I generally count a night’s work as belonging to preceding day, even though the clock says otherwise, but in this case I wanted to be sure I finished before we technically passed over into August.
A Natural History of Dragons is done, at 86,174 words.
(God, I love writing a shorter novel for once.)
Via fjm and Charlie Stross, a number that puts the tragedy in Norway into perspective: 80 people dead out of their population is the equivalent of 5000 out of the United States. (Though the final number may have changed since that was posted.) That’s the scale of loss Norway has suffered.
And it’s a very, very targeted loss. The “summer camp” was a political one, organized by the social-democratic Labour Party. The youths killed there were politically engaged, passionate about their cause. Some of them might well have been potential Prime Ministers, Members of Parliament, movers and shakers in the Labour Party’s future. It’s like killing thousands of the most committed Young Democrats, or Young Republicans.
As most people know by now, Breivik is not an Islamic terrorist (contrary to the utterly unfounded assertions made by various media figures, at least in the United States, immediately following news of the attacks); he is a self-identified right-wing Christian who opposes multiculturalism and the spread of Muslims in Europe. This post, and this quote from it, sums up the inequality of the reactions based on who’s to blame:
And this one . . . this one just makes me want to punch people in the face.
But you know what gives me hope? A quote, whose source I have now lost, from (I think) the Prime Minister of Norway, to the effect that “the proper response to an attack on democracy is more democracy.” Amen. I hope the Norwegians don’t surrender their ideals because of this terrorist’s actions.
Since there’s recently been another round of discussion about gender balance (or imbalance) in SF/F, I thought it might be a nice time to collate a bit of data I’ve been wondering about for a while.
Generally people tend to perceive a particular group as being gender-balanced when it’s about 25% female, and if you get up to 40%, they think it’s dominated by women. So it’s useful to ask myself: if my instinct is that a short story market — in this case, Beneath Ceaseless Skies — publishes a lot of women, am I right?
shveta_thakrar is hiring herself out as a copyeditor and proofreader to raise money to go to Sirens this fall; read her post for more details. (You can also just donate directly if you wish.) You all know I think Sirens is a wonderful, wonderful event, and I’m going back this year myself, so if those services sound useful to you, pop on over there and let her know.
Which brings me to the second thing. Just yesterday I was bemoaning the fact that I have so few costuming opportunities these days, compared to when I lived in Bloomington. Then it occurred to me that I have an absolutely smashing opportunity coming up this fall: the masquerade ball at Sirens!
The theme for Sirens this year is “monsters.” I could costume as one of those, or as somebody who hunts the same. The sensible thing to do would be to raid my closet and re-use a costume I already have — but who wants to be sensible? And really, the only monster-type thing I have is my old Hel costume, but I am damned if I’m going to repeat the makeup and hair you see in that icon; it was a bad idea once, and I’m not stupid enough to do it twice. I have a couple of other options, but one isn’t exciting and the other doesn’t count as “re-using a costume” so much as “re-using an accessory and buying a new costume to go with it.”
This is where you, my faithful LJ readers, come in. Who or what should I dress up as? Get as creative as you like; just remember that a) I’m not going to cut or dye my hair and b) whatever I do has to be easily transportable via plane. Suggest as many things as you feel inspired to, and let me know if you think somebody else’s suggestions sound good. I promise there will be pictures afterward. (And, er, I’ll get around to posting the pics I have from last year. I swear I will.)
Have at it!
In Verona Caprona, the families of the Montagues Montanas and Capulets Petrocchis have been feuding since, well, forever. To make matters worse, although they’re the most powerful spell-making families in Caprona, the virtue seems to be going out of their work; their spells are failing, right when an alliance of Florence, Pisa, and Siena is threatening Caprona’s borders. As with Romeo and Juliet, it’s up to the kids to bridge the rift their parents won’t cross — though in this case it involves less death, more Punch and Judy shows.
This book takes place in the same world as The Lives of Christopher Chant and Charmed Life (the same specific world — Twelve-A), but is more like Witch Week or Conrad’s Fate in that it uses Chrestomanci for a side character. This one is generally happier than either of those; among other things, it goes the opposite direction from the usual pattern of neglected or abused children, and puts our characters into huge, boisterous, occasionally contentious but entirely loving families. I especially love the way that fantasy gets integrated into the family dynamic in an understated way: aunts and cousins popping out of the woodwork to help or interfere with things isn’t a coincidence, it’s a function of the magic that underlies them all.
