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Saturday links
— posted by Graham Sleight @ 1:06 PM
Appreciations for Charles N. Brown, 1937-2009
— posted by Locus HQ @ 9:01 AM
Appreciations by Jean M. Auel, Jon Courtenay Grimwood, Jonathan Cowie, Tom Dupree, Raymond E. Feist, Nick Gevers, Kim Greyson, Beth Gwinn, Marianne Jablon, Ernest Lilley, Lyn McConchie, Jaroslav Olsa, Vivian Perry, Paul Preuss, Mark Rich, Xeu Yao, and Jim Young (Additional appreciations appear in the September 2009 issue of Locus.)
CHARLES BROWN
by Jean M. Auel
I have enjoyed reading science fiction since I was 12 years old when I read my first Heinlein. I have enjoyed Locus since I first picked it up in the home of a friend. I don't know how long I have subscribed, but I always read it when I get it and enjoy learning about other writers and what's going on in our world.
I'm sure that you will continue to make this an excellent publication, and of course it will always have Charles Brown's flavor even though he is no longer here. I met him only once or twice in life, but he was always interesting. You can't help but feel you know him when you read Locus. Please extend my sincere sympathy to all those close to him.
–Jean M. Auel CHARLES
by Jon Courtenay Grimwood
I met Charles a dozen times at conferences and conventions; but we only had lunch once, in Bloomsbury in London in 2003, when he interviewed me about the publication of Felaheen, the last of the Arabesk mysteries. Being interviewed turned out to be the least interesting part of that day.
Charles wanted to go window shopping, the stranger the shop and the weirder the window the better. He also needed photographs for the interview. He knew exactly what he wanted as setting. Unfortunately what he wanted didn't appear to exist... A typical central London location, with interesting background, that also suggested North Africa. When he was window shopping he was happy. When he was looking for locations he was miserable. The two sometimes switching in the same minute.
Finally, with Charles fuming and me tearing my hair out (in the days I had some), we turned back towards his hotel and stumbled over, if I remember, a Lebanese cafe. Which was how I got photographed by Charles swinging off the cafe's wrought-iron railings, watched through the window by a very puzzled proprietor. Also, if I remember, he used another photograph entirely...
–Jon Courtenay Grimwood CHARLES BROWN
by Jonathan Cowie This is a very real loss for the North American SF community and, dare I say it, much of the Anglophone SF community outside of that continent. I can't say I knew Charles well – first met him when he attended the 1984 Eurocon press conference I ran in Brighton, England – but over the years Concatenation interacted with him Locus/Locus Online in various minor ways and personally I had a few articles in Locus the paper magazine over the years. Strangely (or not?) I found the editorial section of his goings-on an enjoyable part of Locus to delve into. For instance, without it I (we all?) would not have known that he was going to get to grips with Buffy the Vampire Slayer in, in effect, a single mammoth video session over a few months (with breaks for work and life of course).
And so another gap has appeared in that grand tapestry that is SF: this one is one of those that will be harder to fill. The best tribute I can think of to the man is for Locus to continue. I hope provisions for this have been made and that enough of the Locus crew are up for it. –Jonathan Cowie CHARLES N. BROWN
by Tom Dupree When Betsy Mitchell left Bantam to take over the Warner SF line in the early 90s, I was editing Westerns. But Lou Aronica knew I was a lifelong SF enthusiast. I jumped at Lou's offer to work with Betsy's magnificent list – "but first, right now, you have to go meet Charlie Brown." The Locus Awards were being held that weekend at Dragoncon in Atlanta, and three days later, at a hastily arranged dinner, I got checked out by Charlie.
Not that Lou would have hesitated, mind you. He just wanted Charlie to know that I had a devoted fan's knowledge of the field; in other words, that I cared. Authors? Works? Loves? Hates? Non-Genre? Music? All info was expertly extracted at Charlie's own pace. (Scotch was important too.) About a week later I got my reward: somebody told me that Charlie had casually said, "I like Tom." There were many subsequent calls and meals, all beginning Whither SF? and devolving into god knows what. You could never predict. I liked Charlie too.
Like, schmike, and Charlie never spared the rod toward us, or anybody else, if he felt it was deserved. He was disappointed in me when I started working on the lucrative Star Wars publishing program; like others in the field, he felt that media tie-ins muscled too much shelf space away from the real stuff.
