On Unofficial Blacklists: Why I Keep a Mental List of Authors I Won't Read

In April of this year, I posted a list of five reasons I won't read someone's work.  Whether it's because you don't write what I read or you're a giant turd nozzle on the Internet, there are a variety of reasons for why I skip on someone's work.  By implication, that means I keep a constantly changing list of authors I won't read -- a list I have begun calling my Do Not Read list.

My DNR list isn't particularly long, and it does change from time to time.  For the most part, the only people who show up on the DNR list are folks whose online (or in person) behavior is particularly nasty.  This usually comes in two forms:  an author whose politics I find repugnant (and who often openly talks about those politics in a way that suggests they would like it pushed on the rest of us as "normal") or an author whose behavior towards readers and/or reviewers suggests they will respond to negative criticism (or anything, really) in a way that will make me uncomfortable.  Most authors don't fit into either of these categories.  In fact, most authors know not to respond to negative reviews and most authors don't hold (or discuss) political views that are, to put it lightly, bigoted.

On Legitimacy, Academia, and the Hugos (or, Someone Needs to Take a Class)

If you've been following the Hugo Awards fiasco, you might have come across Philip Sandifer's fascinating analysis of Theodore Beale / Vox Day, his followers, and the Hugos.  Sandifer has since become a minor target within the Sad / Rabid Puppies discussion, but not so much for what he actually said as for who he declares himself to be:  an educated man.  Why would this matter in a conversation about the Hugo Awards?  What is so offensive about being a PhD in English (or any other individual with a PhD in the humanities)?

On the Raging Child of Science Fiction Neo-Snobbery

On a foundational level, the most visible element of SF awards discussions concern subjective assertions about literary quality.  I have participated in some of these discussions over the years, podcasting about nominees I disliked for whatever reason and otherwise raging against what I perceived as the absence of taste within certain award-giving communities (mostly the Hugos).  The further away from those first instances I become, however, the more I realize how foolish these discussions really are.  Why rage against a difference in literary tastes?  I can no more tell someone what they should like than they can me.  At best, I can make a case for what I consider to be "good," but even then, the most effective arguments are those that explain why a text is interesting, not why it is qualitatively better, since the latter is, for the most part, impossible.  What we consider "of quality" could make for a very confusing, intersecting Venn diagram.

No, Repetition Does Not Mean Science Fiction is Stagnating...Per Se

(This is going to be a bit ranty.  Be prepared.) 

There's been a bit of talk lately about Project Hieroglyph, an Arizona State University anthology (and website) which attempts to address the argument in Neal Stephenson's "Innovation Starvation."  I recommend reading that essay yourself; it makes some compelling points about science fiction and the failure of contemporary culture to meet the demands of the 1960s imagination.  Here, I'd like to talk about Ed Finn's (editor of Project Hieroglyph) article at Slate.com:  "The Inspiration Drought:  Why Our Science Fiction Needs New Dreams."

In fairness, I came to this article via a wildly misleading headline on io9.  Finn's actual argument concerns the recycling of ideas within and outside of science fiction proper and its impact on science.  Finn argues that

The Purpose of Science Fiction (and, Technically, Fantasy)

In the 200th episode of The Coode Street Podcast, the hosts (Jonathan Strahan and Gary K. Wolfe) and guests (Kim Stanley Robinson, Robert Silverberg, and Jo Walton) briefly discussed the seemingly nebulous question, “Does science fiction have a purpose?”  It's worth a listen.

I would respond initially by saying that the question is somewhat malformed.  In what sense does any literary product have a purpose except that provided by the author, which is necessarily individual?  Even if the author defines a purpose, should that have any bearing on whether the text is perceived as having that defined purpose?

I personally subscribe to the view that in matters of interpretation, intent is irrelevant.  What the author meant to do, insofar as we can even know it, has no bearing on how the work can or should be perceived, in no small part because what a reader perceives is more valid than what the author thought they were creating.  Perception is the conversation.  I also tend to think that unless we can have universal access to intention, by which we would need not only biographical and personal writings, but also actual access to the mind, then an author's intent is useless to us.  How am I supposed to know what the author really intended to do?  This is not to suggest that we can't discuss intent, mind; rather, I'm suggesting that we shouldn't assume intent as the sole arbiter of interpretation or perception.