Heigh-ho, heigh-ho, it’s off to the spoilers we go.
Here’s a stage I’ve never had before, in the book-publication process: I just received a stack of covers for With Fate Conspire. Like, the paper wrap for the hardcover. It’s like a real book, just without the book! And that will be coming soon. (I am so excited, y’all.)
And speaking of excited, here’s what Publishers Weekly had to say:
Gifted storyteller and world-builder Brennan returns to the Onyx Court, a faery city that coexists with London, in her fourth historical fantasy (after 2010’s A Star Shall Fall). As the Onyx Court is threatened by 19th-century advances in technology, the faeries and humans increasingly come into conflict. Eliza O’Malley is caught between the two worlds, both of which are often cruel and indifferent to her desperate search for her childhood friend, Owen, who was captured by the faeries seven years before. Unless Eliza can find Dead Rick, the dog-man who betrayed them, Owen will be lost to the faery kingdom forever. Series readers and fans of the Tam Lin myth will be captivated by this complex and vibrant depiction of a magical Victorian era.
The funny thing is, I honestly didn’t think of the Tam Lin overtones until I read this, though obviously they’re there.
Onward to the shelves . . . .
The back cover of my copy of Witch Week calls it “a wild comic fantasy from a master of the supernatural.”
Um.
There are certainly funny bits in this book. (The mop-and-hoe incident comes to mind.) But “wild comic fantasy”? On a micro scale, Larwood House manages to hit almost every abusive-boarding-school trope there is: never warm enough, dreary food, teachers ranging from neglectful to cruel, and all the student-level nastiness you would expect. On a macro scale, the world is one where witches are still burned at the stake, and since half the students at Larwood are witch-orphans, that means half the characters live in fear of the inquisitors coming after them. You know how I’ve been talking about the way Diana Wynne Jones’ books contain these hard edges, but buried in a way that lets you deal with them on your own terms? The hard edges here are scarcely buried at all. I think Witch Week is a very good book, but I almost never re-read it, because I can’t lose sight of how grim it is.
Which is not to say it’s unrelentingly bleak; it isn’t. (I don’t want to scare off anybody who hasn’t read it already.) But you may spend a goodly chunk of the time outraged, before the narrative gets to the point where it says “you know how this world is really messed-up and wrong? Yeah. That isn’t an accident; it’s the real conflict underlying everything else.”
Onward to the spoilers.
Following on the heels of yesterday’s review: more excerpt! An additional scene apiece from Eliza and Dead Rick; you can pick up there, or go back and start at the beginning.
There will be one more set of scenes posted here before the book hits the shelves, plus a couple of other tidbits. Enjoy!
You have to be a subscriber to Kirkus Reviews to see the whole thing (or, y’know, have a publicist who shares it with you) — but here is a quote from the (ahem) STARRED REVIEW I just received:
Brennan’s grasp of period detail is sure, as the Dickensian squalor of most mortal sections of the city has its mirror in the teeming desperation of the Goblin Market. Despite the cast of thousands, many of the characters have real presence, and after a slow start the plot coheres and swirls forward into a series of tense and surprising conclusions. An absorbing finale to a series that has grown richer with every installment.
There’s been a general pattern of reviews of the series echoing that last phrase, and I have to say, I’ll take that graph, thankyouverymuch. I guess maybe from a sales perspective it would be better to have an amazingly awesome first book, and then tail off afterward (presuming your readership doesn’t all vanish), but artistically? Hearing that I’ve done better with each attempt is very satisfying.
[This is part of a series analyzing Robert Jordan’s Wheel of Time novels. Previous installments can be found under the tag. Comments on old posts are welcome, but please, no spoilers for books after this one.]
This is the book that killed me.
Prior to the publication of Crossroads of Twilight, I was willing (if not happy) to wait two or three years for each Wheel of Time book, slowly plodding my way toward the conclusion. After this one, I was done. I would not pick the series up again until the end was in sight — as indeed has been the case. All the way through this re-read, I’ve been bagging on CoT, dreading its arrival . . . but wondering, subconsciously, if maybe I had mis-remembered; maybe it was just the disappointment of having waited more than two years, or the disconnect caused by not re-reading previous books, and it wasn’t really as bad as I thought.
