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Tansy Rayner Roberts

Posts Tagged ‘connie willis’

OMG WTF is that really the last page?

Monday, August 16th, 2010

Day 26 – OMG WTF? OR most irritating/awful/annoying book ending

The first one that first comes to mind is the Mill on the Floss because WTF, drowning, seriously? Following my Lydia Bennet argument though, this one doesn’t count for much because it’s a book I don’t love anyway. Finding an ending I hate in a book I love would be a better answer, I think!

The next reading experience that leaps into my head is Bold as Love by Gwyneth Jones, a book I loved beyond reason. I still remember the sickening feeling of ‘oh oh, only a few pages to go, how can she possibly… oh. WTF???’ It’s the one time I have been tempted to throw a book across a room, so great was my frustration at those three little words, To Be Continued. That’s not the author’s fault though, it’s the publisher. The very idea of publishing the first novel of a SERIAL series without marking it as such makes my blood boil. We need to know if there’s gonna be closure!

Likewise, the ending of Connie Willis’ Blackout is beyond frustrating, thanks to a publishing choice. We get half the book and then sorry, wait nine months for the next volume. SO MEAN. It’s particularly harmful to the reading experience because we had just got past the interesting but not fast-moving set up half of the story and were totally ready to have our brains blown out by whatever Willis had for us next. To be continued. Gah.

I really want to not count that too, and to come up with a brilliant example of a book I otherwise loved but had a stupid ending, and I can’t think of… oh. OH.

Okay, it’s not a book I otherwise loved. It’s a thoroughly unlovable book apart from a few fangirl scenes. But. It’s a book with an ending so bad, so utterly awful, that it colours the entire series that came before it. A book that gives with one hand and rips away marvellous childhood memories with the other, generations before George Lucas came blundering into his own creation with a pickaxe and a host of good intentions.

It’s an ending that spoils everything, and leaves the reader bludgeoned around the head with a little bit of sick in their mouths.

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Roman Masters (and Mistresses)

Sunday, July 25th, 2010

Day 04 – Your favorite book or series ever

There were a bunch of books/series that I would regularly reread every two years or so; I last read the lot of them when I was pregnant with Raeli, and suffering from what I called booksickness – that was, an inability to read anything new. Those included pretty much the complete works of Tamora Pierce, Connie Willis and Diana Wynne Jones, the Vorkosigan novels, Tam Lin by Pamela Dean and Absolute Nobodies by Lee Tulloch. For my twenties, at least, these were the books that I returned to over and over, enjoying new layers every time.

Then there are the books of my childhood: the ocean of Enid Blytons, the boatfuls of Swallows and Amazons, the Edward Eagers and Beverly Clearys.

Then there’s Terry Pratchett, and I’m sure I could write many, many words to express how much his books meant to me fifteen years ago, and what they mean to me now.

But I’m not going to talk about any of them. Ha!

The series that comes to mind are the Masters of Rome books by Colleen McCullough. It’s hard to think of a set of books that have influenced my life more. Sure, Enid Blyton taught me that you could grow up to be a writer, and Terry Pratchett taught me the meaning of meta-fantasy, but Colleen McCullough started me on my love affair with Rome: the city, the history, the symbol. And I’ve never stopped.

I was given the first book in this series as a teenager (possibly a TOUCH too young for it) by a well-meaning relative. I fell in love with it – a dense family saga with the weight of Roman history pressing all around it, plus plenty of sex, violence and grotesquerie. It’s a series just packed with sensible women and damaged men and, oh yes, it’s the reason I took up Ancient Civilisations at college, the reason I kept taking those Classics subjects at university (oops, was that a major?) and the reason I spent a good seven years of my life working towards a PhD.

These books are huge. You might think you’ve seen big books, if you are a fantasy reader, but I advise you to look again. Every time a new book in the series was released, I would read back all the others, laboriously (okay, sometimes I skipped the battle scenes). I have the most recent sitting on my to read shelf after a year and a half, though I was so desperate to read it I purchased it within 24 hours of finding out it existed – it’s still sitting there because my brain keeps insisting I need to read all the others first and honestly, I don’t have three months to spare.