However, purpose is something quite different from intended-reception.  whatever the author intended as the purpose of a written work need not determine how we interpret that text’s purpose.  Intent and purpose, in other words, are different beasts, as the former concerns the activity of production while the latter merges production and perception together.  We can, after all, discuss the success of a text in its presentation of a message while also discussing the other interpretative possibilities of a given text.  Indeed, the purpose, insofar as one is defined, only offers possibilities, as it does not suggest "this is the only way to read the text," but rather that "the author meant to do Y, but what we see are A, B, and Q."  (Alternatively, it might be helpful to avoid the total linguistic separation and simply make a distinction between "purpose" as an intention" and "purpose" as an end product.  But maybe that's abstract, too.  Oh well.)

To return to the question of science fiction's purpose:  as I noted in my post on the taxonomy of genre, science fiction doesn't seem to me to fall under the traditional category of genre anymore because it lacks the narrative devices which define all of the other market genres (crime, etc.); science fiction, in other words, is a supergenre because it is conceptual, though it s possible to think that at one point, science fiction had a narrative practice.  In a similar sense, I think the purpose of science fiction has been obscured by time.  At one point, the most obvious purpose for the genre might have been to entertain (as in the Pulp Era) or to expound upon the radically changing world of the 40s, 50s, and 60s, and so on and so forth.

Now, I think the genre's purpose is less apparent, and perhaps for good reason.  It can entertain, experiment, extrapolate, examine, elucidate, and encapsulate.  There is no singular purpose anymore than there is a singular narrative space.  And that's another reason why I think science fiction is one of the most important literary genres, as its narrative spaces, purposes, and perspectives exist in an endless sea of variations.  One can write science fiction for any number of reasons -- and one should feel comfortable doing so.  Entertainment, experimentation, whatever.

The idea that we can identify a singular or minute number of purposes for this genre is an exercise in futility, because science fiction cannot be a genre of limits if it is to also be a genre of endless narrative possibilities.

What do you all think?

The Taxonomy of Genre: Science Fiction as Supergenre

I recently stayed with Maureen Kincaid Speller and Paul Kincaid, two wonderful people whose book collections would make almost any sf fan drool.  One of the brief discussions we had before I headed off for my final days in London concerned the often pointless debates about what science fiction “is.”  Paul suggested that thinking of sf as a “genre” in the narrative sense is not accurate to the use of “genre.”  Unlike romance or crime, there is nothing unique to the narrative practice of sf that can be separated from everything else.  This might explain, for example, why there has been so much discussion about the nature of sf as a cross-pollinating genre – crossovers being so regular an occurrence that one would be hard pressed to find an sf text which does not cross over into other generic forms.

On Grit, Gore, and the Fantasy of Everyday Life in SF

I'm not going to re-hash old arguments about grimdark or gory fiction or whatever.  Originally, I had meant to respond to the question "can fiction be too gritty?"  I'm not convinced that fiction has limits in any standardized sense.  Some of us may not like gore or grit (or that grr feeling we get when an author kills a favorite character), but others do; the idea that fiction as a whole cannot have material for each of us on the basis of some arbitrary standard about what is "too much" seems preposterous to me.  You like gory fiction?  Great, here's a whole bunch of stuff just for you (says Fiction)!

I think the more interesting question is "why does grit bother some of us?"  There are a lot of ways to approach that question.  Take Game of Thrones as an obvious example.  (Spoilers ahead)

Kim Stanley Robinson and Exposition (or, No More James Patterson, Please)

Just this past weekend, I saw Kim Stanley Robinson give a talk about narrative and time at the Marxist Reading Group Conference at the University of Florida.  During this talk, Robinson suggested, as I'm sure he has elsewhere, that science fiction has been the victim of casual writing instruction, which has mistakenly convinced us that exposition is terrible writing.  He argued that exposition is, in fact, the bedrock of sf, as it provides much of the formal variance necessary for the genre to thrive, particularly given the genre's history.  In a sense, what Robinson argues is that the formal uniqueness of sf lies in its ability to represent what does not exist, and so exposition, by dint of representing the unreal, is a necessary tool for any writer of the genre.  His argument likewise reduces the "show, don't tell" rule to a curse of narrative zombification -- what he calls a zombie meme.

