The World in the Satin Bag: December 2009

Thursday, December 31, 2009

The 2009 WISB Awards!

With 2009 almost over, it's about time to toss out some of my worthless WISB Awards to the fine folks who deserve them (if I could make them worth something, I would, but I'm unfortunately not the Nebula's).

You can see previous winners at the following links: 2008; 2007.

Some things are changing this year, though. First, I am no longer going to make the awards about what was published in 2009. While I would like to be able to do this every year, I also am wholly inadequate to the task of keeping up with what's being published year in and year out and find myself consistently jumping around between 2007, 2008, and 2009 in my reading. So, from now on the WISB Awards are going to focus primarily on what I have read in a particular year rather than one what was published in that year.

For a quick refresher, here are the award categories with brief explanations of what they represent:
Kudos Award (given to a writer who has done something to further the genre or make the genre community a better place)
Best Novel (self explanatory)
Best Publisher (self explanatory)
Best Cover (self explanatory)
Best Writer (self explanatory)
Worst Writer (given to a writer who does something detrimental to their career or the genre)
(There will not be a category for movies this year, primarily because I have not seen enough 2009 films to feel comfortable making that choice.)

So, without further delay, here are the award winners:

The 2009 Kudos Award -- John Scalzi

Why Scalzi? Well, let's run down the list, shall we? He saved Strange Horizons, one of the few pro-paying markets for SF/F left for us writerly folk; he helped out Peter Watts after the Canadian SF author was arrested and charged with a bunch of bogus crap; and he has been writing and supporting SF/F on his blog for years now. If anyone deserves a Kudos Award this year, it's Scalzi.

Keep up the good work!

Best Novel of 2009 -- The House of the Stag by Kage Baker

I'm apparently not well known as a fantasy reader around these parts, mostly because I don't talk about fantasy all that much on this blog (although I happen to read a lot more fantasy than I do science fiction for reasons that I can't quite explain). This year, however, completely shattered my expectations of the genre by providing me the opportunity to read The House of the Stag by Kage Baker. I started reading The House of the Stag thinking it would be another adventurous, epic fantasy, but it turned out to be so much more. I won't ruin my review of the novel, though. All I have to say is that if any novel deserves it this year, it is The House of the Stag.

(You can see my review of The House of the Stag here. I also interviewed Kage Baker here.)

Best Publisher of 2009 -- Angry Robot Books
One of the most unique publishing ventures to come into existence in the last decade, Angry Robot Books not only publishes some fantastic, edgy novels (all science fiction or fantasy), but it also has a unique approach to working with reviewers like myself and writers. I think some of the big boys could learn a few things from this brilliant startup.

(You can read my reviews of some Angry Robot publications at the following links: Angel of Death by J. Robert King; Kell's Legend by Andy Remic.)

Best Cover of 2009 -- Terra Insegura by Edward Willett (illustration by Stephan Martiniere)

I guess it shouldn't be a surprise that Martiniere has won for best cover art this year. The artwork for Terra Insegura is stunning, as are all of Martiniere's paintings. A big plus is the cover actually matches what is in the book. What more can I say? Just look at it!

(You can read my review of Terra Insegura here. Stephan Martiniere can be found on his website. I also interviewed Mr. Willett here and here.)

Best Writer of 2009 -- Kage Baker
I've read two of her novels this year and have to admit that Baker is one of the best writers currently writing in the genre right now. She has a remarkably poetic prose style and a pension for crafting lovable and complex characters. I've enjoyed her work so much that I actually wrote a paper (partly) on one of her novels. Add to that her wonderful use of fairytale stylings and her winning personality (she was a joy to talk to over email for this interview) and it should be no surprise why she is my choice for the best writer of 2009.

(You can see my reviews of her novels at the following links: The House of the Stag; The Empress of Mars.)

Worst Writer (Personally) of 2009 -- John C. Wright
There are so many to pick from this year. I could go with a recent example, like Candace Sams, or I could pick someone who hits a little closer to home. I'm going to do the latter.

John C. Wright rightly deserves the award for worst writer of 2009 for one-upping Orson Scott Card this year by writing this "brilliant" attack against homosexuals (and anyone who supports equal rights in this country). You'll notice that the link doesn't actually go to Wright's blog. Why? Because Wright pulled it down after he was flamed to death for being a homophobic douchebag (though I suspect he'll claim his motivations were otherwise). Still, he's been ousted as super douche of the year by most people and with the wonders of the Internet we have the luxury of seeing everything he's said pasted permanently on the WWW.

Good job, Mr. Wright. Nothing like being a horrible human being to boost those sales (not that he actually saw a reduction in sales, but I sure as hell refuse to give him a single cent now that he's joined the league of extraordinary jackasses).

And that's it! Did I miss anything?

Video Found: 156 Countries Sing Together

This video just about made me cry. It's beautiful and it's a reminder that there are still good people all over the world, all capable of setting aside petty differences to unite for a common goal. I think our governments could learn a thing or two from them.

Anyway, the video is meant to raise awareness about AIDS. It's a Starbucks project, apparently, but don't let that ruin it for you. They've raised millions of dollars to help people afflicted with HIV in Africa, and this video is a part of that project. You can learn more about it and how you can help here.

Enjoy (click the read more to see the video):

Wednesday, December 30, 2009

Ebooks Prices: Now I Understand

I've recently been trying to convert the first issue of Survival By Storytelling into a Kindle ebook, thinking it would be a fairly easy process. Technology had other ideas.

Here's what I thought was going to happen:

I'd go online, pop the file into Amazon's conversion tool, and end up with a slightly imperfect file.
I'd fiddle a little bit by fixing the small problems.
Finish, publish, and rake in the dough to give to all my contributors.

How it actually happened:

I went online, popped the file into Amazon's conversion tool, and realized that the final product was so screwed up it was practically unreadable.
Tried to figure out how to fix it and found out the following:
a) There are no magic, simple ways to change the conversion problems.
b) It will take ten times the amount of time it took to make the print version of the book to put together a suitable Kindle version.
I'm currently not finished, despite many hours of trying to figure out how to do it. I may end up throwing my hands up when the file is in "acceptable" state and get it out there.

So, having gone through all of this, I now understand why it costs so much to produce eBooks, because you could not pay me enough money to sit down and do this, day in and day out. No way. I'd rather chew on broken glass or cut my own heart out with a spoon. Seriously.

And this is supposed to be the wave of the future?

P.S.: Yes, I'm still going to get Survival By Storytelling, Issue One up on the Kindle. It'll just take me some time, because the whole thing is a pain in the butt.

UPS Fail (Again)

So apparently UPS was unable to deliver another package to me, this time from the Hatchette group (i.e. more books). The reason this time? Apparently the recipient was unauthorized or some such nonsense. Now, I don't know about you, but if the address is correct (and they clearly have my address, since they sent me yet another postcard to tell me they couldn't deliver my package--like they did last time), then why exactly should it matter if the recipient is authorized? It's a package. You know where it has to go, so deliver it. It's that simple.

I'm starting to think this is a grand conspiracy to keep packages from arriving at my doorstep...

Video Found: Battlestar Rhapsody (BSG + Queen)

Discovered this via SF Signal and had to share, because it's hilarious and brilliant at the same time.

What do you get when you take Battlestar Galactica, mix in some Queen (the band), and put it in a YouTube video? You get this:

Tuesday, December 29, 2009

Book Review Up: Sisters of Misery by Megan Kelley Hall

A really suspenseful read, this one. I wish there was more to the ending, but I was glued to the page despite Sisters of Misery having very little in the way of fantastic elements (they were there, but not well define for good reasons). Read my review.

