But Humans Are Worse!

“Reen’s people were cowards, but in the depths of their fear cowards could be deadlier than heroes.” (p. 92, Brother Termite)

Over fifty years ago, during the Eisenhower administration, the anthro-insectoid Cousins arrived at our planet, and, under threat of annihilation, Eisenhower agreed to alien takeover. The Cousins came here to save themselves, for they are a dying species. They hope to harvest and recombine our DNA with theirs, thus to create a mostly-Cousin, but hybrid race, in order to perpetuate their species.

That’s the premise of Patricia Anthony’s Brother Termite, first published in 1993 by Harcourt Brace. It’s an alt history/alien invasion/political thriller/satire, and features the same sort of character-based dark humor and tragedy as her later work, God’s Fires.

The plot is premised on one very well-worn SF trope–that of aliens coming here and somehow needing to reproduce with us in order to save their species. The core of the Cousins’ mission here, all the DNA recombinant stuff, is pretty much a rewrite of Mars Needs Women. And I don’t mean that as an insult. There are no bad ideas, only ideas badly told.

The story is told entirely from the POV of Reen, First Brother, and White House Chief of Staff. Reen has several pressing problems, but the worst one might be that he has fallen in love with Marian, the human mother of his hybrid child, and also CIA Director (installed by Reen). The other human he loves best, President Womack (also installed by Reen), has been in office for fifty-one years. Womack teasingly–and possibly even a little affectionately–refers to Reen as “Termite.”

By loving humans as he does, Reen is going beyond the pale. He is particularly at odds with Second Brother Tali, who, in the Cousins’ hive-mind social structure, serves as Reen’s “conscience.” Further beyond the pale is Oomal, who manages Cousin interests in Michigan, and who comes off more like Willy Loman than an anthro-insectoid alien. Opposing everyone is FBI director Hopkins, a direct successor to J. Edgar himself. (And also installed by Reen, of course.)

The Cousins existential burden requires they commit serial genocide. Reen, for one, feels guilty about this. Oomal too. But, in the Cousins’ view, humans are worse. Humans are vicious liars and commit violent acts against one another. Blood flows freely. They can’t be trusted. When Cousins kill, they do so at a distance, in other words, cleanly.

As in God’s Fires, those in charge, those who have all the power, have no idea what’s really going on. Brother Reen is like that. Marian, Womack, and Oomal all have clearer vision than he does. Not that a clearer view would have helped him much. The tragedy here is in the circumstance as well as the character.

Like God’s Fires, Brother Termite is a marvelous book, funny and tragic in equal measure. It’s out of print, but there are new and used paperbacks available on the internet. It’s available on Kindle. Or maybe you can find it at your local used bookseller, if you have one of those in your town.

Here’s a photo of my chewed-up mass market pb.

 

 

 

 

The Equivocal Inquisitor

I took part in a panel at this year’s Diversicon entitled “The Disappearance of Women SFF Writers,” in which we discussed women writers fading quickly into obscurity and being forgotten. One name that came up for me is that of Patricia Anthony.

Her career took place entirely within the 1990s, during which she published seven novels and one short story collection. All are worthy, but the one that blew me away is her penultimate novel, God’s Fires, published in 1997 by Ace Books.

God’s Fires covers a period of thirteen days around about 1668. Portugal has recently won its independence from Spain, and the Portuguese Inquisition is still in full swing.

Circuit Inquisitor Father Manoel Pessoa’s heart is not in his work. He only entered the business of Inquisition because he is the second son of a noble, and therefore not in line to inherit. He does not care much about his job. He wants to deal with easy prosecutions, like people having sex with farm animals. He does not want to deal with difficult cases, like allegations of a young woman being impregnated by an angel. Being a Jesuit, and having a mistress–a convert from Judaism and a healer, i.e. “witch” to boot–puts him at odds with everyone in his world, particularly with his boss.

That would be Monsignor Gomes, the Inquisitor-General of Lisbon. Gomes embodies several deadly sins, including that of gluttony. Through him we are regaled with the odors of seventeenth century digestive output. He is stuffed as well with his own self-importance. He is a clownish and deadly figure.

