Why scream about sound in space? The functions of audience discourse about unrealistic science in narrative fiction

Abstract

Sound in space. Featherless dinosaurs. Physics-defying stunts. Unrealistic science in narrative fiction is often a subject of commentary and critique. However, there is limited research investigating the significance, risks and benefits of this discourse for audiences. This article analyses interviews and focus group discussions to develop a typology of functions that are served by audience discourse about the perceived realism of science in fiction. This typology illustrates how discourse about the realism of science in fiction can serve diverse functions for diverse audiences. Practitioners who use fictional examples in science communication may benefit from an awareness of the multifaceted nature of the discourse in which they are participating.

Keywords

media realism movie science perceived realism science and popular culture science fiction science in fiction scientific accuracy unrealistic science

1. Introduction

In March 2013, director Colin Trevorrow tweeted that Jurassic World (2015), the fourth film in the Jurassic Park (1993) series, would not include feathered dinosaurs: ‘No feathers. #JP4’.¹ Omitting feathers maintained consistency with the representation of dinosaurs in the original Jurassic Park, but it contradicted more recent scientific developments demonstrating that many theropod dinosaurs had feathers (e.g. Norell and Xu, 2005). In replies to the tweet, some lauded Trevorrow’s commitment to the earlier films, while others condemned what they perceived to be an unrealistic representation of dinosaurs. The response to Trevorrow’s tweet prefigured the response to the film itself. Commentators examined virtually every aspect of Jurassic World for its consistency with the latest palaeontological science (e.g. Long and Robinson, 2015). As much as plot or characterisation, the realism of the scientific content in Jurassic World was a focal point in the film’s reception.

The response to Jurassic World is an illustration of a broader phenomenon in the reception of narrative fiction. Discourse about the perceived realism of science in fiction extends to such wide-ranging topics as the physics of time dilation in the 2014 science fiction film Interstellar (Kluger, 2014), the psychology of emotions in the 2014 animated film Inside Out (Keltner and Ekman, 2015), and the medical science of sexual health testing in the 2012 comedy drama Girls (Rabin, 2012). A concern with scientific realism can even be observed in the reception of Dickens’ nineteenth century serial novel Bleak House. One commentator proclaimed that not one ‘eminent organic chemist’ would credit the novel’s depiction of spontaneous human combustion, demanding that Dickens acknowledge the scientific implausibility in a preface (cf. Haight, 1955). As these examples illustrate, discourse about scientific realism ranges across diverse reception contexts.

Audience research related to science in fiction is typically concerned with the potential effects of realistic or unrealistic science on audience beliefs, attitudes, intentions or behaviours (e.g. Lowe et al., 2006), but to adapt a phrase from Katz (1959), rather than asking what fictional science does to the audience, I am interested in what the audience does with fictional science. What are audiences doing when they are critiquing, praising or speculating about the realism of science in fiction? What purposes does this discourse serve for them?

In this article, I present a typology of functions that are served by audience discourse about the perceived realism of science in fiction. I develop this typology through an analysis of audience responses in interviews and focus group discussions. The resulting typology provides a framework for understanding audience perspectives on the significance, risks and benefits of discourse about scientific realism. This framework can also inform science communication practitioners who use fictional texts in service of their communication goals.

2. Literature review

I use the term ‘scientific realism’ to refer to the perceived realism of science in a fictional narrative and any assessment of perceived realism that is informed by scientific knowledge. Broadly speaking, perceived realism is the perceived similarity between what happens in a narrative and what audiences would expect to happen in the real world (Hall, 2003). There is limited research on audience motivations for discussing perceived realism (or scientific realism specifically); however, there are some studies that offer important insights.

Explaining or exploring the ‘real science’ related to a fictional narrative is perhaps the most familiar function of discourse about scientific realism. Science communication activities with this aim can take diverse forms, such as panel discussions, videos, articles and books (e.g. Wellcome Trust, 2016). The general rationale for this approach is that fictional narratives are familiar, accessible or engaging entry points for communicating science that might otherwise be perceived as unfamiliar, inaccessible or unexciting (Mellor, 2003; Michael and Carter, 2001; Negrete and Lartigue, 2004; Van Riper, 2003). Narrative fiction is also characterised as a useful platform for exploring science in its social context (Lewis et al., 2017). These attributes make discourse about scientific realism an attractive tool for science communicators.

