Frazer’s goddamned Golden Bough

(This post brought to you by temporary internet access at ICFA, and a desire to use this rant before my passion for it fades.)

I’m sure that Geoff Ryman is a very nice man, and I like what I’ve read of his fiction. But his luncheon speech the other day included a throwaway line that had me wanting to spit nails: something in the vein of “fantasy fiction, another means of turning away from the future.”

I am so sick of this notion.

The idea, as espoused by way too many people for my taste, is that fantasy is nostalgic for the past, that it turns away from the future. (Generally coupled with an implication that science fiction is therefore better, since it isn’t trying to hide its head in the sand.) Given: yes, some fantasy is nostalgic. (I’d argue that some SF is, too, but this is a rant, not a comparative textual survey.) Not all fantasy is nostalgic. I wouldn’t even say the balance of the genre is nostalgic. Yet this image persists, and I think I have put my finger on why.

Sir James Frazer had an idea — I’m pretty sure it was him, though I’m not at home right now to check my copy of The Golden Bough — that went something like this: when you’re primitive you have magic; when you’re more advanced, you have religion instead; and when you’re truly civilized, you have science. And you know what? One of the common (though not universal) differences between fantasy and science fiction involves exactly those three things. The future, as often seen in SF, means more technology, less religion, less magic. Therefore, since fantasy often involves less technology, more religion, more magic, it must be anti-future. QED.

It’s warmed-over nineteenth century unilinear cultural evolutionary theory. It’s shit we debunked a century ago. And it’s alive and well in the minds of a lot of people out there.

There was a recent discussion on Toby Buckell’s blog about the prevalence of religious plots in Battlestar Galactica and other stories. I don’t mean plots that use religious imagery, or that deal with religious themes; I mean plots that involve active religious belief and/or divine action in the story. How much future-oriented SF out there (as opposed to, say, alternate history) includes religion as a part of the daily lives of the characters? How much of it involves religion for the protagonists, instead of the aliens or Those People Over There? Some, but the prevailing idea seems to be that we’ll have gotten over the religion thing by then. Like it’s something we’re going to leave behind as we get more “civilized” — read, more technological.

Progressive views of time, of history, of human change, and if we’re not going forward (toward more technology, barring apocalypse of course), then we’re going backward, and that’s a Bad Thing. Fantasy =/= Technology. (With exceptions.) Therefore, Fantasy =/= Future. Therefore, Fantasy = Past. Therefore, Fantasy = Bad, Shameful, Pathetic, Whatever.

Whatever.

Obviously fantasy, science fiction, horror, mysteries, romances, and your hard-core mainstream fiction “three generations of women . . .” dynastic sagas are all, in one way or another, about the present, because they reflect our present ideas and feelings and concerns. But they can also be about the past, and about the future, because they’re about ways human beings live or have lived or can live. It’s sloppy reductionism to say science fiction as a whole is intended to predict the future, and it’s even sloppier reduction to say fantasy as a whole is nostalgic about the past.

And the next person who suggests that in my presence may find themselves with a faceful of nails, and me clearing my mouth to deliver this rant in person.

draft . . .?

Crap. I was doing so good — but then patching a hole and putting on a conclusion spiked my wordcount to 4292, when 4100 is about the most I can fit in the time limit without talking too fast.

Well, that’s what revision is for, and more ruthless reduction. Alas, Jarlaxle may end up on the cutting-room floor. (Along with other things, since I didn’t spend two hundred words on him.)

But I think I may leave that for tomorrow. I’ll have more perspective then, which is critically important when cutting stuff. And besides, I’ve worked hard the last two days; I want to read a book for a while before I go to sleep.

Wake up — time to die.

Ruthless cutting of my paper this morning removed three hundred words or so, pulling me back from the rapidly-approaching wall that is the length limit for a conference. (I made it to 85% of the way done by bedtime; now I’m hovering just north of 75%.) Will this be enough space? Probably not. But at least I bought myself a tiny bit of breathing room.

I need to step back and let it compost a bit more, though, so I can figure out the most efficient way to organize this last section. It would be easy to bog down in detailed textual analysis, but I don’t have that luxury. Broad patterns only, thank you, analysis-brain. We have approximately 4000 words to play with, and no more. And no, just speaking more quickly isn’t an acceptable answer; we’ll lose our audience and confuse everybody. We must be succinct. You do know what “succinct” means, right?

Don’t answer that.

halfway . . . there . . .

I don’t want to think about how many hours today I have spent wrestling with an unwieldy and oversized mass of information in order to produce the half of my ICFA paper I have so far. It’s funny to think that I once contemplated finishing it in time for the February 1st grad student award deadline, given that I wrote the first sentence today. (I was going gangbusters on the reading back in January, but when I realized I just wouldn’t have the time to write it, I stalled and got almost nothing done until today.)

