When I first started reading science fiction some 30 years ago (which was the very first thing I read when I finished my first year of elementary school), one could scarcely find anything except some summarized translations of Jules Verne’s books, which were often poor translations full of mistakes. But those poorly translated stories of wonderful voyages to the unknown corners of the Earth and to the moon itself were enough for me and a few of my generation to ignite the fire in our minds. We became enchanted with those stories in which science, adventure, romance, and mystery were intertwined. As I grew older I discovered my friends and classmates were interested in other kinds of stories. In those stories, there were no spaceships traveling to the moon, nor any submersible mysteriously traveling beneath the oceans. Those stories were mostly concerned about love affairs between people. Later I learned their names: Drama. I also found out the elites of literature consider only those stories a “real” form of literature and not Science Fiction. That was unfortunate.