Then there is cognitively impaired King Afonso VI. He is fixated on Don Quixote, wants to be a good and heroic king, loves his brother Pedro, the Regent, and knows he falls short of being what he should be. Still, he tries very hard to do everything his priest, his nobles, and his caretaker/slave tell him to. But sometimes, he can’t help but follow his impulses.

Into this power structure an alien ship crash-lands.

There are strange lights. There is a report of angels having sex with the village women. There is a ship, crashed in a field. Aliens are taken into custody. But the story isn’t traditional alien-visitation science fiction.

Our aliens are an enigma. We never know who they are, or how they came to be here. They do not seem–in spite of their space-faring skills–like a technologically advanced people from another world; they seem more like lost souls, stranded on Earth, and asking for help. And they don’t entirely make sense. How on earth are they impregnating human women?

But this isn’t about the aliens, really. This is about the reactions of the characters to the aliens’ appearance in their midst. Of those in power, only childlike Afonso truly believes what he sees, and he believes he is seeing God Himself. The Inquisitors, on the other hand, are looking for another explanation. Any other explanation. The aliens are demons. The aliens are a Spanish plot. The aliens are from a far-off country. Borneo, perhaps. Amongst ordinary folk, priests and lay people alike, reactions vary. Some insist they are seeing angels, others see whatever suits them, and still others remain silent. Everyone sees in the aliens what they need to see. What they want to see.

If they aliens are an enigma, the women are as well–to the male characters, if not to the reader. Their points of view aren’t directly represented, and it would never occur to any of the men here that they should be represented. They are akin to Tiptree’s women, the ones that men don’t see. A judgment, however, must be made about their fates, and what an inconvenience that is!

In addition to the women, there is the science men don’t see. King Afonso, limited as he is, learns from the aliens that the Earth revolves around the sun. The Galileo heresy! Afonso’s advisors insist that what he sees is not what is happening.

Through the novel, there is humor–admittedly of the very dark sort–and there is tragedy. This is the Inquisition, after all.

Patricia Anthony died in 2013. I’m not certain the extent to which she has disappeared from the consciousness of the SFF reading public. A search of Amazon shows her books for sale, although out of print. There are Kindle versions of some of her books, although not God’s Fires. Interestingly, a posthumous work is scheduled for publication next year.

In the meantime, I’ve decided to reread some of her other works, and report on them in later posts. Meanwhile, if you can find a copy of this one, it might very well be worth your time.

Next up: Brother Termite.

 

A Look at Hugo Nominees, Part 4

Short stories can be read in one sitting. Often they slip from the brain as quickly as they slipped in. The greatest ones, though, can stick with a reader for a lifetime.

The short stories nominated this year are:

“Carnival Nine” by Caroline M. Yoachim–Clockwork doll people.

“Clearly Lettered in a Mostly Steady Hand” by Fran Wilde–An entity of some sort takes your coin and may or may not let you into a weird sort-of funhouse place.

“Fandom for Robots” by Vina Jie-Min–The first sentient robot discovers fandom.

“The Martian Obelisk” by Linda Nagata–a monument on Mars created by an architect on a dying Earth.

“Sun, Moon, Dust” by Ursula Vernon–A grandmother gives a magic sword to a grandson.

“Welcome to Your Authentic Indian Experience” by Rebecca Roanhorse–Native Americans hire digital version of themselves out to tourists.

When I began this post, I had only read two of the stories. I have since read the other three.

Once again, we have a range, from literary to heroic fantasy to hard SF to AI to social commentary to fable. I note all of the short stories come from online zines: Tor, Uncanny, Apex, and Beneath Ceaseless Skies, to be exact. All of them can be read, for free, by anyone. That has to be significant when it comes to Hugo nominations. Only the more dedicated fan, able to spend a little, will have read stories from F&SF, Asimov’s, or Analog, in time for Hugo nominations.

As much as I enjoy reading and voting, a part of me really doesn’t like awards. There is no “best” story, not even a “best” six stories. Any one of us can think of favorite authors and great stories that don’t make the cut. And the field of speculative fiction is the broadest of genres. To compare a high-quality hard SF story to a high-quality heroic fantasy is like comparing a robot to an animated doll. They have speculation in common, but are less similar than they appear.

