Writing Speculative Fiction Is Hard Work

My novel manuscript is with those who’ve kindly agreed to be its first readers. A potential publisher is taking a look at my poetry collection manuscript. So, for the first time in a long while, I have gone back to my first, and perhaps best, love: writing short stories.

It won’t be news to anyone who has followed this blog that I like to have a couple of projects on the go at once, but I don’t usually work on a couple of short stories at the same time. At the moment, though, I’m alternating between writing two stories. One’s long(ish), one’s short(ish). One’s light-hearted, one’s more severe. One’s science fiction, one’s literary/mainstream fiction.

And I’m here to tell you that the science fiction story is a lot harder to write than the mainstream story. This doesn’t mean that the science fiction story is better, or worse, or more valid, that the mainstream story. Both might be good – or both might be dreadful. But it’s certainly harder work to write.

Why? It’s because so much more has to be packed into the SF story – which is, admittedly, the shorter one – to make it work. A story set in the world with which most of its readership is familiar doesn’t have to spend a lot of time in scene-setting, in finding ways to make the world in which it is set clear to the reader without overburdening that self-same reader with exposition.

There are only so many words to go around in a short story, and the more that are spent cuing the reader in to what distinguishes the world of the story from the world they are familiar with, the less there are to delineate character and advance the action.

This won’t be news to speculative fiction writers, of course, but it may be to writers and readers of literary fiction. One of the criticisms often advanced of SF is that it suffers from poor characterisation. To the extent to which that is true, it may simply be because only the very finest writers of SF – the Ursula Le Guins, the Gene Wolfes – can show the reader a new or changed world, keep the story moving, and create memorable characters at the same time.

Book Review: Galileo’s Dream, by Kim Stanley Robinson

Kim Stanley Robinson is well known for his fictions about the near future in the face of climate change (the “Science in the Capital” series that begins with Forty Signs of Rain; Antarctica), and even better known for his Mars trilogy – Red Mars, Green Mars, Blue Mars – which looks in dazzling detail at the near-future colonisation, terraforming, and coming to independence of the fourth planet from the sun.

But Kim Stanley Robinson has also had a long-standing interest in history and alternate history. That has shown out in several fine short stories, and in his novel The Years of Rice and Salt, an alternate history in which medieval Christian Europe is wiped out by the plague, and Islam and Buddhism compete for dominance of the emptied land.

Kim Stanley Robinson’s latest novel, Galileo’s Dream, is a curious hybrid of historical novel and near-future exploration of the solar system.

In the main, it is a biographical novel about Galileo Galilei, covering the period from his middle years to his death, and focusing on his crucial discoveries and on the causes and consequences of his famous trial for heresy. But, through what might best be described as “the magic of quantum”, the Galileo of this novel also jumps over 1000 years into our future, becoming embroiled in the politics of the inhabited Galilean moons.

That’s an interesting story. Galileo’s life is also an interesting story. But I’m not sure the two cohere. The machinations and rivalries of the Europans and the Ganymedeans, and the major discovery on which their part of the novel turns, are very interesting – and reminiscent as much of Arthur C. Clarke as of what we’ve come to expect from Kim Stanley Robinson – but are left frustratingly unresolved. And, although events in the future story parallel events in the biographical part of the novel, they aren’t allowed to do so to the extent that the narrative of Galileo’s life depart from known biographical fact – which makes me question the point of including the future story in the first place.

But this review is turning out to be more negative than is warranted, or than I intended. I may have my doubts about the way these two stories are interleaved, but both are very interesting, and Galileo’s Dream, like every Kim Stanley Robinson book I have read, features memorable characters acting boldly on the issues of their time, while engaging in fascinating speculations on science, sexism and society.

Yet what really stands out in Galileo’s Dream is its depiction of ageing. Galileo fears, and then undergoes, the loss of his powers and faculties. His failing body, and the fate of his children, torment him. He has renown, but loses the capacity to enjoy its fruits. More than science, speculation or intrigue, it is this portrayal of the impact of age and infirmity on a vigorous creative life that stayed with me when I finished Galileo’s Dream.