Reader, I did not mis-remember.
This book is, from beginning to end, the Catastrophic Failure Mode of Epic Fantasy Pacing. It is everything I’ve been critiquing since The Fires of Heaven, writ extra large, with underlining. Hell — to the best of my knowledge, it is the one book about which Jordan ever publicly admitted, “you know, maybe that wasn’t a good idea.” Given the flaws I’ve been pointing out along the way, that admission should tell you something.
Going into it, I wondered how I should approach analyzing this book. What could I say that I hadn’t already said before? I suppose this post could consist of me tearing out my hair and going “AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAUGH,” but that’s not too helpful. Instead I decided to approach this systematically: reading the book, I noted down the number of pages in each chapter, the point of view character(s), and, in no more than one sentence, what important events take place. What changes in the chapter? What new thing do the characters (or the readers) learn? What fresh problem starts, or old problem concludes? Having done that, I now have a wealth of evidence to back me up when I tell you:
NOTHING BLOODY HAPPENS IN THIS BOOK.
And I don't just mean in the hyperbolic way people usually accuse this series of.
So last night I write a little over 2300 words on A Natural History of Dragons, and then it’s Very Late, so I go to bed, and lie there for a little while, and then get up and go back to the computer and type in this:
I’m one of those people who, soon as you tell me not to do something, I turn around and do it. Because fuck you, even if you are a friend. And Tia wasn’t that much of a friend.
So I’m talking about how I’m bored with the Meltdown and there’s this old club over on Hall I might check out, and she says I shouldn’t, and we argue about it a bit until she says — only half-joking — “J, I forbid you to go,” and that’s it: to hell with her. Which I say. So she storms off, and I pin up my favorite skirt with some giant safety pins, braid gold LEDs into my hair, and go off to see what this old club is like. Because fuck Tia, and anybody else who tells me what to do.
I’m not sure why my brain decided that 4:30 in the morning after 2300 words of novel was the ideal time to mug me with a framework and two opening paragraphs for a “Tam Lin” retelling that could possibly cruise all the way through without having any fantastical content whatsoever (only then where would I sell it?) . . . but that’s how it goes, sometimes.
The funny thing is, I’ve had the opening page and a half for a “Tam Lin” sequel story hanging out in my “unfinished” folder for years now. And now I’m wondering if what I need to do is throw out everything but the first line (“Faerie trouble never really goes away.”), splice a bit of fantastical content into the story up above, and then link these two together.
Well, no need to decide right away. I have several deadlines breathing down my neck which take first priority. But it’s a thought for the future.
The people up at Stallery Manor keep “pulling the probabilities” — manipulating chance to change the world into one that’s more favorable to them. The problem is, this causes all kinds of spillover changes, most of which go unnoticed by people elsewhere in the world (things have always been that way, right?), but which are readily apparent to people living in the town of Stallchester. Conrad, a boy of twelve, gets sent up there to become a servant and sniff around for the cause of these problems . . . and also to kill somebody. You see, Conrad has an evil fate: some kind of bad karma hanging around from a past life, when he failed to take out somebody he was supposed to. If he doesn’t make good on that now, he’ll die before the year is out.
And then things get more complicated when an older boy named Christopher shows up, from another world, looking for his missing friend Millie.
Yes, this is another Chrestomanci book (and I think the only other story that shows us Christopher in his pre-Chrestomanci days). I bore it a bit of a grudge the first time I read it because I wanted MOAR CHRISTOPHER DANGIT, and that isn’t this book; I liked it better now that I was reading the book it actually was. Really, what it is could be described as “the Chrestomanci series meets Gosford Park / Downton Abbey;” a lot of the story revolves around the servants-eye view of a grand household, first as vast amounts of effort are spent on keeping three people in style, then as a bunch of guests show up.
The rest of the details go behind the cut.
So I’m watching the last Harry Potter movie — don’t worry; no spoilers — and at one point there’s a shot which completely distracts me from the movie. This has happened before with the films.
But as I leaned over and said to my husband a moment later: this time I was distracted by contemplating dragon anatomy, and not by trying to ID the slice of London flying by in the background.
Ladies and gentlemen, the new series has clearly moved in and set up house.
