Djuna Barnes, “Come into the Roof Garden, Maud” (1914) from Writing New York: A Literary Anthology:
In college, I dated a poet; and she told me that, in potry-writing classes, when people had no idea what to say to critique a bad poem, they just said something like, "I think you're playing with sound a lot in this piece."
Djuna Barnes, I think you're playing with sound a lot in this piece.
This piece is a semi-journalistic account of the tony life that includes drinking and dancing at rooftop watering holes in New York; the sort of life that includes mention of dangerous (i.e. fast, sexy, desperately hungry) women and New York's elite Four Hundred. But like some early example of New Journalism, Barnes's account is much more impressionistic than factual. Her POV is sort of free-roving, popping into a few conversations, taking a god's eye view of the rooftop party experience. The result is compelling in a way, largely since sentences go on and on, dragging the reader to the finish line. But that compulsion is tempered by the fact that her sentences don't move directly ahead and her word use reminds me occasionally of an ESL student I once taught. There's something interesting in that sort of first-time grappling with a subject or word; and it takes a lot of talent to pull it off (or a sincere misunderstanding of language). But this isn't a piece that makes me want to pick up more of Barnes's work.
Saturday, September 7, 2013
WorldCon Post-Mortem #5: The Hugo Awards
This year, if we restrict the field to the Hugo Award categories I actually had opinions about, I correctly guessed quite a few of them. Let's say around 4/5. I mean, who was really surprised that Writing Excuses won for Best Related over The Cambridge Companion to Fantasy Literature. The average people who vote on this award probably listen to Writing Excuses a lot more than they read The Cambridge Companion to Fantasy Literature. (That includes me.) But just because I guessed them doesn't mean I'm totally thrilled with the awards.
But that's not what I want to talk about. Although, traditionally, after the awards are given out, the critics and opiners start argle-barging about what it means and/or why the one they wanted to win did or didn't win. No, let's skip that and go directly to the award breakdown.
Isn't that kind of amazing? As soon as the awards are announced, this breakdown of the voting becomes available. So here's what I am most struck by: Although there were 3412 members of WorldCon this year, there were only 1848 ballots cast.
I'll say that again: one of the most prestigious awards in science fiction was decided by 1848 people.
It gets even more squirrely when we get into the data:
Now, there's several different interpretations one can draw from these facts. We could say, "well, the core readership/leadership of sf is rather small (or if you prefer, tight-knit." We could say, "considering how close most of these races are, we should really push the short-list as a bunch of recommended works, rather than just hold up the Hugo winner as exceptional." We could say, "we need to boost attendance and voting." Or we could say, "is a Hugo Award measuring popularity in some way, and if so, does it differ at all from a best-seller list?"
I'm not sure what it says, but now that I'm paying attention to how the sausage of the Hugo Awards gets made, I'm not sure I'm all that hungry for it.
But that's not what I want to talk about. Although, traditionally, after the awards are given out, the critics and opiners start argle-barging about what it means and/or why the one they wanted to win did or didn't win. No, let's skip that and go directly to the award breakdown.
Isn't that kind of amazing? As soon as the awards are announced, this breakdown of the voting becomes available. So here's what I am most struck by: Although there were 3412 members of WorldCon this year, there were only 1848 ballots cast.
I'll say that again: one of the most prestigious awards in science fiction was decided by 1848 people.
It gets even more squirrely when we get into the data:
- for Best Novel--1649 ballots counted
- Novella--1463
- Best Related Work--1091--and of that, 54 voted for No Award(!)
- and so on
Now, there's several different interpretations one can draw from these facts. We could say, "well, the core readership/leadership of sf is rather small (or if you prefer, tight-knit." We could say, "considering how close most of these races are, we should really push the short-list as a bunch of recommended works, rather than just hold up the Hugo winner as exceptional." We could say, "we need to boost attendance and voting." Or we could say, "is a Hugo Award measuring popularity in some way, and if so, does it differ at all from a best-seller list?"
I'm not sure what it says, but now that I'm paying attention to how the sausage of the Hugo Awards gets made, I'm not sure I'm all that hungry for it.
Friday, September 6, 2013
Library of America Story of the Week Read-Along 136: Dashiell Hammett, Slippery Fingers (#169)
Dashiell Hammett, "Slippery Fingers" (1923) from Dashiell Hammett: Crime Stories & Other Writings:
Hammett's Continental Op only has a few descriptors: he’s fat, nameless, determined. And in this story, we can see that he occasionally loses his temper. While the character and setting are American noir, the story is again a semi-throwback to English problem stories: here’s a dead man who mysteriously withdrew some money from the bank and though there are fingerprints all over the crime scene, the police can’t find the matching set.
That is, they can’t find the matching set until the killer walks in the door and demands to be fingerprinted. See, the killer was a blackmailer who saw the rich man kill a guy among the gold fields of the North; and he demands to be fingerprinted because he has a false set of fingerprints on; and the Continental Op only discovers this because he gets angry and tries to get the man’s fingerprints instead of letting the fingerprinting expert do it. (Why'd the finger-printing expert miss it in the first place?)
Which leaves us a mystery story where the protagonist has discovered the killer--but only through the bad luck of the killer and his own good (dumb) luck. This may be fitting since this is a story about horse-racing and mining, two pretty luck-dependent fields. And there’s enough Hammettian humor and overstatement to keep the story moving briskly: the forensic accountant can spot a bad set of books farther than the Continental Op can see the books; and the final scene is the fingerprint sharper and the fingerprint expert discussing the ins and outs of their specialized trade, even though the fingerprint sharper has just been busted and is probably going to jail for a while.
But for all that, the story is a relatively simple quest to find the murderer--where the murderer basically turns himself in. And for all the promise of violence and the underworld, so much of this is squeaky clean and bloodless. I will say this: since the Continental Op is supposed to be so good at his job, we pretty much always trust him when he sizes up people, especially since his sizing is a mix of good and bad.
Hammett's Continental Op only has a few descriptors: he’s fat, nameless, determined. And in this story, we can see that he occasionally loses his temper. While the character and setting are American noir, the story is again a semi-throwback to English problem stories: here’s a dead man who mysteriously withdrew some money from the bank and though there are fingerprints all over the crime scene, the police can’t find the matching set.
That is, they can’t find the matching set until the killer walks in the door and demands to be fingerprinted. See, the killer was a blackmailer who saw the rich man kill a guy among the gold fields of the North; and he demands to be fingerprinted because he has a false set of fingerprints on; and the Continental Op only discovers this because he gets angry and tries to get the man’s fingerprints instead of letting the fingerprinting expert do it. (Why'd the finger-printing expert miss it in the first place?)
Which leaves us a mystery story where the protagonist has discovered the killer--but only through the bad luck of the killer and his own good (dumb) luck. This may be fitting since this is a story about horse-racing and mining, two pretty luck-dependent fields. And there’s enough Hammettian humor and overstatement to keep the story moving briskly: the forensic accountant can spot a bad set of books farther than the Continental Op can see the books; and the final scene is the fingerprint sharper and the fingerprint expert discussing the ins and outs of their specialized trade, even though the fingerprint sharper has just been busted and is probably going to jail for a while.
But for all that, the story is a relatively simple quest to find the murderer--where the murderer basically turns himself in. And for all the promise of violence and the underworld, so much of this is squeaky clean and bloodless. I will say this: since the Continental Op is supposed to be so good at his job, we pretty much always trust him when he sizes up people, especially since his sizing is a mix of good and bad.
WorldCon Post-Mortem #4: Craft
Here's some quick notes on some interesting craft-related comments.
First, here's a collection of stories that were recommended as great learning tools:
Second, a few notes on writing:
First, here's a collection of stories that were recommended as great learning tools:
- Asimov, "Night Fall"
- Vylar Kaftan, "I’m Alive, I Love You, I’ll See You in Reno"
- Connie Willis, "At the Rialto"
- James Patrick Kelly, "Think Like a Dinosaur"
- Michael Swanwick, "Edge of the World"
- Swanwick, "The Very Pulse of the Machine"
- Gene Wolfe, "The Eyeflash Miracles"
Second, a few notes on writing:
- Your teaser/elevator pitch should include the main character, their problem, and the tone
- Consider opening the story with people interacting and doing something
- Long chunks of exposition and description can be skipped; dialogue not so much
- Raise dramatic question in the opening scene
- End of scene needs some rise; not only ever a rise in tension (as in cliffhangers) but rise in emotion, stakes, diction
Third, some notes about thinking about the future, often by looking at our own past and present historical moment:
- In our world, X exists still, but our passion/relation to X changes; so we still have crossword puzzles but there's no crossword puzzle craze anymore
- Future may be mixed, just like the present--we can have advanced computer technology and still hold to the crackpot 18th century economic thinkers
- Singularity as single pop is very tidy, not like messy uneven development, which is more realistic
Short Story Read-Aloud, Week 26
I did say I would take a break from audio short fiction, but on my drive to San Antonio for WorldCon, I had some time. I didn't have a lot of attention, so let's see what broke through.
Beneath Ceaseless Skies
Justin Howe, "Of Shifting Skins and Certainty": Something about shapechanging people and a king with a permanently fixed and terrible face.
Yoon Ha Lee, "The Pirate Captain's Daughter": Something about ships that are directed by poetry and the daughter who, inevitably, becomes a poet.
Sara M. Harvey, "Six Seeds": No memory.
Rachel Swirsky, "Great, Golden WIngs": No memory.
Sarah L. Edwards, "The Woman and the Mountain": No memory.
Dru Pagliassoti, "The Manufactory": No memory.
Aliette de Bodard, "In the Age of Iron and Ashes": No memory.
Paul Daly, "Shatterach Gates": No memory, beyond the rather boring title.
Rodello Santos, "To Slay with a Thousand Kisses": Some bad men use a woman with magical power, maybe?
Catherine Mintz, "A Skirt of Many Colors": A coming of age story involving a girl turning her pants in and getting her skirt.
Alys Sterling, "In Memoriam": Some sort of demon gets trapped in a haunted house and has to give up his precious memories to escape, I think.
Escape Artists (Escape Pod, Podcastle, Pseudopod)
Wendy Wagner., "Secret of Calling Rabbits": One of the last little people helps a little girl and dies in the process, showing that he wasn't so bitter after all.
Claire Humphrey, "Nightfall in the Scent Garden": Beautifully told in parts, but I'm not sure I remember anything about it. The narrator loves another (but straight or at least more traditional) girl and there's some evil fairy queen, I think?
C.L. Moore, "The Tree of Life": Northwest Smith faces an evil god in a forgotten place. Standard Northwest Smith story, which I always like because of the weird genre mix.
Scott H. Andrews, "Excision": Magical healers try to figure out way to save people; naturally, one of them is obsessed with saving her own near-dead family.
Lightspeed and Nightmare
Kristine Kathryn Rusch, "Purity Test": Dad has a sorcerer on retainer to test women's sexual purity before marriage, but the daughter learns about dad's and her husband-to-be's craziness.
Marly Youmans, "Prolegomenon to the Adventures of Childe Phoenix": No memory.
Robert Reed, "Eight Episodes": A boringly told meta-story about a mysterious tv series that might have been made by aliens.
Beneath Ceaseless Skies
Justin Howe, "Of Shifting Skins and Certainty": Something about shapechanging people and a king with a permanently fixed and terrible face.
Yoon Ha Lee, "The Pirate Captain's Daughter": Something about ships that are directed by poetry and the daughter who, inevitably, becomes a poet.
Sara M. Harvey, "Six Seeds": No memory.
Rachel Swirsky, "Great, Golden WIngs": No memory.
Sarah L. Edwards, "The Woman and the Mountain": No memory.
Dru Pagliassoti, "The Manufactory": No memory.
Aliette de Bodard, "In the Age of Iron and Ashes": No memory.
Paul Daly, "Shatterach Gates": No memory, beyond the rather boring title.
Rodello Santos, "To Slay with a Thousand Kisses": Some bad men use a woman with magical power, maybe?
Catherine Mintz, "A Skirt of Many Colors": A coming of age story involving a girl turning her pants in and getting her skirt.
Alys Sterling, "In Memoriam": Some sort of demon gets trapped in a haunted house and has to give up his precious memories to escape, I think.
Escape Artists (Escape Pod, Podcastle, Pseudopod)
Wendy Wagner., "Secret of Calling Rabbits": One of the last little people helps a little girl and dies in the process, showing that he wasn't so bitter after all.
Claire Humphrey, "Nightfall in the Scent Garden": Beautifully told in parts, but I'm not sure I remember anything about it. The narrator loves another (but straight or at least more traditional) girl and there's some evil fairy queen, I think?
C.L. Moore, "The Tree of Life": Northwest Smith faces an evil god in a forgotten place. Standard Northwest Smith story, which I always like because of the weird genre mix.
Scott H. Andrews, "Excision": Magical healers try to figure out way to save people; naturally, one of them is obsessed with saving her own near-dead family.
Lightspeed and Nightmare
Kristine Kathryn Rusch, "Purity Test": Dad has a sorcerer on retainer to test women's sexual purity before marriage, but the daughter learns about dad's and her husband-to-be's craziness.
Marly Youmans, "Prolegomenon to the Adventures of Childe Phoenix": No memory.
Robert Reed, "Eight Episodes": A boringly told meta-story about a mysterious tv series that might have been made by aliens.
Thursday, September 5, 2013
Library of America Story of the Week Read-Along 135: John Dos Passos, Paul Bunyan (#84)
John Dos Passos, "Paul Bunyan" (1932) from John Dos Passos: U.S.A.:
One of the excellent group blogs I read has an excellent labor historian from the Pacific Northwest; which is the only reason I know about the Centralia, WA fight between the IWW and the anti-union forces that arrested, possibly castrated, hanged, and convicted several Wobblies for trying to protect their union hall from a second round of violence. But let's try to pretend that we haven't read about labor history; let's pretend that we're all just ordinary Americans who feel a little ambivalent about unions (aren't those just reds and Bolsheviks? shouldn't Americans have the liberty to starve?); let's pretend that we don't have the internet to look things up.
From that standpoint, this section from Dos Passos's 1919 might be traumatizingly eye-opening. This is one of those biographical interstitial pieces that Dos Passos interleaves his other stories with. (A technique that John Brunner will run with in his excellent Stand on Zanzibar.) And since we only get this story, we may miss out some of the impact or interconnections this piece has. (Yes, I'm just trying to include more words starting with "inter-.") But by itself, the "Paul Bunyan" piece is really an amazing micro-cosm of the work.
For one thing, the piece includes its own little interstitial pieces, like some number-laden report on the logging industry of Washington; for another, besides simply calling this piece "Paul Bunyan," Dos Passos makes the connection explicit between that mythic figure and the soon-to-be martyred Wesley Everest (Wobbly, WWI veteran, sharpshooter); and this battle between the unions and the forces of unfettered capitalism is global and historical--it's the fight between democracy and slavery. And while Dos Passos uses abstract issues like myth and history, he also uses some concrete rhetorical moves, like repetition and dialect--"Not a thing in this world Paul Bunyan's ascared of."
And though the piece focuses on Wesley Everest as a living-dead Paul Bunyan, the end isn't just his murder, but the reminder that the forces of decent living for average joes goes on--and is still attacked--with the reminder that, after Everest was killed, a bunch of Wobblies went to jail in a premature burial, "buried in the Walla Walla Penitentiary," while Everest's killers went free.
One of the excellent group blogs I read has an excellent labor historian from the Pacific Northwest; which is the only reason I know about the Centralia, WA fight between the IWW and the anti-union forces that arrested, possibly castrated, hanged, and convicted several Wobblies for trying to protect their union hall from a second round of violence. But let's try to pretend that we haven't read about labor history; let's pretend that we're all just ordinary Americans who feel a little ambivalent about unions (aren't those just reds and Bolsheviks? shouldn't Americans have the liberty to starve?); let's pretend that we don't have the internet to look things up.
From that standpoint, this section from Dos Passos's 1919 might be traumatizingly eye-opening. This is one of those biographical interstitial pieces that Dos Passos interleaves his other stories with. (A technique that John Brunner will run with in his excellent Stand on Zanzibar.) And since we only get this story, we may miss out some of the impact or interconnections this piece has. (Yes, I'm just trying to include more words starting with "inter-.") But by itself, the "Paul Bunyan" piece is really an amazing micro-cosm of the work.
For one thing, the piece includes its own little interstitial pieces, like some number-laden report on the logging industry of Washington; for another, besides simply calling this piece "Paul Bunyan," Dos Passos makes the connection explicit between that mythic figure and the soon-to-be martyred Wesley Everest (Wobbly, WWI veteran, sharpshooter); and this battle between the unions and the forces of unfettered capitalism is global and historical--it's the fight between democracy and slavery. And while Dos Passos uses abstract issues like myth and history, he also uses some concrete rhetorical moves, like repetition and dialect--"Not a thing in this world Paul Bunyan's ascared of."
And though the piece focuses on Wesley Everest as a living-dead Paul Bunyan, the end isn't just his murder, but the reminder that the forces of decent living for average joes goes on--and is still attacked--with the reminder that, after Everest was killed, a bunch of Wobblies went to jail in a premature burial, "buried in the Walla Walla Penitentiary," while Everest's killers went free.
WorldCon Post-Mortem #3: Highlights for Lowlifes
For all the many mistakes I made at my first con, I also had a pretty great time through much of it. Now, I'd love to replicate these highlights at my next con, but so many of the highlights were serendipitous: you go to a panel for one speaker but find yourself really digging what another says and so on. Which might be the first rule of a good convention: enjoy the serendipity. (Maybe that goes along with yesterday's command to Be where you are.)
That general principle out of the way, here's my con highlights.
First, panels may be interesting, but go to the kaffeeklatsches and literary beers for individual insight in a small group. Almost all of the kaffeeklatsches and literary beers I went to were fun, entertaining, and educational.
For instance, I got to ask Chuck Wendig about supporting characters and their thematic relation to the protagonist. (I also got a free copy of Blackbirds signed by Chuck Wendig when he had three books to give away and decided to have a portmanteau curse contest. After everyone patterned theirs off of Wendig's "cockweasel"--"dick-muffin," "cunt-snickers"--I decided I would have a better chance reversing the formula and came up with "glam-dick." Which, you can tell, I'm very proud of.)
The only less-positive experiences--not even negative, just neutral experiences--is that if you go to a kaffee or beer with someone who you know, you might hear some of the same stories over again. So when I went to Mary Robinette Kowal's kaffee, someone asked her about how puppetry informs her fiction, which is a topic she's covered at Writing Excuses and in our online class.
So, while I highly advise going to kaffees and beers, some of my favorite times were when I was talking to a writer who I maybe didn't know so well. At the Fantastic London panel, American author David Liss commented about how he'd left grad school to write books, so I immediately signed up for his kaffeeklatsch to get the full story. And we had a very nice discussion. Even better for me (though a little sad for him probably), while he's a published author with several books, he's not a hot new author like Chuck Wendig or an old established lion (dragon?) like George R. R. Martin; so the Liss kaffeeklatsch was very sparse and cosy.
Second, some of the best time at cons will be when you skip the scheduled programming for chatting with people. Not to bury the lede here, I had a fabulous, nearly hour-long chat with Kim Stanley Robinson, whose fiction is incredible and who is also just a really nice and interesting guy. We talked about his fiction, my aborted graduate career, semiotic squares--it was really a wide and deep conversation.
Similarly, I had a great time when I was catching up with old friends, including three people from my online writing class with Mary Robinette Kowal. It was great to see them and chat in this different setting. That last day, I was late leaving San Antonio because I was having lunch and really getting into some interesting and deep family stories.
Third, meet new people! I really can't stress this enough (and I guess my chat with Kim Stanley Robinson and my kaffeeklatsch with David Liss could fall under this heading too). At the Jo Walton kaffeeklatsch on Friday, I met someone who used to work for the Onion's AV Club; and then later, at the Tor party, I ran into her again and had a real long talk about fan-dom and roleplaying games and just about everything nerd related.
Now, it's not always easy to meet new people, especially at a nerd-con, where many of the people are on some scale of introversion (or social anxiety). Even the authors may get a little worried look in their eye when someone approaches them (though there it's not just social anxiety but particular worry that you might be a nut). Still, I pushed myself a little and had very nice chats with Mur Lafferty, James Patrick Kelly, and Adam Christopher. And while I was (or hope I was) careful to give them some out in the conversation, I think in each case they were happy to chat.
Fourth, some of the scheduled panels were good and interesting--usually the panels where we just have one person giving a lesson. So Mary Robinette Kowal's lesson on Schmoozing 101 (i.e., don't be a creep or a jerk) should be scheduled before just about any social event; and Lou Anders's very structural approach to storytelling was very interesting. Let me put this in the form of a command that will be impossible to follow: Go to the panels that are worth it. (Or I guess the rule might be: follow the person, not the panel topic. I've heard Kowal and Anders discuss these topics before and knew they would give great information on them.)
Fifth, although I'm not super-thrilled with some of the Hugo Awards, the ceremony itself was a great deal of fun, with Toastmaster Paul Cornell making hilarious jokes, along with some touching calls for tolerance and equality within fandom. It was also just kind of heart-warming to see and hear some of the speeches. I don't know that the Hugos are a highlight, but Paul Cornell really was.
That general principle out of the way, here's my con highlights.
First, panels may be interesting, but go to the kaffeeklatsches and literary beers for individual insight in a small group. Almost all of the kaffeeklatsches and literary beers I went to were fun, entertaining, and educational.
For instance, I got to ask Chuck Wendig about supporting characters and their thematic relation to the protagonist. (I also got a free copy of Blackbirds signed by Chuck Wendig when he had three books to give away and decided to have a portmanteau curse contest. After everyone patterned theirs off of Wendig's "cockweasel"--"dick-muffin," "cunt-snickers"--I decided I would have a better chance reversing the formula and came up with "glam-dick." Which, you can tell, I'm very proud of.)
The only less-positive experiences--not even negative, just neutral experiences--is that if you go to a kaffee or beer with someone who you know, you might hear some of the same stories over again. So when I went to Mary Robinette Kowal's kaffee, someone asked her about how puppetry informs her fiction, which is a topic she's covered at Writing Excuses and in our online class.
So, while I highly advise going to kaffees and beers, some of my favorite times were when I was talking to a writer who I maybe didn't know so well. At the Fantastic London panel, American author David Liss commented about how he'd left grad school to write books, so I immediately signed up for his kaffeeklatsch to get the full story. And we had a very nice discussion. Even better for me (though a little sad for him probably), while he's a published author with several books, he's not a hot new author like Chuck Wendig or an old established lion (dragon?) like George R. R. Martin; so the Liss kaffeeklatsch was very sparse and cosy.
Second, some of the best time at cons will be when you skip the scheduled programming for chatting with people. Not to bury the lede here, I had a fabulous, nearly hour-long chat with Kim Stanley Robinson, whose fiction is incredible and who is also just a really nice and interesting guy. We talked about his fiction, my aborted graduate career, semiotic squares--it was really a wide and deep conversation.
Similarly, I had a great time when I was catching up with old friends, including three people from my online writing class with Mary Robinette Kowal. It was great to see them and chat in this different setting. That last day, I was late leaving San Antonio because I was having lunch and really getting into some interesting and deep family stories.
Third, meet new people! I really can't stress this enough (and I guess my chat with Kim Stanley Robinson and my kaffeeklatsch with David Liss could fall under this heading too). At the Jo Walton kaffeeklatsch on Friday, I met someone who used to work for the Onion's AV Club; and then later, at the Tor party, I ran into her again and had a real long talk about fan-dom and roleplaying games and just about everything nerd related.
Now, it's not always easy to meet new people, especially at a nerd-con, where many of the people are on some scale of introversion (or social anxiety). Even the authors may get a little worried look in their eye when someone approaches them (though there it's not just social anxiety but particular worry that you might be a nut). Still, I pushed myself a little and had very nice chats with Mur Lafferty, James Patrick Kelly, and Adam Christopher. And while I was (or hope I was) careful to give them some out in the conversation, I think in each case they were happy to chat.
Fourth, some of the scheduled panels were good and interesting--usually the panels where we just have one person giving a lesson. So Mary Robinette Kowal's lesson on Schmoozing 101 (i.e., don't be a creep or a jerk) should be scheduled before just about any social event; and Lou Anders's very structural approach to storytelling was very interesting. Let me put this in the form of a command that will be impossible to follow: Go to the panels that are worth it. (Or I guess the rule might be: follow the person, not the panel topic. I've heard Kowal and Anders discuss these topics before and knew they would give great information on them.)
Fifth, although I'm not super-thrilled with some of the Hugo Awards, the ceremony itself was a great deal of fun, with Toastmaster Paul Cornell making hilarious jokes, along with some touching calls for tolerance and equality within fandom. It was also just kind of heart-warming to see and hear some of the speeches. I don't know that the Hugos are a highlight, but Paul Cornell really was.
Wednesday, September 4, 2013
Library of America Story of the Week Read-Along 134: O. Henry, The Ransom of Red Chief (#86)
O. Henry, "The Ransom of Red Chief" (1910) from The 50 Funniest American Writers: An Anthology of Humor from Mark Twain to The Onion:
Has anyone in America not read "The Ransom of Red Chief"? In my experience, this was a story that I've chuckled over from elementary school to now, in settings both academic and informal. As an allusion, it's cultural capital is slightly below "The Gift of the Magi"--but only somewhat.
I can barely bring myself to recap or comment on the story, since it seems so well worn to me. But, since I've started noting some of the similarities between horror and humor, I will add that O. Henry's stories demonstrate one aspect shared by both: the use of anticipation and surprise. In horror, that surprise takes the form of "oh no," whereas comedy's use of surprise is more like "oh no he didn't." (Drama's use of surprise is less necessary to the effect of drama; though if I had to put it in this form, I'd say it more often takes the form of "he didn't!" Especially in Henry James, where the reader's next line is, "Wait, what did he do?")
So O. Henry will start with his scenario--two men kidnapping a boy--but he'll front load that story with hints that things didn't turn out quite the way we expect them to. From the first line--"It looked like a good thing: but wait till I tell you"--our anticipation is stoked to a point where he can then drop the boom on us. It's the kind of lesson that makes me want to get back into comedy writing.
Has anyone in America not read "The Ransom of Red Chief"? In my experience, this was a story that I've chuckled over from elementary school to now, in settings both academic and informal. As an allusion, it's cultural capital is slightly below "The Gift of the Magi"--but only somewhat.
I can barely bring myself to recap or comment on the story, since it seems so well worn to me. But, since I've started noting some of the similarities between horror and humor, I will add that O. Henry's stories demonstrate one aspect shared by both: the use of anticipation and surprise. In horror, that surprise takes the form of "oh no," whereas comedy's use of surprise is more like "oh no he didn't." (Drama's use of surprise is less necessary to the effect of drama; though if I had to put it in this form, I'd say it more often takes the form of "he didn't!" Especially in Henry James, where the reader's next line is, "Wait, what did he do?")
So O. Henry will start with his scenario--two men kidnapping a boy--but he'll front load that story with hints that things didn't turn out quite the way we expect them to. From the first line--"It looked like a good thing: but wait till I tell you"--our anticipation is stoked to a point where he can then drop the boom on us. It's the kind of lesson that makes me want to get back into comedy writing.
WorldCon Post-Mortem #2: If it wasn't for mistakes, I wouldn't have any misses at all
Since this was my first real con*, I'm not entirely sure about the mistakes I made. I mean, it's very easy for me to say, for instance, "I should've spent more time in the dealer's room"--but if I had spent more time there, maybe I would be saying, "I should've spent more time going to panels."
That said, here's what I'm taking away from this con in terms of mistakes--and hopes for a better time at cons in the future.
First, I got pulled over in Menard County for going a little fast, which is some lesson to me, especially since the sheriff asked to search my car. That cost me a little time. Still, it was a pretty interesting experience, though I think, next time, I won't tell the sheriff that I did smoke pot back in college--even if he asks very nicely. Don't speed.
Second, I planned to bring snacks, including (thanks to my girlfriend's advice) some celery and carrots (along with granola bars, pretzels, energy bars, almonds and dried cranberries, and chocolate-covered cranberries). I can't imagine surviving the con without those snacks.
That said, no matter how interesting a panel or discussion may be, I learned that you need to make time for yourself at a con, which includes sleeping, eating a real meal (with real vegetables, please), and going to the bathroom. Seriously, one day I skipped breakfast and lunch and by the time I went to dinner, I felt like I was going to faint and vomit at the same time. Take care of yourself.
Third--and here's a lesson from grad school and improv--you have to be where you are. If you're at one panel, wondering what's going on at another panel, you're not going to get anything out of the panel that you're in. There's a lot of shopping around (which I recommend), but once you're somewhere, just be there. (This is less a mistake and more a memo to myself that I always need to hear again.) Be where you are, grasshopper.
Fourth, panels can be an incredible grab-bag of personalities (and skill levels); and the organizers who write the programs aren't the ones who actually hold the panel. So I was at one panel of "-punk" genres, where the description included "martial punk" and no one in the room knew if that was a real thing. Similarly, no one at the "Where Have the Ghost Stories Gone?" panel thought that that was a good question to ask: ghost stories are still with us. And worst of all, at the panel of C. J. Cherryh's worldbuilding, the panel itself didn't mesh, so it just felt like people talking past each other. (Mostly because of this one woman who wanted everyone to know that she was Cherryh's very good friend. Which is nice for her, but not really helpful in understanding Cherryh's worldbuilding.) Take panels with a grain of salt.
Five, as much as you need sleep and you find it a little exhausting to go to parties with strangers, you should make an effort to go meet people, which is one of the great joys of cons. (And to be clear, wherever I say "you" here, I mean "I.") I met some really nice people at one or other party; but there was at least one night where I took the easy route of skipping a party where I probably could've met some more interesting people. Go talk to people.
Six, my accommodations were very cheap, because I was staying with a friend of a friend. But since I wasn't downtown at the big hotels, I wasn't in the very thick of it. You know, it just changes the emotional calculation for the evening when you have to factor in "driving back"--even if it's only a 10 minute or less drive. Consider spending extra money to get closer to the parties.
Seven, eat breakfast tacos.
Eight, I got a bunch of free books and ran out of room to carry them, so a bigger bag might've helped. But then it's best to travel lightly. So, on my first day, I had my ipad and external keyboard, as if I was going to get some serious writing done. I really only needed the ipad. Travel lightly at the con. (There was one notable, positive exception: knowing that I would be driving for three-plus hours in my minimally air-conditioned car (read: "sweat lodge"), I wisely packed a small bag with a change of clothes. So my first stop on hitting San Antonio was a place where I could change. But the general principle holds while at the con. Carry less and be prepared to shake more hands.)
Tune in tomorrow for my highlights of the con.
*I did go to a Science Fiction Research Association conference that was attached to a Heinlein convention. But it was a much smaller convention and I didn't really do much Heinlein-related activities, other than give the side-eye to out-of-shape older white men who complained that Verhoeven missed the point of Heinlein's Starship Troopers.
That said, here's what I'm taking away from this con in terms of mistakes--and hopes for a better time at cons in the future.
First, I got pulled over in Menard County for going a little fast, which is some lesson to me, especially since the sheriff asked to search my car. That cost me a little time. Still, it was a pretty interesting experience, though I think, next time, I won't tell the sheriff that I did smoke pot back in college--even if he asks very nicely. Don't speed.
Second, I planned to bring snacks, including (thanks to my girlfriend's advice) some celery and carrots (along with granola bars, pretzels, energy bars, almonds and dried cranberries, and chocolate-covered cranberries). I can't imagine surviving the con without those snacks.
That said, no matter how interesting a panel or discussion may be, I learned that you need to make time for yourself at a con, which includes sleeping, eating a real meal (with real vegetables, please), and going to the bathroom. Seriously, one day I skipped breakfast and lunch and by the time I went to dinner, I felt like I was going to faint and vomit at the same time. Take care of yourself.
Third--and here's a lesson from grad school and improv--you have to be where you are. If you're at one panel, wondering what's going on at another panel, you're not going to get anything out of the panel that you're in. There's a lot of shopping around (which I recommend), but once you're somewhere, just be there. (This is less a mistake and more a memo to myself that I always need to hear again.) Be where you are, grasshopper.
Fourth, panels can be an incredible grab-bag of personalities (and skill levels); and the organizers who write the programs aren't the ones who actually hold the panel. So I was at one panel of "-punk" genres, where the description included "martial punk" and no one in the room knew if that was a real thing. Similarly, no one at the "Where Have the Ghost Stories Gone?" panel thought that that was a good question to ask: ghost stories are still with us. And worst of all, at the panel of C. J. Cherryh's worldbuilding, the panel itself didn't mesh, so it just felt like people talking past each other. (Mostly because of this one woman who wanted everyone to know that she was Cherryh's very good friend. Which is nice for her, but not really helpful in understanding Cherryh's worldbuilding.) Take panels with a grain of salt.
Five, as much as you need sleep and you find it a little exhausting to go to parties with strangers, you should make an effort to go meet people, which is one of the great joys of cons. (And to be clear, wherever I say "you" here, I mean "I.") I met some really nice people at one or other party; but there was at least one night where I took the easy route of skipping a party where I probably could've met some more interesting people. Go talk to people.
Six, my accommodations were very cheap, because I was staying with a friend of a friend. But since I wasn't downtown at the big hotels, I wasn't in the very thick of it. You know, it just changes the emotional calculation for the evening when you have to factor in "driving back"--even if it's only a 10 minute or less drive. Consider spending extra money to get closer to the parties.
Seven, eat breakfast tacos.
Eight, I got a bunch of free books and ran out of room to carry them, so a bigger bag might've helped. But then it's best to travel lightly. So, on my first day, I had my ipad and external keyboard, as if I was going to get some serious writing done. I really only needed the ipad. Travel lightly at the con. (There was one notable, positive exception: knowing that I would be driving for three-plus hours in my minimally air-conditioned car (read: "sweat lodge"), I wisely packed a small bag with a change of clothes. So my first stop on hitting San Antonio was a place where I could change. But the general principle holds while at the con. Carry less and be prepared to shake more hands.)
Tune in tomorrow for my highlights of the con.
*I did go to a Science Fiction Research Association conference that was attached to a Heinlein convention. But it was a much smaller convention and I didn't really do much Heinlein-related activities, other than give the side-eye to out-of-shape older white men who complained that Verhoeven missed the point of Heinlein's Starship Troopers.
Tuesday, September 3, 2013
Library of America Story of the Week Read-Along 133: Sarah Orne Jewett, Aunt Cynthy Dallett (#53)
Sarah Orne Jewett, "Aunt Cynthy Dallett" (1896) from Sarah Orne Jewett: Novels and Stories:
A long, slow, sentimental story--and I mean that in a good way. Like a lot of Jewett, this story focuses on women's roles and relationships. So the main story is about how older women relate, both widows (Mrs. Hand) and spinsters (Miss Pendexter). This issue comes out both in questions of who runs the house and how hosts and guests are supposed to act; and even rolls down to how the holidays are kept.
But with all this stuff going on about women's roles and houses--Aunt Cynthy is too old to live by herself anymore, but too stubborn to want to leave her mountain-top house; Miss Pendexter is on a slow slide to poverty without any property being left to her by any other relatives (or spouses)--the story also overlays this brute economics with a lot of warmth. So Aunt Cynthy doesn't want to leave her house and Miss Pendexter is too poor to keep a house, which gives a clear economic solution. But Miss Pendexter's move to Aunt Cynthy's house isn't just economics (as presented). It's also warmth and sentimentality and heart. That the richer relative gets her way is, as Jewett presents it, mere happenstance.
A long, slow, sentimental story--and I mean that in a good way. Like a lot of Jewett, this story focuses on women's roles and relationships. So the main story is about how older women relate, both widows (Mrs. Hand) and spinsters (Miss Pendexter). This issue comes out both in questions of who runs the house and how hosts and guests are supposed to act; and even rolls down to how the holidays are kept.
But with all this stuff going on about women's roles and houses--Aunt Cynthy is too old to live by herself anymore, but too stubborn to want to leave her mountain-top house; Miss Pendexter is on a slow slide to poverty without any property being left to her by any other relatives (or spouses)--the story also overlays this brute economics with a lot of warmth. So Aunt Cynthy doesn't want to leave her house and Miss Pendexter is too poor to keep a house, which gives a clear economic solution. But Miss Pendexter's move to Aunt Cynthy's house isn't just economics (as presented). It's also warmth and sentimentality and heart. That the richer relative gets her way is, as Jewett presents it, mere happenstance.
WorldCon Post-Mortem #1: The bird's, NO, spaceship's-eye view
For the last five days, I've been in San Antonio for WorldCon, the World Science Fiction Convention, which was great fun (with some serious issues on the side). This post will be the first of a 5-part series, unless I get bored or decide I have more to say. Today's topic will be a general overview of the convention, both in the general (what there is at a con) and the specific (what I did).
First, San Antonio and the Convention Center:
The convention center was a little confusing at first in terms of layout; and I think several times some author would get lost on the way to his/her meeting and tweet out an SOS. (Twitter was essential for the convention. But a big-ass map of the convention center posted somewhere would be pretty sweet too.) The convention center is also near some very big hotels and a very touristy riverwalk, which makes it convenient but not all that interesting. So when I asked a friend what he would tell his family (in Alaska!) about Texas, he said he hadn't really seen Texas.
Which is probably what you would say at just about any convention, but doubly so for this one: when the temp in the convention center is so low and the outside heat is so high, it doesn't encourage a lot of exploring outdoors. Luckily, thanks to an article in Texas Monthly, I found a couple of interesting/intriguing places to go to just south of the Convention Center. Maybe I'm a minority in this, but when I go to a distant city, I like to go a little beyond the convention center. Then again, considering how many mobility scooters and canes there were, I can understand why "exploration" was not high on many people's wish-lists. Which brings me to...
Second, the Graying of Fandom and Exclusivity:
Is science fiction fandom getting older or is the WorldCon merely a forbidding place to the newbie and the young? Well, clearly the first is not entirely correct, since YA SF is a booming industry. (Although we could discuss whether YA fantasy is beating YA SF's pants off and giving those pants to a sparkly vampire.) I don't have much to say on this right now--for one thing, I'm not really sure of the demographic stats--but the possibility that WorldCon is graying/shrinking is a serious issue that is getting some attention right now; see Chuck Wendig's blog and Andrea Philip's blog for serious discussion.
I'm yoking "graying" and "exclusivity" together here because WorldCon has been going for a long, long time; and it's got some long-standing traditions. Which is great: I love tradition. On the flipside: oy vey, tradition. When a long-standing community has a set of in-jokes, it can be off-putting not to get the jokes; when they have a whole set of traditions that are fundamental to the operation of the convention, it can be exclusionary. There was a great joke by Paul Cornell when he was hosting this Hugo Award ceremony about this: when it came time to give the award for "Best Semiprozine," he noted that "semiprozine" sounds like something you ask your doctor for (when he said it "may cause drowsiness," part of the audience gasped) and then went on to list the counter-intuitive rules for that category.
So, as someone pointed out, a lot of the con business isn't science fiction and fantasy--it's the con. So there's the bid parties (where the city that wants the next available WorldCon throws a party to show you what a good time they have in, say, Helsinki). Which can be fun, but may be hard to navigate for a newcomer. Similarly, my membership allowed me to vote in lots of WorldCon business, but I didn't really find a lot of material in my con packet to help prepare me for those issues.
But I will say this: as a dude who spent a fair amount of time walking around with a woman, I didn't see much creepy interaction. But like I said: dude--so I'm not sure I would see the creepy interaction. And it was very nice to hear message of inclusivity and tolerance espoused by several people, including Paul Cornell and Best Artist John Picacio, as well as others.
Third, Con Events:
There are several things to do at a con like this, including
- walk through the dealers' room and exhibit hall, where you can see weapons and books for sale, some Doctor Who memorabilia, and a giant plastic Iron Throne (from Game of Thrones);
- go to panel discussions on
- some book or book-related topic (e.g. Robert E. Howard's boxing stories, The Left Hand of Darkness, C. J. Cherryh's worldbuilding);
- some trend (e.g. YA books, urban fantasy);
- some craft issue (e.g., plot problems);
- some speculative-related issue (e.g., space law);
- go to an author signing;
- go to an author reading;
- go to an author Kaffeeklatsch or Literary Beer (a small group discussion);
- go talk to someone in the hallway or on line (but never in the bathroom);
- go to various parties (like the bid parties or the publisher parties).
Four, What I Did (and a Quick Note on How I Felt About It--positive, negative, or neutral):
Thursday:
- Fantastic London panel (+)
- C. J. Cherryh's Worldbuilding panel (-)
- the Haikasoru party (+) and several bid parties (-)
- Kaffeeklatsch with Chuck Wendig (++)
- Schmoozing 101 with Mary Robinette Kowal (+)
- History of Science and the Experience of Science Fiction panel (+/-)
- Literary Beer with Jo Walton (+)
- My Dragon Torched the Prince and Other Plot Problems panel (+/-)
- How to Sell to Ellen Datlow (-)
- the Tor party (++)
- How to Write a Short Story panel (+/-)
- Kaffeeklatsch with David Liss (+)
- Punking It panel (+)
- Screenplay Structure for Novelists (++)
- Short Stories--What's Next (+/-)
- Kim Stanley Robinson reading (++)
- Masquerade (-, but surreal enough to warrant going once)
- the Drabblecast and Brotherhood without Banners party (I barely was there)
Sunday
- How to Write a Teaser (+)
- The Future Two Hundred Years Out (++)
- Kaffeeklatsch with Mary Robinette Kowal (+/-, but mostly because I'd heard most of these stories before)
- Norman Spinrad Guest of Honor speech (+/-)
- Where Have the Ghost Stories Gone (+/-)
- the Hugo Awards (+)
- Post-Hugo Award drinks at the bar (+)
Monday
- How to Write a Novel (+/-)
- Literary Beer with Paul Cornell (+)
Now, these were just the official things that I went to; many of my highlights were the unofficial chats that I had with people. (And I guess parties aren't totally "official" official.) But now that we have a rough overview of the con, I'll fill in tomorrow with my mistakes and highlights.
Monday, September 2, 2013
Library of America Story of the Week Read-Along 132: A. J. Liebling, Horsefeathers Swathed in Mink (#52)
A. J. Liebling, "Horsefeathers Swathed in Mink" (1947) from A. J. Liebling: The Sweet Science and Other Writings:
Before The Daily Show with Jon Stewart and NPR's On the Media, Liebling had a column to excoriate bad media, especially the press. And reading an example of this beat 60+ years later, I don't know whether to be comforted or depressed at how familiar it all seems. Liebling starts to note how much the press loves to punch "the undeserving poor," intimating--or outright saying--that poor people deserve to starve instead of risking an increase in property taxes. His example was a case of supposed welfare fraud--a woman with a mink coat--that got front page attention; but which (a) was not true and (b) wouldn't have been representative if it had been. Liebling goes through this case carefully, noting the distance between the three-column headlines and the reality. He pays especial attention to the Times, noting
What's also depressing about this piece is that it was placed in the New Yorker, a magazine I enjoy, but whose politics are not all that far removed from the "don't raise my taxes" crowd. As opposed to the popular right-wing papers (then and now) who call for the starvation of the poor, the highbrow New Yorker seems to take a slightly different tone that leads to the same end. Something like "it would be nice to help people, but don't raise my taxes."
And for further depression, I can barely imagine a news-outlet that took any other position.
Before The Daily Show with Jon Stewart and NPR's On the Media, Liebling had a column to excoriate bad media, especially the press. And reading an example of this beat 60+ years later, I don't know whether to be comforted or depressed at how familiar it all seems. Liebling starts to note how much the press loves to punch "the undeserving poor," intimating--or outright saying--that poor people deserve to starve instead of risking an increase in property taxes. His example was a case of supposed welfare fraud--a woman with a mink coat--that got front page attention; but which (a) was not true and (b) wouldn't have been representative if it had been. Liebling goes through this case carefully, noting the distance between the three-column headlines and the reality. He pays especial attention to the Times, noting
I was saddened by the whole thing because the Times is in many respects a sound newspaper, within the translucent mass of which one may occasionally discern the outlines of commendable purposes, fixed like strawberries in a great mold of jello, and of good men struggling feebly, like minnows within a giant jellyfish.Man, that's a good burn. I'd like to use that in my own discussion of today's media, but I'm not sure who would qualify today as a "good [man] struggling feebly" against the system?
What's also depressing about this piece is that it was placed in the New Yorker, a magazine I enjoy, but whose politics are not all that far removed from the "don't raise my taxes" crowd. As opposed to the popular right-wing papers (then and now) who call for the starvation of the poor, the highbrow New Yorker seems to take a slightly different tone that leads to the same end. Something like "it would be nice to help people, but don't raise my taxes."
And for further depression, I can barely imagine a news-outlet that took any other position.
Sunday, September 1, 2013
Library of America Story of the Week Read-Along 131: James Thurber, The Lady on the Bookcase (#17)
James Thurber, "The Lady on the Bookcase" (1945) from James Thurber: Writings and Drawings:
Thurber presents one of my favorite types of story: the heavily illustrated. Originally titled “Thurber As Seen By Thurber," this piece presents Thurber's categorization of his cartoons, according to where the idea came from. This being Thurber, the categories themselves are a mix of slightly fanciful and downright real, from the "Stream of Nervousness" cartoons (where a house marked "Home" is also a woman glaring down at a little man); to the accidental (or merely subconscious) cartoons (where a seal that is supposed to be on a rock, due to some poor drawing, ends up being on the headboard of a bed); to the "Contributed Idea" cartoons, where someone else actually came up with the idea and Thurber merely drew it in his style (because his style would work, as in the bloodless decapitation of sword duelists with the dialogue, "Touché.")
But this retrospective introspective piece is really just an excuse for a series of jokes: a man who complains to an editor that the New Yorker publishes a fourth-rate cartoonist is rebuffed--Thurber is, at worst, third-rate. His two-year-old daughter could recognize the picture of a hippo, whereas the New Yorker merely categorizes it as a "strange animal"--and the New Yorker is nine years old. And so on. The jokes are a mix of self-deprecating and world-deprecating, but all so gentle that it's hard to take any real feeling from them. This is low-stakes humor, the type that calls for chuckles but not much more.
It's also a devilishly good scheme to re-use his cartoons. Did he get paid twice for each cartoon?
Thurber presents one of my favorite types of story: the heavily illustrated. Originally titled “Thurber As Seen By Thurber," this piece presents Thurber's categorization of his cartoons, according to where the idea came from. This being Thurber, the categories themselves are a mix of slightly fanciful and downright real, from the "Stream of Nervousness" cartoons (where a house marked "Home" is also a woman glaring down at a little man); to the accidental (or merely subconscious) cartoons (where a seal that is supposed to be on a rock, due to some poor drawing, ends up being on the headboard of a bed); to the "Contributed Idea" cartoons, where someone else actually came up with the idea and Thurber merely drew it in his style (because his style would work, as in the bloodless decapitation of sword duelists with the dialogue, "Touché.")
But this retrospective introspective piece is really just an excuse for a series of jokes: a man who complains to an editor that the New Yorker publishes a fourth-rate cartoonist is rebuffed--Thurber is, at worst, third-rate. His two-year-old daughter could recognize the picture of a hippo, whereas the New Yorker merely categorizes it as a "strange animal"--and the New Yorker is nine years old. And so on. The jokes are a mix of self-deprecating and world-deprecating, but all so gentle that it's hard to take any real feeling from them. This is low-stakes humor, the type that calls for chuckles but not much more.
It's also a devilishly good scheme to re-use his cartoons. Did he get paid twice for each cartoon?
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)