Audio Flash Fiction: "The Rage of the Rogue"

So, I couldn't sleep. And so, I wrote a flash fiction. And then, I read it out loud to my wife. But when I read it out loud, I recorded it. The impulses and the whims have snowballed, and now I find I'm sharing it on my blog. For your enjoyment:

Serialized Pulp Novel: The Rogue and the Merchants (Part 19)

Here is serial 19 of my pulp novel, The Rogue and the Merchants. As usual, here is a link to the full transcription, thus far, if you want to know more about the project, the source of the manuscript, or the story of the novel's genesis. Also, all of the illustrations I've been composing are there as well: Pulp Novel Project: The Rogue and the Merchants

***

Paj lay groveling in the dirt clutching his hair and tear-streamed face. In spite of his efforts, the Rogue could get no more information out of him.

Shoving past him, he moved further into the camp, past the firepit and into the large, red pavilion that he knew to be Brol's, the leader of the merchants. When he threw back the flap and strode in, he saw Brol, sitting on a stool, holding a bloody rag to his face, which was wounded; a grisly gash ran the length of his cheek. One of his eyes had been removed and a cheek now hung in bloody tatters.

Brol was flanked by two of his lieutenant's, men of reason and stability who the Rogue respected. Their names were Rew and Tauos. They were only a few years younger than  the venerable Brol.

Outside the Rogue could hear the other merchants mustering. Word of his return had been announced by Paj's blubberings, and the other merchants were gathering around their leader's tent to see what was to be done about their dire circumstances.

"It's good to see that you live, young one!" Brol laughed, rising, throwing aside his bloody rag and approaching the Rogue, his horrible wound shiny in the light that shone into the tent. "We assumed those red-skinned beasts made a quick meal of you!" He embraced the Rogue like a father embracing a son. The Rogue recoiled ever so slightly, but relaxed after a bit. He waited until Brol relented and backed away.

"W-w-w-hat beasts?" he stammered, frustrated by his ignorance. "What happened? What happened to your face?"

One of the other merchants in the room, Tauos, rose up and unfurled his turban. He cursed and spat. "Isn't it obvious? After you left, a few hours into the night, we were attacked!" Tauos said. He took Brol by the arm and led him back to his wicker stool. "Sit down, you scoundrel!" he spat.

Brol began to protest, but Tauos shoved him down. Brol then grumbled inaudibly to himself while he put another rag to his wound.

The Rogue couldn't help but chuckle. Brol's stubbornness amused him. Although he assumed these merchants to be city bred softlings, he was surprised to see one--their leader, of course--acting like a fighting-man.  But the Rogue needed to know what happened.

"Who or what attacked you?" the Rogue asked again.

He assumed it was some aggressive or surly band of mountain men, or bandits who haunted the scrubs that lied outside of the power of Tabun Stoh and its armies. And so, he was surprised when all three of the merchant's faces grew somber and pale. A silence draped itself over them. For a while it lingered. Eventually, the third merchant, Rew, spoke:

"Demons," he said, spitting on the ground. "An entire roost of demons attacked us last night."

Review of Ruth Nestvold's "Never Ever After: Three Short Stories"

A few days ago I purchased the Kindle edition of Ruth Nestvold's Never Ever After: Three Short Stories. I've been busy with teaching, writing my dissertation prospectus, and auditing a Victorian literature class, and so I couldn't quite find the time to read it. This morning I pressed myself some coffee, went into my office, sat down, shut the door, and read it, the world be damned.

Here's my review of it.

Let me make some general comments about Nestvold's style in this anthology before I move on to look at each story separately. First off, I'm struck by her lyricism. Although she's writing in a novelistic style (not so much in the second story), there is a kind of poetry to her language, a rhythmic and musical quality to it. Unlike texts that hew completely to a novelistic style--where the reader can "forget" the language and thereby concentrate on the story--Nestvold's stories really make you revel in a good turn of phrase. Consider this passage: "She wound her way through the men like smoke, wafting by them, teasing." Such a beautiful simile! Her lyricism conforms, I think, to her subject matter, which straddles the line between traditional medieval romances and fairy tales.

