Learning to Love Hopeless Gloom

So, I wrote that review last night about “Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep.”  And afterwards, I was surprised at just how negative my review was.  I went to great lengths to stress that I thought it was a well written story.  But I couldn’t disguise how little I liked the reading experience.  I characterized the problem as being a matter of story type.  It was an extreme example of dystopia where all the characters reflected a dismal outlook and nothing happy or positive intruded on the gloom.

And that got me thinking.  Maybe my dislike of this genre was short-sighted.  Possibly I was shutting myself off from treasures that lurked around every corner.  And in agreement with that idea, I remembered how I had never been able to get myself to finish 1984.  I skimmed through it several times but always got bogged down by just how depressing and irritating I found all the characters and plot.

So apparently, I am a literary lightweight.  My guess is that I read fiction for enjoyment.  And apparently, I don’t enjoy being depressed.  That must explain why I gravitate toward action/adventure and scientific razzmatazz.  I like reading stories where things happen and even if the bad guys are winning the good guys don’t roll over and play dead.  Even better, I like it when the good guys are also the smart guys and win in the end.  But either way I want there to be someone I can empathize with.  And no one can empathize with someone whose highest aspiration is to own a sheep (living or mechanical) and have it live on the roof of his apartment building.  PKD’s world is made up of mental cases of one type or another and while you may pity some crazy people, they’re really no fun to read about.  Unless they’re somehow funny.  And these people weren’t.

Maybe that makes me shallow but that’s where I stand.  If I was writing 1984, I’d have an underground that did more than just exist as a shadow.  I’d have them organize and expand and then one day rampage through the politburo and have Big Brother’s head nailed to the highest flag pole in the capitol.  Or even if they fail, I’d have them go down fighting, not meekly cower under their beds waiting for the thought police to drag them off to the dungeon.

But I do wonder whether that puts me in the majority or the minority.  Possibly I’m in the majority among my age group but in the minority among the current cohort of readers.  So, I’m very interested in how the rest of you out there come down on this question.  Are dystopias fun or not?  And I’m talking about the real dreary, hopeless worlds.  No shreds of joy or hope.  Just misery and dysfunction as far as the eye can see.  Tell me what you think and list a few examples of the various levels of joyless horror and how you would characterize the experience.