Mark Charan Newton

Awesome post over on Adrian Tchaikovsky’s blog about reading in the genre.

A genuine ignorance of the genre is possible. If you simply don’t read it, fine. However if you claim that, and then write this, people may ask how come, since you reinvented the wheel, all those spokes, the hub and the rim were just sitting about ready-made in your store-room. There are books that cross into the fantasy genre from outside, because genre boundaries are artificial and (yada yada yada see previous posts tagged fiction) (6). On the other hand, most fantasy books have strong and clear antecedents within the genre. You wouldn’t write a haiku without knowing how many beats to the bar, after all (7). As a good example of this, David Gemmell wasn’t a fantasy reader. However, he was a Westerns reader, another marginalised genre, and one can see the Westerns influence in his work.

He’s very eloquent about the whole thing, too.

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This month’s National Geographic displayed a picture of a huge ziggurat in the city of Dur Untash, built in the 13th Century B.C., a a vast stepped-temple tower that rose above the landscape, dominating the foreground and horizon. I wonder what the builders of that structure would think if they knew it was there, still standing.

There’s something poignant and humbling about such ancient monuments still, isn’t there, because how many things built today are constructed with as much bloody-mindedness when faced with the concept of time. They’re weathered, a little crumbled, but with a bold dignity that makes anything new seem untested, inferior even.

For me there’s a metaphor, about a monument such as this, that when some people have sparred with age everyone respects them with awe. They speak their name in whispers. Do people become monuments, great legendary figures, I wonder, or do some of us become like artifacts, collectable items that we don’t quite understand, but we want them around us anyway to remind us of something we’re not sure about. A misguided comfort. But most are left to gather dust, the sheer volume of items and constructs given to history, anonymous.

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Gabe Chouinard lights a fire under the ass of reviewers.

I like to start the week off with a bang, so each Monday I will be posting a longer, more indepth piece that will examine varied issues and concerns. The intent is to kick-start a discussion around these concerns; to create an open dialogue with others. I hope you enjoy this meandering piece, and I hope it spurs some thought.

I’m not going to name names.

But according to the review blogs, it seems the publishers have been doing a good job of putting out nothing but readable, good books. In fact, reading the review blogs for any period of time, one might get the impression that SFF is filled with an inordinate amount of quality work, all of which equally demands the reader’s dollars. In fact, reading the review blogs for any amount of time, one may come away with the idea SFF absolutely teems with worthy books.

Which just isn’t the case.

There are a couple factors leading to this overall impression which I’d like to discuss.

And discuss he does. I’ve seen a couple of such musings in the blogosphere recently, and whether I agree or not (I do, in fact, for the most part), it’s certainly important to have these sorts of things out there. Wherever there is. Even with a publishing, or a reader hat on, I’ve seen some terrible reviews of books—not slagging off the books, simply badly written reviews, with little thought, or bringing an agenda to the table before hand. (This is fine, if we assume that the writer doesn’t claim to be any better than a fan reviewer.)

Plus there’s something that brings a smile to my author’s face to hear of reviewers being reviewed.

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So, I bought a ticket to see the the most pre-preview screening on Wednesday, at a fee of £13! Yes, I am that sad. Will it be worth that? I could wait another day and have it half that price, but hey. And tonight’s entertainment, Gotham Knight. If you hear nothing of me by the end of the week, assume I’m wearing a cape and crouching on the tops of tall buildings.

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Interesting rant by James over at Speculative Horizons.

Something which has become increasingly common in recent years is the number of fantasy authors who, when asked what other genre writers they read/admire, give a reply along the lines of: “Oh, well…I don’t really read fantasy, you see.”… So why don’t some fantasy authors read fantasy novels? Are they embarrassed to read fantasy (but not to write it)? Do they not have respect for the genre? Perhaps it’s because after spending a day working on their own stories in their own worlds they don’t want to then get lost in someone else’s world, but I think that is just an excuse. I spend every free waking moment thinking about/working on my own project, and I still love to read fantasy on my daily commute.

It’s a fair point. I have to say, there’s something distinctly S&M about authors who write fantasy but don’t like it. Me, I think it’s important to read in the genre. If you want to claim to innovate, how can you if you don’t know what’s gone before? If you don’t want to copy what’s gone before, you need to know what’s already there. Also, for new writers, you need to know what market you’re writing in—know how your book will fit in with what publishers actually want.

But I think it’s equally important to read other genres and styles, too. It gives you something fresh to play with, ideas that approach prose style, plot and characterization from different angles.

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A not so complete history of literary tattoos. (Link pinched from the blog of Jonathan Carroll.

Johannes Guttenberg invented the printing press in Germany in 1439. Samuel O’Reilly invented the modern tattoo machine in 1891. And sometime around the turn of the century the first literary tattoo was born. Whether nostalgic for the characters from a favorite children’s book or as a tribute to a favorite writer’s words, the book tattoo is a classy way to go. The lowbrow nature of the tattoo juxtaposes nicely against the highbrow art of the book. Here now, a look at some of its many forms.

Right, I’m off to get something from the books of Hemingway, or DeLillo. And I swear I’ll propose to a girl who has either of these authors’ work etched into their skin.

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At last, a video of Jeff Buckley that those bastards at Sony haven’t stamped their authoritarian copyright on.

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Last night I sketched a map. A secondary world map, for Nights of Villjamur. There are some who may think this stretches into true nerdism, and you may be right, but I can’t deny it felt good. Can’t have a fantasy without a map, many say.

There’s something thoroughly satisfying about putting the world I was writing about into a visual form. Although, it has to be said that my sketch was truly appalling, and the guys at Macmillan are going to get a cartographer on the case to translate the lines I hacked into the paper into something altogether more pleasing to the eye. Cartographer = awesome.

In the meantime, here are two links about old/antique map collections, for all the map geeks out there, at the British Library, and Hipkiss’ scans of old maps.

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