Knowingly or otherwise, discourse that seeks to communicate ‘real science’ is also an assertion of authority over what counts as ‘real science’. Various scholars have recognised that discourse about scientific realism is connected to credibility claims (Cole, 2015; Kitzinger, 2010; Mellor, 2003; Michael and Carter, 2001; Von Burg, 2005). Here, credibility can be understood as epistemic authority, ‘the legitimate power to define, describe, and explain bounded domains of reality’ (Gieryn, 1999: 1). When scientists critique or praise the realism of science in fiction, they are performing what Gieryn (1999) calls ‘boundary work’. Discourse about scientific realism asserts the epistemic authority of scientists and draws a boundary between narrative fiction and legitimate science. Although narrative fiction may at times be a source of valid scientific claims, scientists’ commentary ensures that such claims are only verified through reference to the epistemic authority of scientists.

To assert that narrative fiction is a potentially unreliable source of scientific claims is uncontroversial. However, the success of routine boundary work does not depend on controversy. As Mellor (2003) notes, ‘the fictional simply acts as a foil against which the facticity of science shines all the brighter’ (p. 521). Having said this, some commentators are concerned that non-scientists attribute too much epistemic authority to fiction, and they fear that non-scientists will learn inaccurate science as a result (e.g. Greenbaum, 2009). Discourse about scientific realism therefore functions as a way to expel narrative fiction from a perceived position of misattributed epistemic authority and re-establish scientists in its place. It is important to note, however, that discourse about scientific realism is not only concerned with excluding non-scientists from a space of epistemic authority; it is also a site of contest where scientists vie among themselves for credibility (cf. Kirby, 2003).

Narrative fiction can be interpreted as not only making epistemic claims about science but also as making value judgements on socio-scientific issues. Fiction films such as The China Syndrome (1979), The Day After Tomorrow (2004) and Gattaca (1997) can be interpreted as communicating values-based positions on issues such as nuclear energy, climate change and personal genomics, respectively. As Hansen (2016) and Von Burg (2005) have recognised, critiques of scientific realism can serve as a rhetorical strategy to delegitimise the values-based positions that some fictional narratives are perceived to communicate. This strategy may or may not be explicit, and it may or may not be deliberate. In either case, a critique of the perceived epistemic claims in a narrative can serve as a surrogate for (or accompaniment to) a critique of the narrative’s values-based position on a socio-scientific issue.

As a form of ideological critique, discourse about scientific realism exploits what Hilgartner (1990) calls the ‘dominant view’ of popularisation. According to this view, popularisation involves the simplification of genuine scientific knowledge for a public audience, which usually results in the distortion of that knowledge. However, as Hilgartner identifies, the dominant view overlooks the problem of objectively distinguishing ‘appropriate simplification’ from ‘distortion’. Precisely because of this ambiguity, Hilgartner argues that the dominant view of popularisation is a rhetorical resource for scientists. Representations that are conducive to a scientist’s strategic goals can be labelled as ‘appropriate simplification’, whereas representations that are opposed to their goals can be labelled as ‘distortions’.

Looking beyond the practices of scientists, discourse about scientific realism is also relevant to the practices of fans. Indeed, discussing narrative consistency is a common fan behaviour (e.g. Amesley, 1989; Jenkins, 1992). Narrative consistency is the dimension of perceived realism that is concerned with the consistency of events and existents within the storyworld (cf. Hall, 2003). As Jenkins (1992) has observed, many fan discussions attempt to develop explanations that resolve apparent narrative inconsistencies. Rather than seeing Star Trek episodes as self-contained, Jenkins describes how fans develop a ‘meta-text’, a coherent, trans-episode conceptualisation of events and existents in the series. These meta-textual explanations can relate to various aspects of a text, including its scientific and technological content. In this way, discourse about scientific realism can be used to explore and resolve ostensible narrative inconsistencies.

A final insight into discourse about scientific realism comes from Lull’s (1980) research on television audiences. Based on an ethnographic study of more than 200 families in the United States, Lull identifies various social uses of television. Of particular interest is Lull’s observation that viewers can use television to demonstrate their intellectual competence. For example, Lull documents how one viewer verbally corrected news reports while he watched television, critiquing the presenters for their ignorance of the ‘real facts’ (p. 205). As Lull notes, ‘Vocal criticisms of programs or commercial announcements […] serve as ways for viewers to reassure one another that, despite the fact that they are now watching, they know how bad television is, a self-promoting evaluation’ (p. 205, emphasis in original). Discourse about scientific realism may serve a similar function by displaying scientific competence.

The studies reviewed above identify important individual functions of discourse about scientific realism; however, they do not provide a complete picture of its significance, risks and benefits for audiences. In this study, I investigate what functions discourse about scientific realism serves for audiences in everyday reception contexts.

