Politics, Poetry and Reviews

Author: Catherine (Page 24 of 54)

Hugo reading 2017: The Women of Harry Potter, by Sarah Gailey

OK, I didn’t mean to read The Women of Harry Potter Posts, by Sarah Gailey, next, but my Kobo opened it automatically for me, and since it was only 25 pages, I thought, what the hell…

This is a series of five pieces that fall somewhere between essay and fanfic, each focusing on one of the women in the Harry Potter universe.  I should probably start by mentioning that I haven’t read all of Harry Potter – I think I stopped at the end of Book 5, because it was all getting too dark and depressing for my taste.  But I’ve read a lot of fanfic and essays about it, one way or another, because I find the fandom kind of fascinating.

The first story is about Ginny Weasley, and it is full of frustration and anger about being the youngest and the only girl and ignored and viewed as weak and nobody even thinking to notice that she is the only one who ever actually had conversations with Voldemort (which might, you know, be useful to the resistance).  I like that it points out all the things that we can deduce she is doing off to the side of the plot, and I loved the ending, where she marries Harry Potter ‘because she wants to – not because he’s earned her, not because she’s the prize that’s handed to him once Voldemort is dead, but because she’s decided that he’s adequate. She’s the only woman in the world who can look him in the face and tell him truthfully that she’s not impressed at all, but that she loves him anyway.’

Molly Weasley’s story is in a similar vein, and centres on all the invisible labour of women’s work during the war – making sure people are fed and housed, patching up the wounded, listening to people, motivating people, providing the necessary back up for the fighters, and in the end fighting herself.

We then move to Dolores Umbridge, and her story is a little more essay-like, and quite thought provoking.  Also a little bit too timely.  For me, the core of the story is the idea that Umbridge sees herself as doing good and working to improve the wizarding world and make everyone better off.  This, in particular, resonated with me:

We trust, often, that those in positions of power will use their power more for good than for evil. We trust in our systems: that those who do use power for evil will be removed, punished, pushed out by a common desire for good.

But then, we forget, don’t we? We forget that not everyone agrees on the definition of “good.” We might think of “good” as “everyone equal, everyone friends” while others think of “good” as “those people gone.”

The next essay is really a love letter to Hermione.  It points out just how much she is doing, and how much of a heroine she truly is.  I’ve seen a lot of essays on this topic, and this is a good example, but did not give me anything particularly new to work with, apart from painting her as an Everywoman in her overlooked heroism and emotional labour and all-round brilliance.

Last of all is an essay about Luna, which is really about the incredible courage of optimism.  I really liked this one, but no one quote sprang out at me, quite.

I don’t really know how to judge this against the other works in this category.  It’s very engaging, and definitely the most fun to read of anything in the category so far.  I enjoyed it.  I wasn’t bored. I got some new insights from it. And yet… the scope was quite constrained, compared, say, to LeGuin’s collection. It would make a handful of chapters there, no more.

I think I’m putting it second for now, after LeGuin but before Silverberg, simply because Silverberg, while interesting, was a bit of a chore to get though in the end.  And, in fact, I think it belongs there.  My main complaint about Silverberg was his tendency to forget about women… and this is pretty much the perfect antidote to that, bringing forward the female characters from Harry Potter and presenting them as the heroines of their own stories.

Hugo reading 2017: Traveler of Worlds: Conversations with Robert Silverberg, by Alvaro Zinos-Amaro,

I came to Traveler of Worlds: Conversations with Robert Silverberg, by Alvaro Zinos-Amaro, with a certain caution, for two reasons.  First, I’ve never read any Silverberg, and an entire book about an author I have not read didn’t sound very appealing.  And secondly, I had heard (inaccurately, as it turns out) that this particular book had been on the Rabid Puppies wishlist.

I enjoyed it much more than I expected to.  It’s basically a set of transcripts of long interviews with Silverberg, and since Silverberg is an entertaining raconteur, with a lot of opinions on a lot of subjects, it works quite well.  Zinos-Amaro asks good questions, which helps. Though it did feel like reading yet another podcast.