To Charlie, the sense of wonder was always best expressed in literature. That's what Locus has steadfastly proclaimed, ever since manual typewriter keys tore through mimeograph stencils to produce it. You can have fun with Star Wars or Buffy (as he did; no sourpuss he!), but the importance of imaginative fiction to Charlie rested with original ideas put on paper by smart, creative people. Imagine someone whose rugged devotion to this oft-maligned field formed an institution that has lived 41 years and will continue for many more. Imagine? No. Behold. Goodbye, Charlie, and thank you so very much.
–Tom Dupree CHARLIE
by Raymond E. Feist I first met Charlie at the (then) Red Lion Inn in San Jose for Westercon in 1983, after my first novel had been published. I knew little to nothing about fandom, conventions, or even for that matter SF/F publishing. I had never heard of Locus. The first person I met in the bar at the convention was the charming and welcoming late Terry Carr, and the person sitting next to him was Charles N. Brown, who edited what I was told was an important "fanzine." Charlie asked me a few questions about my first novel which I attempted to answer, and moved on.
The last time I saw Charlie was, I think, at a World Fantasy Convention, and I can't even tell you which one I did so many over the years, maybe the second Chicago or the one after. But I remember my chat with Charlie. He came over while I was sitting in the lobby of the hotel and sat down, extending his hand in greeting and asked how I was doing. I said fine and was between books and had nothing really newsworthy. He said he just wanted to get a little "face time with Feist," and that's when I realized that this charming guy was actually a very shy man who had just found a way to let me know he liked hanging out with me. I then recalled the many conversations I had with him about the business, but moreover, other things than publishing SF/F and realized that his life was about people he admired and respected, but I wonder now if he realized how many of us admired and respected him.
He was the text-book definition of a happy man, doing what I tell my kids to do: find something you love and conspire to get paid to do it.
Damn it, but I wish I had one last chance to tell that man how much he helped me when I was a rookie and how much I appreciated his friendship, infrequent as it might have been. Charlie was a treasure; we're richer for having had him and poorer for his absence.
–Raymond E. Feis
CHARLES
by Nick Gevers My deep condolences on the death of Charles. I only spoke with him once, at length by phone early last year; but in all my dealings with him it was clear he was a masterly publisher and editor, more knowledgeable about SF than almost anyone else alive; and his decades of work at the helm of Locus – latterly his positively Seldonian planning for Locus's continuation after his departure from the scene – have earned him great respect, including mine. I remember scrambling to look at the latest Locus issue at Cape Town SF Society meetings in the Nineties, especially to see the Forthcoming Books lists... After 20 years as variously a subscriber and reviewer, this loss is a personal blow.
–Nick Gevers CHARLES BROWN
by Kim Greyson I first officially met Mr. Brown when we hosted Westercon in Calgary and it was an honour to be invited to share wine and food with him. Over the next couple of years I got the chance to talk with him at the various world conventions following our convention. I truly enjoyed seeing him at World Fantasy 2008 and it was a privilege to drive him and members of his staff to and from the airport. His final words of advice to me on that last trip to the airport was to take a break from the next couple of World conventions. Perhaps he felt I would be disappointed. I have taken his advice. Even though I have known Mr. Brown for a short time, I will miss him.
–Kim Greyson
CHARLES AND ME
by Beth Gwinn
I met Charles back at the World Fantasy in Ottawa Canada in 1984. We hit it off, and it was then he told me to send him photos. This was the beginning of our friendship. Charles was not always an easy person to deal with, but he became my friend. He opened up worlds to me that I had never even dreamed about. I was a reader before I met him but he opened me up to different authors to read. He introduced me to everybody in the business. He was a very complex man, and I will miss him.
I e-mailed him earlier this year and asked about Worldcon. He told me he couldn't afford to take me. I sent him an e-mail telling him "Thank you" for all he'd done for me. I am so glad I got to send him that before he passed. He was an amazing man in his way. We will all miss him.
–Beth Gwinn CHARLES N. BROWN
by Marianne Jablon
For those who know him (and those who don't), Charles N. Brown died yesterday. He was a good friend of Jonathan and mine, my former boss at Locus, a real character and an important part of the science fiction field for over 30 years. He was kind, generous, frustrating, maddening, cantankerous, and felt very much like family. I worked with him for eight intense years, though we'd only been in touch sporadically for the past ten. Jonathan had become very close with him and spoke to him nearly every week. My condolences to all of his "family" – and you know who you are: the science fiction community he knew and loved and was so passionate about.