3. Methods

I conducted semi-structured interviews and focus group discussions with a purposive sample of participants who were interested in science, fiction or both. I used focus groups and interviews complementarily (e.g. Michell, 1999). Focus groups may better reflect the social contexts where discussions about scientific realism occur, whereas interviews may provide unique insights into how such discussions are experienced and perceived. From a sampling perspective, interviews may also capture participants who find group discussions unappealing (and vice versa) (Barbour, 2007: 42).

I recruited participants primarily from the community of students and staff at The Australian National University (ANU), a public university in Canberra, Australia. Participants were required to be 18 years of age or older but there were no other exclusion criteria. After obtaining approval from the ANU Human Research Ethics Committee (approval no. 2015/069), I promoted the study by making announcements in undergraduate and postgraduate courses at the university, placing posters near major campus venues, posting in relevant student society Facebook pages and distributing fliers at a nerd-themed trivia night near the campus. All participants received a voucher for a cinema near the campus. Focus group participants also received light refreshments.

In each focus group and interview I defined narrative fiction broadly as ‘any kind of imaginative story’, thereby allowing participants to access whatever forms of fiction were familiar or important to them. Similarly, I did not define science because I wanted to remain open to how participants conceptualised science in fiction. The main questions in the interview and focus group discussion guides included the following:

What comes to mind when you think of unrealistic science in fiction?

How do you respond when you encounter unrealistic science in fiction?

When is the realism of the science most likely to affect how you respond to a fictional story?

Why is the realism of science in fiction important or unimportant to you personally?

Do you discuss the realism of science in fiction with other people? If so, why and with whom? If not, why not?

I asked follow-up questions where appropriate, and I introduced some new questions midway through data collection, notably a question about how participants know whether a narrative is serious about realistic science. Of the questions listed above, the last was intended to elicit responses that would help me to understand the functions of audience discourse about scientific realism. Relevant insights also came from responses to the other questions, though those questions were primarily intended to pursue different research questions that are not the focus of this article.

I conducted 10 focus groups and 20 semi-structured interviews, 7 of which were follow-up interviews with focus group participants. Focus groups included an average of four participants (range: 2–6) and lasted for an average of 39 minutes (range: 25−47 minutes). To appeal to students, the total length of each focus group was limited to 50 minutes, the duration of one block in the daily university timetable. I did not manipulate the composition of the groups because I intended to focus on an individual-level analysis rather than a group-level analysis (Ritchie et al., 2003: 258). Participants were permitted to attend with friends, and most sessions included at least two participants with some form of apparent affiliation. For focus group discussions where time was exhausted before completing my discussion guide, participants were invited back for a follow-up interview. Although the focus group and interview guides contained mostly the same questions, I repeated the main questions in the follow-up interviews, affording interview participants an opportunity to expand on their individual views in the absence of other participants. The average duration of all interviews was 26 minutes (range: 18−44 minutes). Focus groups and interviews were typically conducted in a meeting room or office on campus, though two interviews were conducted off-campus at participant workplaces.

A total of 55 people participated in the study, of which 54% identified as female and 46% identified as male. The median age was 22 years (range: 18−50 years). Most participants were current undergraduate students (65%) or current postgraduate students (22%). The remaining participants were non-students who self-identified as being employed in a Science, Technology, Engineering, or Mathematics (STEM)-related job (9%) or a non-STEM-related job (4%). Most participants had a science background (85%), defined as having completed or currently studying towards a STEM-related degree, diploma or certificate or being currently employed in a STEM-related job. Around half of the participants (47%) had studied or were currently studying a science communication course at university. A small proportion of participants (13%) had a fiction background, defined as nominating a discipline related to the theory or practice of narrative fiction as a major area of study, including but not limited to literature, film, cultural studies, media studies, creative writing and acting. I will contextualise participant responses in this article with the following abbreviations (as defined above): S = science background, NS = non-science background, SC = science communication student, F = fiction background.

After anonymising participants with a pseudonym, I conducted a denaturalised transcription of the audio recordings of each discussion. A denaturalised transcription was appropriate to my aim of identifying self-reported functions of discourse about scientific realism (cf. Oliver et al., 2005). Here, I use the term ‘discourse’ in the broadest sense to mean any form of speech or writing (e.g. Potter and Wetherell, 1987). I analysed the transcripts by conducting a thematic analysis (Braun and Clarke, 2006) informed by a critical realist worldview (cf. Oliver, 2012), conceptualising a theme as a distinct discourse function represented by one or more participants.