The First Man in Rome gave me the sisters Julia and Julilla, one a sensible matrona-to-be, and the other a spoiled, self-destructive brat. It introduced Marius, a great leader I didn’t care one sestertius about, and the wilfully horrible, poisonous and utterly wonderful Sulla (Avon to Marius’ Blake) whom I adored with a terrible passion.

The Grass Crown gave me lots more Sulla madness and political machinations, but most particularly it gave me Aurelia, sensible young patrician bride, and the elaborate domestic set up she arranges with her dowry, so that she was the landlady of an insula in a poor area by the time she had her son, young Gaius Julius Caesar. Yes, I named my firstborn daughter after her.

Fortune’s Favourites, ostensibly about the fall of Sulla, is the novel that made me fall inexorably in love with Julius Caesar. There was no going back.

Caesar’s Women, perhaps my favourite of the series, gave me tons more Aurelia action, but also brought the horribly unpleasant and yet compelling Servilia into the limelight. It also introduced me to the women’s ritual religion, a topic that I became so interested in, it ultimately served as my Honours topic. [this one was released 1996, the year I started university - after this, my knowledge of and interest in studying Classics informed my reading of the novels rather than the other way around]

While I very much enjoyed Caesar and The October Horse, they had rather more military action than family politics, which was of less interest to me – I had a habit by then of skimming until I got to scenes with women in them – but then along came the brilliantly twisted Octavian, and I was completely in McCullough’s hands all over again.

I still don’t know if I’m going to pick up Antony and Cleopatra any time soon. I am fascinated to do so, but also a little scared. Mostly I’m scared because I’m used to letting McCullough define a historical character for me – her Sulla, Julia, Aurelia, Caesar and Servilia are all ‘canon’ as far as I’m concerned, but this book has Livia in it. And no one can write Livia well enough to please me. She’s MINE.

Yeah, okay. I’m going to read it soon. Any day now. Really, I promise.

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A Question of Canon-Building

Sunday, May 16th, 2010

In our most recent episode of Galactic Suburbia, Alisa pointed us towards this Mind Meld post that asked a variety of people which 10 SF books should be part of every fan’s library. Alisa noted that while the women asked this question generally mentioned books from a variety of authors, and more than one female writer especially, no man asked in this first part included more than one book by a woman – and that book was always Ursula Le Guin’s The Left Hand of Darkness.

While this does point towards the incredible success and popularity of that particular text as a SF classic, it was both interesting and concerning that there was still such imbalance. This led to all kinds of discussion, not only in the podcast, but across Twitter, about the usefulness of these kinds of top 10 lists, and how they could be used to construct an “agreed-upon canon.”

Jonathan Strahan expanded upon his own thoughts on the matter in this audio-post, looking more closely at the terms of definition implied by the question, on the fun and problematic nature of canon-building, and in fact why he doesn’t like the concept of making such lists.

I agree with Jonathan that discussions of canonicity (hmm, is that a word?) are best done without formal structures or restrictions such as those lists offer. While lists (and I include awards shortlists here as well as top 10 list) do provoke conversations, inevitably those conversations tend to be negative rather than positive, and I think that’s a shame – so many people respond to a list by saying what was overlooked or left off! Which of course is utterly valid, but not entirely fair when the list is the choice of an individual. Having said that, I am disappointed at the lack of women that men have chosen to recommend in this forum, and that the exception to this is always the same woman and the same single work is intriguing. Certainly, the women in the experiment had no trouble coming up with multiple works by women which they considered significant!

(I have to admit that I get just as outraged as anyone when my favourite is not on a list, especially a list of key importance, though I do my best not to use the word ‘overlooked’ as it suggests the person making the list made a mistake rather than, you know, asserting their actual opinion)

I do think lists have a value in more than just provoking people to complain about what isn’t on them. The Mind Meld system is excellent in that it is asking a variety of people to comment and suggest works, rather than for instance trying to compose a single list from the various top 10s… had they done that, chances are very likely that The Left Hand of Darkness would have been very high up the single list, but also that it might have been the only work by a woman recommended at all.

This is why I find shortlists more interesting than who won the award (though winning awards is lovely), and collections of lists more interesting than single lists. The more people are consulted, and the more works they are able to reference, the more likely you are to find diversity and range in recommendations.

