imagined from a nineteenthcentury perspective
or through a steampunk lens, serves as a focalizing prism in which identity and
memory are spatially encoded. While my focus lies largely on prose fiction,
where steampunk Londons are typically most thoroughly imagined, I also discuss
film, graphic novels, the visual arts, and video games at various points
throughout, as my aim is to interrogate steampunk London as a transmedia
phenomenon. As such, this study considers steampunk fiction from across the
anglophone world, including the US, the UK, Canada, and New Zealand. The fact
that writers and creators of steampunk Londons, just like their audiences, are
at once globally scattered and connected through social media and a popular
culture shared through the internet, demonstrates that steampunk imaginaries of
Victorian London function as de-localized shared memory figures - illustrated
by the international success of games like Assassin’s Creed, or the
globally sourced and read book reviews on sites such as Goodreads or YouTube,
dedicated online forums, and blogs.
Chapter One examines the origins of seminal steampunk in 1980s California. I
consider the impact of H. G. Wells’ The Time Machine (1895) and Henry
Mayhew’s London Labour and the London Poor (1851) on the steampunk
imaginary and argue that, while authors K. W. Jeter, James Blaylock, and Tim
Powers semi-ironically coined the term steampunk in reference to cyberpunk, a
coherent and recognizable steampunk aesthetic emerges later with William Gibson
and Bruce Sterling’s The Difference Engine (1990). My analysis situates
early steampunk in the context of cyberpunk’s counter-cultural agenda and the
re-signification of the industrial paradigm at the dawn of the digital age. It
examines how the novel utilizes the Victorian city in
order to discuss the impact of cybertechnology and considers its re-use of
urban space against the backdrop of Marxist urban theory, namely Henri
Lefebvre’s concept of the ‘right to the city’, and David Harvey’s reading
thereof.
Chapter Two is concerned with how steampunk functions in
the context of collective memory, adaptation, and remix. I use London’s East
End as an example of how Victorian transmedia discourse constructed a
palimpsestic urban mythology that encoded Victorian social anxieties through
Gothic tropes. Focusing especially on Gustave Dore’s illustrations, Arthur
Morrison’s A Child of the Jago (1896), and media generated around the
Jack the Ripper murders (1888), I show how Gothic ‘knowledge’ is transmitted
through popular culture. Against this backdrop, I examine how Kim Newman’s Anno
Dracula (1992) mines and remixes real and fictional events and people into
a newly resonant, counter-fictional collage in order to satirize British 1980s
neo-liberalism, positing that counter-fictionality is a staple of steampunk. I
contrast Newman’s popular fiction archive against the psychogeography of Peter
Ackroyd and finally present George Mann’s The Affinity Bridge (2008) and
S. M. Peters’ novel Whitechapel Gods (2008) as examples of how
stereotypically or radically steampunk may re-purpose the legacy of East End
mythologies in new ways going beyond the Gothic legacy.
Chapter Three considers how popular video games Assassin’s Creed: Syndicate
and The Order 1886 (both 2015) actualize Victorian representations of
London into a spatial simulation that aligns narrative progress with movement
through space. Against the backdrop of Doreen Massey’s theory of space as an
active process of interlinking trajectories, I examine how Charles Dickens’
London and the London of Sherlock Holmes have represented London’s complexity
through immersive and panoptic perspectives and analyse how game spaces
synthesize the two. With brief recourse to the retro-speculative game spaces of
BioShock (2007-2013) and Dishonored (2012), I show how game
spaces become legible textures
and storytelling devices in themselves. I argue that Assassin’s Creed
implements a fantasy of agency within urban spaces, whereas The Order
uses cyberpunk impulses to build a dystopian hyper-city that undermines and
challenges popular stereotypes about the Victorian era.
Chapter Four explores the ideological undercurrents
informing steampunk imaginaries by discussing gender and feminist rebellion in fm-de-siecle
London and steampunk fiction. I briefly consider the figure of the flaneur as a
gendered phenomenon to offset how and why self-directed mobility in the modern
metropolis was a central tenet of the New Woman’s transgressive potential.
However, I also consider how different or successive feminist agendas have
shaped our perception of the nineteenth century, and how a monolithic feminist
genealogy informs modern stereotypes about femininity and emancipation. Against
this backdrop, I consider the progressive and paradoxically conservative
agendas that inform how sexually liberated neo-Victorian and steampunk action
heroines are configured and where their shortcomings lie by considering them
within a framework of post-feminist and fourth-wave-feminist theory. I then
provide a close reading of Gail Carriger’s Parasolverse novels (2009 to
present) as a positive example of how steampunk may imagine empowered and
feminine heroines. By discussing how the same series reimagines LGBTQA+
characters through steampunk, I interrogate steampunk’s potential to provide
radical alternative histories.
Steampunk’s retro-speculative
play provides us with playfully anachronistic and unique meta-historical
approaches towards a collectively remembered Victorian past. Here, we may
highlight, redress, satirize, or re-experience its glories, quirks, and failures
with utopian or dystopian impulses and nostalgic or radical outlooks. Free to
re-imagine an era we understand as both socially, economically, and
technologically formative, yet also fundamentally outdated and strange,
steampunk’s adventurous re-calibration of the nineteenth century bears a
uniquely radical potential to address, even redress, the
era’s enduring traumas, such as its gender, class, and race hierarchies or
colonial violence. However, as a popular phenomenon sourced from and aimed at a
wide audience, steampunk’s retro-speculative interventions also reflect back on
us. They reveal what and how much we think we know about the Victorian past,
which perceived historical failures we believe we can amend, and whether or not
we have the imaginative tools to actually re-think them. Indeed, as this study
will reveal, steampunk may (often unintentionally) reiterate fraught
assumptions about both past and present, and so expose our own blind spots.
Fundamentally, however, steampunk playfully highlights and challenges our
relationship with history and deepens our understanding of human agency in the
outcome of historical processes, seeking to inspire us to approach the future
with the same creativity. After all, as Sterling notes, ‘the past is a kind of
future that has already happened.’47