Since I got a request for Witch Week, I postponed the Dalemark books in favor of doing the Chrestomanci ones instead. But never fear, I’ll get to them all. 🙂
After Eric Chant (nicknamed Cat) and his older sister Gwendolen are orphaned in a steamboat accident, Gwendolen, who is a powerful witch, schemes to have them taken in by Chrestomanci as his wards. But Chrestomanci refuses to let Gwendolen go on learning magic — Cat, for his own part, doesn’t seem to have any — and so she begins causing trouble, and plotting with some rather unsavory magical types to boot. When Gwendolen pulls off her most spectacular trick, Cat finds himself saddled with the resulting mess.
This is actually the first Chrestomanci book, though it’s third chronologically, and decidedly not the first one I read. (That was Lives, and then maybe one or both of Witch Week and The Magicians of Caprona; I can’t remember precisely.) I never quite read it with the right eye, though, since I came to it as a Christopher fangirl, and accordingly process Chrestomanci through a lens that didn’t actually exist when the story was written. Also, many of the things going on in the story were from the start entirely obvious to me, since I already knew the setting.
Despite me having that odd perspective on it, this is a delightful book. It has all the hallmarks of DWJ’s writing, from the whimsy to the interesting world to the deft handling of some really, really unpleasant elements. But saying more involves spoilers, so behind the cut we go.
Abseiling/rappelling without mechanical aid (i.e. by wrapping the rope around your body): I’m guessing there is a high likelihood of bruises around your ribs or waist? Especially if you aren’t experienced?
Any other tidbits of information on that sort of thing are equally appreciated. Rope burns on the hands? Etc.
(Yes, I just sent Isabella over a cliff. It’s not the meanest thing I’ve done to her — but that will surprise no one.)
The countdown continues. Today, I share with you my research photos from last year.
It is, as usual, only a tiny selection from the whole: 39 pictures, when I took somewhere between five hundred and a thousand. But a lot of those are blurry, terrible reference shots from inside dimly-lit museums, or placards reminding me what the next photo in the sequence is, or things that wouldn’t mean much to anybody but me. I chose these to give you a sense of some of the things, places, and people that are important in the novel, with a few tossed in for sheer aesthetic pleasure, and a couple more for nostalgia.
Plus a whole wodge of shots from the Natural History Museum, because the decoration in there really has to be seen to be believed.
The rest of my photos, including those from previous Onyx Court research trips, are here.
In which it will be obvious that I am now working on a novel.
Dreaming of Wolves: Adventures in the Carpathian Mountains of Transylvania, Alan E. Sparks. I don’t actually remember how much of this book I got through — not all of it, certainly — but whatever, we’ll count it as read. I picked it up for environmental detail on the aforementioned Carpathian Mountains, as it is the account of a man who went there as part of some wolf-studying project. It’s not very well executed, but I got what I needed from it, more or less.
The Land Beyond the Forest: facts, figures, and fancies from Transylvania, E. Gerard. More research, and again I didn’t read the whole thing; just the section on Romanians. This was written in the late nineteenth century, and wow, the racism. I have to quote:
Briefly to sum up the respective merits of these three races, it may be allowable to define them as representing manhood in the past, present, and future tenses. The Saxons [of that region; not of England] have been men, and right good men too, in their day; but that day has gone by, and they are now rapidly degenerating into mere fossil antiquities […] The Hungarians are men in the full sense of the word, perhaps all the more so that they are a nation of soldiers rather than men of science and letters. The Roumanians will be men a few generations hence, when they have had time to shake off the habits of slavery and have learned to recognize their own value.
Yeeeeeeeah. But, well, I’m writing a nineteenth-century-ish novel set in a Romania-like region, so I don’t regret picking this up from the library. On the other hand, I don’t think I’ll be copying from it all that closely: there is merit to Isabella being obsessed with dragons and really quite careless of human notions like racial superiority.
Eight Days of Luke, Diana Wynne Jones. Discussed elsewhere.
The Snow Queen’s Shadow, Jim C. Hines. If I’d gotten around to posting this sooner, I could have said, ha-ha, I have this book and you don’t, nyah nyah. But the book is out now, so I’ll skip that part and go straight to the bit where I say that Hines has done a remarkable job wrapping up this series. He’s said elsewhere that it took him a while to figure out that the fairy tale books have been about questioning and complicating the notion of “happily ever after,” and this delivers on that theme, in very excellent ways. (Also, to echo Mris: this series is now done. So if you’re one of those people who prefers to wait until you can get all the books, you’re now cleared for take-off.)