That said, congrats to all finalists, including those in categories I haven’t discussed here.

 

A Look at Hugo Nominees, Part 3

A novelette is defined as a work of prose between 7,500 and 17,500 words in length. In contrast to the novella, I have never been drawn to the novelette as a form. It seems to fall into a kind of nowhere-land between the read-in-one-sitting short story, and the deeper dive of the novella. That’s not to say I can’t like a novelette, just that I don’t seek them out. So, surprise surprise, I have read none of the following nominees.

“Children of Thorns, Children of Water,” by Aliette de Bodard–This is in the world of de Bodard’s Dominion of the Fallen. The novelette falls chronologically between the first and second novels, and involves magic infiltrating powerful houses in Paris. Whether or not this can be read as a stand-alone depends on which reviewer you read. I will give it a try.

“Extracurricular Activities,” by Yoon Ha Lee–this is described as a distant future space opera, with an undercover agent uncovering a traitor, and finding a lost ship. Reading online reviews of this one gives me no idea, really, whether or not the story will be my cup of tea. I guess I’ll just have to read it.

“The Secret Life of Bots,” by Suzanne Palmer–the protagonist/bot is an outdated model tasked with destroying a rather nasty-sounding pest. Self-aware, narrator AI seem to be a trend, but I’m not tired of it yet. Good thing, because I’m writing a story with one.

“A Series of Steaks,” by Vina Jie-Min Prasad–a 3D printer with which our protagonist prints fake steaks. Food. Stories about food are good.

“Small Changes Over Long Periods of Time,” by K. M. Szpara–Vampire horror. A vampire who is illegal because he is gay. I don’t claim to be a horror fan, but this one sounds promising.

“Wind Will Rove,” by Sarah Pinsker–a serious-looking generation ship story about lost records, lost history, and music. Another one where I can’t gauge my reaction from the reviews.

What pops into my mind as I look these over is how different each seems from the others. In the category, we see several different subgenera of the field, namely space opera, sentient AI, effects of new technology, vampire horror, and generation ship drama.

I am in a race to finish all the writing nominees, and it’s going to be close!

 

 

A Look at Hugo Nominees, Part 2

Novellas are a favorite of mine. Usually under two hundred pages, they don’t take forever to read. You don’t get bogged down. You do have time to get involved, though. It’s not in-and-out, like a short story. Novellas can be found in print and online periodicals, but increasingly can be bought as e-books. Because novellas are a favorite, I’m not as far behind as I am with Hugo-nominated novels.

All Systems Red, by Martha Wells–I have read this one, and I recommend it. It is one of several recent works about self-aware AI. This particular entity calls itself Murderbot. It does have a murderous past, because that was the purpose it was designed for. That is not what it wants to be. “Murderbot” is also the subtitle of the novella. The full title is All Systems Red (The Murderbot Diaries #1). So it’s a series!

“And Then There Were (N-One),” by Sarah Pinsker–This one, I haven’t read. Love the title, though. And, it’s a murder mystery! The title is tough to Google…it keeps wanting to route me to the Agatha Christie novel. I hate all forms of auto-correct.

Binti: Home, by Nnedi Okorafor–I read the first Binti at Worldcon in Kansas City a couple years ago, because it was being discussed at a panel. Binti is a heroic young woman of great intelligence, the sort of person who is held back and is underestimated. I look forward to reading this installment.

The Black Tides of Heaven, by JY Yang–I haven’t read this one. It is described as “silkpunk  fantasy.” This novella was released simultaneously with another, The Red Threads of Fortune, as a twin introduction to the Tensorate Series. According to the author, you can read these first two in either order. A third installment comes out this July. Silkpunk fantasy sounds like a fine idea to me.

Down Among the Sticks and Bones, by Seanan McGuire–A second installment of yet another novella series. I’ve read both installments. I’m intrigued by this series, because it’s different in concept from anything I’ve read, while seeming utterly familiar. It concerns a home parents can send their children to, specifically children who refuse–or can’t–live in the so-called real world, but who occasionally escape to other, more fantastic worlds. I’m tempted to say the premise sounds like the biography of the average science fiction or fantasy fan–hence its familiarity.