Newton Talks: What makes a good book blogger?

Mark Charan Newton recently had an curious post about what makes a good book blogger. Being a book blogger myself (sorta), I thought it would be interesting to give my two cents on his proposed guidelines.

1) There are bloggers who use the right tools, and those who are tools (i.e. reasonable vs. unreasonable expectations)

I completely agree with Newton here. Don’t get uppity about a book if you read something outside your comfort zone and don’t get what you usually like. As he says “don’t approach an entertaining romp expecting philosophical ramblings if it isn’t meant to be one. I wouldn’t say ‘I don’t like beer on account that it’s not whiskey,’ would I?”

That’s absolutely true. I rarely read outside of the SF/F genres, so this isn’t usually a problem for me. Occasionally a book surprises me by being about something I never expected. Usually that’s a good thing, though, and I mention it as such in my reviews (such as my recent review of Kage Baker's The Empress of Mars).

2) Slow and steady. (i.e. slow books/fast books are not bad books)

I disagree with this point only because it’s too simple. Sometimes a slow book is a bad book (and vice versa for fast books). Sometimes pace has everything to do with it (not always, but sometimes). However, as a reviewer, I bring up pace because I write reviews to tell people what “I” liked, not necessarily what they like (I have no idea what you folks would like, because I’m not in your heads). If I don’t like stories that take 200 pages to get to the meat, then I’ll bring that up. Maybe someone else will like stories like that, and, as the old adage goes, all publicity is good publicity (mostly).

3) Prose & style. (i.e. books usually don’t “improve” in style by the end; you just get used to it)

I’ll agree with Newton here only because I can’t recall ever having the experience of feeling like the latter half of a book was better written than the first half. Have any of you had that experience?

4) The synopsis should remain on the back of the book. (i.e. don’t describe the back of the book for your review)

I completely agree. There are people who do this? I usually write short, concise reviews where I say something about my experience with the book from the start, then say what the book is about, and then go a little deeper into my experience with the book after (for a few paragraphs). I’m not a “literary reviewer,” though, and I have yet to write a book report for a review. That's crap you expect to do in third grade.

5) Reviewers who are also writers (of the unpublished variety). (i.e. don’t play the “well, if I had written this, I would have done this” card)

Again, there are people who do this? What kind of asshat writes a review telling everyone how he would have written the book? That’s absurd. I get that many people feel that they can do better, but unless you’ve actually been legitimately published numerous times and received every literary award available, it seems rude, at best, to say “I could have done this better” in a review. I sure as hell have never done this.

6) You can’t love every novel.

Another point I agree with completely. I don’t love everything I read. Some books I hate with a passion. Others are okay. Some are damned good, and a few are brilliant. Any reviewer who loves everything he or she reads either has very low standards or doesn’t really read anything.

That said, there are reviewers out there who only review the books they like. I think those folks should be very open about that, though, so as not to mislead their readers. If you never finish the books you don't like, and, thus, never review them, then you should say as such.

7) Edit thyself.

I agree with this one too. I think more bloggers could edit their work. Now, when I say that, I mean that I’m sick of reading bloggers who can’t use proper punctuation (even on a rudimentary level) or capitalize their “I”s, or what have you. There are too many out there and you’d be surprised how many of them get upset if you point out where they have made mistakes (which is usually everywhere). Hell, I’ve been having a little fun with a fellow recently who can barely string a sentence together, let alone say anything remotely intelligent.

I try to edit myself, but I also am not the kind of person who is going to edit my blog the same way I edit my fiction. It’s not because I don’t like my blog, but because if I did that you’d never hear from me. You all still want to hear from me, right? I’ve had the occasional error (or maybe more than occasional), but I do try to fix them and edit my posts before I post them. I assume it has worked out, right?

You all should check out Newton’s post, though, and read all of the stuff he has to say. He makes a lot of valid points and if any of you are considering being reviewers, even just for fun, his post is definitely worth checking out.

On the other hand, based on what’s been written here, what do you all think?

Monday, December 28, 2009

A New SF Manifesto of Bologna: Jetse de Vries and the Literature of Change (Part Three)

Now for the final post in my response to Jetse de Vries' post. You can read the previous two parts by clicking the following links: part one; part two.

Here goes:

Point Five – SF dismisses actual science

This one is easy to deal with: what consumers want is what they get. You want more SF that deals realistically with all aspects of science (even the aspects that most readers don’t know about anyway)? Well, then you have to change the public. Good luck with that. If scientists knew how to change the public’s view of science enough to make them want to change how we teach science in school (and thus affect change on science literacy), then they’d probably have done it already. Consumers don’t know the vast majority of the actual rules of science; SF writers tend to know this. Some of them want accurate science; some of them don’t. You tell me which way works best.

Now, we can moan and groan about how this is terrible and oh so sad, but that’s not something consumers give a flying fig about. Why? Because they don’t read SF to be educated about physics or chemistry or what have you. They read SF to be entertained. The ones who read SF for accuracy are a minority. That’s not to say that accurate SF can’t work, just that consumers generally can’t tell the difference between what is right and what is not. Don’t believe me? Take a camera and a microphone to the streets of any major city and start asking people either whether they care if the science is accurate or whether or not they know the basics of science. I guarantee you that most people (i.e. most consumers) will not have a clue.

It is not SF's job to educate people.

Point Six – SF isn’t relevant (enough)

Never mind that de Vries contradicts himself on this point (earlier he says that SF doesn’t really deal with present worldly concerns, but then here he says that it does; maybe he should make up his mind). What is important here is the whole point of the optimistic anthology he’s been working on: SF is so depressing and doom and gloom and sad and boohoo. SF has no solutions. It’s just about how things go from bad to worse. My question is: does de Vries actually read books, or does he just make this stuff up as he goes?

Of course things go from bad to worse. That’s what makes a novel tick. You can’t have a story that goes from good to gooderer and expect anyone to pay attention. That’s the kind of crap that keeps five-year-olds entertained during the day while their parents are cleaning the house. That’s what makes Barney, the Teletubbies, and Blue's Clues work for kids and not for adults. The only way literature for older kids and adults works is if it goes from good to bad to worse to better. That’s how it works.

The whole doom and gloom proclamation, however, is remarkably narrow-minded. Maybe if all you ever read are SF novels about doomsday futures you’d get a bit bothered, but this all reads to me as a desperate need on the part of de Vries to actually get out there and do some more reading. Either he has been incredibly isolated where he lives or he’s just never picked up the right books, because all this talk about how most SF is about how the future is all bad (and not good) is like saying that all football games are about hitting other people for the fun of it. Hardly.

There are plenty of science fiction writers who are imagining futures that have problems that get resolved. They don’t always get fully resolved (after all, a lot of SF deals with planet- or multisystem-wide problems), but there is usually a significant leap in the happy direction at the end (the world is saved, the characters we’ve rooted for finish a mission, or bring down and evil dictator, or whatever—the examples are endless). The doom and gloom stuff is a particular brand. We call them dystopias, and they’ve been around for quite a long time.

And it is here again that de Vries demonstrates his complete ignorance of the real world. SF is supposed to “get off its arse” and “be totally open to outside influences and other cultures, and get involved with proactive thinking, proudly using science, about the near future.” Just before that little quote, however, de Vries points to something said by Athena Andreadis about the fall of science within the mainstream (political and social) in the U.S. Somewhere in there de Vries has a little disconnect. This is what he is saying:

SF should further ostracize itself by becoming more and more about real world science, despite the fact that the general public (i.e. consumers) is scientifically illiterate and that such illiteracy is unlikely to change any time soon.