There were a lot of bits which caught my interest, but a prevailing theme through the book was Silverberg’s awareness of his mortality.  He is eighty, he figures that realistically, he probably has another 5-10 years in him, and that changes how he views the world.  He has less patience for trying to figure out where an author is coming from, for example – if the story doesn’t work for him, well, he only has limited reading time left.  I was especially struck by the bit where he talked about having read Rabelais for the third time recently, and having enjoyed it very much, and this was his farewell to Rabelais, because he only has so many years left, and there are other books that still need to be read.  I was less thrilled/convinced by his contention that authors should really stop writing at sixty or so because (with a tiny handful of exceptions) they just don’t produce good work after that point, because they tend to be too removed from current linguistic and social trends.

I enjoyed his anecdotes about his extensive travels (he has said farewell to a number of places, but he refuses to say farewell to Paris, because he will keep going there for as long as he possibly can), and I was interested to hear that, like me, he has very vivid dreams and nightmares and writing fiction keeps the nightmares at bay because his imagination is getting used by his conscious mind so it doesn’t need to disturb him by night.

Zinos-Amaro interviewed Silverberg extensively about authors and their styles, asking what he thought of the various Nobel Prize for Literature winners over the years (interestingly, Silverberg does not read science fiction any more, and tends to read literary fiction instead).  I especially liked his take on Patrick White, which is pretty much what I think of White too:

“Very strong novel, but, gee, I don’t want to read any more of his books. Here’s a case where every sentence set my teeth on edge, but the story itself is quite powerful.”

I am also now keen to get my hands on Hector Servedac by Jules Verne, which has a bizarre plot about a comet shaving off North Africa and taking it into orbit around Jupiter, then bringing it back.  Apparently, this is not a fatal experience for those on board, and I really need to know what happens!

Silverberg also had some interesting things to say on the subject of style.  There’s a nice section where he compares the styles of Hemingway and Greene (who he does like) with Hardy (who he does not approve of at all).  And he talks about doing ‘hack work’ as a writer, which he views as an honest job, provided you know that this is what you are doing.

Having said that, I can’t help noticing that female writers just don’t seem to exist in Silverbegs world. Anne McCaffrey is the only one who even gets a mention, and then only in passing as the first female Hugo winner, and a friend who gave him a big box of magazines containing his work after his house burned down.  Her writing is not discussed.  Penelope Lively is mentioned by the interviewer at the end, but Silverberg has not read her work, and he talks about another female author as appealing to millions of women.  I do think that this reflects more on his age and background than any deliberate bias or misogyny, but it’s a bit frustrating nonetheless.

Silverberg’s politics were another ‘oh dear’ moment for me.  He is a libertarian, and quite right-wing economically.  He does think that the Republican tendency towards anti-scientific thinking and Christianism is a problem, but apparently it is still preferable to what the Democrats do.  And he really does not seem to understand left wing politics at all – I had the sense that he was arguing in good faith – but against straw men, without having any idea that he was doing it.  In particular, he is quite dismissive of modern political sensitivities in a way which suggests that he absolutely misses the point of them.

Overall, this book leaves me feeling that I wouldn’t particularly enjoy reading Silververg’s novels, but that I’d love to read his autobiography.  He comes across as thoughtful, likeable, and very erudite – but also old-fashioned, rather conservative, and a bit depressingly embedded in Old White Male SF culture.

I prefer Le Guin, but this really was far easier to read than I anticipated.

Hugo reading 2017: Words are my Matter, by Ursula Le Guin

I’m probably going to do these one at a time and between everything else, because most of them are long collections of essays, and there are only so many essays I can read in one sitting without going around the bend.  Which, contrary to appearances, is not the actual goal of my Hugo reading.

So, the book I’ve been reading over the past few days has been Ursula Le Guin’s essay collection, Words Are My Matter: Writings about Life and Books 2000-2016.  It contains speeches, essays, introductions, blog posts and book reviews, and one or two funny little poems.

I enjoyed it quite a bit. I didn’t read absolutely every piece in the book – as I said, I don’t love essays that much – but I would start a piece, and if it grabbed me, I would read it.  If it didn’t, I’d page through quickly, and if something caught my eye, I’d stop and go back and read it.  I’d say that I read around 2/3 of this collection in total.