A Book A Week: What I Read In 2009

I kept track of my 2009 reading using LibraryThing. It turns out I read a book a week in 2009 – excluding the many books I consulted as part of research for my novel, and a few I read for work. With rough divisions by genre, they were:

1. Essential Dykes to Watch Out For by Alison Bechdel (cartoons)
2. The White Road and Other Stories by Tania Hershman (short stories)
3. The Uncommon Reader by Alan Bennett (novella)
4. The Bride of Science: Romance, Reason and Byron’s Daughter by Benjamin Woolley (nonfiction-biography)
5. From Elfland to Poughkeepsie by Ursula K. Le Guin (criticism)
6. A Good Walk Spoiled by J. M. Gregson (novel-detective)
7. Swings and Roundabouts : poems on parenthood, edited by Emma Neale (poetry anthology)
8. Believers to the Bright Coast by Vincent O’Sullivan (novel-literary)
9. Calvin and Hobbes: Sunday Pages by Bill Watterson (cartoons)
10. To Kill a Mockingbird by Harper Lee (novel)
11. The Transition Handbook: From Oil Dependency to Local Resilience, by Rob Hopkins (nonfiction)
12. Improbable Eden: The Dry Valleys of Antarctica by Bill Green (essays) and Craig Potton (photographs) (nonfiction)
13. The Six Pack Three: Winning Writing from New Zealand Book Month (fiction/poetry anthology)
14. Speaking in Tongues by L. E. Scott (poetry)
15. Thornspell by Helen Lowe (novel-fantasy)
16. Love All by Elizabeth Jane Howard (novel-romance/historical)
17. Father India: How Encounters with an Ancient Culture Transformed the Modern West by Jeffery Paine (nonfiction-history)
18. George Gordon, Lord Byron: selected poems (poetry)
19. The Discovery of India (Abridged Edition) by Jawaharlal Nehru (nonfiction-history)
20. In a Fishbone Church by Catherine Chidgey (novel-literary)
21. Cretaceous Dawn by Lisa M. Graziano and Michael S.A. Graziano (novel-SF)
22. The Lakes of Mars by Chris Orsman (poetry)
23. Winter Study by Nevada Barr (novel-thriller)
24. Suite Francaise by Irene Nemirovsky (novel-literary)
25. Time of Your Life (Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Season 8, Vol. 4) by Joss Whedon (graphic novel)
26. India After Gandhi by Ramachandra Guha (nonfiction-history)
27. A Dream In Polar Fog by Yuri Rytkheu (novel-literary)
28. The Sword in the Stone by T H White (novel-fantasy)
29. Tom by Mark Pirie (verse novel)
30. Banana by Renee Liang (poetry)
31. Nearest & Dearest by Mary Cresswell (poetry)
32. The Carhullan Army by Sarah Hall (novel-SF)
33. The Summer King by Joanna Preston (poetry)
34. made for weather by Kay McKenzie Cooke (poetry)
35. The Law of Love by Laura Esquivel (novel-magic realism)
36. Netherland by Joseph O’Neill (novel-literary)
37. The Turn of the Screw by Henry James (novella-ghost/horror)
38. Letters from the asylum by John Knight (poetry)
39. The Secret History of Moscow by Ekaterina Sedia (novel-fantasy)
40. A House on Fire by Tim Upperton (poetry)
41. The People’s Act of Love by James Meek (novel-historical)
42. Dressing for the Cannibals by Frankie McMillan (poetry)
43. Buffy the Vampire Slayer: Predators and Prey, Season 8, Volume 5, by Joss Whedon, Jane Espenson et al (graphic novel)
44. Aunt Julia and the Scriptwriter by Mario Vargas Llosa (novel-bildungsroman)
45. Watching for Smoke by Helen Heath (poetry chapbook)
46. The Coldest March by Susan Solomon (nonfiction-history/exploration)
47. Curved Horizon by Ruth Dallas (literary autobiography)
48. The Abominable Snow-Women by Dorothy Braxton (nonfiction-exploration)
49. The Last Church by Lee Pletzers (novel-horror)
50. The Year of Henry James by David Lodge (memoir/criticism)
51. Feeding the Dogs by Kay McKenzie Cooke (poetry)
52. Sorry, I’m A Stranger Here Myself by Peter Bland (literary autobiography)

I haven’t kept track of my reading before, so I don’t know how this compares to a typical year’s reading. My sense is that I have read somewhat less fiction and rather more poetry than usual, with the proportion of nonfiction about the same.