Yeah. Smart. Let’s make SF more and more about stuff that the general public clearly doesn’t give a crap about. Don’t get me wrong; I agree. I’d like my SF to be more accurate at times, but to assume that this is going to help SF in any way is absurd. People do not give a shit. If they did, scientists would be revered for being totally awesome and we’d all be living in a world that reminds us, surprisingly, of an episode of Sliders (you know, the one where Quinn’s twin in another dimension is both a science wiz and on a Wheaties box, and everyone seems to get off on the whole science thing, with Einstein being the equivalent of Elvis). Boy would that be one heck of a fantasy world.

That’s all I have to say on that. As much as I’d like to get on board with all this, I feel like it’s doing nothing but proposing a lot of ideas that sound good, but in practice could literally destroy the SF genre. This whole “optimistic SF” thing is not necessarily a new idea (“optimistic SF” has been around for a while), but certainly new in the sense of a collected entity. And it’s untested. We don’t know how well the general public will take this, or whether it will do SF any good at all. If de Vries honestly thinks his little movement is going to bring the readers in by the thousands, then he’s living in a magical place I wish we all could live in (it feels a little like Brave New World, to be honest, with all that happy injected right into the bloodstream).

There are good ideas in here, but even a good idea can be devastating when combined with a lot of bad ones. Whether or not the de Vries’ Shine anthology will be any good is yet to be seen. Maybe it will come and go just like the whole Mundane SF movement and we’ll be back to square one, with lots of talk about the death of SF (which, let’s face it, is having one of the longest deaths of anything, considering that every month holds a new funeral) and no useful solutions.

P.S.: Brokeback Mountain is not a Western. It’s a movie set in the West, but it is not a Western. If you’re going to use something as an example that makes SF look silly, at least get your example right. A Western is a story set in the western United States during the period of expansion and exploration (i.e. set in the Old West). It’s not gay cowboys on a Ranch in the 60s (or whatever year that movie was set in). For the record, Brokeback Mountain was a fantastic movie, but it’s not a Western. Also, there are writers in SF who are dealing with LGBT issues. A lot of them. There's a whole award geared towards recognizing such works. So, again, SF is dealing with real world issues and not at all as irrelevant as de Vries would have us think. Nice try, though.

Sunday, December 27, 2009

A New SF Manifesto of Bologna: Jetse de Vries and the Literature of Change (Part Two)

I started this series of posts the other day and will now continue. You can read part one here and part three here.

Point Three – SF is WASP-ish

By that, de Vries means that SF allows for the perpetuation of white-privilege, which is true on some level, but also somewhat ignorant of what WASP actually stands for (historically speaking). He uses this to point at the problem of international SF to get any play in the Western market, which is also true on a lot of levels, but once again misses a very important problem: translations. First off, the Western world speaks English (mostly), and, thus, only reads in that language. You can’t expect writers from China to have much hold on the Western market without their work being in English.

What's wrong with that? There isn’t much of a market for translations in most of the literary markets to begin with. While there are translations that do quite well, there are also lots of translations that don’t, and expecting publishers to take on the burden of translating work that will likely lose them income is like expecting football players to try to be as graceful as ballerinas on the field while simultaneously making big plays. You find a way to make the market (i.e. the consumers) interested in translated fiction, and you’ll have solved this problem entirely. Right now, that hasn’t happened.

However, de Vries is correct that SF probably should be more inclusive of non-standard (i.e. white) characters and themes, but that is also true of a lot of genres (most literary forms should be multicultural, not necessarily universally, but certainly more frequently).

For the record: I actually wish more works were translated into English, particularly from China, because I’m curious about what is being written out there, but I also understand that I am a minority in the market. The people who control what gets produced by publishers are the people who put books on the bestseller’s list, generally speaking (yes, I know this is not true of everything).

Point Four – SF is commercially dead

This is where I think the most tired arguments are being presented. Perhaps the funniest part of de Vries’ discussion of the commercial death of SF is that he uses as an example a book written over twenty years ago and associated (or started, rather) with a genre that has, for the most part, actually experienced commercial death (it didn’t truly die, but it certainly ceased to be a major player and has since been consumed by other forms of SF). So, his example of “risk-taking SF” is a book that represents a genre that is already dead, and this is what SF should become? (He’s talking about Neuromancer, in case you didn’t read his post.)

Let me rephrase: de Vries thinks that SF doesn’t take enough risks (it does, but nobody buys the books that take a risk, apparently, and consumers seem far more interested in re-hashes of the stuff that sells in the theaters, which is true), and so his solution is to follow the lead of other seemingly dead-end subgenres in order to make SF wonderful and vibrant again. Brilliant idea. Let’s kill SF while its still standing and feign shock when it stops breathing.

For the record, William Gibson actually thought taking on the label “cyberpunk” was a horrible idea. He said as much in an book signing in Santa Cruz some time back. See, Gibson is not a moron; he knew that cyberpunk would be short-lived, and it was. The result? Gibson survived because he refused to take on the title and continued writing in and outside of that genre, and the vast majority of the other “cyberpunks” disappeared entirely (with the exception to a handful of authors who managed to get a hold in other subgenres).

The thing is, SF is taking risks. Many writers of non-tie-in SF are doing exactly what de Vries wants the genre to do and they either sell very well (Robert J. Sawyer) or not. Some have tried to revitalize some of the old gosh-wow elements of golden age SF (John Scalzi and Tobias Buckell) and a lot are simply going with what works: tie-in fiction and space opera.

SF, contrary to what de Vries seems to think, is also tackling the modern world in a future context. Kim Stanley Robinson and many others have written on climate change and there are authors today tackling everything from the potential ramifications of a Chinese superpower to the rise of a radical religious movement here in the States and elsewhere. I don’t know where de Vries has been living, but he’s certainly not on the up-and-up in the SF genre (I’m not even on the up-and-up and I seem to have a clearer picture of what is going on).

The problem? He expects the genre to tackle real-world dystopic situations with puppies and flowers. Screw realism. Screw what might actually happen to a world struck by rapid, unstoppable climate change. No, we should paint it all pretty and make it a giant masturbatory scientific orgy in which the conflict is little more than “how do we fix it / oh, let’s do that / but it’s hard / it’s okay, we’ll manage / yippee.” Well, if that’s the kind of SF de Vries wants, you can count me out.

In fact, what SF should probably be doing is splitting in two, with the “serious” side pulling out all the stops and coming up with the nifty ideas, the harsh realities, and the hardcore SF we’ve come to love, and the more flashy side exploding Star Wars style with as much escapist fantasy as humanly possible. He (de Vries) thinks the second part is a bad thing, and you have to wonder why. What could possibly be bad about SF doing exactly what all literature should: entertain. Consumers want this; publishers are giving it to them (kind of). Get over it.

The only thing that actually makes sense in all of this is that maybe SF should be marketing itself more adequately to the large female reading population. But, again, there are no solutions. Just more doom and gloom from Mr. de Vries (SF is failing cause it’s not doing X, but I won’t tell you how to fix it).

Part three will be coming soon. For now, I'd like to hear from you. Let me know what you think (whether you agree or disagree) in the comments.

Saturday, December 26, 2009

A New SF Manifesto of Bologna: Jetse de Vries and the Literature of Change (Part One)

(You can read parts two and three at the following links: part two; part three.)