I defined a discourse function as something that discourse does (or is perceived to do) that is of value to an audience, that is, a reason for valuing or participating in discourse. A discourse function may be fully intentional in the moment of discourse or retrospectively attributed to it. I began with an initial cycle of eclectic coding (Saldana, 2013: 188) before identifying and refining themes through iterative readings of the transcripts. I do not regard precise theme counts as meaningful when presenting my results both because my sample was non-representative and because counting can be misleading in an exploratory study (cf. Hannah and Lautsch, 2011: 19).

To provide some transparency without unduly emphasising numbers, I provide indicative verbal counts (cf. Sandelowski, 2001: 236–237) with the following pronouns: several (3–5), various (6–10), many (11–27), most/majority (>27).

4. Results and discussion

I identified nine self-reported functions of discourse about scientific realism in participant responses: communication, critique, conciliation, continued engagement, curiosity, catharsis, change, competence and connection. Some of these functions, such as communication, have been identified previously. Other functions, such as critique, have been identified previously but are given additional dimensions by participant responses. Still others, such as catharsis and change, have not been identified previously.

Communication

The communication function of discourse occurs whenever audiences perceive themselves to be intentionally communicating science, recognising that individuals may define science communication differently. Given the large proportion of participants with science or science communication backgrounds in my sample, it was not surprising to find that various participants articulated the communication function. Nevertheless, this result may also reflect a growing awareness of fictional narratives as a communication resource.

The communication function of discourse extends from a desire to provide correctives to unrealistic science in everyday conversations through to more structured communication activities, such as public lectures or school visits. Jake (S-SC), a biology postgraduate student, described how ‘broken science in movies is a really good point for jumping off and telling the real science’. He described how he uses the winking snake in the film adaptation of Harry Potter and the Philosopher’s Stone (2001) to explain to school students that snakes actually do not have eyelids and cannot wink. Charlie (S), a lecturer in computer science, similarly characterised fiction as ‘a beautiful starter to go into the actual science’. These responses echo the scientists and teachers in Michael and Carter’s (2001) study for whom narrative fiction was ‘an inferior but more exciting source of knowledge’ (p. 18). Here, science communication entails an edifying movement towards real science that uses popular (but unrealistic) fictional science as its starting point.

Critique

Discourse about scientific realism can be used to critique a fictional narrative. As Hansen (2016) and Von Burg (2005) have identified, critiques of scientific realism can serve as surrogates for or accompaniments to ideological critiques; however, participant responses illustrate that critiques of scientific realism can also serve as surrogates for or accompaniments to aesthetic critiques.

Several participants described how discourse about scientific realism can be used to critique a narrative that is perceived to have failed as art or as entertainment. For example, Valerie (NS-F) described how she did not enjoy the plot in Avatar (2009). She also found Avatar’s use of the term ‘unobtanium’ to describe a sought-after mineral to be unrealistic. Critiquing the film’s use of the term unobtanium was therefore another way for Valerie to express her overall dissatisfaction with the film:

Sometimes talking about the science and whether or not the science was realistic, for instance in Avatar, it’s more of a way to talk about how crap the film plot was rather than to talk about the science per se.

Highlighting Avatar’s unrealistic science further bolstered Valerie’s negative aesthetic evaluation of the film even though her negative evaluation seemed to arise in the first instance from her objections to the plot. Even if unrealistic science is seen as a prima facie aesthetic flaw (Hazlett and Uidhir, 2011), audiences can mute or amplify their critiques of such flaws depending on whether the narrative is otherwise perceived as an aesthetic success. Indeed, many participants described how unrealistic science was more tolerable if it occurred in a narrative that they perceived as meritorious overall.

Participants did not explicitly describe discourse about scientific realism as a form of ideological critique; however, various participants did describe how unrealistic science is more problematic to them when it occurs in a narrative that conflicts with their views on science and socio-scientific issues. Lily’s (S-SC) response is illustrative:

If [the narrative] takes a turn that I don’t necessarily agree with, like for example, mad scientists, or like just science is bad, or this is really, really, old, like, almost like Batman comic book style, like, there’s evil scientists, it creates a kind of stigma, then I’m like this is really stupid; this doesn’t happen in real life.

Lily was describing her aesthetic response to a narrative rather than her motivation for discussing scientific realism, but to the extent that aesthetic responses and motivations for discussion are linked, her response can be interpreted as consistent with the argument that critiques of scientific realism can be accompaniments to (or surrogates for) ideological critiques.

Discourse about scientific realism is therefore a rhetorical tool that can be used strategically to critique fiction that is perceived to have failed aesthetically or ideologically (or both). Consistent with Hilgartner (1990), the unrealistic science in an aesthetically pleasing or ideologically congruent narrative can be glossed, whereas the unrealistic science that occurs in an aesthetically unsatisfactory or ideologically incongruent narrative can be derided.