River of Teeth, by Sarah Gailey–I haven’t read this one. It is billed as an alternate history about feral hippos overrunning Louisiana bayous around the turn of the twentieth century. That sounds like a very good idea for a story, and I do like alternate histories.

So…four of the six novella finalists are part of a series. Novella series seem to be a thing these days, a thing I like. The effect of a novella series is different from that of a serialized novel, or a novel series. The individual novellas in these series tend to be kind of free-standing. You never pick up right where you left off, even if the story does have an over-arching plot. Sometimes the individual installments are in the same universe, but feature different characters or different locales. It all provides a rich, deep sojourn in the worlds these authors create.

Next: Novelettes.

 

 

 

A Look at Hugo Nominees

In recent years I have become more aware than ever before how important it is to vote. I’m not talking about the election of public officials–the importance of that has always been obvious to me. But the Hugos, nominating and final voting…well, it has been so easy to make excuses.

My “To Be Read” pile is a chronic feature that has endured in my life from childhood onward. When it comes time to nominate for the Hugos, I have often read hardly anything from the eligible year. In recent years, I have made an effort to nominate something, because I want to do my part to prevent future Sad/Rabid Puppy outbreaks.

Then comes the final ballot. Publishers and artists have been wonderful in recent years about making stories and novels available for Worldcon members to read free of charge, but the texts only become available a few months prior to the voting deadline. It’s a lot, but I’m determined to read as much as I can.

Here’s where I’m at right now.

Novels:

The Collapsing Empire, by John Scalzi. Scalzi is always an easy read, so I am confident I will get to this one.

New York 2140, by Kim Stanley Robinson. I’ve been meaning to read this. I will.

Provenance, by Ann Leckie. This one is tougher. The book is in he same universe as her Ancillary universe, but is not a sequel to the trilogy, from what I can see. I read Ancillary Justice. I think I admired it more than I liked it. I haven’t gotten to the other two. Can I read this one as a stand-alone, without reading the other two? I’ll give it a try.

Raven Stratagem, by Yoon Ha Lee. This one is clearly number two in a series, and I have not read the first. Sadly, its being second in a series makes it far less likely I’ll get to it.

Six Wakes, by Mur Lafferty. It’s a science fiction mystery. OMG! I love mysteries. I must read it!

The Stone Sky, by N. K. Jemisin. I read the first in the series, The Fifth Season, and I enjoyed that one tremendously. This is the third in the series. I have not read the second. Oh dear. I’ll do it if I can.

Conclusion: I think I’m in trouble with the novel category, because I haven’t read a single one. And it’s the third week of May.

Next post: novellas, novelettes, and short stories.

 

I’ll Get a Story out of This

They come in various categories. Like, In an Unpleasant Place. Or, A Fascinating Person. Also, Based on a True Story, It Was All a Dream, Someone Says Something, and finally, Travel Tedium.

All of the above are triggers for stories. Unlike some writers, I don’t mind at all the question, “Where do you get your ideas?” I think it’s fun to think about. Getting an idea–an idea that will work–is one of the great highs of writing. (Then comes the hard part, which is actually making it work.)

Travel Tedium is one of most reliable. Air travel, long car trips, plane trips, taxi rides–all provide a space when there is nothing to do but woolgather. Our ubiquitous digital devices have cut into this space a bit, but the space is still there. I recall a car trip home from Albuquerque with my husband and infant daughter. On the way, I noted the turnoff for Phoenix, and had a road-not-taken moment. What if we went to Phoenix? What might happen? Those questions turned into a time travel story in which the protagonists try to right a wrong, with unintended consequences. (Love those unintended consequences.)

Sometimes, Someone Says Something. In this case, someone said he was guest-editing the December issue of a magazine, and was looking for Christmas stories. “I don’t do Christmas stories,” I said. An hour later, I was riding back to my hotel, and in spite of the chattiness of the taxi driver, I started making up a Christmas story.

Another favorite is Based on a True Story, one of my favorite trailer lines for movies. A crack in the house’s concrete slab became a sentient miasma. A broken watch found in a restaurant became the means for career rejuvenation. A house, under construction, possibly never to be finished, became a window to the future for a young girl.