I struggled for hours on how to respond to Jetse de Vries’ post on whether science fiction should die. Part of the problem with the post is that it’s just another re-hash of several tired, inaccurate, and as-yet-properly-researched arguments we’ve all heard before. How do you respond to something that is saying the same thing over and over while simultaneously ignoring dozens of counter arguments that are not illegitimate or capable of being reduced to “part of the problem?”

But, having thought about this, I think I know what it is that bothers me so much about his arguments about SF: they lack the ingenuity and strength that have made science fiction as a literary genre (and now a visual medium) so important and groundbreaking in the history of literature. It’s precisely because he is re-hashing tired arguments and pontificating about things that would be downright devastating to a genre he claims is having so many problems that I have an issue with de Vries’ arguments (SF is not actually having that many problems, but hey, if we say it is over and over, maybe it will become true, right? He also thinks that SF is becoming increasingly irrelevant. Forget all those bestselling Star Wars novels and Alastair Reynolds and what not; totally meaningless, the whole lot). That’s how I’m going to respond: by de-constructing de Vries’ arguments to point out what exactly is wrong with what he is saying and how it will do nothing but irreparable damage to the genre.

(This will be broken up into three parts, because there’s a lot to be said, and I wouldn’t want to put you through reading 4,000 words of rant in one go.)

Point One – SF should be the literature of change

One of the things de Vries proposes is that SF should stop calling itself the literature of ideas (I disagree) and should instead become the literature of change, an concept that has no business being applied to SF as a genre. Changing SF from being about ideas to being about change is ridiculous on two levels:

1. His reference to addressing the supposed racism and general non-inclusive nature of SF is true of almost every single genre of written literature being produced today, regardless of the number of awards won by people of color and women within other genres. Hell, it’s true of every single entertainment medium. I’ll mention this later, but the simplistic route everyone takes to proclaim SF racist works for romance, mystery, general fiction (literary or what have you), movies, television, etc. Trying to say that SF should change its mission statement because of this is not saying anything new, and it’s not saying anything revolutionary either.

2. The idea that SF should be about change internally (i.e. in what it’s talking about) is like saying that SF should become the liberal scientist version of a preacher. Readers are not interested in being told “this is how we fix the world, yippee” anymore than they are interested in having their pastor come unannounced into their homes to tell them how to repent for their sins. If that’s not what this whole optimistic SF manifesto bologna is calling for, then they need to rework how they present their little movement; right now, it sounds like they want SF to become exactly what nobody wants (and I’ll talk about that some more later, too).

Point Two – SF is racist (sorta)

Well, we’ve heard this argument before, and it wasn’t (necessarily) any more true back then than it is now. Is there a problem of under-representation of people of color (and women) both as characters and authors in SF? Of course. Is this somehow indicative of institutionalized racism in SF? Nope. In fact, what de Vries and everyone else who has claimed that SF is racist miss are the real questions we should be asking:

How many SF books are written by people of color and how many have people of color (or women) as significant characters?

How many women and people of color submit SF manuscripts to publishers? (Nobody has an answer for this, and any time you ask you either get silence or someone blames you for contributing to the problem; honestly, if you’re going to talk about institutionalized racism in SF publishing, you have to have all of the data to support it.)

What is the ratio of submissions and publications by people of color and women in the various publishing industries?

There’s a lot of talk over at de Vries’ post about the Nobel Prize and the Man Booker Prize, both of which are irrelevant without appropriate correlating data. Has anyone actually bothered to understand the social and statistical conditions of the SF genre? No. This is why I’m tired of seeing this argument. If you think SF is racist, fine, but I’m less inclined to believe you if you’re unwilling to actually do the work necessary to actually prove that. Perhaps the problem with SF is precisely that everyone says it’s racist, and so people of color and women typically avoid it. After all, if people kept saying “that genre is racist,” would you continue writing fiction in that genre and submitting? Taken another way, if everyone told me that SF wasn't for men, and that no men ever get published in SF, etc., I think I'd have a harder time justifying writing in that genre (I'd then write fantasy).

I get the frustration, but it’s far more frustrating to want to actually affect change when nobody is a) providing the answers to do so (de Vries does not; he just says the same things that everyone else has said, without actual solutions, ironically enough); and b) actually understanding the larger picture (again, de Vries is not doing that either, but is instead saying the same things we’ve heard all year, all of which have done nothing to actually change the industry, and all of which will never do anything so long as everyone who holds these opinions is so shortsighted).

The problem with all the shorthanded ways people go about proclaiming racism in SF is that they are inherently racist notions. Nobody bothers to ask the questions above because they are tough questions, ones without immediate answers. It’s so much simpler to say “well, there are no African American authors in SF this year, so the industry is racist.” It doesn’t matter if a) there were only three African Americans who submitted to SF publishers in 2009; or b) there were no good manuscripts by African Americans submitted to SF publishers in 2009. It also doesn’t seem to matter that it is incredibly difficult to know whether someone is a particular race based on the information given in a query (nobody can magically assume that one’s name is a “Black name” any more than someone can assume a name is a “White name”—there are people of all colors who are named John Smith, for example), and unless someone is suggesting that publishers are secretly in collusion about collecting racial data on every submission just so they can reject people of color outright, then there’s not a lot in the way of evidence of institutionalized racism in SF.

That said, I am not denying that there is a problem. On the contrary, I’m only suggesting that it’s easy to say “SF is racist” from a shortsighted standpoint than it is to actually get the necessary data to make well-educated claims. There are plenty of instances where publishers do things that boggle the mind because they are quite obviously racist (things like Whitewashing—i.e. creating book covers with White characters, when the characters are actually Black or Purple, or whatever), but those are not necessarily connected to a grand publishing conspiracy. Taking a step back and trying to figure out all of the hidden details of the publishing industry will give us the information we need to make an accurate claim of institutionalized racism.

I'm going to end this post here, because the next section is quite large. Any thoughts thus far?

Friday, December 25, 2009

Merry Christmas Everyone!

Happy holidays to all! Hopefully you got some really cool presents and are eating some darn good food.

For your viewing pleasure, I give you the coolest Christmas lights show ever:

Thursday, December 24, 2009

Academic Goodies: The Science Fiction of My New Year

Well, I said I would post the proposal abstracts for the various academic conferences I will be attending. All three of them deal with science fiction on some level, as indicated here. It should be interesting to present all of these papers and field questions from the audience. I don't get many opportunities to talk about science fiction with fellow academics.

So here goes:

"Habitually Us: Battlestar Galactica, the “Android Personality,” and Human Preservation" (to be presented at the SWTXPCA Conference in Albuquerque, New Mexico):

Philip K. Dick, in talking about the rise of consumer culture in the 60s and 70s, suggested that society had fallen prey to what he called the “android personality,” a reflexive, repetitive personality incapable of making exceptions or doing anything other than what it had always done. There are obvious connections between this concept and his novel Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep?, and it is a concept that can readily be found within more modern forms of science fiction.

Ron D. Moore’s Battlestar Galactica imagines a future/past that mirrors many of the same concerns Dick imagined were present in the proliferation of the “android personality.” Not only does Battlestar Galactica question the very nature of humanity by juxtaposing it against the humanoid Cylon (literally and metaphorically), but it also imagines the interchangeability of the “android personality,” from human to Cylon, and the reflexive nature of both.

