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I think we've chatted about this on here before, but nothing like a fresh spin on an old problem.I'm a proselytizer. I like to spread the word: Science fiction, fantasy, and everything that lies in between and bleeds around the edges are great choices of reading material.
Frustratingly, most book readers do not share my enthusiasm.
As an experiment, last month I gave four non-genre readers a modern genre short story to read, then interviewed them about the experience. I only convinced one reader to consider speculative fiction when selecting his next book. (A fan of Frank McCourt, he is currently reading the works of Edgar Allen Poe and needs suggestions.)
As for the other three readers, even though they enjoyed the stories presented to them, they politely said "thanks but no thanks" to a repeat experience.
The books that I savor are full of brilliance and wit and wonder. Why people don't read science fiction and fantasy continues to baffle me.
The reasons are varied but inarguable -- science fiction holds only a 6% market share, according to research done by the Romance Writers of America in 2005. (1)
Why does speculative fiction not appeal to mainstream readers? The answer, "It just doesn't interest me" does not interest me. So after years of observation, I've drawn a few (non-scientific) conclusions. The answers are more complex than a choice to avoid the science fiction section of the bookstore. (Summary headings follow, see full answers here):
1. Some readers need to be presented with context before engaging with the material.
2. Mainstream readers do not think the same way.
3. Speculative fiction is a taste acquired from a young age.
4. The social stigma associated with speculative fiction still exists.
5. Science fiction just does not interest most readers.
6. People are already reading science fiction and fantasy -- they just don't call it that.
All of the reasons listed are valid but there's another element, which Warren Ellis describes:

...the old dream (circa 1950s)
I share a conviction with Steven Shaviro, whose most recent book was CONNECTED, that we live in a science fictional world. Not the one everyone expected, of course — no jetpacks. But good science fiction, challenging science fiction, is never about the future we expect. Sf has never been about predicting the future. It’s been about laying out a roadmap of possibilities, one dark street at a time, and applying that direction to the present condition.
People have spoken at length over the last few years about the death of sf, and even of the death of futurism. This isn’t new. In the 1980s, grand masters of the form such as Robert Silverberg and Robert Sheckley talked of sf losing its way when the common visions of the form were abandoned: Silverberg in particular (author, curiously, of some of sf’s most depressing stories) spoke of the cyberpunk/radical hard sf landscape being one he did not choose to inhabit, and so turned to writing fantasy. Today, sf, like so many arts, is utterly fractured, with several competing movements, none of them gaining much traction, while sales slip, magazines struggle and the written genre slides out of general view, dragged down to Davy Jones’ locker by the bony hands of the Western.

...the sf reality (Shanghai, 2007)
I’m a science fiction writer. I work in many other genres and areas, but first and foremost I think of myself as a writer of sf. I’m no good at science. My girlfriend still has to program the video machine for me. I love science for the fiction in it. Every great scientific innovation has poetry in it. In a BBC TV play about the discovery of the DNA molecule, Jeff Goldblum as James Watson says upon seeing the assembled DNA double helix for the first time; “I knew it’d be pretty.”
The challenge in sf now is, to an extent, the one William Gibson met in PATTERN RECOGNITION by not writing sf. When we live in the science fiction condition, what’s left but writing contemporary fiction with the eye for detail and extrapolation that comes from an sf writer? It’s what the Mundane SF movement (and, my God, what an exciting name) is referring to: if we’re living in the science fiction condition, why invent castles in the air?

[...]
“Men do not live by truth alone; they also need lies: those that they invent freely, not those that are imposed on them: those that appear as they are, not smuggled in beneath the clothes of history. Fiction enriches their existence, completes them and, fleetingly, compensates them for this tragic condition, which is our lot; always to desire and dream more than we can actually achieve.
When it freely produces its alternative life, without any other constraint than that of the limitation of its own creator, literature extends human life, adding the dimension that fuels the life deep within us—that impalpable and fleeting, but precious life the we only live through lies.
This is a right that we should defend without shame. Because to play with lies, as the author and reader of fiction do, the lies that they themselves fabricate under the rule of their personal demons, is a way of affirming individual sovereignty and defending it when it is threatened; of preserving one’s own fee space, a citadel outside the control of power and of the interference of others, where we are truly in chard of our destiny.
Other freedoms are born with this freedom. These private refuges, the subjective truths of literature, bequeath to historical truth, which complementary to them, a possible existence and a particular function: that of regaining and important part—but only a part-of our memory, that greatness and poverty that we share with others as gregarious beings. This historical truth is indispensable and irreplaceable for us to know what we were and perhaps what we will be as human collectivities. But what we are as individuals and what we wanted to be and could not really be and had therefore to be through fantasy and invention—our secret history—only literature can tell. This is why Balzac wrote that fiction was ‘the private history of nations’.
By itself, literature is a terrible indictment against existence under whatever regime or ideology: a blazing testimony of its insufficiencies, its inability to satisfy us. An, for that reason, it is a permanent corroder of all power structures that would like to see men satisfied and contented. The lies of literature, if they germinate in freedom, prove to us that this was never the case. And these lies are also a permanent conspiracy to prevent this happening in the future.”
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