Conciliation

Discourse about scientific realism can be used to critique a narrative, but in the conciliation function, it can also be used to defend or repair a narrative. Jenkins (1992) has previously described this form of discourse in what he calls ‘metatextual explanations’. Conciliatory discourse about scientific realism provides a way of explaining and resolving ostensibly unrealistic elements that are insufficiently explained by the text itself.

Aubrey (S-SC) was one of several participants to describe a conciliatory response. Although not explicitly describing a motivation for discourse, Aubrey’s experience with Star Trek points towards various features of conciliatory discourse:

Aubrey: I usually find when I like something I’ll try to like come up with stories or excuses for it, like the ion storm in Star Trek that always happens when they really need the transporter. It’s sort of like, well yes, I’ll just come up with this history of how ion storms happen and just roll with it, and you know, that means I [am] sort of able to, you know, sit through that bit and watch what’s going on.

Laura: It’s not always ion storms though. Sometimes they come up with something else.

Aubrey: Yeah that’s true. I’m still working on trying to like come up with a bad story for the nexus though, so.

Aubrey’s conciliatory response is motivated by her positive evaluation of the text. Importantly, her conciliatory explanation is not provided explicitly by the narrative; she independently generates an explanation based on her interpretation of the narrative and its storyworld. Aubrey’s response also illustrates a distinction between conciliatory discourse and a narratological explanation of unrealistic elements. For Aubrey, the ion storms in Star Trek serve a narrative function: the storms occur to complicate the plot and prevent the characters from using the transporter. However, Aubrey goes beyond this narratological justification to devise a conciliatory explanation, a ‘history’ of why ion storms occur within the storyworld. A conciliatory explanation seeks to transform ostensibly unrealistic science into realistic science, whereas a narratological justification provides an authorial motivation for unrealistic science but the science in question ultimately remains unrealistic. Finally, Aubrey’s experience suggests that a satisfactory conciliatory explanation cannot always be produced. She admits to ‘still working’ on a conciliatory explanation for the nexus, an extra-dimensional realm that features in Star Trek Generations (1994). The perceived realism of a narrative is subject to interpretation, but even for fans of a text, a satisfactory sense of conciliation is not always possible.

Continued engagement

Discussions about the scientific realism of fiction can serve to extend and enrich the experience of a text beyond the immediate experience of the text itself (e.g. reading a novel or watching a film). In the broadest sense, any discussion about a text can be a form of continued engagement. However, this function may be best illustrated by fan practices, such as participating in online forums, that reflect a higher level of investment than an incidental discussion of a text immediately after experiencing it. Conciliatory discourse can be a form of continued engagement, but continued engagement is not limited to conciliatory discourse.

Several participants described the continued engagement function of discourse about scientific realism. Ethan’s (NS) account of online discussions about scientific realism with ‘other science fiction enthusiasts’ is illustrative:

And so it’s kind of just discussing for the sake of discussing so that in some ways I guess you can hold on to that kind of enjoyable fictional experience for longer than its kind of intended life span once you finish the book. If you go into this it allows you to still kind of be there and be engaged with it.

Other participants described how discussions of scientific realism can enhance their appreciation of the narrative. As Ella (NS) noted, ‘It helps you understand the story more because you start getting more like nuances out of what you’re reading’. These experiences are consistent with previous research that highlights how discussions of realism, especially narrative consistency, are part of fan engagement with fictional narratives (Amesley, 1989; Jenkins, 1992). One of the key pleasures of fandom, writes Duffett (2013: 178), is ‘simply enjoyment through engagement’ and the active process of ‘making meaning and participating’. As Jenkins (1992) notes, fandom is ‘perhaps first and foremost an institution of theory and criticism’ (p. 82). Alongside other topics, scientific realism is a subject of audience theorisation and criticism. Questions of scientific realism are therefore one of the avenues available to audiences for continuing their engagement with a fictional narrative.

Curiosity

Beyond continued engagement with a storyworld, discourse about scientific realism can also be motivated by curiosity about the real world. The curiosity function of discourse about scientific realism entails any form of science-related enquiry, which can include learning about established science and technology or making hypotheses and speculations about uncertain or futuristic science and technology.

Many participants described how discussing scientific realism is a way to consolidate, challenge or extend their scientific knowledge. As Valerie (NS-F) stated,

I do like to find out, you know, more about what’s really happening in those types of events or those types of pieces of technology in the real world and to imagine what they could do in the future.

