The Most Secretive Woman in the History of Science Fiction This month marks the centennial of sci-fi author James Tiptree, Jr., a man who was as fictional as his make-believe charac ters
Who is the most mysterious sci-fi author of them all?
Maybe that fellow L. Ron Hubbard, who decided that a religion from outer space had a better payback than stories about outer space? Or perhaps Philip K. Dick , who was convinced he had been possessed by the spirit of the prophet Elijah? And let’s not forget Cordwainer Smith , who apparently believed that he lived part-time on an alien planet.
But I insist that we add James Tiptree, Jr. to this list. August 24 marks the 100th anniversary of Tiptree's birth, and it is an event well worth celebrating. One of my favorite genre writers, Tiptree earned a shelf full of major awards for short stories and novellas back in the 1970s and 1980s. And Tiptree's fame lives on posthumously. Three years ago, Tiptree was inducted into the Science Fiction Hall of Fame. Every year the James Tiptree, Jr. Award is given to a work of sci-fi and fantasy that explores gender roles.
But there never was a James Tiptree, Jr.
When Tiptree was a rising star of the science fiction world, any fan who tried to phone the author learned that no one by that name was listed in the directory. No author photos could be found on the jacket sleeves of Tiptree’s books. All requests for public appearances were declined. Influential sci-fi writers and editors who hoped to meet Tiptree in person found their overtures rebuffed.
David Gerrold, screenwriter for the famous "Trouble with Tribbles" screenplay on Star Trek , even went to Tiptree's mailing address in Alexandria, Virginia, a large rambling home in a wooded area. Knocking on the door, he was greeted by a diminutive, middle-aged woman who was puzzled by her visitor’s request to meet James Tiptree, Jr. She had no idea who he was talking about.
But this absence of firsthand knowledge hardly stopped the sci-fi community from speculating about the hot new writer on the scene. Tiptree was "a man of 50 or 55, I guess, possibly unmarried, fond of outdoor life, restless in his everyday existence," speculated Robert Silverberg in his introduction to Tiptree's Warm Worlds and Otherwise . Silverberg mentions in passing rumors that Tiptree might be a woman, but was quick to dismiss these suggestions as "absurd"—then added: "there is something ineluctably masculine about Tiptree's writings."
Readers who wanted the inside scoop on James Tiptree, Jr. would have done better to skip Silverberg's introduction, and instead mull over the title to one of the most provocative stories in the collection , a tale named “The Women Men Don’t See.” That describes the writer of these stories much better than any of the details in the standard author's bio.
These smart, iconoclastic stories were actually written by Alice B. Sheldon, who was almost sixty years old when she won her first Hugo award for the prescient 'virtual reality' novella "The Girl Who Was Plugged In." Sheldon had never known anyone named Tiptree—she found the name on a jar of English marmalade. But it suited the debonair persona she hoped to construct for her public image.
This wasn’t the first time Alice Sheldon had adopted a secret identity. She had learned about secrecy from the very best teachers while working for Army intelligence and the CIA. In later life, she found that these skills helped her in unexpected ways. When she briefly left her husband in the mid-1950s, he struggled to find any clue to her whereabouts—and her spouse, Huntington D. Sheldon was a high-level CIA spy! "I used my clandestine training to disappear," she later boasted. "In a day, I had a new name, a new bank account, had rented a house and really destroyed all traces of my former personality."
Husband and wife later reconciled, but Alice Sheldon found that this assumption of a new identity served as a test run for her eventual rebirth as sci-fi author James Tiptree, Jr. She later denied any attempt to mislead. "I can’t help what people think sounds male or female," she complained. But Sheldon clearly put as much energy into creating the Tiptree persona as she did into making her finely crafted stories.
I can’t blame Silverberg for asserting the masculinity of Mr. Tiptree. The men in Sheldon’s stories are macho and lustful. They spend a lot of time looking at women, or concerned with fighting and weapons. As a youngster, Sheldon had traveled extensively, visiting Central Africa, Southeast Asia and other far-flung locales, and she gave Tiptree a similarly cosmopolitan background. Readers probably envisioned Tiptree as a kind of sci-fi Hemingway, running with the bulls or off on an African safari. The occasional hints of espionage—Tiptree would turn down a request for a public appearance because of “secret business”—imparted an additional 007-ish flavor to the author’s image.
Sheldon can hardly be faulted for this charade. We are familiar with authors who hide their gender in order to reach a larger audience. But women in science fiction have faced perhaps the greatest obstacles in gaining credibility among the genre’s core audience—which has traditionally been dominated by young males.
Back in 1949, a major science fiction magazine surveyed its fan base, and learned that only 6.7% of its readers were female. Similar surveys from the 1970s, when Tiptree started gaining recognition in the field, suggest that women had grown to around a quarter of the audience for sci-fi. But female writers still struggled to find acceptance in the field—1970s surveys of 'all-time favorite' sci-fi stories gave all the top spots to men.
By taking on the Tiptree image, Sheldon bypassed the stereotypes and biases that might have limited her otherwise. Many of her predecessors in the field, such as Andre Norton or C.L. Moore, had already taken similar steps. Sheldon no doubt recognized that attitudes were changing in the 1970s—in fact, she corresponded with Ursula K. Le Guin and Joanna Russ , who were enjoying success with an overtly feminist brand of sci-fi during this period. But Tiptree had a different attitude. She was sympathetic with feminism, joined NOW and at one point started referring to other women as "sisters." She had romantic entanglements with women, and saw herself as essentially bisexual. But she also delighted in her ability to convince the leading men of sci-fi that she was one of their own. Above all, she took pride in her skill in constructing a double life, and was reluctant to give it up.
But eventually someone penetrated behind Tiptree’s façade. Sheldon had shared some details about her mother, whom she had described as an explorer living in Chicago. A fan used this information to track down an obituary from the Chicago Tribune, which identified Alice B. Sheldon as the only survivor of Mary Hastings Bradley, a noted travel writer. The details of the deceased matched Tiptree's account of his mother, and the author was soon confronted with the results of this successful sleuthing.
Sheldon decided to publicly acknowledge her real identity. She wrote 'coming out' letters to Le Guin and others, taking the opportunity to apologize for deceiving her literary friends. But like a true master spy, Sheldon disliked having her cover blown. She continued to publish works under the name James Tiptree, Jr. and in later days grumbled about researchers who wanted to write her life story. She even asked her agent whether she could charge them money for answering their questions.
Sheldon’s final years were marred by illness, both her own and her husband's. Her 1987 death was a shocking one—the result of a suicide pact between the couple . After first shooting her husband in his sleep, she calmly phoned her lawyer to describe what she had done, then turned the gun on herself. She had been talking about suicide for many years— the note she left explaining it was dated from 1979. When the police arrived on the scene, they found the two bodies side-by-side, holding hands.
Tiptree’s reputation has been in the ascendancy since the author’s death. A full-scale Tiptree/Sheldon biography was published by Julie Phillips in 2006—and won the National Book Critics Circle Award. And I suspect a Hollywood movie will eventually bring her story to an even larger audience. If Alan Turing and Stephen Hawking deserve a bio-pic, why not the remarkable Alice B. Sheldon?
The centennial of this author’s birth gives us an opportunity to marvel over the extraordinary deception practiced by the most mysterious woman in 20th century genre fiction. I hope it also gives a few readers an excuse to get familiar with her writing. But as much as I admire these works, I can't help concluding that the most impressive fictional character created by James Tiptree, Jr. was the author himself.
Ted Gioia writes on books, music and popular culture. His latest book Love Songs: The Hidden History , is published by Oxford University Press .