Post-Post-Event Thoughts on Loncon3 and Jonathan Ross

Jonathan Ross is not hosting the Hugos this year.  He's made what I think is the right decision and stepped down.  If you have no idea what I'm talking about, then you missed all the "fun" on Twitter.  You can get a decent overview of the situation over at The Wertzone.

In any case, what I'm going to talk about here aren't the things everyone was throwing out on Twitter -- mostly.  Here, I'm interested in some of the whys and hows and whats that are underneath all of this and why, ultimately, Jonathan Ross was a poor choice within the current climate of sf/f.

First, I'll say that I hold no animosity towards Ross.  I don't know the man, as you'd expect, and have, in fact, viewed some of his material and found him rather amusing.  I also agree with Adam Whitehead that the motivation to bring in Ross, who himself is a supporter of sf/f and its various properties, is a good one:  high profile tv personality who happens to be a vocal fan = good for business.

But the problem Ross posed was two fold:  

Fishing (or Publishing); Whatever

Person One:  There is only one way to fish.  Fly fishing.  Obviously.  You would be a fool to try anything else.
Person Two:  Nu-uh.  Angling is the only valid method, sir.  I have clearly done better than you via this method, so you really don't know what you're talking about.
Person Three:  Oh yeah?  Well I know better than both of you.  Netting is clearly the best method, because you can catch more fish at the same time, and that means you can be as fat and pompous as you like...I mean, you can eat lots.
Person Four:  You're all wrong, and utterly stupid for not realizing that the best method is clearly spearfishing, which has the ability of bringing you closer to the medium of the fish.  Without the spear, we would not be fisherman.
Person Five:  Bullshit.  You're all morons.  Hand gathering is truly getting "into the fish."  This is how the masters do it, and if you can't be bothered to do it this way, then I'd rather piss in your cereal than let you anywhere near the fish.
Person Six:  I kinda like all of them.  Sometimes it's nice to have all these different ways to do things.
Persons One through Five:  FUUUUUUUUUUUUU SHUT UP YOU DON'T KNOW WHAT YOU ARE TALKING ABOUT I HATE YOU I HATE YOU I HATE YOU DIE DIE DIE GGRRRRRAAAAAAA!

The traditional vs. indie vs. self-publishing debate in a nutshell.  Involving fish.  As metaphors.  The end.

For the record:  I don't know anything about fishing, except that there are lures and things.  And that you catch fish.  And then eat them.  I want fish...

How to Destroy the SFWA...err, no, I'm not going to talk about that after all

This post began as a parody or a satire.  Whatever it began as, it was a scathing critique of someone else whose post I'm not going to link to because I just don't see a point in directly addressing anything said there or using my website as a link vehicle for what amounts to "people screaming about things they don't understand."  Phew.  Big sentence.

So, I've come to this point where I either shrug, shake my head, and walk away to other things, or I write parodies/satires because I don't want to repeat myself.  I'm going with the first route (except the walking away part).

Censorship is what people say when they don't want to address the actual issue...for reasons

The other day, I posted about the SFWA Bulletin Petition thing.  I'm not going to rehash that debate here, though you're welcome to read it (there are links at the bottom of that post to other discussions).  However, I do think it a good idea to take a moment to talk about the rhetoric surrounding this ordeal, because much of the anger and confusion is, if not deliberate, then certainly the product of a particular discourse which naturally stifles debate or discussion.  The centerpiece of this rhetorical game is "censorship," which many have already discussed at some length elsewhere.  Here, I'm interested in how "censorship" is used in the service of the agenda at the heart of the petition and the debates that followed:

On the SFWA Bulletin Petition Thing Nonsense

(Note:  I've listed links to other posts on this topic at the end.)