Deep Secret, Diana Wynne Jones. Discussed elsewhere.
So far, July is shaping up to be the Month of Much Manga. (And comics, but that doesn’t alliterate, so.) But we’ll see how it goes.
Another short-story collection, and more successful than Stopping for a Spell — but that’s largely because it includes a few stories I think are better than anything in that collection; some of the others here are just as forgettable. In other words, the quality is very uneven.
“A Plague of Peacocks,” “The Fluffy Pink Toadstool,” and “Auntie Bea’s Day Out” all feel a lot like the pieces in Stopping for a Spell, being of the “person is unreasonably awful and then gets their comeuppance via magic” type that I really just don’t enjoy. I wasn’t much of a fan of “Carruthers” either, which feels much the same even though its structure is different, and “No One” was a less-than-confident foray into science fiction.
The three I liked better:
“Warlock at the Wheel” is (loosely) a Chrestomanci story, and benefits from that by having more plot momentum than the ones I mentioned above. After Charmed Life he goes on the lam, but very incompetently, and hijinks ensue. It isn’t up to the standards of her novels, and Jemima Jane is rather like the Izzies in The Merlin Conspiracy (by which I mean she sets my teeth on edge), but it did entertain me by confirming the speculation I made when I posted about The Homeward Bounders: Chrestomanci’s agent Kathusa has a Kathayack Demon Dog, which is either a hell of a naming coincidence or a direct pointer toward Joris’ Home world.
“Dragon Reserve, Home Eight” was the best of the lot for me. It sets up far more complete of a world than any of the others, and ditto characters; in fact, it almost feels like it’s connected to something else, but to the best of my knowledge that isn’t the case. (Please do mention in comments if I’m wrong.) I would definitely have read more about Siglin and the Dragonate and the Thrallers and the whole heg business.
“The Sage of Theare” is also good, and also a Chrestomanci story. It’s more conceptually complicated than “Dragon Reserve, Home Eight,” but less successful for me on a character and worldbuilding front (which is why I prefer the other). If it could have married its philosophical ideas about questioning and doubt and order and chaos to a firmer narrative framework, I would love it.
I think I’ll do the Dalemark Quartet next, but I’m still open for requests for things people would like to see me tackle sooner rather than later.
At the request of elaine_th.
This is, as mentioned before, a sequel of sorts to Deep Secret, albeit a loose one. The only significant connection is the re-use of Nick Mallory as a character; Magids also appear, but this book has much less to do with the Upper Room and other Magid affairs, being mostly about the world Blest.
Like Deep Secret, though, it divides itself between two protagonists: Nick, who gets flung out of our world and has to help three people before he’ll be able to come home, and Roddy (Arianrhod), a Blest girl who’s trying to stop the titular conspiracy. She, of course, is one of the three people Nick helps (or rather, promises to). And then there’s Romanov, a very powerful magician who starts out seeming like an enemy, but ends up being more interesting than that.
In one structural respect, I think this one works a bit more smoothly than Deep Secret did: the alternation between Nick’s pov and Roddy’s jerks around much less than the Rupert/Maree equivalent. This may partly be because the narration is less explicitly framed as taking place at a specific point in time; aside from the opening couple of lines, that drops away until nearly the end of the book. (Contrast Maree’s entries, which were being written more in realtime, which caused unfortunate difficulties.) The flip side is that Nick and Roddy spend much less time on the page together; they’re off on near-separate tracks until about page 360.
Which got me thinking: of the DWJ books I know well, nearly all of them are either written from a single pov (third limited or first), or the omniscient perspective of a narrator. The exceptions are all later books: these two and Enchanted Glass; maybe others I’m not remembering. So I’ll put it to the LJ hive mind and ask, is this impression correct? Are pov shifts something she started doing later in her career? Because they don’t feel like something she was entirely comfortable with on a technical level.
As for details of the plot, we go behind a cut for that.
For those who like my Driftwood stories, “A Heretic by Degrees” will be in the IGMS Award Anthology, alongside a number of great tales — including Von Carr’s “Sister Jasmine Brings the Pain” (one of the readers’ choice award winners) and Aliette de Bodard’s “Horus Ascending.”
Also — a bit belated — I did a guest blog for Jim Hines while he’s out of town, on the topic of fairy tales and how they make no sense.