I first met Charles in 1989 when he flew me out to his house in Oakland for a job interview. It was Thanksgiving weekend, and I vaguely remember a dinner with him and Bob and Karen and I'm not sure who else (all the dinners over the years blur together in my head, but it's likely that Shelly and Paul and Scott and Jeff and Faren and Carolyn were there among others). I do recall that every time someone mentioned a name I linked it with a famous science fiction author in my head, and that's who it was! It was thrilling to me that all of these people I'd read and loved for years were part of the daily life and conversation at Charles's house AKA Locus. I was so excited, here was a beautiful home/office in the wooded hills of the East Bay with someone who loved science fiction as much as me and came from a similar background (New York Jew) so I felt comfortable right from the start. I would have felt crazy not to accept the job when it was offered to me.
Fast forward to 19 years later. It's Thanksgiving again, or nearly. I am visiting the US on my own after living in Australia for 10 years. I ring Charles and say I'm coming to California and would like to see him, and he says they are planning a staff Thanksgiving dinner the week before Thanksgiving – just when I will be there – and arranges to have it on a night that I can make it. It's just like old times, but with a (mostly) different cast. Charles, who has not had much to do with any blood relatives for years, manages to surround himself with warm and lovely people who care for him, warts and all. I loved being able to share one last family dinner. I didn't know it would be the last time I would see Charles, but it was good.
From what I understand, Charles died in his sleep in space... he was on an airplane, just returning from Readercon where he'd had a great time. I'm sure that's the best possible ending he could have imagined. My condolences to all the members of his staff and family, past and present – Amelia, Liza, Kirsten, AAron, Teddy, Shelly, Gary, Mark, Marina, and so many more...
I literally would not be where I am today if I hadn't met Charles and worked at Locus. I would never have met Jonathan – who came over to the Locus table when I was working there at ConFrancisco in 1993 – so we would not have gotten married and had two beautiful daughters. Charles had a party at his house that weekend in '93, and ours was not the only love connection started. If I have the stories right, that was also the weekend Jack and Janeen met, and the convention where Kirsten and AAron became romantically involved. Funny, I never thought of Charles as Cupid! Charles liked to credit himself with changing the science fiction publishing field, and I'm sure he did. He felt that science fiction literature was important, and Locus was a way of having a continuing conversation about it. Yes, the magazine reflected his personal opinions and prejudices, but that was his editorial vision. He was a joy to talk to about science fiction, always passionate, always knowledgeable. I'm so glad I was part of the Locus gang. I loved him and I will miss him.
–Marianne Jablon
CHARLES BROWN
by Ernest Lilley
We are in a time when many of the people who created the genre are leaving us. Usually it's a favorite author from our own golden years that goes, and while we can sigh and reminisce on what they meant to us, it's generally a recollection of days past. Charles was giving to the field unto the last, and I'm selfishly glad that I got to spend some time with him at Readercon, both bantering in the green room and working with him on "The Year in Novels" panel. He noted that since the panel topic didn't say what year we were talking about, he'd picked 1953. Though he had no trouble reeling off the best of '53, which was indeed a heck of a year, he was thoroughly prepared (with cheat sheets for us all) to talk about the past year... and the coming one.
To me, Charles was like a favorite uncle. Often a Dutch uncle, but one I paid close attention to and whose advice I'd take it to heart. I'll be forever grateful for having known him.
–Ernest Lilley
CHARLES BROWN
by Lyn McConchie I was horrified to receive an e-mail from SFWA and to hear that Charles had died. I'd met him a number of times over the years since I began writing professionally in 1989 and I liked him. In fact the highlight of 1995 (while staying with Rachel Holmen and visiting MZB) was spending half a day at Locus, meeting the Locus staff, seeing where it all happens, and admiring Charles' library while chatting about books. For me, his departure is all the more poignant in that every time he met me he encouraged me to write in my own world. As I told him, I did, the problem was selling it to a publisher. But as you recorded in the magazine, last year I sold (to TOR) my first solo fantasy book set in my own world, and I'd planned to dedicate it "to Charles, who always said that I should do this." I'd looked forward to sending him a copy – and probably being told everything wrong with it in a review, but I wouldn't have minded that. It just isn't going to be the same without him, and I can only say I'm glad that at least Locus will continue, losing both would have been insult on injury. I know you'll all be devastated too, and I'm so sorry,
–Lyn McConchie
CHARLES BROWN
by Jaroslav Olsa
It was for me a sad and shocking news, when I learned about untimely death of Charles Brown. He did so much for promotion of science fiction not only in the USA and the United Kingdom, but even in the remotest corners of the world. As a Locus reader (and occasional contributor) from 1983, I am sure, his work will become a part of the history of science fiction. Without him and without Locus, rarely could anybody hear about the existence of SF in many places in the world, including my homeland – the Czech Republic. Science fiction writers and fans from all over the world will remember him.