In this paper, I will use Philip K. Dick’s non-fiction “philosophies” to analyze the relationship between the humans and Cylons of Battlestar Galactica and the “android personality.” I will argue that the reflexive nature of the “android personality” is both based on a purely selfish motive and is also a necessary, though not necessarily positive, human reaction to preserve human identity in the face of something human and not-human at the same time.

“Otherism: The Dissection of Humanity and the Negation of the Human in Battlestar Galactica” (to be presented at the PCA/ACA Conference in St. Louis, Missouri):

Science fiction film has had a curious history in relation to the human/other dichotomy. In its early days, science fiction imagined the other as the monstrous alien or robot, a vision that has now largely been adopted by supernatural horror and the less frequent science fiction horror. The re-imagining of Battlestar Galactica, however, has offered a contrary and more complicated view of the other in science fiction film. With the advent of the Cylons as biological “machines,” the human/other dichotomy becomes not only an allegory for our current and past relations to the “other,” but also a force that essentially dissects humanity piece by piece by exposing the human to an “other” so like itself. Humanity’s understanding of what it means to be “human,” thus, is put in jeopardy.

In this paper I will argue that Battlestar Galactica’s presentation of human-like Cylons effectively negates the existence of the category of the human. I will examine the literal deletion of the human as a distinctive entity, and humanity’s responses to the sudden disruption of its identity, from a past-reflective collection of human exceptionalist reactions to the acknowledgement of the emerging death of the human and the hybridization of the human/other dichotomy.

"Shaping the Shapeless: New Weird, Bizarro, and Bending Genres"(to be presented at the "What Happens Now: 21st Century Writing in English--the first decade" conference in Lincoln, England):

The past ten years have changed many things in science fiction and fantasy. The former has had what some have called a golden age in film, while the latter has seen a remarkable explosion of interest in literature with the power of the urban fantasy and young adult markets essentially turning the entire genre into one of the most lucrative and vibrant writing fields around--more so than it ever was. But what of science fiction literature and literature on the margins of speculative fiction?

The new Millenium has resulted in a curious array of changes within speculative fiction. Two movements have been primarily responsible in what one might call the “weirding” of the genre: New Weird and Bizarro. Each places emphasis on an impossible-to-define exceptional weirdness, and the result has been the development of a cult following and a significant, if not unintentional, influence on the wider range of science fiction and fantasy being written today. The 2000s, as a result, have been noticeably experimental in form, style, and content, with new and old authors approaching speculative fiction from a odd, even surreal perspective.

In this paper I will analyze the emergence of the “weird” through New Weird, Bizarro, and other as yet un-named categories and their widespread influence on speculative fiction, from the unique, spatially disconnected short fiction of Jason Sanford to the characteristically nonsensical atmospheres and concepts of writers like Jeff Vandermeer, Brian Francis Slattery, China Mieville, Steve Aylett, and others.

There you go. Any thoughts?

Wednesday, December 23, 2009

A New Hope: Final Resolutions to the Power of Science Fiction

(…or why optimism in science fiction is not all that hard to find if you’re really looking)

What is it about so much of science fiction that drives writers and film-makers to grasp the pessimistic (dystopias, end of the world schemes, et. al.)? I think I’ve finally figured it out. Whether or not this is a conscious element is irrelevant, because it is almost always there, and it is perhaps the most optimistic thought, idea, concept, whatever you want to call it that might ever exist in any form of fiction you can find (and I have no illusions that this thing exists in other genres too). It is so powerful that it overwhelms when you discover it, when you see it buried underneath all the flashy images and the downright terrifying futures imagined by writers of all stripes. And if you’re like me, one of those weird folks that actually cries in movies, then it is something that drives you to tears, because it is beautiful and uplifting and tremendous in ways that you might never expect.

It is an amalgam of hope and perseverance, of spirit and resolve, of so many tiny things that exist in all of us, which we take for granted or ignore so often. It doesn’t really have a name, but you can see it come to life at the moment when all hope is lost, when you think that it might just be the end of a character, or our species in general, when humanity itself seems lost to its own devices (psychological that they are, they exhibit a kind of foreboding element that is both "proper to man," as Derrida would say, and also terrifyingly destructive to the prospect of a salvagable humanity). It’s that flash that answers the question William Adama (of Battlestar Galactica) sadly recognizes: the question of whether we deserve to exist.

In an attempt to display this, I have to show by example. Maybe you cried at these moments too, or maybe you think I am being absurd, but they are moments that show us just what it is that makes mankind worth saving. We can see, in these little moment of science fiction wonder, what makes fiction and movies so powerful in our lives, and what makes science fiction so perfect at displaying the human condition at its worst and at its best, and in that moment where we know, deep down, there we really are something more than what we see every day (more than all the othering, hatred, death, destruction, mutilation, mutation, and terror that is the human).

Example One (from the end of Sunshine) – the Sacrifice

Everything has fallen apart. The attempt to resurrect the Icarus One so the mission to restart the Sun will have two shots has failed and a psychotic Icarus One captain has stolen aboard the Icarus Two after sabotaging the airlock. One by one everyone is dying and it seems like all hope is lost. Then Kappa vents the ship, stumbles to the payload for the Icarus Two after disconnecting it to start the launch sequence, and takes a crazy space walk (or jump, rather) to manually set off the fireworks, sacrificing himself and anyone else alive to make sure it gets done, while fighting off the crazed captain.

That’s it. That whole moment, with the music accompanying it. Maybe it seems trite, or silly, but in that moment I get that feeling that so much of science fiction is trying to give me: that even in the worst of times there is something redeeming about us, that our sad, pathetic little species can accomplish something so beautiful in the face of destruction and despair that everything pales before it. All that our minds can create (all that art, philosophy, intelligence, and technology) can finally come together in the face of humanity's absolute negation (a human self that is at once all that is humanity and all that is destructive of humanity) to spark the beautiful moment of birth (a rebirth, literally, of our greatest god--the sun).

Example Two (from the end of Battlestar Galactica) – the Desperate Leap (or the Other Sacrifice)

Cut out the last half hour of the final episodes and imagine only the lead-up to the final battle and the battle itself, right up until the random jump to Earth (New Earth, Other Earth, whatever you want to call it). That’s where I’m looking to.

The Galactica is falling apart, literally, and yet there is something in the idea of Hera, of that little half-human/half-Cylon girl that Adama can’t let go. Whether she’s the future of humanity or Cylon isn’t relevant to Adama (not really), but it is what she stands for: she’s part of the crew, part of the ragtag gang of humans, and a piece of the very soul both human and Cylon, and a man like Adama cannot let a child, an innocent, be destroyed by the terror of the second-Cylon half (the Cavals, Simons, and Dorals).

So, he sacrifices half of his own heart, the Galactica, and the other half, Roslin, and anyone else willing to take the risk, to get Hera back. The whole idea is suicide, but that doesn’t matter. It’s about the greater idea: what they are sacrificing themselves for. The whole scene is astonishingly littered with what I’m trying to talk about here, this intangible thing that is optimistic even in the face of impending doom (and the Galactica is, or should be, doomed). The end is the moment when the line doesn’t dissolve, but begins to break; humans and Cylons are still separate, but it is here that we see both groups (the “good” Cylons, anyway) beginning to eat away at the line. United not just in a common goal, but in a goal to revitalize one’s soul, the merger in the fight for Hera signals an answer: humanity is worth saving. And the final second when everything is falling apart again, just when it seems that Caval can no longer be reasoned with? Well, how optimistic can you get when what seems like the crazed dreams of an unknown (Starbuck, that is, because nobody actually knows what she is anymore) can represent the last ditch hope for a failing humankind?