Let me briefly say something about each story.

The first story, "A Serca Tale," is really interesting because it takes a fresh perspective on the epic hero. The epic hero in this story is not the "good guy" or protagonist. He's the antagonist who the main characters flee. The narrative is quite simple, consisting mostly of a flight away from a castle; and yet, the pleasure of this story is in the telling.

The second story, "King Orfeigh," was my favorite. This story is stylistically ambitious. The narrative style relies upon a commanding or "imperative" verb tense. For example, "You walk into the room. You go downstairs. You drink a cup of coffee." This narrative style has a strange way of alienating you from the story and bringing you closer into it. It definitely conforms to the emotional crisis being experienced by the main character, a wandering bard/king.

The final story, "Happily Ever After," is fun. It's an example of a kind of fiction I like to call a "revisionist fairy tale." The beauty of these stories are that they remind us that fairy tales are different than our lives. By juxtaposing psychological depth onto fairy tale characters, the lives of the fairy tale characters start to resemble our own. We start to wonder: if my life was a fairy tale, what kind would it be?

Conclusion: a wonderful collection of short stories that are stylistically beautiful and emotionally rich. I aim to read more of Nestvold.

If you're interested, here is a link to the book on Amazon.com: Never Ever After: Three Short Stories

Visions of Delight, Visions of Horror: Technology and the Cultural Imagination of the 20th Century (Post 1)

So, last summer I was lucky enough to be able to create and teach a science fiction class at Case Western Reserve University. The title of the class was "Visions of Delight, Visions of Horror: Technology and the Cultural Imagination of the 20th Century." Here is the course description:

Since the Swing Riots of the 1830s, when rural English farmers destroyed the threshing machines that were making their labor obsolete, many thinkers and artists have noticed how we are both amazed by and horrified of the technologies that we have produced to expand and develop human potential. From fears of robot uprisings, misanthropic supercomputers, to hopes of immortality through digital reincarnation, technology as it has emerged in cultural discourses like film, art, literature, music and television has been inflected in a diversity of ways, as messianic, horrifying, beautiful, and perverse. This seminar will probe this intriguing ambivalence by looking at a variety of cultural texts that enunciate this tension, and it will do so in the service of making its participants more critically aware of how our technologically accelerating moment is calibrating and perhaps revolutionizing the way we construct identities, delimit our organic bodies, define our sexualities, and negotiate and reconcile our religious convictions.

In grasping for the above goal, seminar participants will analyze foundational literary texts that negotiate the above themes, namely Mary Shelley's Frankenstein, Robert Louis Stevenson's The Strange Case of Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde and H.G. Wells's The Time Machine. Participants will also consider important foundational texts in the coordinate filmic tradition associated with these issues, e.g. Fritz Lang's Metropolis and Stanley Kubrick's 2001: A Space Odyssey. Participants will also listen to and discuss musical texts that deal with the themes outlined above, namely Daft Punk's Human After All and Connor Oberst's Digital Ash in a Digital Urn. Participants will also read and discuss non-fictional texts that treat the above described concerns, namely Katherine Hayles How We Became Posthuman and Ray Kurzweil's The Singularity is Near: When Humans Transcend Biology. Participants will also consider how television texts like Gene Roddenberry's original Star Trek series and Rod Sterling's The Twilight Zone symptomatize historically determined assessments of technology's steadily expanding infiltration of daily life.

Let me be upfront: teaching the class was an amazing experience. Some of conversations we had in that class--about Cylons and Replicants and Androids--are the reasons why I got into academic world in the first place.

A lot ideas came out of that class that--not hyperbole--revolutionized my understanding of technology's role in science fiction. It was propitious, of course, that I had a class of about 20 geniuses helping me along the way.

Anyhow...

I'm going to be blogging about the themes addressed in that class. My goal is to revisit the texts we touched on in order to get down some thoughts on them.

And I'd be happy if you joined me along the way!