So it goes.

The problem is, I really did bite off more than one ought to chew for a conference paper. In addition to about two dozen novels, I’m also looking at a good dozen or more gaming supplements from four different editions of D&D. Plus artwork, which I’m hardly mentioning at all. There are all kinds of nifty-keen subtleties that have happened along the way — well, okay, most of them aren’t actually nifty-keen, but some of them are — but they just won’t make it into the paper; I’ve got another six years of publishing history to get through before I start on the analytical part of the paper, and I’m already halfway to my page limit.

Certain sayings about ten pounds into five-pound containers come to mind.

But I’m brain-melty at this point, so I think it’s time to take a break, and maybe chew on it a bit more before bed tonight. (It would be nice to finish the historical part of the paper, so I can do the analysis tomorrow and Tuesday.) And then, someday well after ICFA, I shall ponder whether I want to go back and expand the paper with some of the finer details for the purposes of submitting it to Strange Horizons.

You know, the original tongue-in-cheek title for this paper was “Drow: The Black Hole of Otherness.” I think it is also “Drow: The Black Hole of My Sunday Before ICFA,” given how much time it’s eaten today.

since it’s already written . . . .

It’s amazing how, even when I have a recommendation already written, I can get eleven days into the month without finding the time to post it.

Up this month: Terry Pratchett’s Monstrous Regiment. It’s one of the later Discworld books, but even if you haven’t read any of that series, take a look at what I’ve got to say about it; this book stands just fine on its own, and is substantive at the same time that it’s funny. (Which is a pretty good achievement for any writer.)

aesthetic kinesthesia

300 is as splendiferously outrageous as I could have hoped. Very very stylized, of course, but that resulted in some awesome images (of which the iconic “shoving the guys over the cliff” one is my favorite) — I’m very interested by the effect comic books are having on cinematography, most obviously in comic-book movies, but sometimes in other movies, too. And on a script level, the Spartans had more of a sense of humour than I expected; normally I think of them as kind of being like Viking-era Norse without the tendency to get drunk and laugh at doom.

Also, the fight choreography was beeyootiful. And I realized, during a discussion last night, that my appreciation of both dance and fighting is partly visual, but primarily kinesthetic. That is, while some of the beauty I respond to is based on the lines and framings creating by the body in relation to its environment, I think more of it comes from the sensation of movement itself, my ability to imagine the flow of dance moves/strikes/whatever. I tense up when I’m watching a fight, not because it makes me nervous or afraid, but because my muscles are making miniscule little twitches of response to the movements I see. There can be an aesthetic quality in the kinesthesia, just as there can be an aesthetic quality in visual presentation — or aural, or tactile, or whatever. And this is why fights are pretty to me: not because of the violence they inflict, but because of the beauty of their flow.

I suspect that people who have studied dance or martial arts are more likely to nod in agreement at this.

Anyway, 300 = awesome. Bloody and violent, and don’t ask what atrocities it commits upon the actual history of the battle, but that really isn’t the point; the point is to celebrate the national psychosis of Sparta, and a breeding program designed to produce the toughest hard-asses in all of Greece. And in that respect, it succeeds admirably.

who feels like a lazy slob?

On the heels of yesterday’s failure of a workout, I read this article about the training the actors and stunt crew of 300 went through for the film.

It’s pretty awesome.

And now I feel like a lazy slob.

Under no circumstances would I want to be in the gym 10-12 hours a day, five days a week for four months . . . but it does make me feel pretty pathetic about my own workouts. I would make a very bad Spartan. I do give a big thumbs-up, though, to a training regimen that, in both physical and social terms, seems pretty well-designed to produce modern-day Spartans. I’ve talked with any number of people about how the cast of Firefly used to hang out in the galley of the set when they weren’t filming, and it shows; they’re comfortable there, and have a camraderie with each other, that you only get by such means. Similar idea here. Blood, sweat, and tears, and at the end of it you’ve got Spartans.

Cool.

snarl.

Exercising today was kind of a bust.

Strength training: this went fine. A woman already had the hand-weight I use for one exercise, so I made myself step up to the next one. Had to lower my reps a bit, but other than that I was fine. So that’s an achievement.

Cardio: things started going wrong. The balls of my feet hurt for some reason, from the moment I stepped onto the elliptical. Not hurt badly, but enough that I quit a third of the way into my usual workout. Grrr.

Stretching: now, I’ve stretched for flexibility before. I know how it works. If I stretch two days after the previous session, it will hurt. I understand this. But there’s hurting, and there’s today, when my muscles told me in no uncertain terms where to shove it. Quit this one partway through, too, and when I got up the soreness took too long to go away.