As a participant with a non-science background, Valerie’s response suggests that fictional narratives, especially science-themed narratives, can elicit curiosity-driven discourse irrespective of an audience’s background. For audiences who do have a science background, discourse about scientific realism can be a way to exercise or build on their training. As Logan (S) described, discussions of films like Interstellar (2014) are ‘good practice’ for scientific thought.

However, scientific curiosity is not a universal driver for discourse about scientific realism, and it can be eschewed in favour of other priorities, such as avoiding uncomfortable topics or maintaining an uncompromised sense of narrative engagement. Nina (S-F) described how discovering unrealistic science in a valued text can lead to feelings of disappointment or betrayal. Zach (NS) described his aversion to discussing the scientific realism of The Human Centipede (2009), a horror film about a grotesque experimental surgery. For Zach, ‘you wouldn’t want to know if it’s possible simply because of its subject matter’. These responses are consistent with Michael’s (1996) observation that scientific ignorance can be a deliberate choice. As Smithson (1989: 7) notes, ignorance can arise from error (i.e. ‘being ignorant’) or from irrelevance (i.e. actively ‘ignoring’). The reception of narrative fiction is a context in which scientific knowledge is sometimes deemed irrelevant in Smithson’s sense.

Catharsis

Discourse about scientific realism can serve a cathartic function. I use the term ‘catharsis’ to refer to the perceived relief associated with the social sharing of observations about scientific realism. The function of catharsis relates to what Duprez et al. (2015) call venting and what Kowalski (1996) calls cathartic complaining.

Several participants described how commenting on scientific realism is a way of venting the negative emotions that can be associated with unrealistic science in fiction. Participants described how unrealistic science can elicit feelings of annoyance, anger, disappointment, frustration and disrespect. These feelings arise from a disruption to narrative engagement, a sense of authorial disrespect for the audience’s intelligence, or a concern about the effects of unrealistic science on others. Remarking upon scientific realism is a way to vent the negative emotions arising from such concerns. Alana’s (S-SC) response is representative:

Well, if I saw something and it really bothered me, then I would discuss it with whoever was around, because it would bother me. I just think to get it off my chest. […] Once it’s off my chest I’m happy. I don’t have to talk about it anymore. But yeah, you just need to acknowledge that it was there, that it was wrong, or if it was right, or whatever.

Alana’s response suggests that a sense of satisfaction or relief can also come from sharing observations about an aspect of the science that was ‘right’. However, the compulsion to share observations about scientific realism seemed most pertinent when the text was ‘wrong’.

Change

Discourse about scientific realism can call for changes in the way that fiction is produced. This discourse seeks to shape the reception context of narrative fiction, encouraging fiction creators to produce scientifically realistic narratives by critiquing unrealistic science or celebrating realistic science.

Laura (S-SC) was the only participant to characterise her discourse in terms of the change function: ‘I think if people don’t go, “look, in this movie this is wrong and you need to stop doing this”, they’ll continue to do it’. Laura’s discourse of change is motivated both by its impact on her enjoyment of fiction and her perception that other people will learn incorrect science:

I think that having correct, making the effort to have correct science in your fiction is important. I know that it’s important to me and other people that I’ve talked to about whether or not they can fully enjoy the media but I also think that if people are putting the incorrect science, people are going to know it, they’re going to learn it regardless and I think that we shouldn’t be setting up a precedent of people being allowed to teach people incorrect science.

In the case of medical information, Laura suggested, learning incorrect science from fiction ‘could be life threatening’. Elsewhere, Laura acknowledged that there may be ‘a reason behind’ some forms of unrealistic science, describing how it is not possible to ‘show everything step by step’ for a lengthy laboratory procedure. In this way, she was not advocating for absolute scientific realism but for a higher standard of social responsibility than what she currently perceives in the production of fiction. Whether such discourse has any effect on fiction creators is unclear, though Kirby (2010) and Frank (2003) argue that fiction creators are mindful of the negative publicity that unrealistic science may elicit.

Competence

Consistent with Lull’s (1980) observation that discourse about television can be used to exhibit intellectual competence, participant responses highlight how discourse about scientific realism can serve as an expression of scientific competence (defined as the possession of scientific knowledge and skills). In turn, demonstrating scientific competence is a way of signalling social identity and social status. From a social identity theory perspective (Tajfel and Turner, 1979), discourse about scientific realism supports a positively distinct social identity through implicit or explicit intergroup comparisons where observations about scientific realism are perceived to be exclusive to a scientifically competent in-group and beyond the reach of a (real or imagined) scientifically incompetent out-group. From a Bourdieusian perspective (cf. Bourdieu and Wacquant, 1992), scientific competence is a form of cultural capital (knowledge or skill) that translates to symbolic capital (status) in science-valuing social fields.

