53rd FRENCH NATIONAL SF CONVENTION: 9-12 JULY 2026, ESNEUX, BELGIUM
GoHs: Jean-Claude Dunyach, Pierre Stolze, Dominique Warfa, Sara Doke, Katia Lanero Zamora, Eric Lysoe, Franck Roger
The fifty‑third French National Science Fiction Convention is not merely approaching — it is descending, like a shimmering astral engine, upon the wooded hills of Esneux (Xuense – Xu), Belgium.
From July 9 to 12, 2026, Brunsode Castle will stop being a castle and become a pressure chamber of imagination, a crucible where Francophone speculative fiction melts, mutates, and erupts in incandescent waves.
The old stones of Tilff, fifteen kilometers south of Liège (Belgium) will tremble under the weight of four days in which reality politely steps aside and lets the impossible take over.
Tilff is not a separate town in this context — it is part of the municipality of Esneux. When the SF convention announcement says that Brunsode Castle is located “in Tilff,” it is simply referring to one of the districts that make up Esneux.
In administrative terms, Esneux includes two main population centers: Esneux proper and Tilff, with Tilff lying just a few kilometers to the north along the Ourthe River. So when the convention is described as taking place “in Tilff,” it still means within the municipality of Esneux, which is why the event is officially associated with Esneux.
Picture it: a forested park wrapped around a castle that has seen centuries of quiet contemplation, suddenly invaded by writers, dreamers, theorists, rebels, and cosmic pranksters.
Jean‑Claude Dunyach strides through the corridors like a bard from another timeline; Pierre Stolze arrives with the mischievous glint of someone who has seen universes collapse and reform; Dominique Warfa and Sara Doke bring the intellectual firepower of two supernovae; Katia Lanero Zamora, Eric Lysoe, Franck Roger — each one a gravitational body pulling conversations, debates, and midnight confessions into their orbit.
And swirling among them, Pierre Gévart, Anouk Arnal, Olivier le Bussy, Raymond Milesi, Éric Picholle, Anne Smulders — a constellation of veterans and visionaries whose presence alone could power a small city.
Julie Larrans, under the name Juli.illu, has forged the poster like a talisman: nine sly references to the mythologies of comics, cinema, and anime, nine portals into shared cultural memory. It is not a poster; it is a coded spell, a wink to every fan who has ever stayed up too late reading, watching, dreaming.
And then comes Saturday — the day of proclamations, revelations, coronations.
The Rosny prizes, the Cyrano, the Aristophane: literary thunderbolts hurled from the stage, each one reshaping reputations and futures.
Somewhere in the crowd, someone will win the Versins prize for the most gloriously terrible pun, and the room will erupt in groans and laughter, because this convention is not only about solemnity; it is about joy, absurdity, camaraderie, and the shared delirium of loving science fiction enough to dedicate four days — and often a lifetime — to it.
XuCon IV is not a festival. It is not a trade show. It is a ritual. A gathering of equals, a temporary autonomous zone where amateurs and professionals dissolve into one tribe.
Registration fees are not tickets; they are offerings, contributions to the machinery that keeps this tradition alive since 1974, when Jean‑Pierre Fontana first ignited the flame.
Every year, a new team takes the torch, a new city becomes the stage, a new chapter is written in the sprawling saga of Francophone SF.
After Esneux (XuCon IV 2026), comes Grenoble, Yeticon 2027, and beyond that — who knows? The future is a shifting nebula.
Inside Brunsode Castle, conversations will bloom like alien flora. Workshops will crack open minds.
Films will flicker in dark rooms while outside, under the trees, fans will debate metaphysics, politics, astrophysics, and the correct pronunciation of obscure alien species. Meals will stretch into philosophical feasts.
Drinks will become accelerants for improbable theories.
Friendships will be reforged, alliances renewed, and newcomers welcomed into the fold with the warmth of a community that has survived decades of change without losing its soul.
And looming above it all, the Black Tower — symbol of Esneux, haunt of Prince Zernor in the Xuensè fanzine — watches with amused approval. It has seen centuries of history, but nothing quite like this: a four‑day storm of creativity, eccentricity, and unfiltered passion.
The French National SF Convention is not simply an event.
It is a migration, a pilgrimage, a collective hallucination made real through stubborn love for speculative worlds.
In July 2026, Esneux becomes the beating heart of Francophone science fiction, and every participant becomes part of a SF myth that stretches back to 1939 and forward into whatever futures we dare to imagine.
Brunsode Castle awaits. The woods are listening. The tower is awake.
XuCon IV is coming — and it will shake the stars.
The French National Science Fiction Convention is an annual gathering held in France — or, by exception, in a neighboring French‑speaking country — bringing together science fiction enthusiasts and professionals. It brings together registered attendees (the vast majority), invited guests, and organizers; this whole group constitutes the “participants” of the Convention.
It is an internal meeting, not to be confused with a fair or a festival. It is also an occasion to award literary prizes: currently, these include the Rosny Aîné awards for novel and short story, and the Cyrano Prize, given to a person for their overall contributions to science fiction.
The Alain Le Bussy/Galaxies Prize, the Aristophane Prize (theatre), and the Pépin Prize (short stories under 300 characters) may also be awarded.
Finally, a humorous award, the Versins Prize, is given to the author of the best worst pun uttered during the Convention.
Since the Convention is financed by fans, participants pay a registration fee calculated to cover organizational costs, including the attendance of invited guests.
This approach illustrates the difference between a festival (or a literary fair) — where visitors (who come and go) are often offered free or low‑cost entry — and the National SF Convention, where registration covers the entire duration and where shared literature, meeting, participation, and the recognition shown by fans toward the personalities of the field take precedence. It is an opportunity for fans to gather over several days, to meet authors and figures of science fiction, and to talk with them in an unconstrained environment.
History
The first French National SF Convention was organized in 1974 by author Jean‑Pierre Fontana, originally modeled on Worldcon, the world convention organized by fans in the United States.
The event has since taken place every year, most often with different organizers and structures, following a charter written at the request of French science fiction fans overseen by writer Raymond Milési, assisted by Bernard Henninger, who manages the continuity of the National SF Convention, receives applications, and organizes the voting.
Each year N, during the Convention, participants elect the organizer for year N+2. The organizer for year N+1 often takes the opportunity to present the developing program of their event, and pre‑candidacies may be announced for later years.
Registration averages around fifty euros for the three or four days. It grants access to everything — magazine stands, fanzines, clubs, associations, writers, exhibitors, publishers, booksellers, second‑hand dealers… (the stands, often lively tables overflowing with SF materials and publications, form the core of the Convention), as well as welcome envelopes, drinks, badges, and publications, conferences, debates, exhibitions, games, shows, activities, etc. — and allows discussions with fans, guests, and professionals (publishers, authors, illustrators, critics, specialized journalists…). All information (travel, accommodation, meals, reservations, program, guests, registrants, special details, etc.) is provided by the organizers during the preceding year. Meals are often arranged to be taken on site or nearby for those who wish, extending moments of meeting or reunion.
“Convention”: the term
In French, the term “congrès,” used to designate a gathering of people around a theme, might have seemed more appropriate, since “convention” is often used in a legal context.
But in this case, the term clearly refers to American science fiction fan conventions (World Science Fiction Convention), whose origins date back to 1939.
It is therefore originally an anglicism (a French adaptation of an English word).