Is some planet in retrograde that has to do with physical fitness? Because it sure felt like it.

Screw it. I’m going to eat girl scout cookies and forget about health for a day.

and one more . . .

. . . because oh holy jeebus is this one funny to me, and probably to about three others of you. (Three who maybe haven’t seen it already, that is. Certain others of you probably saw this two years ago, when it was originally posted.)

He FIGHTS CRIME.

I cannot for the life of me decide what would be an appropriate icon for my love of Elizabethan stuff. All I know is, I don’t have it, so I will have to make do with Maleficent, because I like her.

also, linkage

Two things that need sharin’ —

Eragon sporked. Book, not movie. In case you’re like me and want to know enough about the book to talk about its shortcomings without actually having to, y’know, read the book. I know that site is not aimed at saying good things about it, but still, it’s a sad state of affairs when the most positive thing I can find to say at the end is, “hey, Saphira’s a nice name.”

Everyone in “Hands of Fate: The Next Generation Legacy” needs to read this. Including the comments. Or at least the one about the badger.

historical oddity

Watching more Horatio Hornblower . . . .

Character: “I’m Jerome Bonaparte.”

Me: “No you’re not! You’re busy ruling Germany!”

Some history-checking later, I find out he hadn’t started ruling Germany yet (or rather, Westphalia), so I wasn’t allowed to yell at him for being in the middle of the ocean instead of where I thought he should be. But that was my knee-jerk reaction, and it amused me, because Jerome Bonaparte is a historical figure I’ve only recently learned anything about.

I like knowing random things.

numbers to chew on

When the Sword & Sorceress antho call went out, I sat down to see how many stories I had around with female protagonists (as that’s one of the requirements). I was startled to find the answer was: not many. Which surprised me; I thought I wrote female characters on a regular basis.

So I sat down and did some counting. These numbers have changed some since the original count (story sales, new stories in circulation), but the pattern’s still there, and still interesting. (At least to me. Your mileage may vary. If so, skip this post.)

Number crunchiness ensues

Huh.

Maybe “Kingspeaker” is the GT story, after all. Since I just tried to revise it, taking those parts out, and they stubbornly migrated to other parts of the story, rewrote themselves, and generally burrowed in deeper. I’m not sure if it quite works yet, but now I believe it might eventually.

I think maybe I need to work out, for my own edification if no one else’s, the mythical backstory for how the kingspeaker thing got started. If I know that, I’ll know why this story needs to be the story it is apparently trying to be.

Um. Right. Enough with the vague babbling, methinks.

For once I’m starting early!

A photo of my dressform will do as a costuming icon until I think of something I like more.

For once, I’m getting started on a costume in good time. The Regency game isn’t until April 1st, and I’ve already got the vest and pants already (mostly) sewn, leaving me with the coat.

The coat, and a million and twelve buttons. I should have thought of that before I said I wanted to play a nineteenth-century naval officer.

<subconscious whines, “But it sounded fun! Er, not the buttons part.”>

Assorted thoughts: I really don’t have the body silhouette to pass for a man, what with my hips being bigger than my shoulders. (Caused more by lack of shoulders than pelvic endowment.) Which leads to trouble when the only measurement they give on a men’s pattern is the chest; I basically had to cut different sizes for the top and the bottom, and only figured that out halfway into the cutting. I am, however, getting more confident at modifying patterns. Someday this may lead to me sewing without a pattern, but that day is not today, nor tomorrow. True to form, I’ve made several mistakes so far that required ripping out one or more seams, but I must be getting used to it; I’ve hardly sworn at all so far. Then again, the project is still young, and holds a million and twelve buttons in store for me.

Also? The Horatio Hornblower series is pretty good, though I still think I like Aubrey and Maturin more. Ioan Gruffudd makes me appreciate Hornblower more in the movies than in the books. But I do get a little tired of somebody constatly taking a dislike to him for no good reason, when We the Audience can clearly see that he is noble, clever, loyal, and kind. It is not, however, a flaw that gets all that much in the way of my enjoyment.

naming woes, part two

So here’s the problem, really. I keep embarking on projects (short stories, novels, games) where the people — the guys in particular — need to have relatively mainstream English names, the sort that have been used historically. And when you get down to it, there aren’t a lot of those. And the more of these projects I build up, the more of the mainstream names I’ve used for major characters, such that I would feel weird then applying them to someone else.