Metablog Comment: As with my other series (e.g. extended review of the anthology Swords and Dark Magic, The Weird History of the Novel, and The Rogue and the Merchant Pulp Novel Project) these posts will be semi-regular. Why all the post series? I like having series to return to because sometimes "my thoughts make more sense" when I fit them into an overarching framework.

Serialized Pulp Novel: The Rogue and the Merchants (Part 18)

Here is serial 18 of my pulp novel, The Rogue and the Merchants. As usual, here is a link to the full transcription, thus far, if you want to know more about the project, the source of the manuscript, or the story of the novel's genesis. Also, all of the illustrations I've been composing are there as well: Pulp Novel Project: The Rogue and the Merchants

***

Pages transcribed: 6 ; wordcount: 7158

Shortly after this conversation the Rogue left the village with five warriors. He had little difficulty play-acting surprise when he came upon his horse, which was terrified, having had spent the night alone. It took only a few hours to meander out of the canyon to where the merchants had bivouacked for the night. When he could see the merchant camp in the distance, he stopped to consult with the warriors.

Although he could not speak their language, he was able to communicate with them, after a fashion. Their leader, the son of the graybeard--his name was Ah'gatar--was very intelligent and understood the Rogue's non-verbal signs with no some skill. Through various hand gestures, facial expressions, and noises, he told the wolf-cloak warrior that the merchants might be threatened by such an a war party as they seemed to be. The Rogue suggested that the five spear wielding warriors should stay back and allow him to approach his comrades alone.

The wolf-cloak seemed to assent, and the warriors, shrugging, sat down on rocks and began chattering away, passing their liquor filled bladders back and forth.

The sun was at full height when the Rogue strode into the camp. He was greeted by one of the younger merchants, by the name of Pej. This one's face was pale and his eyes were wide with fright, bloodshot, and trembling insanely.

"Thank Evyat you've returned!" he said, proclaiming the name of one of the many gods of Tabun Stoh. He fell to ground and grasped the Rogue by the calves. "They killed three of us! The monsters! I watched the entire horrible display, had to listen to their gargling screams as they were dragged into the darkness! All I found were their still-steaming innards strewn about!"

The Rogue, horrified and disgusted by the outburst and Pej's lack of composure, recoiled with a hiss. Reflexively, his hand went to his blade.

"Back away, Paj!" the Rogue shouted above the man's blatherings. "Give me room and silence, and then tell me the story like a sane-person, you fear-drunken fool!"

The Weird History of the Novel (Part 3): "Whether devil or man I knew not"

So, I have a complicated argument I want to make in this post, but I don't have the time to really "get into it." There are a lot of premises that I probably need time more laying out and substantiating. Let me just be forthright and lay those premises in a schematic fashion:

Premise 1: Weird fiction (by which I mean modern fantasy, supernatural horror, and science fiction) is genealogically linked to realist literature. This is because weird fiction takes as its first principle the deviation from reality. You need a bedrock of reality to deviate from before you have weirdness and strangeness.

Premise 2: Robinson Crusoe, by Daniel Defore, is one of the inaugural texts of realism. It's a good text to consider the "beginning of realism" in fiction.

Premise 3: If something evolves from something else (e.g. reptiles evolve from fish), then within the originary element we can perhaps retroactively glimpse elements of what will evolve from it. Let me stick with my fish and reptile example to further demonstrate what I mena. We can see in the "cold-blooded" nature of fish the cold-blood" nature of reptiles.

Considering these three premises, here's my argument: we can glimpse in Robinson Crusoe, what I am framing here as the inaugural moment of realism in literature, the shape of "weird fiction" literature to come. The fetus that will become modern fantasy, supernatural horror, and science fiction is growing within the stomach of early "realist" texts.

Let me try to make a case for this by supplying an example of what I mean. As my example I offer an analysis of an extended passage from Robinson Crusoe. Some context: Robinson is gathering some wood and he has a very strange experience:

While I was cutting down some wood here, I percieved that behind a very thick branch of low brushwood or underwood, there was a kind of hollow place; I was curious to look into it, and getting with difficulty into the mouth of it, I found it was pretty large, that is to say, sufficient for me to stand upright in it, and perhaps another with me; but I must confess to you, I made more haste than I did in, when looking father into the place, and which was perfectly dark, I saw two broad shining eyes of some creature, whether devil or man I knew not, which twinkled like two stars, the dim light of the cave's mouth shining durectly in and making the reflection. (174-75, my emphasis).