Several participants perceived their companions to be ‘showing off’ scientific knowledge through discourse about scientific realism. Several other participants characterised their own discourse as a display of scientific competence. Leah (NS), a linguistics postgraduate student, described how discourse about scientific realism supports a sense of belonging in a scientifically competent in-group:

It makes me feel like I learn something about the world and that I’m creating an in-group identity, that I’m connecting with somebody else saying, ‘You know and I know that this is wrong and therefore we can share something’. […] So in this case, I guess, you know, collectively it’s just sharing in a group that is different from the others, the people that don’t get it, or the show that is stupid […] So I guess it’s trying to show, I guess, it’s feeling that you’re smarter than everyone else that don’t get it (laughs).

For Leah, a sense of positive distinctiveness comes from being part of a group that can identify ‘something little in a story that is scientifically wrong but not obvious to everyone’.

In Leah’s case, discourse about scientific realism entailed a shared sense of superiority with her conversation partner, but for Emma (S-SC), this discourse was a way to highlight her individual superiority:

This is a really horrible thing to say, but [I feel] superior (laughs). Like, I never thought about it until now but I think there is a bit of like, ‘I recognise that; I bet other people don’t’ (laughs). I’m a snob (laughs). […] It’s not that I particularly care. I think I’m just being a snob: ‘Did you notice this? I did’ (laughs).

Elsewhere in the discussion, Emma observed how ‘making snide remarks […] possibly increases [her] enjoyment of [a movie] and decreases the enjoyment of the person who is sitting with [her]’. In this respect, Emma recognised that other people may not appreciate her remarks. The important thing seems to be how these remarks make her feel superior even if they do not actually confer superiority.

Emma’s response illustrates how displays of competence through discourse about scientific realism can entail an almost adversarial sense of superiority over less scientifically competent audiences. However, this relationship need not be adversarial. Several participants described how they occupy valued roles in their friendship groups through being the ‘science person’ to whom others can turn with their science questions. In these cases, discourse about scientific realism was not a potentially alienating form of ‘showing off’ but a welcome and expected social function within the participant’s friendship group.

Connection

In the connection function of discourse about scientific realism, mutually enjoyable discussions of scientific realism can contribute to a sense of perceived bonding between audiences, especially among members of ‘sciencey’ or ‘nerdy’ social groups. Discourse about scientific realism can highlight shared characteristics that serve as a basis for establishing and maintaining social relationships. The connection function can be an extension of the other functions of discourse that I have described above. Connection can in principle arise through shared catharsis, shared curiosity, shared competence, shared critique and so forth.

Several participants described how discourse about scientific realism can support social connections, of whom Isla is representative. For Isla (S), a biology undergraduate student, discussing the forensic drama Bones (2005–) is a form of bonding with her friend who is studying psychology:

So we’ll be watching [Bones] and she’ll comment on the inaccuracies of the psychology part and I’ll comment on the inaccuracies of the biology part. So that sort of, it’s almost a bonding exercise, laughing at the forced realism and all that kind of stuff.

Here, Isla illustrates how participating in a shared critique can support a social relationship. The implicit display of shared scientific competence in such a critique can be interpreted as further supporting Isla’s affinity with her friend.

Although discussions about scientific realism can occur in any social context, many participants described these discussions occurring in particular social groups, that is, among ‘nerds’, ‘science friends’ or ‘sciencey’ people. The meanings attached to terms like ‘nerd’ and ‘geek’ are highly context dependent (Mendick and Francis, 2012). In general, the term nerd is associated with an interest in popular culture, science and technology (Kendall, 1999; Woo, 2012). Nerd can be a pejorative term that carries negative connotations, such as social awkwardness, but it can also be reappropriated to emphasise its positive connotations, such as intelligence (Mendick and Francis, 2012). Discussing scientific realism among trusted friends means that participants could connect with each other through the most positive aspects of discourse about scientific realism (e.g. enjoying shared scientific interests) while minimising the risk of association with its most negative connotations (e.g. social awkwardness).