I think, overall, it’s the poetry – almost all, this year, New Zealand poetry – that I’ve enjoyed most. I have read some excellent collections; some I have admired for their technical excellence, while others (without lacking in poetic technique) have moved me: often, these are collections that have featured poems about places or situations I have been to our lived through.

I was highly impressed by the technical accomplishment of Joanna Preston’s The Summer King, Chris Orsman’s The Lakes of Mars, and Tim Upperton’s A House On Fire, yet despite this, it was Kay McKenzie Cooke’s made for weather and Feeding the Dogs, Helen Heath’s chapbook Watching For Smoke, and Renee Liang’s chapbook Banana that made the most impact on me – together with Emma Neale’s excellent anthology of poems about parenting, Swings and Roundabouts. I also had a lot of fun with Mark Pirie’s verse novel Tom.

In fiction, five novels stood out for me. Irene Nemirovsky’s Suite Francaise was the best novel I read this year, by a short head from Joseph O’Neill’s Netherland, which was wonderful right up to a somewhat underwhelming ending, and Helen Lowe’s Thornspell, an excellent fantasy for older children and younger young adults (I think this may be what is called “MG” rather than “YA” fiction). I also very much enjoyed A Dream In Polar Fog by Yuri Rytkheu, and (a re-read after many years) To Kill A Mockingbird by Harper Lee. Tania Hershman’s collection The White Road and Other Stories includes many fine short – and short-short – stories.

My resolution to read more New Zealand fiction didn’t get very far this year. I was underwhelmed by Catherine Chidgey’s In a Fishbone Church and Vincent O’Sullivan’s Believers to the Bright Coast, both of which, in my view, have the fault common in New Zealand fiction of sacrificing story for style. I think my favourite New Zealand fiction this year was David Geary’s entertaining story “Gary Manawatu (1964–2008): Death of a Fence-Post-Modernist”, included in The Six Pack Three.

Other disappointments included Henry James’s The Turn of the Screw and T H White’s The Sword in the Stone, neither of which, for me, lived up to their reputations.

I read some fine nonfiction this year, but the stand-out was Ramachandra Guha’s superb history India After Gandhi, with an honourable mention going to Improbable Eden: The Dry Valleys of Antarctica, a superbly illustrated book of essays (or superbly essayed book of illustrations).

Finally, neither volume of Season 8 of Buffy the Vampire Slayer (a continuation of the TV series in graphic novel form) that I read this year were up to the standard of their predecessors in this series, but Buffy seasons often have a sag in the middle, so I’m going to stick with the series to see how it ends up. Therefore, last as it was first, my final highlight of the year was Alison Bechdel’s Essential Dykes to Watch Out For, which I was given for Christmas 2008. It contains about 70% of all her Dykes to Watch Out For cartoons, and it’s both great fun and great social commentary.

Voyagers: Here At Last

I was going to do a much longer and more complicated blog post tonight, but I’m too tired. So instead, this is just to say that I have a copy of Voyagers: Science Fiction Poetry from New Zealand sitting right here besides me, and that feels good!

Mark Pirie and I started on this project in 2004, when we called for submissions for our planned anthology of New Zealand science fiction poetry. While submissions were coming in, we went off and deepened our knowledge of New Zealand poetry by looking for previously-published SF poems. (Well, I deepened my knowledge – Mark’s was pretty deep already.)

By mid-2005, we had the first version of the manuscript pretty much sorted out. As I’ve previously recounted, finding a publisher proved to be difficult, and we were very pleased when Interactive Publications of Brisbane took the project on in 2008. We couldn’t include all the poems we wished, but those we have included look rather good to me. You can find sample poems from the book, by David Gregory, Meg Campbell and Mary Cresswell, at the Voyagers mini-site (bottom right of that page).