Here you have a moment of uncertainty. Robinson encounters something and he's not sure what it is. We can describe this experience in terms of his ability to interpret the world, to know it--his cognitive faculties. Here his cognitive faculties have failed. He's confronted with something that he is struggling to interpret: "Whether devil or man, I knew not."

This moment, when our "interpretive frameworks" fail us, i.e., when our ability to understand the world fails us, these moments are considered by famous literary Tzvetan Todorov as "the fantastic." The fantastic for Todorov is that experience where we are no longer able to know the world. Something handicaps our ability to know reality. Therefore, reality becomes an uncertainty. This is the fantastic.

Thus, the argument I want to begin to make with this post is that a kernel for modern fantasy, supernatural horror, and science fiction can be glimpsed as emerging alongside realism.

We can see something in early realism, in the first novels: it's as if when the first literary light was cast on reality this reality necessarily cast many shadows, shadows that were strange, and confusing, and occasionally wonderful, and occasionally horrifying.

Serialized Pulp Novel: The Rogue and the Merchants (Part 17)

Here is serial 17 of my pulp novel, The Rogue and the Merchants. As usual, here is a link to the full transcription, thus far, if you want to know more about the project, the source of the manuscript, or the story of the novel's genesis. Also, all of the illustrations I've been composing are there as well: Pulp Novel Project: The Rogue and the Merchants

***


The Rogue folded his hands, bowed his head, and touched his forehead. "Never! Not at all! To pay your hospitality back with such an unkindness would be not be human."

"There are some spell-binders from your city who would kill and betray to delve into the ruins of our ancestors," the graybeard returned. "I trust you are honest merchants and fighting men fleeing a tyrant, as you say you are, and not spell binders masquerading in the cloaks of humility. If you are, that would be unfortunate."

"Indeed," the Rogue said, his shame stirred in spite of his innocence. "Indeed, we flee the very kind of person you describe. It is said the tyrant of Tabun-Stoh is a sorcerer."

The old graybeard gazed at him for a moment and the intensity of his gaze disturbed the Rogue. And then the graybeard smiled, patted the Rogue on his back with force, and walked with him to the mustered warriors with the aid of his staff. "Wonderful!" the graybeard said. "If you are who you say you are--honest folk fleeing the tyranny of dark magic--then we count ourselves your friends. We rarely get visitors here, and experience your arrival as a source of excitement; but, you must understand, you make us anxious as well. When meeting strangers they are rarely anything but friends or enemies."

The Rogue recognized the words the old graybeard had just spoke; they were an aphorism that appeared in a philosophical dialogue of Trayat of Cohrus, an ancient poet-philosopher who had lived long ago and far, far away. This old graybeard was indeed well learned.

"You know the philosophies of Trayat!" exclaimed the Rogue, his love of the ancient literature overtaking his social composure.

"I know him well," said the graybeard gravely. He said nothing further.

They waited a bit longer while more soldiers mustered around them. Eventually a group of spears were gathered. The old man shouted an order to five of the warriors, who hailed him with the wave of their spears. Turning to the Rogue, the old graybeard said, "Spend this day looking for your comrades. And if you are lucky, bring them to us tonight. We will have a celebration in their honor. Together we'll share stories, enjoy food, and drink, and exchange secrets--if you have any to share. And, perhaps, after the celebrations, over a pipe of something, we might discuss Trayat together."

The Rogue could not help but smile. The old graybeard patted him on the back once more. "You have met who I consider my daughter. Now. Meet my son!" He then spoke to the warrior who wore the wolf-cloak, and he came over to them. "He doesn't speak your tongue. He isn't as fast a learner as my daughter. He is, however, our most celebrated warrior and tracker, and if you entourage are withing a day, then he will no doubt bring you to them."

