He’s left out the worst trope of all, Time Travel, which infects all SF like a fast mutating retrovirus. Or perhaps crack is better simile, the irresistible, easy, cheap high that never ends well.
Even bad space opera is like comfort food at this point. I’m listening to Nathan Lowell’s Trader Tales podcasts before bed. They’re a lovely soporific throwback to Heinlein Juveniles, with the boy from the backwater planet who comes aboard and is soon running the ship. Great thought provoking space opera like Vinge or Banks is like another animal.