I’ve actually read very little of Ursula Le Guin’s actual fiction, and that not for years – I think I read the Earthsea Trilogy before it was a quartet, when I was in late primary school or early high school.  This collection makes me want to go back and give her another go – I liked her somewhat acerbic wit, her feminism, and her ability to write both in a very personal register and a very professional, polished, critical one.  I think my favourite section was the Talks, Essays and Occasional Pieces, which I read in full – book introductions and book reviews are less interesting when one doesn’t know the books in question, though Le Guin certainly convinced me that I need to read Vonda McIntyre’s Dreamsnake, and George MacDonald’s The Princess and the Goblin, and perhaps also Alan Garner’s Boneland and Tove Jansson’s The True Deceiver. And I need to re-read Among Others, of course.

Getting back to the essays, I enjoyed their thoughtfulness, and was particularly delighted by her piece on Inventing Languages, and how to make these consistent.  I liked her various articles articles on genre and publishing (and was particularly pleased that she did not throw Romance under the bus, though I get the impression that she hasn’t read much, if any of it), and adored her horror parody, On Serious Literature, in which the author is stalked by the dessicated zombie corpse of genre fiction.  I loved and was depressed by her essay on the ways women’s writing gets disregarded and disappeared, Disappearing Grandmothers, and will definitely be retaining her term ‘prick-lit’ for the equivalent of ‘chick-lit’.

A good, solid read, with moments of absolute delight.  I have no idea what the competition on this ballot will be like, but I’m definitely glad I had the opportunity to read this one.

Hugo reading 2017: Penric and the Shaman, by Lois McMaster Bujold

I saved Penric and the Shaman, by Lois McMaster Bujold, for last, because I have read it before and thus already knew I liked it, and I wanted to save something safe for last!  And really, I have liked it more on every read. Penric is such an utterly endearing character – unassuming, sharply intelligent, and so very kind, and I love his relationship with Desdemona, the demon who rides inside his head and shares his thoughts. It takes a certain type of personality to just accept the presence of a powerful demon, and to view Desdemona as a council of older sisters who are his constant (and frequently commentating) companions. I love the combination of affection and exasperation he has for Desdemona in her many persons.

In this story, Penric is helping track down someone who might be a murderer, or might be a trainee shaman who had things go terribly wrong.  He is in the company of Osric, who is this world’s equivalent of a detective inspector or something of that nature, who has called on Penric’s patroness for some support, as he knows that he does not have the capacity to deal with the supernatural on his own.

I think what I love most about Bujold’s work is that it is always very good-hearted. There is a generosity to her stories that gives characters permission to learn from their mistakes. Yes, there are consequences for actions, but justice in Bujold’s universe is restorative, rather than vengeful. This is very soothing, especially after all the Lovecraft pastiche! I like that Bujold can write a story in which everyone really is doing their best, without necessarily being right – good intentions are important, but not sufficient.

Despite my desire to give the other stories a fair chance, Penric’s Shaman was by far my favourite. It is so easy to read, it has humour, and kindness, and a clever plot, and characters I want to spend more time with. My one possible quibble – which is something I really can’t judge – is that I don’t know how well this story would stand on its own, without having read the first in the series. I think it would work, but one can’t in-read a book, so I just can’t tell.

And I love this story too much to care.

At this stage, my ballot will be Bujold first, Ashanti Wilson and McGuire next, though not necessarily in that order.  These three stories were all enjoyable, did not bore me at any point, and I would read them again. Johnson comes 4th, because while I enjoyed the beginning and ending and loved the main character, it did get tedious in the middle (possibly because it was trying to follow the Lovecraftian original). Miéville comes fifth, because it might have been a good story but I found it opaque and unpleasant, and Lavalle is in last place, because it was unpleasant and wasn’t even opaque enough to give me distance from the unpleasantness! Also, I think it really did require a knowledge of Lovecraft to enjoy it.  I don’t know what would have made me enjoy the Miéville, but at least it stood alone.

I think I’ll tackle some of the non-fiction next, as I have a story to write, so I need to starve myself of new fiction for a few days.  I might even give myself a few days off from the ballot entirely – after all, I’ve done five categories already, and may not even be doing the film/TV episode ones, so I’m doing quite well for time.