I won't have anything extensive to say on this "anti-political-correctness" petition thing.  That's mostly because Radish Reviews has pretty well covered it...

That said, there are a few things I'll address:

Why I Haven't Babbled About the Hugo Awards...Yet

You'll notice that I haven't joined in on the discussion about the Hugos this year.  Granted, there hasn't been nearly the level of intense debate as there was last year, though some folks have waded into the categories discussion, which has been going on for a while.  There's a pretty good reason why I've been mostly silent:  I don't have anything new to say.

Self-Published Books vs. Literary Awards: In Response to Linda Nagata

I'm a little late to the party, but Linda Nagata kindly rebutted my original post on the logistical issues of literary awards as a rationale for the rejection of self-published books from the consideration lists.  Here, I'd like to respond to some of her arguments.

First, I'll say that I don't disagree with most of what Nagata has to say.  As an author who has traveled in both publishing camps, she of course understands the issue on a different level, and thus has valid points to make about the value of literary awards to SPed authors, etc.  My main point of contention surrounds this quote:

My Hopes and Anticipations for Science Fiction and Fantasy in 2014

2014 is almost upon us, and I'm already thinking about what is to come.  What will 2014 be like?  Will it be awesome?  Will someone release a stunning science fiction novel or an exciting YA fantasy or an *epic* epic fantasy?  The only way to find out is to live long enough to see it, I suppose (that's my early New Year's resolution).  But I do have my hopes for next year.  Big, juicy hopes.  And they are as follows:

Diversity is Not a Selfie (or, Amazing Stories + Felicity Savage = Here We Go Again)

Apparently Amazing Stories has become a version of controversy bingo.  Attacks on liberals?  Check.  Attacks on subgenres?  Check.  Attacks on women?  Check.  Attacks on people of color?  And check...

I'm obviously not going to link to the story here.  Instead, I'll point you to "Diversity is not Narcissism:  A Response to Felicity Savage" at The Other Side of the Rain, "Mirror, Mirror:  Quien Soy?" by Silvia Moreno-Garcia, and "False Equivalence:  Selfies and Diversity in SFF" at Radish Reviews.  They've covered much of what I'm going to babble about here, though I'll try to add to that existing discussion.[1]

So here goes.

Savage begins her diatribe by discussing the validity of "selfies," an understandably amusing practice which has become the subject of much parodying.  Of course, Savage doesn't note that selfies have also been used for arts projects, such as the numerous videos on YouTube in which

Literary Fiction Does Not Exist (or, Please Shut Up About Literary Fiction)

Last month, Storyville posted a definition of literary fiction.  As with all definitions of a genre, it is functionally useless, in no small part because it offers utterly subjective criteria, most of which apply to such a wide range of literary forms that the attempt to define collapses under the weight of its own uselessness.  For example:

That Readers vs. Writers Thing on Strange Horizons (or, Some Disconnected Nonsense From Me)

I'm sure you've all heard about this Strange Horizons column already.  If not, go read it, then come back and read what I have to say (or don't...up to you).  As I pointed out by way of a link-laden question the other day, I really don't understand what the frak is going on in the SF/F community right now.  It's like a whole group of fans, writers, and bloggers decided they'd all take crazy pills as part of a New Year's resolution, and unlike every other resolution (to lose weight, to drink less, to tell your significant other that you've fathered (or mothered) nine children with an alien from Mars), they seem to have actually gone through with it.  And the crazy really hit the fan this month.

So here are some random thoughts about everything, written as such to avoid treading too far onto ground so many others have already covered:

Oh, John Ringo and Your Silly Fantasies About People (or, I Now Like Redshirts)

In relation to this year's Hugo Awards, I am two things:

1. An unabashed crazy leftish pinko liberal hippy gerfferrmerrfle (whatever that is)
2. On the record for having disliked John Scalzi's Hugo Award-winning Redshirts (truthfully, I hated it)

But #2 is over with now.  I still don't think Redshirts is a good book, and perhaps some of my disappointment comes from the fact that some of his other work has blown me away in terms of quality; this one just didn't have the strength of the others.  But, as I said, I'm done hating it now.  Why?

Because John Ringo said this craziness: