Here is an infographic of “my year in books” from Goodreads:
Fun thing to see. If you use Goodreads, you can see yours too.
Here is an infographic of “my year in books” from Goodreads:
Fun thing to see. If you use Goodreads, you can see yours too.
So, one of the members of my writer’s workshop, Desiree Rowland, just started a new Word Press blog, wherein she will talk about her own writing, and the work of other women in the sf/fantasy field. (Hopefully me one day.)
Here it is: https://womeninscifiandfantasy.wordpress.com/
Go and pay her a visit, with my compliments.
The next book I read for the Tempest Bradford Challenge is Jade City, by Fonda Lee. Lee is a Chinese-Canadian woman, and this is her third book.
It’s an unusual book, what you might call “second-world urban fantasy.” It takes place in a city, in a modern context — there are planes, cars, and TV sets. But it is in an imaginary world, the world of the mysterious island of Kekon, somewhat like Japan, wherein is found the magical stone jade. In this world, jade bestows wu xia-like magical powers on those who have the ability to use it: flight, strength, enhanced perception, and the like. Usually I don’t dig this kind of stuff, but I saw this on the Popular Reading shelf at work, and it caught my attention for whatever reason.
The book is about a clan war between jade wielders (called Green Bones) in the city of Janloon on the island of Kekon, which has only recently emerged, along with the rest of the world, from the World War II-like War of Many Nations, and claimed its independence from colonial overlords in the aftermath. Two clans, the Mountain and No Peak, fight for control of the city of Janloon.
The clans operate mostly as crime syndicates: they run whorehouses, gambling, collect protection money from local businesses, smuggle things, and the like. The marketing for the book pitches it as a “fantasy Godfather,” and that’s accurate enough.
Woman author or no, I found this to be a very masculine book. Most of the characters are men, and since they are all crime kingpins, there is a lot of posturing, fighting, and general dick-waving. The women in the story are not fighters or enforcers; even the ones gifted with magical ability have the usual supportive roles you’d expect women to have in that milieu: wives, mothers, healers, caretakers. I was a little disappointed by this.
About halfway through, I realized the story Lee was telling was too big to be told in one volume, and I became very annoyed. I hadn’t bargained on a trilogy. In the end, she does manage to bring the story to a natural, if temporary, conclusion, but the war between the clans is obviously a long way from over. More books will follow.
This would be a good book to check out if you enjoy crime fiction and don’t mind magic, if you like urban fantasy, or if you want to read a fantasy set in a non-Western-style milieu, which I am always up for.
The first book I chose for the Tempest Bradford Challenge is The Left Hand of Darkness by the late, much lamented Ursula K. Le Guin. I read this book when I was in high school, and I wanted to see if I understood it better as a middle-aged adult.
I’m not posting spoiler warnings for a fifty-year-old book. One has to draw the line somewhere.
First of all, I’d say, no, I did not achieve a deeper understanding of this book on re-read. I think I got it well the first time: men and women are basically the same; humaity trumps gender. This is something I have always believed, and I daresay reading this book as a teenager probably influenced my thoughts on the subject. As well as my own life experience. I was already leaning that way anyway. Someone raised with more strict gender boundaries might find this book quite threatening.
This is a very serious book, seriously written by a serious author, about serious people doing serious things, with a serious theme. No humor in this book. I remembered most of the big set pieces, and some individual details, like Genly Ai, the Terran protagonist, calling the gender-neutral proprietor of his apartment building his “landlady,” because they were pudgy and gossipy. (That annoyed me.) I’d forgotten that Estraven, Genly’s native friend and guide, is killed at the end.
In brief, this book is about a diplomatic mission from Le Guin’s human space league, the Ekumen, to a world, Gethen, where the people, although of Hainish “ancient astronaut” human stock, still have a sexual estrus cycle with an unusual twist: when not in heat, the Gethenians are sexually neuter, with no visible sex organs and no sex drive. When they come into heat, or kemmer as they call it, once a month, they become either male or female, influenced by the development of their sex partner and random chance, with no way to control or anticipate which gender they will manifest. All people, therefore, are at times both male and female, and can both bear or sire children. The children one bears are considered closer than the ones you sire, and inherit property first. The Gethenians are scandalized by Genly’s permanent male sexuality; they call people who are stuck in one sex “perverts,” and consider them disabled at best, dangerous at worst.
The book doesn’t actually go into detail on the sexual rites and practices as much as you might expect. Written by a less wise author, this book could have become very prurient, even pornographic. In one scene, Genly is trapped in a snowstorm with Estraven, who is in kemmer, but they don’t have sex, even though it is supposed to be very painful and distressing for a Gethenian in heat not to engage in sex. This seems like a missed opportunity to me, upon re-read. It wouldn’t have to be explicit, but it could have illuminated human sexual relationships on Gethen in a whole other way.
This was a landamrk book when it was written, winning both the Hugo and the Nebula awards. It was part of the “New Wave” of “soft” or “anthropological” science fiction that developed in the 1960s, that rigorously examined social and cultural issues and transgressed stylistic and thematic boundaries of science fiction, as part of the whole counter-cultural movement back then. It is considered a classic of science fiction, and as far as I know, has been continuously in print since it was first published.
One thing did come to bother me over the course of the book. Le Guin chooses deliberately to refer to the Gethenians, genderless beings, as “he” throughout the book, writing that “he” is the most “neutral” of the pronouns, instead of creating or using a Gethenian gender-neutral pronoun, or switching the pronouns around, or saying “they,” or any other such scheme. But that is not the effect in the book as written. Because Genly, the narrator, is a man, he tends to perceive and write about the Gethenians as men, and the constant use of “he” reinforces this. The scene where Esatraven is in kemmer is the only time that Genly is forcefully reminded that Estraven, or any Gethenian, is as much a woman as a man. It undercuts Le Guin’s point, to me. I’m reminded of Ann Leckie’s much more recent book Ancillary Justice, wherein the default pronoun in the narrator’s language is “she,” and how completely disconcerting it is to see that in practice, everyone always referred to as “she,” and not know whether the character being referred to is male or female. (And how it drove many of the angry Rabid Puppy types right round the bend – especially when it won all the big sci-fi awards.)
But to be fair, I have to admit that Le Guin writing and thinking about this idea at all in 1969 was revolutionary, and Left Hand won many of those same awards in its time. It’s still a good book, and still has useful things to say. As classics do.
There’s also this quote from near the end of the book, that I found quite relevant to our time, and wanted to share:
… I had asked him if he hated Orgoreyn; I remembered his voice last night, saying with all mildness, “I’d rather be in Karhide…” And I wondered, not for the first time, what patriotism is, what the love of country truly consists of, how that yearning loyalty that had shaken my friend’s voice arises, and how so real a love can become, too often, so foolish and vile a bigotry. Where does it go wrong?
Where indeed? One might write a whole other science fiction book about that.
While poking around on John Scalzi’s blog, I became aware of something called the Tempest Bradford Challenge, which was posited by spec fic author Tempest K. Bradford in xoJane magazine in 2015. The challenge is to read books by authors who are not straight cis white men for a whole year.
A salutary challenge, I thought. Something to expand my literary horizons. I don’t feel I, personally, am particularly in hock to white male authors — I read plenty of female authors, for example. And I can’t say I really notice much of a difference in the writing between men and women; humans are humans, to my mind, and writing is writing. But I don’t think I read too many people of color, or non-American authors. Not because of bias, just because I mostly read F & SF, and that mostly is written by white American people. That is the default. As it is in most of American culture. (Or British — the picture headlining the xoJane article is an image of Tempest disapprovingly holding up a copy of American Gods by Neil Gaiman — and you can bet all the Gamergate/Red Pill types absolutely lost their shit over that.)
But that is not to say there is not plenty of spec fic by people of color, non-Americans, women, LGBT people. And good stuff, too, award-winning books — think of N. K. Jemisin, who is black (and a woman), or Charlie Jane Anders, who is a trans women. Or Samuel R. Delany, who is black and gay and an actual SF Grandmaster. That is the point of the challenge. To increase awareness. So it seems like a good thing to do, to broaden my horizons and give these authors some support.
And if you’re going to get all butthurt about it and rag on me, I don’t want to hear it. I mean come on. We’re all adults here. And as I keep reiterating, in my work and in my life and on social media, life is not a zero-sum game. There is enough for all. If I read non-white male authors for a year, that doesn’t mean white male authors are going to starve and die. Plenty of other people read their books. Neil Gaiman does not need my help. It’s all good.
With the caveat that I’m talking fiction here, novels and stories. When I read non-fiction, I read for the information contained within, the author’s voice is secondary. It informs the work, of course, but it’s not my primary interest in that arena.
I will log the books here as I read them. In honor of her recent passing, it seems good to me to start by re-reading The Left Hand of Darkness by Ursula K. LeGuin, a book by a female author that interrogates the very idea of gender roles, and see if I understand it any better than I did when I was a sixteen-year-old virgin.
I am impatiently waiting for it to come in for me at the library where I work. All copies are checked out. I was not the only person who had that idea.
Check back for further entries. Wish me luck.
I’m not doing Nanowrimo this year. This is because I am already steadily working on something, my solarpunk novella, and I’d be a fool to dump that just in order to write a random NaNovel I’m not really into, because it’s November.
Some people use Nanowrimo to push themselves to work on something they already have on deck. That’s fine, and I’ve done that before, too. But I don’t feel the need to push myself to do 1667 words a day on the novella. I am happy with the 500 words a day I am currently doing. Besides (please god!) there aren’t 50,000 words left in the novella, so I wouldn’t be able to “win” Nanowrimo anyway, and that’s always a letdown. I’ve done it six times, and won it three times, so I don’t want to pull my average down less than 50 percent!
I do feel a little sad and nostalgic that I’m not doing it. I have a fondness for Nanowrimo after all. Daughter of Atlas was my first NaNovel, way back in the day. I miss the crazy camaraderie that comes from it, online and IRL. The past couple years I have run a series of Nanowrimo programs at my library, write-ins and pep talks, in which I would join the attendees in NaNoveling. That was fun. But there’s so much going on at my branch this November, other programs, major programs, and an election (my library is a polling place.) I can’t really wedge the write-ins in there, so that dampened my enthusiasm for the project too. A couple people in my writing workshop are first-timers and asked me if I was doing it too, and I’m sorry I can’t be there to help them.
But the fact is, the solarpunk is going well and I shouldn’t try to tamper with what’s currently working in order to meet an abstract ideal of “doing Nanowrimo.” That’s missing the point completely. Besides, there’s always next year.
So, good luck, those that are doing it. You can always message me if you have any questions or need advice. I’ll join you next year.