Hugo reading 2017: A Taste of Honey, by Kai Ashante Wilson

A Taste of Honey, by Kai Ashante Wilson is a love story centering around Aqib, a Royal Cousin in the Kingdom of Olorum and Lucrio, a soldier and part of the Daluçan embassy. They meet and fall in love and this is a bit of a problem, because the men of Olorum are absolutely not supposed to have relationships with other men.

I liked this book a lot. It is, however, almost impossible to usefully talk about without spoilers, especially since I know that many people have very strong (and justified) feelings about reading yet another tragic gay romance, so I am going to tell you whether it has a happy ending or not in pale yellow so that you have to highlight it with your mouse to read it.

Aqib and Daluça end up together. This is less of a spoiler than it might seem, because while the story starts off by seeming to close that door, the entire structure of the story points to some sort of future for the pair, even as it seems more and more impossible. And when it is achieved, it is done in a way that was absolutely unexpected to me, and which worked on a lot of levels and without undoing what was already done, even when it seemed to.

Without touching the ending further, I will say that the story has an unusual structure, and leaps forward and backward in time quite a bit. We start with the lovers’ first meeting, then with their parting, and then we travel through Aqib’s life, but keep going back to the time the lovers spent together, so you sort of know that it can’t be a done deal even though it clearly is. The jumping backwards and forwards made it difficult for me to get into the story early on, but it quickly became quite absorbing.

What is interesting about this story is the character of Aqib (we don’t see Lucrio except through his eyes), and the worldbuilding. Aqib is very young at the start of the story. He is beautiful, rather sweet, and painfully naive. There is a sort of innocence about him which doesn’t really leave him even as he gets older. He is also very privileged, and astonishingly oblivious to it – I hesitate to say adorably so, but it really almost is. His society is very stratified, and he is in one of the top tiers, and at one point, Lucrio asks how the nobility can be recognized as such, and he answers, in utter sincerity, that they have a sort of glow or aura about them that everyone recognizes. The narrative shows Lucrio deciding not to touch that one, but also noting that nutritional levels, clothing and hairstyles may also have something to do with it…

One thing that I especially loved about this story is the world building. The Daluçans are basically the Roman Empire. They speak Latin (or something that looks very like it), and are warlike and logical and civilized, but clearly take a more benign view of homosexuality than the actual Romans did (having said that, I found that having read Holy Shit last year, I was able to translate a little bit more of the naughty Latin that I might have expected to).

The Olorum people are an African civilization, with an extremely structured and tiered society. The nobility are supposedly descended from the Gods – and this seems to be literally the case, only the Gods are really mortals with a longer lifespan and greater psychic and intellectual powers. Mathematics and physics and learning of all kinds are ‘women’s business’, and the business of men is war, which is a problem for the rather beautiful and feminine Aqib. Interestingly, while the women appear to be less powerful initially, there are a few disquieting instances of the power they actually hold, quietly and behind the scenes, and it’s pretty clear that they have much more understanding of how their world works than the men do.

I’m still toying with where I want to put this on the ballot. I mean, I know that if the ending had been different, it would definitely be going beneath McGuire and Ashanti Wilson, but since it does, it’s now vying with McGuire for first place. In terms of re-readability, I’d definitely read it again, but I’m not sure I’d read it again more than once. Which would put it behind McGuire. And, for that matter, Bujold, which I’ve re-read twice already. But is that the best way to rank it? I don’t know.

Hugo reading 2017: The Dream Quest of Vellitt Boe, by K.M. Johnson

The Dream Quest of Vellitt Boe, by KM Johnson, was much more my thing!  It starts with a women’s college that feels much like the one in Dorothy Sayers’ Gaudy Night, only it is set in a dreamland.   A student has eloped with a man from the waking world, which risks shutting them down, and so Vellitt, former adventurer and now a Professor of Mathematics goes in pursuit.

This quickly becomes a quest story – well, of course it does.  It’s right there in the title. Still, not a lot of quest stories feature fifty-five year old heroines,  so I approve. Vellitt’s youth has been a good preparation for this quest, and her she meets former friends and lovers along the way as she retraces her steps.

The world building here is fun. This is a rather chauvinistic world of dreams, and all the Dreamers who visit are male (it is believed that women cannot dream great dreams, something which Vellitt finds rather doubtful). Dreamers are very charismatic and tend to be quite self-absorbed, which makes perfect sense. But the world they dream goes on without them, there are capricious gods with destructive intentions who might be involved in the student’s elopement, and whatever the dreamers might think, the people who live in this place have lives that go well beyond what the dreamers observe.