Review of John H. Hocking's, "A River Through Darkness"

Last night I purchased the Kindle edition of Black Gate issue 15. My goal is to review select stories from the issue. Some brief information on Black Gate before proceeding with my review of the first story, in case you've never heard of it.

It's one of the most important and prestigious literary marketplaces and communities for the furtherance of "adventure fantasy" and "sword and sorcery".

I love the blog community associated with the magazine. I lurk through the posts and comment occasionally and have discovered so many cool writers (classic and contemporary) and bloggers through the work they do over there.

Side note: I am going to finish my extended review of the anthology, Swords and Dark Magic. The next story up is an Elric tale by Michael Moorcock titled, "Red Pearls: An Elric Story," and its approximately 50 pages, more of a novella than a short story. I'm putting off reading it just now considering I have a prospectus to write, and a bunch of reading for classes I'm teaching and auditing. I do intend to return to Swords and Dark Magic in a week or so. I'm anything is not consistent and persistent.

***

Anyhow, the first story in the magazine was titled "A River Through Darkness and Light" and was written by John H. Hocking. I've never read anything from Mr. Hocking before, but I really enjoyed this story. If this is any indication of the tone, style, and content of the narratives that await me in the rest of the magazine, then I'm eager to read on.

Some brief summary of the story: the protagonist is what is referred to as an "Archiver." I get the sense he's a "scholarly" type figure, a kind of magician, but he never uses magic or anything.

Which reminds me: a fantasist's ability to refrain from representing the supernatural/fantastic is just as important, I think, as their their readiness to represent it.

Anyhow, back the the Archiver. The story isn't just about him. It relates the struggles of a group of adventurers and their attempts to locate and pillage an ancient ruin in the search of a long, lost cache of scrolls (which may or may not be magic). In the course of their search, they encounter a group of bandits, fight with them, and--don't want to spoil it all--a supernatural element emerges.

This is great. For me, its good sword and sorcery. Why? Because the supernatural element is downplayed throughout the vast majority of the narrative. And when it emerges... it's intense. The story is filled with swordfighting, dungeon delves, strange monsters, and, of course, sorcery.

My favorite scene is perhaps when the bandit chief surprises the adventurers with... nevermind.

Let me say something about the narrative style. Hocking tends to pay attention to the surface texture of the world. His descriptions are sometimes excessive, but, if you have the patience, they really pay off. Why?

Well, as he foregrounds the "immanent" world, i.e. the "real" material world--intensifies it, if you will, through description--and by doing this he primes the reader to truly experience the supernatural. He manages to make is strange, as it should be.

In some fantasy, not enough attention paid to the physical world, matter, the immanent--whatever you want to call it--and this neglect makes the entire world feel supernatural or "fairy tale" like. This isn't to my taste. Hocking doesn't do this. You feel the world--the heat of the desert sun, the wind, the dryness of the mesa, the refreshing spray of the river.

And let me say something about the prose style: economic, precise, exciting.

All in all, I'd give this story a 4.5 out of 5.

Female Imagery in Sci-Fi/Fantasy/Horror (Post 3): Larry Elmore Kitiara and the Death of Sturm

I begin by admitting my ignorance: I had never heard of Larry Elmore. But it appears that he has been very influential in the shaping the look of many fantasy texts, especially early editions Dungeons and Dragons handbooks and the Dragonlace series. Again, my ignorance betrays me; I've had limited experience with these texts, just some fleeting perusals through my husband's extensive collection of them.

Further ignorance: I know nothing of the Dragonlace series. I only know what I gleaned from the Wikipedia entry about the novels and the characters, though I understand that these are important books within the realm of popular fantasy. I also love the idea of a collaboratively-created story world, not just by Hickman and Weis, but all the other authors who wrote stories taking place in Krynn. But collaborative story telling is for another post.

Focusing now on the image of Kitiara and Sturm, I admit it draws me in immediately.

Kitiara's powerful stare burns off the surface of the image. Her gaze doesn't seem to falter, and this creates a sharp juxtaposition between the motion of her long red hair and tattered red cloak. Her gaze is very much like her spear -- straight and sharp and sure.