It Was All a Dream is the most difficult story trigger to work with. Dreams are long on emotion and short on linear logic. The lack of linear logic isn’t necessarily a problem, but the lack of story logic can be. Dreams–however they might knock us for a loop emotionally–tend to fall apart once examined for story logic. My success rate for It Was All a Dream (success meaning being able to craft the story into something with a point to it) is probably less than fifty percent.

Fascinating People, are always attractive as centers for a story. By “center,” I mean focus. Sometimes, this is the protagonist or narrator, but often not. Often not, because then the plot can center on the protagonist’s interactions with this Fascinating Person, who are often difficult to deal with. My favorite fascinating person-who-became-a-character was David, a local homeless person. I’ve also used a terrible pair of parents, a crazy old woman, and my dad (although I transformed him into an heroic alien). I’ve used Jesus no fewer than three times.

Finally, there’s the conflict-on-a-plate one is gifted with when one is In An Unpleasant Place. Undergoing medical treatment, or moving, or faced with a difficult task, or encountering an unpleasant person. I may hate every moment of it, but damn it, I’m going to get a story out of it!

Not the actual broken watch that triggered the story. A different one.

Genre, for Better or Worse

Once upon a time, I looked at genre–the process of sorting storytelling into type–as a necessary evil of use primarily for marketing, and for organizing large bookstores, and for slapping rocket ship or detective logos on the spines of library books. I didn’t need genre labels. My taste was sophisticated, cosmopolitan, and omnivorous. I bragged I would read anything. I didn’t need genre labels. If it was good, then I wanted to read it

I’ve changed. I no longer view choosing-by-genre designations as narrow-minded and provincial. I remain open-minded in my tastes, but the older I get, the more I feel the need to match what I read or watch to my mood.

This turning point came a couple years ago during a vacation. By the time we’d made it from the airport to the hotel, had dinner and settled into our room, I was tired, physically and mentally. Didn’t feel like reading. Nothing on the hotel TV. My husband was looking at his iPad, so I looked at mine.

I stumbled upon a cozy mystery, Death in Paradise.

It hit the spot. Episodic TV mysteries like this one tickle the brain, but don’t tax it too much. We are given a beautiful locale and clever writing. Relationships between the regulars–the detectives and their allies–lean more toward humor than angst. We understand the murder victim to be a short-timer; we don’t get attached.

Unlike life, the people in mysteries live by the rules. Our detectives may be flawed characters, they may make mistakes, but they will do their job to the best of their ability. We can trust them.

I meander through genres, stopping to visit as I wish. Each offers something. When I’m hungry for new ideas, new ways about thinking about humanity and the future, science fiction is the go-to. It could be the fanciful solar system of Catherynne M. Valente’s Radiance, or the less fanciful but still stunning one of Kim Stanley Robinson’s 2312. I love certain kinds of fantasy, but sometimes Seanan McGuire’s October Daye series is too active for me, and I want something more sedate. In a sense, every author is sui generis, and I like that too.

When I finish something, I am thrown into a bit of emotional crisis. What to read next? What to watch next? I scroll through my digital and paper libraries, sometimes spending as much time picking something as I would choosing a new sofa. Sometimes I pick the wrong thing, and have to abandon it. Sometimes I pick just right, and match my mood perfectly.

 

To Begin Again

Four years ago, I decided to take a break from blogging. Dozens of times since, I have considered  picking it up again.

During my extended break, things have happened. Our daughter went to grad school and got a real job. I had my thyroid out. We’ve been to Memphis, Nashville, London, Paris, Berlin, and Helsinki, among other, less exotic, places. I’ve had two stories published online (Sockdolager and Allegory), and another to come out, soon, from the venerable print zine Tales of the Unanticipated. We had a long-lived pet cockatiel die, and adopted a new one. None of these events disrupted my schedule enough to keep me from blogging, and yet I stopped dead, as suddenly as if I’d fallen into a sinkhole.

I joke that laziness stopped me, but that is untrue. I would not describe myself as driven, but I would say I’m a pretty reliable plodder…the sort of person who does laundry on Monday and pays bills on Tuesdays, and writes very nearly every day. I’ve gotten stuff done, just not blogging. I might cite perfectionism, and that would be closer to the mark. I want everything I write to mean something. You know, there’s so much stuff out there. Lots of blathering. Most of it doesn’t mean much of anything, nor does it seem to have much of a purpose. And while “meaning” and “purpose” are different concepts they go together for me. Meaning is always useful, and that which has purpose means something.

I don’t know which things I write will end up meaning something to someone, so perhaps, “meaning” and “purpose” are concepts that need to be considered. My posts don’t get a lot of response, but I am grateful for the responses I do get, and am a bit amazed to still get the occasional comment after a four-year hiatus. Apparently there is occasional meaning here, but I can’t predict when or where or for whom.

I’ve been mulling over how the need for meaning and purpose can throw a stranglehold on a person ever since reading the second book of Becky Chambers’ Wayfarers series, A Closed and Common Orbit. In it, the AI protagonist tells us that animals don’t have a purpose. Human animals, however, are obsessed with the concept of having a purpose, of searching for the meaning of their lives. With that bred into their very souls, they have programmed their AIs to be purpose-focused as well. AI Sidra finds herself needing to re-invent herself to survive. Re-inventing oneself involves lying about one’s past, but she is programmed only to tell the truth. In figuring out how to undo her own programming, she comes to recognize survival, friendship, and love as purpose enough.

This cockatiel can’t predict which of his actions will mean anything, but he has found his purpose, which is to be a cockatiel.

 

Not Scared to be SF

Speculative Fiction: some people don’t like the term. Don’t be chicken, they say. Call it science fiction, not speculative fiction, or worse, spec fic.

I’m not much for spec fix as a term; I believe we should pronounce entire words most of the time, rather than automatically shortening them. I do enjoy speculative fiction, both the term and the stuff itself, however. I’m not afraid to say I read science fiction, because I do. I also read fantasy, selected horror, mystery, and mainstream. I even read that stuff they call literature once in a while.

I divide my reading roughly between fiction its authors consider to be “real,” and fiction from authors who consciously depart from the real–in other words, speculative fiction. Speculative fiction includes science fiction, which in turn encompasses hard science fiction, anthropological, political and other fiction of the soft sciences, cyberpunk, steampunk, space opera, alternate history, new weird, utopian, dystopian, and time travel. Speculative fiction also includes fantasy, itself a term which takes in high fantasy, urban fantasy, dark fantasy, horror, and fairy tales. Then you have the stuff that’s not quite real but not quite not: magical realism, slipstream, and whatever it is that Murakami does. (I like the term “not normal.”) I read all this stuff, and I have need of a term that includes all of them, that differentiates them from that other stuff.

The other stuff also has genres. Examples: literary, historical, mystery, police procedural, political thriller, war novel, spy novel, and romance. The other stuff might go by the umbrella term of realistic, or mimetic, fiction. If I throw the term speculative fiction into the wastebasket, what is my umbrella term for all the types of fantastic fiction I enjoy? Non-mimetic fiction? I don’t like it. Non-realistic fiction? I don’t like that either, for the obvious reason that no matter how far-out my science fictional or fantasy premise is, the human element needs to be dead-on realistic.

The only purpose even to discuss genre, to categorize literature, is so that you and I can have a discussion about the stuff we read. For that discussion to be sensible, we need some agreement between us of the meaning of the terms we are using. Here we run into some trouble. I have no confusion about how I choose to sort books out, but because everyone reads a book differently, different people categorize differently. For instance, people were all over the place with China Mieville’s The City and the City. It is categorized as crime fiction, weird fiction, police procedural, and it won fantasy awards, as well as the Hugo. I call it science fiction for reasons given in a previous post:

https://speculativemartha.wordpress.com/2011/12/08/science-fictio…any-other-name/ ‎

But does it matter if we don’t always know what genre to put a work in? Isn’t part of the problem–if you want to call categorizing fiction a problem–that authors are becoming ever more inventive and interesting in the combinations of genres they choose to include in a single work, thereby making the assignment of genre that much more difficult?

Endless Possibilities

Photo: http://walrus.wr.usgs.gov/infobank/programs/html/facilities/us.archives.html