As soon as lists become restricted, you see fewer women on them. Many people complained about the Best Picture award of the Oscars this year having a shortlist of 10, but I liked it. The longer shortlists are, the more likely they are to reflect the whole range of excellent work produced in a single year. I know I used to get terribly frustrated when judging awards that the maximum number for a shortlist was 5 – sometimes there really are 7 excellent works in a year, and you want to talk about all of them!

Whenever people discusscanon, about what is in the canon and what should be in the canon, I always start feeling scratchy and uncomfortable. Because this leads into discussion about what books are ‘important’ and somehow that usually turns into a conversation about white men, all over again.

Jonathan suggested that with a top 10 list, people might have a tendency to look at which authors should be represented, rather than starting with the books: “okay, I have to have a Heinlein, and and Asimov, and… and…” which leads them to be celebrity-heavy. I think that’s true and also true that, as Alisa said in our podcast, with a list of 10, no one really has to look beyond the white men. The problem is figuring out which books to leave out, of those that first come to mind. There are few women whose names resonate to the majority of SF fans with the same power as Heinlein, Asimov, Clarke, Leiber, Dick, Pohl, Haldeman, Gibson, and so on. Which is not to say that their work is inferior, merely that their names do not carry the same star power. As Alisa has been saying a lot lately, our perceptions of how important an author are skewed by many factors: publisher support, awards, how memorable they are, and word of mouth. We’re still coming out of a time when the majority of opinions voiced about SF were those of male critics and readers, and that is bound to have an effect for many decades to come. Things are changing on that score, but slowly. I really liked that Jonathan, in his audio post, cited several works by women that would “tell the same story” as the iconic male-authored SF works by men, but sadly it rarely works out that way when most male readers are asked which books are important. Few people going to stop and think about which women contributed to early cyberpunk when they can just write down “Neuromancer” and move on.

My list, should I make one, of books which an SF fan should have in their library, would be almost entirely packed with feminist SF. Not because I would be wanting to make a statement, though statements are awesome things, but because that is my SF. I have read my share of the classics, and even appreciated many of them. If pressed, I could cite Starship Troopers or Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep or The Forever War, and I would acknowledge that most people should read Neuromancer at least once, though I liked Pattern Recognition a lot better…

But.

My science fiction fandom, my explorations of the genre, the parts of SF that really made me excited, aren’t about those books. My science fiction is the Women of Wonder anthologies, and the Tiptree Award history as told through their fundraising anthologies, and Women of Other Worlds, and more recently On Joanna Russ. My science fiction is Larbalestier and Mendelsohn and Merrick’s works of feminist SF history and criticism. My science fiction is Connie Willis and Lois McMaster Bujold.

My canon is “The Heat-Death of the Universe” and “The Ship Who Sang” and “What Men Don’t See” and “What I didn’t See” and “Rachel in Love.”

I mentioned on Twitter that my list of 10 would probably be all feminist SF and Jonathan pointed out that the question asked for general SF, not feminist SF. Which is true enough… But I’m sure no one who answered with 10 cyberpunk or space opera or “hard” SF titles would feel self-conscious about it. My SF is feminist SF, the two are intertwined for me, and I can sympathise with those men who answered the Mind Meld with mostly male authors, because I really would struggle to keep the male-authored books on there when I had so many great women that, quite frankly, every fan should have in their libraries.

Even then I know that my list would be lacking, because I just haven’t done well enough yet in reading SF by people of colour. Octavia Butler and Samuel Delaney are there on my list of authors to educate myself about, once I’m done with all this Joanna Russ, but they still leave a gaping hole in my education. I haven’t decided which of the two will be my Classic Author Obsession of 2011, and would be interested to hear from anyone as to which works of either of them I should start with! With Delaney I’m particularly interested in the ways that his work intersected with so much of the feminist SF of the 70’s, as most of what I’ve heard about him has been in relation to Russ or Tiptree. I’m also wondering if I should start with the new book that is due out shortly I think, or start back with his early work.

Ironically, at the end of all this, I’ve never personally been that excited by much of novel-length written by Ursula Le Guin. I am, however, very glad that a woman has written a book that so many people still consider vital and interesting and important, so many decades later. She wouldn’t have been on my mythical list of 10, but I think it’s awesome she is in so many other people’s.