I liked the dream landscapes.  The sky is different, and has only 96 stars, distances between places vary depending on whim, and the Gods are not so much worshipped as placated.  The quest goes quite smoothly from dreamlike to nightmarish, and it becomes clear that if Vellitt fails, it is not merely her beloved college that will be at risk.  Vellitt’s head is a pleasing place to inhabit – she is perceptive, a little acerbic, and quite self-aware.  The ending of the story is extremely satisfying.

My only complaint (and this might be an artefact of the fact that I’m pretty tired and crampy at present) is that the story seemed to have too much middle.  I loved the beginning and the end, but the middle did drag a little bit.  But it was a highly enjoyable, clever story, and deserves a high place on my ballot.

Hugo reading 2017: This Census Taker, by China Mieville

This Census Taker, by China Mieville just didn’t work for me.  I’m not sure whether that’s my fault or Miéville’s, but I found it very frustrating to read.  It has quite a strong style (and I admit, I prefer my prose transparent), and is quite poetic, and the narrator has the infuriating habit of changing from ‘I’ to ‘the boy’ or even ‘you’. I am sure that this is intentional, but it dragged me out of the story every time.

Which was not, on the whole, a terrible thing, because I wasn’t enjoying the story very much.

It’s hard to say what the story is about.  There is a boy, who was raised in a fairly isolated place above the down by his parents. There is his father who is gentle and kind except when he beats animals to death. He also quite probably murders the boy’s mother, though this is ambiguous, and he almost certainly murders others, but this is also not clear.  These deaths are disappearances, or we have the not-necessarily-reliable narration of the boy, or we only see them obliquely.  There are other children who believe the boy about this; there are villagers who believe him enough not to trade with the father, but not enough not to leave the boy in the father’s care. There are magical keys, but it is hard to say what they unlock. The children who believe the boy disappear, too, and one has to wonder if the father killed them.

The tone is weirdly serene for a  book with this much implied and sometimes outright violence.  And really, if there are murders in a book, I would much prefer to be sure that they happened.  Is this so much to ask?  The pacing is also bizarre.  The book itself appeared to have 275 pages.  At around 190 pages, I thought I possibly understood enough of the premise to describe it in my notes.  Then – hooray!  Suddenly there is action and movement and things falling into place and – oops, sorry, the book is actually only 200 pages long, the rest is previews of other work, we’re all done here.

Aaargh.

I honestly don’t know what to make of this story. It’s disturbing and strange and full of cruelty to animals, and I think only barely falls into the realm of SFF. I think I like it more than the De Valle, but once again, I feel like I’m missing something. A key, perhaps, which is somewhat ironic…

Hugo Reading 2017: The Ballad of Black Tom, by Victor Lavalle

The second novella I read was The Ballad of Black Tom, by Victor Lavalle. This story is dedicated ‘For H.P. Lovecraft, with all my conflicted feelings’. I haven’t read any Lovecraft, so the only things I know about him are 1. Horror; 2. Cthulu; 3. Racism. All of which, needless to say, I know only at second hand.

It turns out that this was not sufficient preparation for this story. For someone who is not expecting Lovecraft, or familiar with his tropes, the story seems to be a very noirish sort of tale, set in 1920s New York, centering around Charles Thomas Tester, who is black, a terrible musician, a reasonably astute con-man, and an occasional purveyor of magical artefacts. He is rather collected by an older, white occultist, called Robert Suydam, who is trying to summon some sort of sleeping king by using magic learned from the various immigrant populations of New York. Then his father is murdered by police in ‘self defense’, when they mistake his guitar for a gun, and he goes all in to the occult / revenge plot.

Honestly, this wasn’t my thing, and I felt as though it didn’t quite make sense. Which I mentioned to my husband, who quickly recognised the names Suydam and Malone and realised that the whole thing was kind of a pastiche / response to Lovecraft’s famously racist tale The Horror at Red Hook. And so I went away and read a couple of synopses and essays about Red Hook, and bingo! The story suddenly works a lot better. But I’m not sure that the mark of a good story is that it requires further reading to make sense? I am reluctant to say this, because I like playing with pastiche, too. And the story sort of worked without knowing any of that, but I feel as though knowing the original story would have brought this to life a lot more – just reading synopses made me realise that there were particular scenes being referred back to in clever ways.