–Jaroslav Olsa, jr.,
Ambassador of the Czech Republic to the Republic of Korea
CHARLES
by Vivian Perry
I was sad to hear of Charles's death; but only because of how we all will miss him; we all should be so fortunate as Charles, to die peacefully, coming home from a convention he particularly enjoyed, sleeping next to a brilliant, lovely young woman who admired him as a mentor and friend. Much better than a hospital, to be sure.
Charles and I shared a friendship of various levels for over 20 years, not so long as some, but important to me. We traveled together laughing almost all the way, and his friendship took me places beyond my expectations. I shall always remember the New Years Eve Fireworks in 2002 in Perth Australia, and all of our wonderful adventures there, including the most elegant barbeque it could ever be my privilege to attend.
And how wonderful it was to be able to make Charles laugh out loud – I shall miss our times driving into the city ("We're going to be late" "No, Charles, we'll be right on time – but please worry if you would enjoy that more..." "That lane would be faster") his acute and funny intelligence, determined (but not very) resistance to my optimism, and surprisingly (to listen to him talk) deep affection for the people who constituted his family –- all of you who helped him realize Locus magazine and enjoy many of his dearest desires.
Charles had a wonderful life, not maybe everything he wanted (because then how could he complain – how he would have missed that!) but many of the things that he loved and enjoyed; he leaves behind him not just my life that I can say he changed for the better, but many more than he would ever claim. My very best wishes and sympathy to all of you who knew him as part of your daily routine; you honor him with your carrying-on.
–Vivian Perry Charles
by Paul Preuss Almost everything I would have said about Charles was said better, and with more wit and humor than I could have mustered, by Gary and Bob and Dick and Connie and the others, so what I have to add is a mere underline. Like them, I knew Charlie when he was still Charlie, if not back in the days of actual collation, at least when we were still pasting mailing labels on Locus by hand and sticking the right zip codes in the right mail bags. He was a difficult friend – a terrible backseat driver who steered me to meet with wonderful people. A grouchy contrarian, too free with advice that was often hard to take, but he had terrific instincts and knew the field like no one else. He had an astonishing memory, an astonishing library, an astonishing collection of art and artifacts and videos, and he was an astonishing, if not always great, cook. And yes, he could be astonishingly generous. All true. But as I drove home from Borderlands, what occurred to me was not another anecdote about Charles but a personal revelation. To be around Charles was as exhilarating as it was hard; whatever his mood, being with him was to be with someone who was going for broke. To be in his presence was to be in the presence of life itself.
–Paul Preuss
FAREWELL, CHARLIE
by Mark Rich
Your encouragement was vital to me, in pursuing my work on Cyril Kornbluth that led, at last, to the upcoming biography. It was heartfelt encouragement that helped me go on when dealing with discouragements elsewhere. I am deeply grateful to have had your direct assistance during the manuscript stage, and deeply saddened that you will not see the results. You would have seen them quite soon.
I remember your telling me, not long ago, that of all the people who have written about the early days of science fiction, the only one whose accounts matched the way you remembered those days was Dave Kyle... and remembering this makes me hope that somewhere in your papers are organized memoirs of your own. I believe you stood higher in your chosen field than many people realize. Your way was a quiet, soft-voiced one, not trumpety and full of frumpery as might have been the case had someone else occupied your position. I enjoyed hearing that quiet voice of yours, which carried in its quietness perspectives born of long years of experience and observation. I will enjoy hearing that same, quiet voice in my mind for as long as I have the mind for doing so. That quiet voice gave strength, once upon a time, to one particular listener who had too little of his own.
–Mark Rich CHARLES N. BROWN
by Xeu Yao On behalf of Science Fiction World in China, I want to express our deepest sympathy at the loss of your editor-in chief. We are greatly shocked and in great sorrow on hearing the sudden death of Mr. Charles N. Brown; he is such a fabulous editor and a truly wonderful friend.
Our ex-president Ms. Yang Xiao, Ms. Qin Li, and our chief editor Mr. Yao Haijun still remember their meeting with Mr. Brown in several Worldcons, his friendliness and humor impressed them a lot. Chinese sci-fi fans will cherish his friendship and remember his contribution to build the bridge between western and eastern sci-fi world all along. We wish that we can carry on his enthusiasm and spirit to continue to promote the communication between us.
Though it is a great loss, I sincerely hope that you can restrain your grief and recover from it soon. Please convey our condolence to his family. –Xeu Yao and All Staff of SFW
CHARLES BROWN
by Jim Young
It's very sad to hear of Charles' death. It seems like only a brief time ago that I was still a high school student doing illustrations for the old, fanzine version of Locus, and the Minneapolis in '73 worldcon bid was a real, on-going effort instead of the long-lasting joke we made of it afterwards. Charles was one of our mentors then, and I will always retain a debt of gratitude to him for that.