But at this point, it means I’m hesitant to name anybody Julian, Robert, Leonard, Roger, Luke, James, Gregory, Edward, or Jacob, just to choose the most major ones. If I let Memento get in there, I have to add in Thomas, William, Simon, Francis, Stephen, Philip, Jacob again, Christopher, Archibald, and Nicholas. “Nine Sketches” also used Nathaniel, Francis again, Charles, Richard, and Jonathan. I could keep going, but you get the point; a lot of the common names have strong associations for me already.

This doesn’t mean there’s nothing left. I haven’t had anybody important named Henry (except oops, there will hopefully be the thing about Henry Welton someday) — okay, George (wait, that’s Caroline’s husband) — how about Samuel (Eleanor’s father) — crap. And some of my remaining choices, I don’t like very much; Andrew isn’t one I’m particularly fond of. Some of the names are currently reserved by future projects; others are bound up in old projects, and I face the question of whether I think I’ll ever resurrect them, or whether I should just go ahead, cut The Kestori Hawks loose as unusable, and free up half a dozen names for other people to have. (Assuming I can. Assuming my subconscious will let go of the idea that “Leonard” means that guy, the one over there, with all the angst.)

Oh yeah. And then, because I’m not having issues enough, there’s the problem that if I name a character in the Elizabethan period Gabriel, most of you will roll your eyes at the slightly flashy name, and a few will run screaming and waving your copies of the Lymond Chronicles. My own work isn’t the only association I have to watch out for.

I should name the guy John and be done with it, but it just doesn’t work. And I’m not yet to the point where my subconscious is ready to reuse things. For secondary characters, sure. But not the main ones.

Which is how I end up with ideas like Peregrine Thorne. But that isn’t his name — though whoever’s name it is, he looks interesting — so I keep working.

naming woes

Few writing blocks frustrate me more than a character I can’t name. I can’t do jack if I don’t know a character’s name. Without that, how do I know who he is? How can I guess what she’ll do? The name is everything, and sometimes it takes forever to find; I think Saoran eluded me for three years.

Right now, I’m trying to figure out if this guy’s name really is going to be Sir Peregrine Thorne. If so, I’m going to have to work a damn good reason into his backstory; you can’t go parading around with a name like that and pretend it happened by accident.

Even if that is his name, it still only gives me half of what I need. I’m trying to explain to the female character that “Malkin,” while a genuine British diminutive (of Maud, actually), also has a variety of slang meanings ranging from “slattern” to “female genitalia.” Neither of which are meanings she wants to be carrying around with her.

I don’t want to admit how much of tonight I’ve spent on this task. But since I can’t go anywhere until I get over this hurdle, I’ll keep plugging away at it.

Edited to add: Christ. This is apparently trying to be a story full of People With Inexcusable Names, since now the female character is pondering options like Amaranth, Celandine, and Chrysanthe.

Edit #2: No, dear, you can’t be Britomart. I dislike authors who use names from other things but don’t know what they’re referencing, and I refuse to read The Faerie Queene for you.

Edit #3: Maybe Sylfaen? Or Ailis? She’s allowed to have a weird name; she isn’t human. Unlike Mr. Sir Peregrine Thorne up there, who is supposed to be quite human. I don’t know. At this point, I think I’ve been beating my head against it too long. Time to go to sleep, and see if any of my possibilities still look good in the morning.

How do I hate thee? Let me count the ways.

I’ve always known that I don’t like grading. But this is the first time I’ve been able to put it in such appalling terms:

I procrastinated from grading tonight by doing my federal and state taxes.

Doing my taxes was preferable to grading.

Ye gods.

it’s back!

“Once a Goddess”

Zokutou word meterZokutou word meterZokutou word meter
1,266 / 4,000
(30.0%)

I celebrate the return of the Zokutou meter (which was down for a while) by showing the progress I made after last night’s post.

The 4000 total is just an estimate. I have the beginning of the story, now. I’m formulating the middle, and I’ve got a vague niggling that might turn out to be the end. This is farther than I’ve ever gotten with this story (remember, this is attempt #5), and I’m pretty sure it’s got the legs to make it to the end.

next!

Man, I miss the Zokutou word meter. I’ve embarked on my fifth attempt to write “Once a Goddess” and I’m 472 words in, but I don’t have a visual way to show it.

(Yes, I know there are other word meters. I don’t like them as much.)

Hey, if I do well enough with this story, do you think they’ll put me on the Nebula ballot like ksumnersmith?

Dude, how cool is it that a writer I know personally — not “hey, I’ve had conversations with her” but “hey, she’s about my age and we’ve been in an anthology together and shared a room at a con” — is on the freaking Nebula ballot? And not just on it; her story got the slot reserved for the Nebula jury’s hand-picked choice.

Go, Karina!!! When you’re a Big Name Author, I’ll be able to tell other people I once shared a migratory sun patch with you. 🙂