I do think the racism – the constant, draining, everyday weight of it – was brought out very well in this story. And I like the fact that even the decent detective, the one who is not being gratuitously awful on every occasion, still participates in making the murder of Tommy’s father ‘legal’. And that the greatest fear at the end of the book, the one that is so great that it can’t even be permitted to be a memory, is that a Black man could have defeated so many white cops, armed only with a razor. I also note that the really nasty, racist private detective, the one who murders Tommy’s father, goes by the name of Mr Howard…

In conclusion, I’d say that The Ballad of Black Tom is well written, and not a bad story, if decidedly not my cup of tea, and probably very clever. I’ve seen reviews calling it a brilliant retort to Lovecraft, and it probably is. But since I don’t really know what it is retorting to, I can’t see it landing high on my ballot.

OK, I think that will do me for now.  I desperately need to read something which I don’t have to think critically about!  I shall return to these reviews in a few days.

Oh, and speaking of reviews, I have another one up at Smart Bitches, Trashy Books.  I finally managed to draw a RITA nominee that I actually liked!  And in the Romantic Suspense category, of all places…

Hugo reading 2017: Every Heart a Doorway, by Seanan McGuire

After all those short stories and comics, I wanted something a bit longer. But I’m not quite ready to commit to the novels yet, so it’s novella time!

First cab off the rank was Every Heart a Doorway, by Seanan McGuire. I’ve actually read this already, but it was a pleasure to re-read it. The basic premise of this story is that sometimes, the children who go to Narnia, or Oz, or Fairyland, or Wonderland, or the Land of the Dead, don’t want to come home. But they do anyway, and then what can they do? Well, fortunately for them, Eleanor West, who spent most of her childhood visiting a Nonsense world, has set up a school for these children, which is good, because whether they are High Nonsense / Virtuous, or High Logic / Wicked they tend to be a little bit odd.

Nancy has recently returned from the Land of the Dead, where she spent several years learning stillness before she was sent home to our world, in order to be sure that she wanted to stay. She is certain that the door will open again for her. Sadly, her parents think that she was kidnapped for six months and just want their bright, vibrant daughter back. They also want her to be normal and go on dates, which is a problem for Nancy, because she is asexual.

At the Home for Wayward Children, Nancy meets other children who are like her, but not like her. There is the hyperactive Sami, who spent time in a High Nonsense, candy-themed world; Allison, who ran on rainbows; the beautiful Kane, whose fairyland kicked him out when they realised that the little girl they had kidnapped was ‘actually a little boy who just happened to look like a little girl’ (I do like this way of describing a transgender character); the twins, Jack and Jill, who came from a rather dark world ruled by vampires, where Jack was apprenticed to the local mad scientist, and Jill was the chosen adopted daughter of the local vampire lord; and Christopher, my personal favourite, who went to a world of ‘happy, dancing skeletons’, and can still make skeletons dance with his bone flute.

Alas, someone is murdering the children at the school, and Nancy’s status as the new girl with an affinity for Death (and a tendency to be drawn to the other children from the darker worlds) makes her a suspect.

This story is great fun. It’s quite dark and scary in places, but there is a lovely sense of humour to it, and I do like the way Seanan writes characters whose sexualities are not the standard cis/het variety. I liked all of the characters, and of course the premise is awesome. The mystery was a bit light on – it was clear to me fairly early on who the murderer was – but in fact that didn’t matter, because the suspense came from a) the characters working it out b) wondering just what they would do when they did, since the personal moralities of these characters was pretty variable, and c) wondering whether any of the children would find their way ‘home’ to their other worlds. Which was, I think, something that mattered to the children even more than the murders did.

The bizarre bit is that I could have sworn that the answer to c) was different the first time I read this novella.

But I’ve just checked my hard copy of this book, and unless Seanan McGuire has channelled some sort of alternate universe magic – which is certainly possible – it was the same. Very odd. Anyway, I like this a lot, and it’s going to be high on my ballot!

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