–Jim Young
Gateway drugs
— posted by Adrienne Martini @ 6:55 AM
I remember the moment like it happened yesterday.
Actually, given that I've reached that age where I can barely remember yesterday, I remember this pivotal moment like it happened mere seconds ago. In fact, it happened more than 25 years ago.
I was an early almost-teenager. I was also, like many reading this now, a voracious reader who checked a dozen books out of the library every week and devoured them. I had worked my way through the young adult section -- although this was before the library actually labeled it that way -- and had fallen dearly in love with Ellen Raskin's books, particularly The Tattooed Potato and Other Clues.
Sadly, I was running out of things to read in that section. Which isn't to say that there weren't books on the shelves I hadn't read, just that The Little House on the Prairie and Go Ask Alice knock-offs held no interest. Nor did the originals, frankly.
I mentioned it to the librarian, who I saw more than my own parents by that point. The librarian led me around the corner of the kids' section and into a whole new world. I still don't know who to thank for Northland Library's layout: the science fiction and fantasy section was just on the other side of the children's area.
It was like entering Oz. The first book I pulled off of the shelf was Robert Heinlein's Friday, the one with the iconic Whelan cover. It was exactly the right book at exactly the right time. My life was forever changed. I can still feel the spine under my fingertips as I pulled the books gentle weight off of the shelf. My grow-up brain has inserted a choir of angels singing hosannahs -- but I'm fairly certain that didn't actually happen.
Who knows what would have happened had mystery been through that doorway. Or self-help. Or romance. But we can't dwell on what might have been. Friday was my gateway book. From there, I didn't look back. I also methodically read my way through the shelves, starting with all the Heinleins I could find, then picking up with Asimov and working my way through the section.
I've been thinking about that moment a lot, mostly because I know most avid SF/F readers have one that is similar. I'm also noodling about with a book proposal on the subject -- but that (and my current feelings about Heinlein (given that I'm both a parent and a female)) is a subject for another day.
And so, the question: what title pulled you into the genre and what made you stay?
Labels: Friday, gateway drug, Heinlein, libraries, Raskin, Whelan
Friday links
— posted by Graham Sleight @ 4:49 AM
In lieu of a proper post, some recently read links:
Missed the first time around
— posted by Adrienne Martini @ 10:54 AM
One of the downsides of reviewing for Locus is that most of the fiction that I read is newly released. There are many upsides, mind. But on a practical note, with limited reading time, some of which needs to be filled with work-related titles, I don't get to read many titles that I missed the first time around. And those titles are legion. While I'd love to go all Jo Walton and post a new review of an old book on a frighteningly brisk schedule, that will never happen under my current set of circumstances. Still, I'd like to toss a few recent reads of older titles out sporadically. Like Walter Jon Williams' Dread Empire's Fall trilogy, which I'd started after thoroughly enjoying his recent This Is Not A Game. (For a full description of the Dread Empire, Jo herself offers up a concise review at Tor.com) The Dread Empire books scratch that space opera itch that I can never seem to get enough Calamine lotion on. I yearn for wars writ over galaxies, characters bolder than hurricanes. I desire faster-than-light drives and grand gestures. Give me Banks on his best days. I will always have a crush on Miles. And, now, I long for more about the Dread Empire. At his World Con KaffeeKlatsch, Williams himself admitted that he'd always imagined the three books in the trilogy as the start of a much longer cycle of books - either nine or twelve in total. Because the first books didn't sell as strongly as the publisher had hoped, it's unlikely that those ideas will ever leave Williams' head. Which makes me sad, if only because their existence in a tangible form would give me a bunch of books to add to the pile. So I'm going to poll the Locus hive mind: Which books scratch your space opera itch? Why? Labels: dread empire, old books, space opera, trilogies, walter jon williams
Listing to one side
— posted by Graham Sleight @ 1:54 AM
So it's clear that one of my sweet-tooths is for lists - but then, it seems, I share that vice with much of the sf/f community. Hence my interest in a recent post on The New Yorker's Book Bench blog, on "Seven Essential Fantasy Reads". The post's author, Macy Halford, says that: I've read a few best-selling fantasy series—Harry Potter, The Lord of the Rings, His Dark Materials, Twilight, Narnia, A Wrinkle in Time, The Dark Is Rising—but I would never describe myself as an aficionado. First because all these books are on about a fourth-grade reading level, and second because I read them for their best-sellerness, not their fantasy-ness (to stay in the loop, I tell myself). I doubted whether the genre had more to offer adults—literary adults, adults who enjoy reading bonafide novels. If you happen to be a fantasy aficionado, you are no doubt shaking your head at the ignorance of that statement, as my friend Hugh Lippincott did recently. Hugh is a graduate student in physics at Yale, (hopefully) in the final year of a Ph.D. He spends his days searching for dark matter—I’m not sure what happens when he finds some—and his nights, apparently, reading fantasy books. He is also the author of the blog Physics for Mom, a guide to what he does written for the scientifically impaired.