Yet the motion she makes with her right hand slightly softens her look. Though she has killed him, it appears as though Sturm's death weighs on her. I don't know this story; I don't know these characters. But her stern gaze paired with her hand gesture make it seem like she may be at least a little remorseful of her actions.

Her armor and battle-scarred clothing suggest she's a warrior. She's familiar with death. But that look and that hand gesture tell me that this death means something more, if not for the character Kitiara then for the larger series.

What leads me to question any possible remorse, though, is the icy, snowy background. IT suggests an internal coldness on the part of Kitiara. Like other women characters in the fantasy genre, Kitiara embodies strength and beauty. But she also seems to contain little emotion; she may be just as barren as the world that surrounds her.

All these combinations -- the stare, the hand gesture, the cold background -- lead to the creation of an interesting character type. Who is Kitiara as she appears in this image? And is her image an appropriate rendering for the type of character she is in the books? Or are we seeing a polished interpretation of this woman here?

Serialized Pulp Novel: The Rogue and the Merchants (Part 16)

Here is serial 16 of my pulp novel, The Rogue and the Merchants. As usual, here is a link to the full transcription, thus far, if you want to know more about the project, the source of the manuscript, or the story of the novel's genesis. Also, all of the illustrations I've been composing are there as well: Pulp Novel Project: The Rogue and the Merchants

***

It was a cold, gray morning. Into the Rogue's hand a particularly young villager--wearing a cloak woven with crudely flattened plates of what appeared to be metal--thrust a ceramic canteen of something very warm. It steamed in the cool of the morning. It was obviously liquor of some sort--perhaps a mulled wine--for it burned and made the Rogue's insides feel warm as it went down. He grunted his thanks to the young man as they began walking to the village center.

There it was swarming with beautiful women and children of every size and age. The Rogue glimpsed young Asha among them, sitting on a roof, her bare feet dangling over the side. She watched the Rogue as he approached with the group of warriors and grinned when he nodded to her.

The graybeard was squatting near a fire, warming his hands. He was flanked by two other warriors who looked  old and grizzled and sour, and their faces were scarred. As the Rogue came closer, the old man stood, took up his staff, and grinned.

"And you survived the night!" he exclaimed gustily.

The Rogue, however, was slightly distracted, and so the words the graybeard said did not register with him completely. When he came into the village the night before he did not see the peculiar place where these people had built their village-town.

High, high up on the section the canyon walls upon which their village was nestled were ruins built of the same black stone of the canyon. These ruins were built into the very wall of the canyon quarry that no doubt furnished the thick, black brick that composed it. Of these ruins's architectural style, the Rogue knew nothing, in spite of his great knowledge in the area and his old age. Worn smooth by years and years of wind and sand-blasts, the rock were smooth and sturdy, but the manner of construction--constituted of interlocking bricks of various sizes and arches with beautifully carved keystones--seemed far beyond the skill of these people. And there was an evil, "fang-like" quality to the ruins, which seemed to bulge and curve like so many fangs out of a mouth. They also suggested to the rogue the rib-cage of some dead and decayed god.

The graybeard saw the Rogue looking at the ruins, perceived his surprise and horror, and could not help but grin: "Yes, we live in the shadow of a great empire," he said. "The ruins are forbidden to us, and to you. We guard them. We welcome your friends, if you find them, but know this: we jealously guard those black-stone piles. We would be deadly offended if you attempted to violate them."

Charles Dicken's and the "Tweaking" of Reality: Collapsing Subjectivity and Objectivity

All the Year Round: the Magazine

where Great Expectations was 

originally serialized.

So, I'm auditing a Victorian literature course this semester. And I'm interested in sharing some of my thoughts about the texts we're reading in there. We're currently reading Great Expectations by Charles Dickens. Why discuss Charles Dickens? Why discuss Charles Dickens on a blog that is ostensibly focused on science fiction, fantasy, and supernatural horror?

Good question. I have a roundabout answer that will require a brief excursion in more general issues.