No one person can read or love or recommend everything, and we’re all limited by our own biases and personal tastes.

All this goes to show I think is that if you are going to do something like the Mind Meld, the key is to ask as diverse a range of people as possible, in order that their answers also add diversity to what is considered “canon”. I think they did pretty well with that – after all it matters less that the men thought of including more than one female author when you have women whose opinions are also being sought, and ultimately a good range of works were recommended. I look forward to seeing what other works are discussed in the second post on this topic.

EDIT: I didn’t manage to articulate this on the first pass, but I think it’s important to note that the word ‘canon’ has quite negative connotations for anyone who has ever taken much of an interest in the way that female authors intersect with the history of literature. I know that my first gut reaction to the concept of canon building is along the lines of “something else to exclude Jane Austen from, then.” This is a big reason why I appreciate the acknowledgement of Mary Shelley’s contribution to the development of SF as a genre, every single time.

To Be Continued

Thursday, March 11th, 2010

I had a great chat tonight on Twitter with @JonathanStrahan, @charliejane, @charlesatan and others about fantasy and the way that publishers are reacting in different ways to the reader resistance phenomenon: readers turning their back on extended fantasy series, and in some cases refusing to start reading a series until it’s complete, so that they can happily get invested in the characters without worrying the author is going to drop dead, or make them wait.

Some of the techniques publishers are using include letting the author finish the whole series/trilogy so they can assure readers it’s all going to be there, and in many cases releasing the books much closer together, rather than the more traditional one volume a year. This is happening with my Creature Court trilogy, where the third book will be delivered around the time the first will be published, and they’ll be coming out six monthly. Meanwhile, Rowena Cory Daniells has a new trilogy coming out this year through Solaris at once a month! As Jonathan pointed out, this is a method the romance industry has been employing for years.

I get pretty angry about the most problematic method publishers use to overcome the reader resistence phenomenon: that is to say, fraud.

I still remember the fury I felt when I got to the end of Gwyneth Jones’ Bold as Love. There was no sign on the book that it was a continuous series, but ten pages from the end, I had suspected there was a lack of finality. Sure enough, “to be continued in Castles in the Sand.” There are other examples, quite a few of them documented across the web, of series which the publishers have, for whatever reason, chosen not to represent as a series from Book #1.

Here’s the thing: there are many things you can do to try to persuade readers that is going to be worth their while to pick up Book #1. But it’s not okay to pretend the book is something other than what it is. A reader who doesn’t want to read a lone Book #1 is going to be PARTICULARLY angry if they are tricked into buying a book under false pretences. They will tell their friends. And you know, if they don’t (as most readers don’t) know much about the industry and how it works, they’re not going to blame the publisher. They’re going to blame the author.

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Links that are Linky

Thursday, February 11th, 2010

Shiny #6 is out! With, among other things, the latest Dirk Flinthart short story within.

This is sadly the final issue of Shiny, a labour of love for those of us involved. I was very pleased with the issues I had editorial input in (1-3), enjoyed reading issue 4 as a civilian, and was very proud to be published in issue 5 with “Like Us,” one of the two Shiny stories that scored an Aurealis Award nomination last year.

Back issues of the ezine are available here.

Elsewhere on the internet, Connie Willis talks about Blackout and All Clear.

The always smart and eloquent Kate Harding talks about the problematic aspects of Michelle Obama’s anti-obesity campaign.

Jim C Hines, who impresses me more and more each time I read his blog, has some valuable thoughts on the representation of masculinity and men in our society.

Charles Tan did a great post about some of the misconceptions about the Amazon v. Macmillan situation.

Deb Biancotti’s A Book of Endings received an awesome review at Strange Horizons.

Ticonderoga will be publishing collections by two great Australian writers in time for Aussiecon 4: Kaaron Warren and Angela Slatter.

Oh, and that reminds me that we are hosting the Australian Speculative Carnival at Ripping Ozzie Reads on the 15th – drop me a line or a comment if you have any blog posts to rec!