I asked Hugh what he would recommend for someone like me—a beginning fantasy reader ready to graduate to more serious (but not too serious) fare. Here are his picks, complete with explanations of their greatness. He sent them to me with the reassurance that “there is no shame in being a real fantasy reader.” Hugh Lippincott's list is: - The Dragonbone Chair, Tad Williams
- Tigana (or most other books) by Guy Gavriel Kay
- Wizard's First Rule, Terry Goodkind
- Assassin's Apprentice, Robin Hobb
- The Scions of Shannara, Terry Brooks
- The Name of the Wind, Patrick Rothfuss
- Gardens of the Moon, Steven Erikson
And honorable mentions for Glen Cook, J. V. Jones, Lois McMaster Bujold, R. Scott Bakker, George R. R. Martin. As some people point out in the comments, this is an incredibly narrow list. All these books are in the same corner of the fantasy woods. If the goal is to reach "literary adults, adults who enjoy reading bonafide novels", and to be "serious (but not too serious)", then there are plenty more things that fantasy can offer. The real point is a definitional one. I don't think that "fantasy" should be taken as synonymous with "heroic fantasy set in a secondary world", and almost all of the books listed fall under that umbrella. There are plenty of other things to be found in a genre whose taproot works include The Man Who Was Thursday, A Voyage to Arcturus, the stories of Kafka and Borges, or the whole tradition of magic realism. That's not to say I wouldn't enjoy all the The New Yorker's choices - I'd be happy to second the recommendation of Kay and Rothfuss in particular. But here's an alternative list. Like The New Yorker's list, it's mostly recent stuff, and all (so far as I can see) readily available on both sides of the Atlantic. - Wise Children, Angela Carter
- Jonathan Strange & Mr Norrell, Susanna Clarke
- Little, Big, John Crowley
- Coraline, Neil Gaiman
- Ash, Mary Gentle
- Perdido Street Station, China Mieville
- The Anubis Gates, Tim Powers
I'm restricting myself to novels (hence the omission of, say, The Jaguar Hunter, Magic for Beginners, City of Saints and Madmen and almost everything by Howard Waldrop), and to books that are easy to get hold of (hence the omission of, eg, Geoff Ryman's Was, M John Harrison's The Course of the Heart, and John M Ford's The Dragon Waiting). There are secondary-world novels there, like the Mieville, but also books that start in something resembling our own world, like the Gaiman. There are books that play with history (Clarke), with place (Carter), and the idea of story itself (Crowley). And there are swordfights and explosions (Powers, Gentle). The book I most regretted omitting was Ursula le Guin's Lavinia, my favorite fantasy of last year, but I'm not yet sure if it's going to become canonical in the way that other books I've listed have. I've steered away from the territory where fantasy shades into horror, and have assumed that the goal of reaching "literary adults" means that a YA-centred list wouldn't be a good idea. With those limitations aside, I think this is a pretty representative list. I'd be very interested in knowing what others' lists would be.
Disability and Sff
— posted by Graham Sleight @ 11:38 PM
I've been reading John Crowley's Four Freedoms lately and, though it's not sf or fantasy [1], it is remarkable for (among other things) its portrait of the lives of disabled people in a World War II aircraft factory. And it got me thinking about portrayals of disability in sf and fantasy [2]. Short version: I couldn't think of many, and some of those I could think of were a bit reprehensible. Longer version: as I often do, when my brain goes blank on a topic like this, I went to the Clute/Nicholls Sf Encyclopedia and the Clute/Grant Fantasy Encyclopedia. I couldn't find an entry on disability in either (though there were references in other places), so I tried Googling. This did uncover two very useful resources: a bibliography of works of sf/fantasy featuring disability, and a post by Adam Roberts on the same subject with some interesting suggestions in the comments. And though I have some works to add and other points to make, these (and especially the first) are really the obvious starting-points on the subject. There's also a very interesting interview with Gregory Bernard Banks, a writer who does actually deal with these issues. (ETA: Also, here are Kate Nepveu's notes from a Worldcon panel on the subject.) So, armed with my new-found list of works, I got thinking about the range of ways in which physical disability gets treated in sf and fantasy. Some rough & ready categories: - The physically disabled evil genius. (Example: Davros in Doctor Who). All too common as a cheap plot device, and something I'm pretty uncomfortable with. This is part of the larger subset of sf/fantasy characters whose physical state is seen to echo/signal their moral state. (See also: hideously disfigured villains.)