No, the end of Battlestar Galactica doesn’t resolve all of those tensions. It never could. We’re talking about the dissolution of a tension created by genocide. Scars like that don’t heal well, and in some cases don’t heal at all (particularly if we look at ourselves and all we've done with Apartheid and the Holocaust), but there is at least the promise, in the true merger of human and Cylon, that we are better for making the suicidal leap for something greater, something that makes us more than just human by birth. It’s a hope of a greater humanity (a non-humanity, since Battlestar Galactica imagines us, the present humans, to be part Cylon).

Example Three (from the end of The Return of the Jedi) – the Return From Darkness

Luke Skywalker is defeated by the Emperor. He lies on the ground and the Emperor strikes him with Force lightning over and over, electrocuting poor Skywalker to death. He calls out, begging his father (Darth Vader) to help him, even though everything up to this point indicates that Vader is lost to the Dark Side. There cannot possibly be hope, right?

But no, Darth Vader sees his son dying before him, and all that darkness inside his soul lifts, just for that moment, and he launches the Emperor over the balcony into the abyss of the second Death Star. He doesn’t do so unscathed, however: the Emperor’s lightning and the previous battle with his son, and all the emotional turmoil that has plagued the prodigal son of the Dark Side weigh in on Vader, consuming him. He cannot be saved, but it doesn’t matter, because he has already been saved, just by acting.

That’s the moment. You can call it the power of unconditional love, or maybe something deeper that resides in most of us (something that can break most of us even after being driven down by darkness for so long). It’s something that tells us that even if we are broken and weak, we are still capable of greatness, however small. Darth Vader’s rise from the depths is a testament to the power of whatever lies inside the human body. You can call it the soul or our hearts, or whatever; it doesn’t matter what it’s called, because whatever it is, it is powerful, and captures us on the screen and on the page in a way that it can wash away all the despair and sadness that we have endured before.

Darth Vader, in sacrificing himself, his place in the world, his hatred and anger for the loss of his love, and his twisted relationship with the Emperor, dissolves the line much like the end of Battlestar Galactica tries to display. He sends up a little glimmer of the kind of hope that keeps even the most desperate (and disparate) clinging to an idea. Vader regains that idea, and in doing so makes real Luke Skywalker's idea of the father-that-would-be. There is no illusion that Vader can ever be returned, though, even if Skywalker assumes it to be true; instead, there is just the hope of redemption. Vader has that in the end, sacrificing himself for his son and the ideal of the Light Side of the Force.

I don’t know if I’ve made my point after all of the above. I wanted to get at something that is engrained in almost every science fiction story, no matter how dark, and something that you might see elsewhere in different forms; in science fiction this thing is almost always something so human and powerful that it casts an optimistic light on everything when it is seen. There are so many examples of this throughout science fiction and fantasy that it would be absurd not to have experienced it at least once.

That is what makes science fiction great, and that is part of why I love this genre so much that I am dedicating my life to it. Because it is a wondrous window into the best and worst of all of us, a gateway into the motivations, weaknesses, strengths, and capabilities of humanity.

Tuesday, December 22, 2009

Makers, the Tile Game (Play Away)

The fine folks over at Tor have linked to this unique game. I've posted it here for you to play at your leisure. You may have to come straight to my blog to see it if you're reading via RSS. It's kind of neat to move the tiles around and rotate them to see how everything fits together.

Anywho, here goes:

Interview w/ Brian Evenson

Below is my interview with Brian Evenson, author of Last Days from Underland Press and many other novels. Please check out his latest novel, Last Days. It's good stuff!

Now, here goes:

Thanks for doing this interview. First things first, tell us a bit about yourself? Where do you hail from and other biographical goodies?

I was born in Iowa and grew up in Utah (I was raised Mormon, but have left the church), but have lived in a number of other places since--Seattle, Syracuse, NY, Stillwater, OK, Milwaukee, France, Denver, etc. Currently I live in Providence, Rhode Island, where I teach creative writing at Brown University.

Who/what are some of your favorite authors/books?

Some of the people I always go back to are Franz Kafka, Samuel Beckett, especially the trilogy, Mervyn Peake’s Gormenghast trilogy, Muriel Spark, Isak Dinesen, Henry Green, and Cormac McCarthy. Recently I’ve been reading and enjoying Roberto Bolano and a French writer named Antoine Volodine. There are a few Poe and Lovecraft stories that I love. I’ve just rediscovered J. G. Ballard and am glad to have done so--his story “The Drowned Giant” is really terrific. As soon as I finish this interview, I’m sure I’ll remember a dozen things I should have mentioned...

As a professor at Brown University (and a previous professor at numerous other universities), what has your experience been like with young creative writers? Do you notice any unique trends in the quality or styles of fiction coming into existence over the last decade? Is there an overabundance of overconfidence beyond what is considered normal?

I like teaching a great deal and it’s always interesting to see what up and coming writers are reading and thinking about. In terms of influences and trends, things seems to come in waves--books and stories that undergrads love one year are completely forgotten or even hated by the students who come two or three years later. I think the biggest trend I’ve noticed, maybe partly because it’s something I’ve encouraged, is that I see more students reading across genre boundaries now than I did ten years ago. The boundaries between literary and genre fiction are a lot more flexible than they once were and that’s reflected in student work--there’s less interest in strictly realistic fiction and more acceptance of fiction that ten or fifteen years ago people would have dismissed as being non-realistic. I think that’s largely due to exceptionally talented writers like Kelly Link and George Saunders writing in a way that made those distinctions seem less important than they do when, say, you’re reading 70s dirty realism.

I don’t think there’s an overabundance of confidence among the students--when there is, it’s usually in students that have the least to be confident about. I think, at least at Brown the opposite is true, that many students are almost too self-conscious and self-critical and as a result are in danger of crippling themselves. They have to be taught to see what’s worthwhile in their work and how to make the most of it. I think a lot of students are ambitious, but also very aware that the stories they write don’t measure up to their ambitions: a smart self-critical student who’s actually a pretty good writer can also be very good at talking himself or herself out of ever publishing because the work isn’t as good as, say, Chekhov. The thing they forget is that a good portion of the time Chekhov himself isn’t as good as Chekhov: only a fraction of his stories are really great.

You’ve written nine books—eight books of fiction and one critical book. What drew you into writing fiction in the first place? Additionally, what drew you to the dark side of fiction?

I’ve always loved to read, and loved to read fiction--I think it offers readers things that non-fiction or poetry just don’t offer. I started writing fiction when I was fairly young, partly in response to my mother writing and publishing a science fiction story. I think I kept writing because it gave me a kind of satisfaction that I didn’t seem to be able to find in any other activity.

As for what drew me to the dark side of fiction, I’m not sure. I think I gravitated naturally toward it, maybe partly because I grew up in a culture that was relentlessly cheerful and insisted on looking at the bright side of things. That attitude, perhaps not surprisingly, made me intensely aware of what wasn’t being said, of what was being passed over, of the darker, stranger side of things. When I was fourteen or so my father gave me a volume of Kafka’s stories. It immediately clicked for me, seemed to express exactly the kind of things that the Mormon culture around me was very deliberately trying not to think about. I think, too, that that dark side gives us inroads into the nature of consciousness in a way that the bright sunny side never does, that it reveals things about human nature that are the foundation for the way the mind works.

What made you write Last Days (and the story that preceded it)? Did you read something somewhere? Was it a random thought? Did your town actually have a roving cult of amputees?