Tweaking Reality

I felt this for a while and am only now beginning to articulate it clearly, but, what draws me to science fiction, fantasy, and supernatural horror aren't necessarily their content--the aliens, the zombies, the sorcerers, etc.. Rather, what draws me to them is their unique relationship to reality. These genres--which I call the "weird genres"--tweak reality. What do I mean by tweak?

This is an obscure word usually thought to come from twiccian (to pluck) but has been used since the late sixties to refer to "fine-tuning or adjusting a complex system" (Lord Wikipedia). It's also used more colloquially to refer being "under the influence of methamphetamine" (Urban Dictionary).

I like calling upon all these shades of meaning when using the word tweak in terms of tweaking reality: (1) slightly altering the ontological rules that determine reality; (2) doing so in such a way the experience/effect of it suggests a drug-induced state, a different mode of perception; (3) and doing so in a slightly aggressive, violent way.

By tweaking reality, I mean, making it strange, bending its rules, allowing something to exist or something to happen that shouldn't happen. And the effect of this tweaking reality might be best articulated as a kind of altered perception, a new experience.

For science fiction, fantasy, and horror, quotidian reality is a starting point that is deviated from. It is a kind of base that, through contrast, foregrounds non-reality. Its aesthetic effects depends on a reality principle to deviate from.

Back to Charles Dickens...


In Great Expectations Dickens plays with reality in a significant sort of way. He continuously "tweaks" reality. Consider the following passage. Some background: the main character, Pip, is watching as a convict is being taken to a prison ship:

"By the light of the torches, we saw the black Hulk lying out a little way from the mud of the shore, like a wicked Noah’s ark. Cribbed and barred and moored by massive rusty chains, the prison ship seemed in my young eyes to be ironed like the prisoners.” (39)


I’m struck by the figurative language here, the simile comparing the soldiers to the ship and vice-versa. Also, I’m struck by how Pip metaphorically figures the Hulk as a “wicked Noach’s ark.” Let me try to explain why.

Not only do we have individuals being turned into objects, we have a reversal of this effect here, the turning of the ship (an object) into an individual (a subject). Also, we have the ship being figured through a kind of literary citation, if you will, an allusion to the Biblical story of Noah and the Ark.

We have here an intense example of what narrative theorists would call “focalization.” The surface texture of the world is filtered through the interpretive lens of young Pip. It's focused through him.

Indeed, the world derives from his subjectivity—his identification of visual patterns, his literary corpus knowledge.

Remember: “Seemed in my young eyes” (39, my emphasis). This verb “seemed” gives me pause.

“Seems” implies that the world unfolded through narration is an interpretation. We don’t have here a purely subjective interpretation of the world. Folded into the narrative is an allegorical “material,” a—I’m not sure what to call it—“story substructure” that Pip’s subjectivity is colliding with.

My hunch is that there is an interplay between two worlds here: the subjective world of the narrator and the objective world. It seems that Dickens tends to play with collapsing clear cut distinctions between the subject and the object.

He tweaks reality by breaking down clear cut distinctions between where characters' "interior" consciousnesses end and where the material, "external" world begin.

Subjectivity (consciousness, if you will) spills out onto the the objective world.

Review of *Farewell to Tyrn* by Ryan Harvey

Lying in bed I found myself stumbling through the Amazon book store and I located a novelette I've been reading about in the blogs, titled, Farewell to Tyrn, by Ryan Harvey.

I hadn't intended on buying anything. I had intended on reading some M.R. James. But, there I was, lying in bed, looking at a new novelette that costs 99 cents. And before I know what was happening...!

I bought it. I read it. I enjoyed it. I fell asleep.

And here I am drinking coffee and reviewing it.

Let me say this up front: it was worth 99 cents. And, truth be told, probably more, though I think 99 cents, is, at this point, a kind of threshold. It was just cheap enough for me to say, "What the hell? Why not try something new?" I'm glad I did.

Some details: it's approximately 9000 words, and it reads, I'd say, in about an hour. The novelette is a good genre for a lunch break or a last read before bed. A comparison to other media: in terms of narrative pace, think of a Star Trek episode.