- The physically disabled good genius. (Example: Charles Xavier in X-Men.) Again, a fairly common plot device, and one I think of as being the equivalent of magic-users in D&D only being able to fight with daggers. If he (or they) were any more powerful, they'd unbalance the game or the story.
- The severely physically disabled person given some kind of augmented life by sf-nal technology. I'm thinking here of characters like P. Burke in Tiptree's "The Girl Who Was Plugged In", or Lise in William Gibson's "The Winter Market".
- The physically disabled character who has some sort of fantastic "compensation" for their disabilities. Lots of these, especially in fantasy - blind seers with powers of prophecy and the like. An exaggeration, I guess, of the urban myth in the here & now that blind people have better hearing, etc. [3]
- The physically disabled character whom technology has allowed to overcome most or all of their limitations. I think of these as the "prosthetic arm" characters - and, indeed, someone needs to write a doctoral thesis on the role of the prosthetic arm/hand in sf, from Mannie in The Moon is a Harsh Mistress to Ratz in Neuromancer and Anakin/Luke Skywalker. [4]
- The character with an illness so severe and chronic that it is in effect a (prominent, public) disability: I'm thinking especially here of the characters with the fictional disease GDG in Octavia Butler's "The Evening and The Morning and The Night".
- The character with, as it were, a future-possible disability - someone whose life could not be sustained now, but is in an sf story's future. I'm thinking here of "vat characters" like Virek in Gibson's Count Zero [Gibson is cropping up a lot on this list - see also Automatic Jack in "Burning Chrome" and the shrapnel-injured character in Pattern Recognition] and Seria Mau Genlicher in M John Harrison's Light.
(Coverage of mental disability in sf and fantasy is a whole other topic/post, though some of what I'm saying applies there too. There's also a set of sort-of related topics that I'm also gliding past here, like the treatment of the old in sf, and how much what I'm describing about the physically disabled looks like what happens to issues of sexuality, race, and so on.) Anyhow, the basic point remains: there are very few disabled characters in sf and fantasy and the treatment of some of them, at least, makes me a little queasy. There is also a peculiar tendency to use disability as something overtly symbolic (like all those blind prophets) rather than (as in the Crowley book) something that's just there. There may be a number of reasons for this kind of avoidance. One is the obvious one, that sf/fantasy shares with the rest of literature: able-bodied society tends to shut the disabled out of its perceptions, and this is reflected in its literature as in other aspects of its culture unless a conscious effort is made to do otherwise. But I think there's also a reason specific to sf and fantasy. Both tend to be literatures of exploration and the frontier; it's far more difficult to imagine someone, say, an astronaut being the first person on a new planet if they have to contend with physical limitations over and above the norm. (Not impossible, though - ages since I've read it, but isn't there an astronaut picked in The Space Merchants because he's far smaller than normal?) Moreover, sf in particular tends to present technology as something that gets round the limitations of the body (as it gets round the limitations of distance, time, death, and so on.) So if that's the meta-story, it's almost an automatic consqeuence that the disabled won't have a part in it; or, if they do, won't have much agency. One reason I rate "The Winter Market" and "The Girl Who Was Plugged In" so highly is that they don't duck the idea that the technology used to help the disabled will be clunky, bodily, and may cause as much pain as it cures. But, as I've hinted already, that goes against the grain of a genre that so often has transcendence as its goal, and that so often presents transcendence as leaving behind the body. Which may be just fine for Dave Bowman, ascending into ethereal wonderment at the end of 2001, but it's a lousy prescription for the rest of us, disabled or not. The more I think of it, sfnal transcendence seems like avoidance. A final, related reason. There's an old argument, which I don't buy, that sf should be "optimistic", and that stories not manifesting the right kind of spirit - that whatever problems we might run into in the future are fixable - somehow fail the spirit of the genre. (Yes, I know I'm creating a bit of a strawman, but not much.) Stories like "The Girl Who Was Plugged In" and "The Evening and the Morning and the Night" are pretty difficult to describe as optimistic in that sense. The latter is a story of coping, but that's very different from fixing. Maybe coping with disability isn't a story that's as fun to hear as fixing it, but coping is surely more true to life. _________________________ [1] I feel obliged to note that Charles Brown disagreed with me on this because, he said, its plot centres round an aeroplane and a town that don't exist in the real world. Unfair of me though it may be, I still think he's wrong. [2] I'd written most of this post before I saw, on John Scalzi's blog, a controversy about representation of disability and sexuality in Stargate: Universe. [3] In thinking about this subject, I did come up with a bunch of examples of characters in fiction (fantastic and otherwise) who are blind, but hardly any who are deaf. Obviously there are technical problems with including a deaf character in a dialogue-driven novel, but that can't be the only reason. Or am I missing some deaf characters? [4] Academics interested in this field, and its intersection with feminism, will almost certainly already know Donna Haraway's " A Cyborg Manifesto".