Mark and I will be sending out contributors’ and review copies over the next couple of weeks. There will be a New Zealand launch for Voyagers in July, but if you’d like to get a copy while it’s fresh off the presses, you can buy it from Amazon.com as a paperback or Kindle e-book (search for “Voyagers: Science Fiction Poetry”), or from Fishpond in New Zealand. You can also find out more about Voyagers, and buy it directly from the publisher, at the Voyagers mini-site.

An Interview with Sue Emms

Sue Emms is the fiction editor of Bravado magazine, and also a novelist and author of short fiction. She made a big splash with her first novel, Parrot Parfait, and subsequently published her second novel, Come Yesterday. I interviewed her recently about her past and current writing, her plans for the future, and the bubbling literary scene in Tauranga.

You’ve had two novels published to a good response, Parrot Parfait and Come Yesterday; you had a story included in The Best New Zealand Fiction: Volume 3; and you’re the fiction editor of Bravado magazine. But would it be fair to say that things have been a bit quiet for you lately on the literary front, and if so, would you mind saying why?

Two things happened at more or less the same time. Along with fellow writer and editor Jenny Argante I was asked to create a writing programme for the Waiariki Institute in Rotorua. We first created a Certificate in Creative Writing, developed it to Diploma level, and added manuscript mentoring. I must have written about 400,000 words for the courses, and it’s been great fun – plus we’ve had excellent feedback from writers who have taken part (always good), but it has been time-consuming. I’m hoping to cut back from course development to just tutoring and mentoring this year, to allow more time for my own writing.

At the same time, things were going to custard on a personal level. I was nursing my mother through a long illness and, a few months after her death, my brother was diagnosed with brain tumours. I cared for him until his death, which arrived far too quickly – only 5 months from diagnosis. I was left fairly shattered, to be honest, and unable to write anything that I’d consider fit for publication. It was all personal, cathartic stuff. Now, a year or so down the track, I feel I’m coming to a place where I can write for publication again.

When did you first start writing fiction, and what made you decide to become a professional writer?

When do writers begin writing … that’s a question! Formally, I made a start in the mid 80s, and even had some successes, but then I had a crisis of confidence and gave it all away. In 1998, I decided that the dream hadn’t died, and I was going to give it a go: if I failed, so be it. Why fiction, and why professional? Because I love reading, love nothing better than falling in to a fictional world that feels more real than the one I live in. I love the act of crafting a body of words so they make sense; because of all the things in life I can’t do, writing is the one I can.

Who are some of your favourite authors? Would you say that these are the authors who’ve had the most influence on your own writing, or do you have a separate set of influences?

Ah God. Favourite authors … I’m a gourmand when it comes to authors, not a gourmet. Worse, I am fickle. I fall in love with an author, and out again. But some enduring writers are Thorne Smith, Anne Tyler, David Brin, Kate Atkinson, Anna Quindlen, Janny Wurtz, Elizabeth Berg, Jasper Fforde and dozens of others depending on my mood. I’m not sure if any have had a specific influence that I can identify – I’ve never set out to write like anyone else. But sometimes I write something or get an idea, and am aware there is a subconscious nod to a previous writer. My work in progress is A Man of Many Lives about a man who has half-a-dozen skeletons for company. Thorne Smith wrote a book called Skin and Bone. That has to be an influence.

Other influences? Life. Because I’m the kind of person who is always trying to make sense of it all – I know, that’s the path to madness, but still. Doesn’t stop me trying.

I have never been to Tauranga — shocking, I know! – but there seems to be a vibrant literary scene there, with Bravado one of its most visible manifestations. Has the Tauranga literary community been an inspiration to you — or perhaps I should ask, have you been an inspiration to it?!

It’s fair to say it’s a two-way street, a kind of mutual generation of vibrancy. Jenny Argante is probably one of the driving forces around here. She’s the ideas lady – and I’m the one who putters quietly away behind the scenes. Having said that, I dropped out of the scene to a great extent with my family considerations.

Bravado is heading for its fifteenth issue, which is a considerable achievement — and it does keep getting better and better. How does the Bravado crew manage to do it?

We share ulcers! LOL. Keeping a lit magazine going is not easy. But we’re all passionate about writing and writers, and believe implicitly that writers need to be read. That’s our driving force. A great love of writing and writers.