I think it came very simply from thinking for years and years about the Biblical verse that opens the volume, encouraging you to remove parts of yourself if they offend you--at first thinking it was rhetorical flourish and symbolic but then thinking “Well, okay, what if we take it literally? Could it serve as the basis for a gospel?” From there everything imagined itself into existence.

I wish that my town had had a cult of roving amputees, but no such luck. I did live across the street when I was very, very young from someone who had lost his hand and I was somewhat fascinated by and frightened of him.

The pace of Last Days is fairly quick, not simply because it’s a short novel. Is fast pace endemic to the horror genre? Or did you think that something as dark as Last Days needed a fast pace to keep the reader on his or her toes?

I don’t think it’s endemic to the horror novel and in fact can think of a number of horror novels that are beautifully sprawling and wonderfully conceived, that build very slowly but nonetheless remain terrifying. Peter Straub and Dan Simmons both can do that, for instance, and do it beautifully. But yes, I thought that speed was essential for Last Days. I wanted a sense of breathlessness and wanted too to keep the reader off balance in the same way that Kline himself is off balance.

With the relative success of twisted horror films like Saw, Hostel, and the seeming resurgence of cult horror disturbia, your novel seems to fit in fairly well with a macabre-enthused viewing/reading public. What do you think it is that draws us to the macabre? Are we just screwed up, or is this a response to the loss of the good ole days when we got to see public executions and the like?

Well, we may very well be screwed up but I don’t think it’s because of horror we read or watch. I think often our interest in darknesses of various kinds has a lot to do with a profound dissatisfaction with the smoothed out surface of life as it’s presented in advertising, by our parents, by our institutions, and in people’s response to life. There’s something satisfying about seeing that surface shattered. And I do think there’s actually a fairly wide range of things going on in fantastic fiction and that my work is probably not as close to Saw or Hostel as it is to work by filmmakers like Michael Haneke or Gaspar Noe who I think are doing something that ultimately is a lot more unsettling and a lot more rewarding. Or Takashi Miike’s “Audition”.

Noir fiction has recently had significant growth in genre fiction, with Richard Morgan merging it with science fiction and various others attempting to mix it with fantasy. Last Days takes a fairly unique approach to the noir sleuth/uncommon hero tropes most of us are familiar with by merging it with horror. What is it about the sleuth character that seems to fit so well within horror (and the world you’ve set up for Last Days)? Am I wrong to think that noir fiction and, specifically, cross genre fiction in horror are seeing a resurgence?

I think there’s definitely a resurgence going on, that a lot of people have become interested in thinking about noir less as a genre than as a mode that can be applied to other genres, that can infect other genres. The example of that I grew up with, and which I think started a lot, was Bladerunner. But it does seem to have ratcheted up lately. So, near the time when Last Days came out, we also saw China Mieville’s wonderful The City & The City, Jeff Vandermeer’s Finch, Paul Tremblay’s The Little Sleep, Charlie Houston’s hardboiled vampire novels, etc. I have an idea for a post-apocalyptic detective novel that I hope I’ll start into soon.

Hinging off of the previous question: there was some discussion several months back about whether cross genre is a good thing. What do you think?

I don’t think it’s innately a good or a bad thing; there’s going to be good cross-genre work and bad cross-genre work, but it’s not the genre’s fault. I think when it’s done sloppily it’s bad, but when you feel that the crossing brings something genuinely new to the genre, that it revitalizes the genre, it’s great.

Do you plan to write more stories with Kline? If so, how would you manage to write a story about a character as beat up as him?

I actually have about forty pages of a sequel to Last Days and an idea for how it could continue. I wrote that about six months ago and haven’t looked at it again yet--I think I need to let it sit a bit to try to get an objective sense of whether it’s too over the top or absurd. Yes, Kline’s pretty beat up, but I think there’s still potentially more to get out of him.

Having taught fiction, what unusual bit of advice would you give to budding writers (emphasis on unusual)?

I think it’s important to read really eccentrically, to read in lots of odd directions. The problem with many creative writing programs is that, at their worst, they produce people who are writing the same kinds of stories over and over. I also think it’s important to be aware that your teachers are humans and that they have their own biases. Learn what you can from them but don’t mimic their blindspots.

What projects do you have coming up and can you tell us a little about them?

I just had a limited edition novella (400 copies) called “Baby Leg” published in a nice hardbound bloodspattered edition by New York Tyrant Press. It’s a beautiful object and a strange book, kind of a cross between a David Goodis novel and a mad scientist movie with bits of collapsing reality thrown in. Other than that, I’ve had a hard time finding sustained time to work. I’m hoping I’ll have time to really focus in and write over the holidays.

Now for a silly question: If you were forced to choose one part of your body to amputate, which part would you choose and why?

I think I’d go for the nose, and then, like Tycho Brahe, I’d replace it with a metal nose. If it had to be a limb, I think the first thing I’d give up would be my left foot, though I’d miss it. I’ve always liked my left foot. I’d be willing to let a few fingers go if need be as well...

Thanks again to Mr. Evenson for doing this interview. Now go check out Last Days!

The Twelve Days of Christmas, (WISB Science Fiction and Fantasy 2009 Remix)

We science fiction and fantasy fans don't have enough Christmas songs to keep us happy. So, I submit to you my 2009 SF/F version of "The Twelve Days of Christmas."

Enjoy:

On the first day of Christmas my true love gave to me,
An accidental time traveler.

On the second day of Christmas my true love gave to me,
Two different Spocks,
And an accidental time traveler.

On the third day of Christmas my true love gave to me,
Three neutron bombs,
Two different Spocks,
And an accidental time traveler.

On the fourth day of Christmas my true love gave to me,
Four furry monsters,
Three neutron bombs,
Two different Spocks,
And an accidental time traveler.

On the fifth day of Christmas my true love gave to me,
Five Terminators,
Four furry monsters,
Three neutron bombs,
Two different Spocks,
And an accidental time traveler.

On the sixth day of Christmas my true love gave to me,
Six fledgling wizards,
Five Terminators,
Four furry monsters,
Three neutron bombs,
Two different Spock’s,
And an accidental time traveler.

On the seventh day of Christmas my true love gave to me,
Seven braindead vampires,
Six fledgling wizards,
Five Terminators,
Four furry monsters,
Three neutron bombs,
Two different Spock’s,
And an accidental time traveler.

On the eighth day of Christmas my true love gave to me,
Eight transforming robots,
Seven braindead vampires,
Six fledgling wizards,
Five Terminators,
Four furry monsters,
Three neutron bombs,
Two different Spock’s,
And an accidental time traveler.

On the ninth day of Christmas my true love gave to me,
Nine voodoo dolls,
Eight transforming robots,
Seven braindead vampires,
Six fledgling wizards,
Five Terminators,
Four furry monsters,
Three neutron bombs,
Two different Spock’s,
And an accidental time traveler.

On the tenth day of Christmas my true love gave to me,
Ten insect-like aliens,
Nine voodoo dolls,
Eight transforming robots,
Seven braindead vampires,
Six fledgling wizards,
Five Terminators,
Four furry monsters,
Three neutron bombs,
Two different Spock’s,
And an accidental time traveler.

On the eleventh day of Christmas my true love gave to me,
Eleven blue giants
Ten insect-like aliens,
Nine voodoo dolls,
Eight transforming robots,
Seven braindead vampires,
Six fledgling wizards,
Five Terminators,
Four furry monsters,
Three neutron bombs,
Two different Spock’s,
And an accidental time traveler.

