In the comments of a recent essay of mine, dlomax commented on my observation that “there is no lawn so large as to lack at least one person demanding other people get off it.” He wrote:
“I think we might have just witnessed the creation of Nicoll’s Law.”
Alas, there is a compelling reason why that cannot be Nicoll’s Law.
Anyone who writes or writes about SFF for any length of time is likely to document consistent patterns. Framed correctly, these become easily cited rules of thumb1. I am no exception. The No Lawn Large Enough rule cannot be Nicoll’s Law because there is already a Nicoll’s Law.
In fact, there are a few Nicoll’s Laws2, at least three of which are worth mentioning. Well, three was good enough for Clarke and Asimov.
In reverse order of the likelihood that I will encounter them, the top three Nicoll’s Laws are:
Nicoll’s Law
There are two reasons for this. First, if one grants that stealth in space in the conventional sense is very difficult to achieve, it eliminates many beloved stock plots3. Therefore, there is incentive to ignore the issue or find innovative methods around it4.
Second, it is human nature that when one is told that something is impossible, one starts to look for ways in which that impossible something can be achieved. This human quirk put humans on the Moon! It also routinely kills people as they encounter the limits imposed by natural law.
Nicoll’s Law is probably just a subset of a habit I snarkily called SF’s Lysenkoist Tendency: when actual, tested science contradicts some detail in an SF story, attack the science5.
The Rusting Bridges Rule of Space Exploration
This takes its name from Larry Niven’s classic All The Bridges Rusting. In that story, humanity had by 2018 had dispatched not one but two crewed missions to Alpha Centauri. You’d think that would be cause for jubilation but it wasn’t. The culprit is human imagination.
No matter the achievements of the space program you have, whether it is having explored every planet with space probes or having reached nearby stars, they will always fall short of what might have been accomplished by the space programs you can imagine. Imaginary programs aren’t limited by issues of politics, funding, or engineering.
The Purity of the English Language
[I didn’t do spell-check in 1990 and misspelled rifle as riffle in the original]
That is really more of an epigram than a law6. Consistency is not my strong suit. Nevertheless, if someone is familiar with my work, odds are what they’re familiar with is that quotation. There is a “but” that I will get to.
The prescriptivist sentiment that provoked my comment—that English is an unchanging, perfect edifice passed down since time immemorial, to whose rules we must all adhere without exception—is a long-standing one. So is the sentiment that such prescriptivism provokes from anyone even remotely familiar with English’s past, which is a sarcastic belly-laugh7. The phrasing is all mine.
The “but” inserted two paragraphs above deserves its own pithy corollary: if some nobody happens to say something memorable, that something will very quickly be attributed to a celebrity. It is easier to imagine a famous person said something catchy, than it is to accept the same from a game store owner from Kitchener, Ontario.
In this case, the attribution is often to someone else. Many someones. So many someones.
The list of people to whom the quotation has been attributed includes Booker T. Washington, a 19th century painter also named James Nicoll, Star Trek’s Captain James T. Kirk, and more recently, Terry Pratchett. On that last I am happy to say the misattribution is due to over-eager fans, NOT the Pratchett estate. For what it’s worth, the author I had in mind when I wrote that epigram was Mark Twain.