The Conversation
— posted by Gary Wolfe @ 9:47 PM
In Montreal last week we organized two more memorials for Charles Brown—one a private room party for his friends, the other a public panel discussion—and on both occasions people brought up an issue that at first sounded like a little joke, and then sounded less like one the more I talked with people about it. At the room party, Neil Gaiman mentioned his participation in the Locus Foundation, and wondered if there may be a shadowy Second Foundation, which would secretly steer the future of SF in the direction Charles had wanted. This, of course, led to amusing if slightly creepy visions of Charles-like holograms reappearing at key points over the next few centuries to explain to us all what had gone wrong, and what future crises to expect. But David Hartwell, recalling their last meeting at Readercon, was quite serious in recounting the ongoing conversation he’d been having with Charles about how to make science fiction better, and how to advocate what is best about it. That decades-long conversation, he later told me, was now ended, though I think both David and Charles could lay fair claim to having measurably influenced the shape and coherence of the field during that time—as could several others I could name. And at the public panel discussion, Jonathan Strahan eloquently argued that, by claiming such an advocacy role, Charles had become one of the best friends science fiction could have had. But is the conversation really over? In one sense, there are more participants than ever, from bloggers to academic journals to the kind of advocacy-based fiction that Graham Sleight discussed in an earlier post on this roundtable. In another, it’s possible the field has just grown too diffuse and fragmented for anyone to set out to move the agenda in the way Charles and David had wanted to do. Historically, it’s not hard to list names of those who did single-handedly change the direction of the field—magazine editors like Gernsback or Campbell or Moorcock, publishers from the Ballantines to Tom Doherty, writers from Heinlein to Gibson, maybe even an occasional reviewer or workshop founder like Damon Knight. Obviously, setting out to shape the course of an entire field requires a fair amount of hubris, a great deal of passion, a broad-based vision, and a strong point of view. You have to be willing to generate enemies and rivals, or you wouldn’t be doing the job an advocate does. You have to expect that your notion of improvement will be someone else’s recipe for disaster, and that you’ll be viewed as arrogant, or hidebound, or just loony. You have to court disagreement. So my question is, even though we can all do our little bits and pieces in our own corners of this complex and fractal geography, can anyone really hope to influence the direction of SF and fantasy in any meaningful way anymore? Are we solely at the mercy of market forces, bottom lines, popularity contests, and niche subgenres with their own agendas? Are we all just passengers now?
Talking cats, with wings
— posted by Adrienne Martini @ 10:12 AM
Like most big, multi-day cons, this last weekend at WorldCon in Montreal is impossible to sum up. So I won't even try.
Instead, what sticks with me are all of the meaty ideas that floated out of the event. Some, of course, wafted out of panels.* But great ideas lilted around the dealer's floor, too. Or in the halls. Or bars. Or in the elevator line. Nothing can replace meatspace interactions between people, no matter how much we rely on social networks.
Online forums have many equally fulfilling uses, mind. And I'm about to try to tap into one of them. At Saturday morning's "SF and the Arts" panel, the conversation shifted to a discussion about the iconography that makes a piece of visual art sell. Cats are a huge seller. As are animals with wings. Cats with wings fly of the shelves like, erm, cats with wings.
Taking that as a given, the question is simple: why?
I'm not looking for an argument about how winged cat art is aesthetically bankrupt. Its lovers are more than welcome to hang whatever they want on their walls. Fans of a genre that features spaceships, half-naked women and/or dragons shouldn't throw stones.
I'm more interested in the emotional state that cats or winged animals evoke in enough people that they will dig out their wallets. What aspect of the human condition does this imagery speak to? And what new iconography could evoke the same response? Is it, as Mary Robinette Kowal suggested, otters with mermaid tails? Or is that making the substitution too direct?
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* Speaking of, I'm sorry (for relative values of the term) to have missed this one.
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