On the twelfth day of Christmas my true love gave to me,
Twelve humanoid Cylons,
Eleven blue giants
Ten insect-like aliens,
Nine voodoo dolls,
Eight transforming robots,
Seven braindead vampires,
Six fledgling wizards,
Five Terminators,
Four furry monsters,
Three neutron bombs,
Two different Spock’s,
And an accidental time traveler.

There you have it. Have fun singing it around your family!

Monday, December 21, 2009

Seven Science Fiction Movies That Should Be TV Shows

There are a lot of fantastic movies out there that have the potential to be more. Terminator, for example, certainly had the possibility of a TV show built into it, and with the moderate success of the Sarah Connor Chronicles, everyone can see why (even if you didn’t like the show to begin with). But what other movies would make great TV shows?

The following are my top seven movies that should be turned into TV shows:

Galaxy Quest
Tim Allen is probably an easy pick for the small screen. For one, he’s already been there with Home Improvement, demonstrating that he knows the trade; and two, Galaxy Quest is a perfect fit for his comedic style both on the big screen and on our television sets. Add in the rest of the cast, some of them TV experts and some of them just damn good actors, and you have the potential for a great show. The only thing that has to be decided is this: do you tell a story about the actors going on space adventures, or the story of the fictional characters in the TV show?
Problem: Daryl Mitchell is paralyzed due to a car accident; the way around that is to rewrite his character with the same disability.
Pitch: America’s answer to Doctor Who.

Equilibrium
While the movie is fairly self-contained, it alludes to a lot of back matter that would make for an interesting television series (preferably on HBO or Showtime, rather than the networks). You could tell one of two stories: the prequel story of how the world turned into this emotion-rejecting, drugged up ninja clan, or the sequel of what happens after Bale’s character gets revenge. Both could work, but I suspect that a prequel would be somewhat pointless, since we know where things end up.
Problem: There would have to be some damned fine writers to pull this off. You could say that of most of these, but I think Equilibrium requires the kind of writer who can manage the depth of character needed to make it interesting and powerful. Someone like Ron Moore of Battlestar Galactica, perhaps.
Pitch: 1984 meets Brave New World and Philip K. Dick.

The One
As one of my favorite movies of all time, this Jet Li action flick has a built in concept for a television series. All you have to do is cut out all the bits about “the one” and tell a show about the police officers who patrol the multiverse (multiple dimensions). Make it part police procedural, part action and you’ve got the makings of an awesome show.
Problem: A TV version of The One can’t be anthology style like The Outer Limits or other shows (i.e. the terrible Dollhouse). It has to really get into the characters and provide more than a repetition of the same basic plot over and over.
Pitch: Science Fiction has a love affair with Law & Order.

Alien/Aliens
Two classics of science fiction, the series has recently been bastardized in the Alien vs. Predator movies and is desperately in need of a proper revival. A TV show produced by one of the cable networks with quality writing, plenty of the dark, scary horror, and the military-style science fiction elements could remind us what was so awesome about the originals. There’s potential for an expansive look into the universe that gave us Ripley and the alien queen, with all kinds of social and political dynamics coming into play.
Problem: Whoever tries to pull this off would has to realize that the only way Alien/s can work is with decent writing, good special effects, and realistic portrayals of the aliens. This means no TV-quality CG and a lot of attention paid to detail. While the original Alien was sparse, a TV show has to do more.
Pitch: Aliens. That is all.

The Fifth Element
Cut out all of the heavy religious stuff (which worked well for the movie) and you could have a really interesting world to work with for a TV show. The Fifth Element is one of those weird, strangely lovable films that gives you so much, but can only develop a few of the important points before ending. A TV show, however, could take all of those bits that we only got a glimpse of and make a pretty weird, pretty fun story.
Problem: Deciding what kind of story to tell in this particular universe would be a tough choice. Do you ignore the original characters in exchange for a broader, adventurous, slightly odd show, or do you stick with the God person and the cab driver? That’s a tough choice.
Pitch: It’s Star Wars meets Red Dwarf and Total Recall.

Serenity/Firefly
Yes, it’s already been a TV show. Yes, it was canceled. But the fact that Whedon’s fans helped spawn the movie Serenity should be reason enough to consider the possibility of a revival of a Firefly series. Just imagine what it would be like to see Reynolds and his crew firing up the sky with Serenity, causing mayhem and havoc wherever they go. There’s still life in the series, and fans would fall head over heels for the opportunity to see it back on their television screens.
Problem: It's already been canceled once. The solution is to host the show on another network, preferably one that has a healthy respect for science fiction. Besides, some of the original characters were killed off in Serenity, and Whedon would have to come up with some damned good reasons to replace them.
Pitch: A western in space with your lovable ragtag group of smugglers, gunhands, and government experiments.

Starship Troopers
Yes, I am well aware of the horrible animated show and the various craptastic sequels to the original movie, but if any concept deserves a shot at being blown up Band of Brothers style by HBO or Showtime, it is Starship Troopers. With a decent budget and some good writing, this classic science fiction satire could really take Heinlein’s original novel to new heights. All it needs is a little facelift and some good, honest writing.
Problems: You’d need a fairly big budget and the writing would have to be exceptional to pull this off. While the movie works, the franchise has largely been bastardized by crappy writing and poor effects. Someone has to be brave enough to invest in a true Starship Troopers TV show for this to work.
Pitch: Band of Brothers in space with giant insect-like aliens.

And there you have it. What movies would you like to see turned into TV shows? Let me know in the comments!

Book Review Up: Beacons of Tomorrow (1st Collection) edited by Bret Funk

Yup, another book review. I'm on a roll. Unfortunately, this one wasn't all that great. It has potential, but a lot of the stories left me bored or annoyed. You can read my review here.

Sunday, December 20, 2009

Book Review Up: The Empress of Mars by Kage Baker

I'm trying to get a few more book reviews in at the last second, so here is another one from Tor (and Kage Baker). Definitely a good read. You all should check it out!

Why I Hate Reprint-Only Anthologies

There's something boring about the concept of a reprint only anthology. I know that every year publishers release "best of" collections and the like, but I rarely buy any of them, not because I think the stories in them are bad, but because it has nothing new to offer me except an editor's opinion about what constitutes "the best" of the year (an opinion I can get just by looking at the table of contents). I like opinions, but the only reason to buy one of these "best of" anthologies, to me, is for the chance to read a lot of fiction that I might not have seen before (maybe because I don't subscribe to the original publishing venue). Often times, I've already seen the stuff.

But reprint-only anthologies in the English market are, to me, a good-intentioned cashing in scheme. Yes, authors get paid again for a story they sold for a crappy price before (even if they sold to a big market), and a publisher gets a great chance to sell a lot of copies of a book filled with stories by previously published authors, folks who have some degree of quality to be inherited. But beyond that, there's no incentive for me as a consumer to buy a reprint-only anthology, and as a writer I find them rather off putting. Why can't most reprint anthologies have some new and some old work, like a lot of Strahan's anthologies? That way as a consumer I get something new, and as a writer I get an opportunity be alongside writers I respect?

Then again, I guess reprint-only anthologies aren't meant for people like me. I'm the kind of consumer that generally isn't targeted by such things precisely because I've probably already read most of the stuff being reprinted. But, even so, every time I see a call for submissions and realize it's only for reprints I get a sick feeling in my stomach. Maybe that's because I don't have a previously published story to send them; regardless, I rarely buy reprint anthologies for the two reasons alluded to here: 1) it has nothing new to offer me as a reader; and 2) I can't submit to them.

Does that make me a bad person?

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