Even within ‘sciencey’ or ‘nerdy’ groups, however, selectivity in a conversation partner can be important. Various participants described how discussions of scientific realism are best pursued with a conversation partner who maintains a compatible degree of seriousness, openness and civility. After a particularly ‘heated’ debate about the physics of space combat, Marcus (S-SC) concluded that discussing scientific realism with some of his friends was ‘not worth it anymore’. Similarly, Ella (NS) described how she avoids discussions of scientific realism with her uncle because ‘he’s very strict about, like, you know, his way’s right’. These responses are consistent with Woo’s (2015) research on geek culture. Without ‘reasonableness and breadth of interest’, Woo writes, ‘nerdy enthusiasm can become fanatical and narrow minded’ (p. 31). Furthermore, the distinction between appropriate and inappropriate enthusiasm is entirely a matter of perspective (Woo, 2015). Natalie (S-SC) and Leah (NS) described how they find some people too closed-minded or obsessive even while recognising that other people may regard their own practices as such. In this way, connection through discourse about scientific realism depends on conversation partners exhibiting a compatible level of sciencey or nerdy enthusiasm.

Interrelations between discourse functions

Discourse functions are interrelated and can occur simultaneously. For example, an observation about unrealistic science might function simultaneously as a form of catharsis, a critique of a narrative, a display of scientific competence, and a basis of connection among members of a sciencey in-group. Furthermore, what is an intentional function of discourse for one individual may be an unintentional function for another. Indeed, the perceived function of any given instance of discourse may be different for different people, and the perceived function may not coincide with the intended function.

My focus in this study was on self-reported reasons for valuing or participating in discourse about scientific realism; however, self-reported functions do not exhaust the latent functions that audience discourse about scientific realism may perform. Participants did not explicitly describe their discourse as boundary work (Gieryn, 1999) but it can nevertheless be interpreted as such. Discourse about scientific realism can be an assertion of one’s own epistemic authority (as in the competence or communication functions), but it can also entail deference to the epistemic authority of others, namely, scientists or ‘sciencey’ friends (as in the curiosity function). In either case, the epistemic authority of narrative fiction is typically undermined, and the epistemic authority of science (and those who lay claim to science) is reinforced.

Implications for science communication practitioners

Placing the communication function of discourse about scientific realism into the context of other discourse functions highlights important considerations for science communication practitioners. Discourse about scientific realism is not necessarily interpreted in the way that it is intended. For example, a public lecture that is intended as an engaging introduction to the scientific concepts in a fictional narrative might be perceived as a discourse of critique. Furthermore, discourse about scientific realism may inadvertently communicate negative traits, such as closed-mindedness. Moreover, some audiences may deem the scientific realism of a text (and any attempt to discuss it) as irrelevant. Without an awareness of these potential responses, science communicators who use fictional examples may risk alienating their audience rather than engaging them.

Several strategies may attenuate the risks described above. To avoid science communication being perceived as a form of critique, it may be beneficial for communicators to highlight what they value about a text (both scientifically and aesthetically) rather than just discussing what is realistic (or not). Of course, if the target audience of the communication is opposed to a fictional narrative, then amplifying the perception of critique may be appropriate. To avoid appearing as unimaginative and literal-minded, it might be beneficial for communicators to demonstrate their understanding of narratives as creative works, recognising that some narratives are not aspiring to perceived realism. Further research is warranted to investigate the potential risks I have identified as well as the potential strategies that I have suggested for attenuating them.

Limitations

This study identifies and characterises different functions of audience discourse; however, it does not quantify the prevalence of these functions in the wider population. Understanding the prevalence of audience discourse about scientific realism and the most commonly self-reported or perceived functions of this discourse would provide additional context for my results.

The majority of participants in this study had a science background. The objective of my research was to understand the experiences of audiences who engage in discourse about scientific realism, and audiences with science backgrounds are an important group in this respect. Nevertheless, recruiting more participants without a science background may provide additional insights into how discourse about scientific realism is perceived and used.

5. Conclusion

Participant responses in this study highlight how discourse about scientific realism serves diverse functions for diverse audiences, including audiences without a science background. Participation in this discourse has benefits, such as learning about science or continuing engagement with a narrative, but there are also risks, namely, being perceived as nerdy (in the most negative sense), pedantic, or closed-minded. For science communication practitioners, there are also risks and benefits. Using fictional examples to communicate science is a potentially engaging strategy, but such discourse might be perceived as an irrelevant critique of a valued narrative. To attenuate such risks, practitioners may need to demonstrate their understanding of fiction and its audiences as much as they demonstrate their understanding of science.

Footnotes

Acknowledgements

Thank you to Dr Lindy Orthia for her valuable comments on my draft manuscript and her feedback and encouragement throughout this research project.

Funding

The author(s) received no financial support for the research, authorship and/or publication of this article.

Notes

ORCID iD

Jarrod L. Green

Author biography

Jarrod L Green completed his PhD at the Australian National Centre for the Public Awareness of Science at the Australian National University. His research focuses on science narratives and their audiences.

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