What do you regard as the highlight of your writing career to date, if there has been a single highlight?

I don’t think there’s been a single highlight – I could say “my first novel” and it was, of course, a great moment. But writing is an accumulation of words to create something meaningful and in the same way, writing achievements are an accumulation of small things. Yes, I’m delighted every time a story or poem of mine is published, or placed in a competition, accepted for an anthology or broadcast on radio. The success of Bravado pleases me. My aim is to publish more books, and when that happens, I know I’ll be kicking my heels. But there is something about the day-to-day craft of writing that is enormously satisfying to me. If it wasn’t, publication wouldn’t be worth it.

Although you are best known for your fiction, you are also a poet, and there are some of your poems on your web site. Do you envisage writing more poetry in future, and who are some of your favourite poets?

I have written poetry, and I would like to write more but am very aware there is a large gulf between good poetry and bad. I have a lot of bad stuff tucked under the bed where it shall stay for ever and ever amen. In the hands of a craftsman, though, poetry is astonishing. I make a point of reading as wide a variety of New Zealand poets as I can. I don’t know that I like to name favourite poets – but Cilla McQueen, Allen Curnow, Kelly Ana Morey, Elizabeth Smither, Sue Wootton, Anna Jackson and Glen Colquhoun are just a few poets I’ve read and enjoyed recently.

If you’re willing to reveal them, what are your current plans as a writer?

The last few years my focus has been writing non-fiction in the form of creative writing tutorials. I’m happy with what I’ve done, but I’m missing fiction, and my big plan is to get back to writing it every day. I have two novels in progress, A Man of Many Lives and Council of Fools. I aim to finish those by the end of the year – to first draft status, anyway. I also have a completed novel, The Kindred Stone, which was accepted for publication but never made it to paper as the publisher, Hazard Press, fell over. I would like to find a new publisher for this manuscript. I’m keen, also, to compile a collection of my short stories. Not sure if there’s a real market for them but, at the moment, I have stories scattered far and wide. For my own satisfaction, if nothing else, I like the idea of creating an anthology of them.

It would be fair to say, I guess, that I want to put fiction writing back to the centre of my life and just see where it takes me.

What Is Science Fiction Poetry? Part 1: Definition

It’s poetry that’s also science fiction. What more is there to say?

Quite a lot, actually. I’m not even going to attempt to define poetry, but science fiction itself is a notoriously slippery beast. To make it into Voyagers, the anthology of New Zealand science fiction poetry that Mark Pirie and myself are co-editing, poems had to pass the twin filters of being good poetry, and of having a science-fictional element: of either or both using science fiction imagery, or science fiction ideas.

Here’s an excerpt from the Introduction to Voyagers that discusses out the definition we used as we considered poems for the anthology:

Selecting poems for this anthology would have been much easier if there was a universally-agreed definition of science fiction. But there isn’t. A conservative definition might be that science fiction is that genre of literature which speculates about the effects of changes to the universe we know, where those changes follow or are extrapolated from known scientific principles.

This definition is inadequate – it would exclude a number of poems in this anthology – but it makes some key points:

  • Science fiction is a literature of change.
  • It is often set in the future.
  • Science fiction is counter-factual: the universe is changed in at least one respect from the universe as it was known to the writer.
  • The changes in science fiction are extrapolations based on accepted or speculative scientific principles.

This is why some types of universe are excluded, such as those of fantasy, where the changes are supernatural rather than natural, or of magic realism and fabulation, where the changes are not rationalised. In addition, we reluctantly had to exclude many excellent poems which dealt with astronomy, or with the history of space exploration, but which lacked the crucial element of speculation.

But what riches remain! You’ll find the ‘traditional’ concerns of science fiction here: aliens, space travel, time travel, the end of the world – and also concepts you may not previously have thought of as science fiction. Whether questioning, apocalyptic or playful, these are poems which shine the flashlight of science fiction on our universe, and relish the strange images which result.

Now, what’s above is just our definition of science fiction poetry. Yours may vary; indeed, it probably will. But science fiction poetry isn’t just a matter of definition – it’s an amalgam of science fiction and poetry with a surprisingly long history, and even its own set of awards. I’ll blog about that history next time.