No Bookshelf Big Enough

Wednesday, February 10th, 2010

So after my thwarted attempt to have a no buying books for myself month in December (I swear, feminist tomes kept hurling themselves at my head, it was a moral imperative to take them home) and because my bank balance is looking somewhat sickly, I decided that I was going to refrain from buying books for the months of February AND March.

This is a very big deal.

What this means is nothing that gives me the ‘hit’ that comes from purchasing a book – which includes clicking pre-order buttons. So far what I have learned from the exercise is that yes, I am an addict.

I thought I would track the experiment (and keep myself from clicking ‘buy’ buttons) by keeping track of all the books I had more than a fleeting impulse to buy – ones that I definitely wanted for at least three moments. I should add that it is unlikely I would have bought all the books on the list without the pledge holding me back – at least, I really hope not.

So far I’m ten days in and I have 17 books on the list.

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Strong Women

Tuesday, February 9th, 2010

WendyIn my last post I talked about how there are many different kinds of strength in female characters, and it rubs me up the wrong way when an emotionless, damaged and violent ‘Ms Kickass’ is the only acknowledged type – as if that is the only alternative to the fainting damsel.

So in the interest of giving some actual examples, a variety of strong heroines I have been thinking about lately:

Emma Donohue in White Tiger and other novels by Kylie Chan

I once had a long conversation with someone about the lack of mothers in fantasy – and whether you could have a mother as an epic fantasy heroine. The problem with this of course (and the reason Xena didn’t get to keep her baby) is that taking a child along on a dangerous adventure is completely irresponsible. Chan was one of the first authors I found who had a solution – what if the child is immortal/powerful in her own right but still needs parenting? Emma develops powers and martial arts ability throughout the books, but which she isn’t technically a parent, she does fulfil that role throughout the books, and the juggling act of trying to sort out the school situation when you and your child are embroiled in a supernatural war was actually pretty awesome.

Briar Wilkes in Boneshaker by Cherie Priest

Another mother hero! In this case, a woman almost entirely defined by her relationship with men – Briar goes in search of her teenage son, who is himself hoping to clear the names of his father and grandfather. I’m still only halfway through the book, but after reading so much steampunk centred around boy heroes I’ve been really enjoying the novelty of a middle-aged heroine with a complex past.

Polly & Eileen in Blackout by Connie Willis

The Blitz is famous as a time when everyday people had to cope with the most extraordinary horrors while still keeping the shops open, putting food on the table, and trying not to fall apart. In this time travel novel, stranded historians Polly and Eileen learn more than they intended about the fragility of life and survival in wartime. While their male counterpart Mike gets tangled up in the “manly” dramas of Dunkirk and military hospitals, Eileen and Polly show us the day to day stresses and challenged of living through the Blitz. Just something as simple as the constant interrupted sleep… with a new baby’s habits still fresh in my mind, I’m surprised the whole population of London didn’t just go insane.

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Blackout, by Connie Willis

Friday, February 5th, 2010

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This is, quite simply, the Connie Willis novel that her fans have been waiting for. With novels such as To Say Nothing of the Dog and The Doomsday Book, with stories such as “Fire Watch,” her interest in World War II history and in particular the Blitz has been evident – but it has taken until now to produce her Great Blitz Novel.

The bad news for fans is, this is only half of said novel. The second half is being released as All Clear at the end of 2010. Little concession is made to the gap between publication, with Blackout simply pausing on a very minor cliffhanger, as if there has been a paper shortage. But, you know, those of us who have been waiting a decade for a Willis novel will naturally suck it up and wait the extra ten months or so.

Blackout covers familiar ground, introducing us to the gentle future England we have met in earlier books, the kind of science fiction that might be imagined while lazily punting down a river in 1930’s Cambridge. There has been no Spike in this version of the mid-twenty-first century, which is peopled with earnest time-travelling scholars so completely wrapped up in the minutiae of their favourite time period that they don’t seem to notice the lack of wireless internet and iPods. (I’m pretty sure they all write notes with fountain pens)

In charge of it all is Mr Dunworthy (does anyone else mentally subsitute that for Dumbledore?) who has obviously been so traumatised by his appearances in Willis’ earlier time travel books that he has become snappish and irritable, determined to protect his students, who are all equally determined to go back in time and get themselves blown up in air raids.

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