What's it about? Two things: the story of a little girl and a threat to her and an interesting "secondary" world. In other words, there seem to be two functions to this story: (1) to showcase an interesting science-fantasy setting and (2) to tell an exciting story about a girl whose life changes. Let me take these one at a time.

(1) The world showcased is very interesting and beautifully sketched. I've learned Ryan Harvey has another story in the Writers of the Future anthology series (volume 27) "An Acolyte of Black Spires," that is also set in this world, and so I'm eager to read it. The world, Ahn-Tarqa, is a kind of hybrid. It's shaded by "science-fictional" and "fantasy" tropes. Put simply, there are references to swords, sorcerers, wilderness, towered cities; and there are also references to technology and dinosaur-like creatures.

(2) The story about the little girl, Belde, drew my interest. I won't give it away. Suffice it to say, some parts of it are leisurely, allowing you to enjoy the milieu and to understand the character; other parts surge at breakneck speed and are very exciting. Some characters were flat, but not for want of characterization; rather, they show up, enticing you with their mysterious presence, and then leave, and you find you want to know more about them.

How's it written? Quite well. It's written from a first person perspective, which carries with it both its own challenges and affordances. Challenge: would the protagonist, a little girl, be this articulate? This observant.  Affordance: what better way to immerse your reader in your world and characters than putting them "behind the eyes" of the main character. Harvey strikes a balance between these poles.

Conclusion: A wonderful reading experience. A good "entry point" for Harvey's Ahn-Tarqa. I hope Ryan Harvey writes more.

Serialized Pulp Novel: The Rogue and the Merchants (Part 15)

Here is serial 15 of my pulp novel, The Rogue and the Merchants. As usual, here is a link to the full transcription, thus far, if you want to know more about the project, the source of the manuscript, or the story of the novel's genesis. Also, all of the illustrations I've been composing are there as well: Pulp Novel Project: The Rogue and the Merchants


***

The Rogue finished his meal and felt satisfied when the girl took his wastes away. She tossed the dregs out of the door and scrubbed his plate with hot water, saying nothing. And then she went to leave. As she turned to go, a realization dawned in the Rogue's mind: "I do not know your name, little one," he said timidly. He fell idly into a pile of cushions and furs. "Gods! It is wonderful to be fed and warm and to speak in a language that is understood! To come to know strangers!"

The girl chuckled lightly. But following quickly upon this she frowned gravely and sighed. "Call me Asha, though that is not my name."

The Rogue nodded, and she left.

He sat there for moment, listening to the fire crackling, contemplating her parting words.

He then began to fall asleep, having been made drowsy by the delicious food and the warmth of the fire. Just before the darkness took him--after he gripped his blade firmly to his chest--he thought of his companions, shivering in the cold of their tents, subsisting on bitter-root tea and trail bread. He could not help a merciless smile from spanning his lips.

He awoke to the murmuring voices of about three of the villager-men. Pale light rays slanted in through some tiny window slits had had not noticed during the night. He was not completely sure of his safety, and so he pulled his blade close, ready to strike if he needed to.

His eyes were half open when the cloth at the portal of his dwelling place was thrown aside, and he perceived the man from the previous, the man wearing the wolf cloak. He held a spear in his hand, but it was not ready for battle.

He woke the Rogue up with a clacking noise, and stood there, casually leaning on his spear. He motioned to the door flap where the rogue saw mustered three other warriors with spears and furs. The Rogue assumed they were ready for him to go and find his friends, but he was concerned that there were none in this party who he could communicate with. Throwing on his leather jerkin, buckling it rapidly, and then securing his curving dagger, he rose to meet them.

The Weird History of the Novel (Part 2): Robinson Crusoe, Realism, and Deviations from Realism

I came across a couple passages from Robinson Crusoe recently that gave me pause. A little context: Robinson has been stranded on the island for some time now. In the first passage Robinson is admitting to having no spiritual thoughts at all. To an extent, he is surprised at himself, at his non-spiritual viewpoint. That he thoughtlessly applies himself to gathering materials for a shelter and food and thereby thinks nothing of the divine importance of his being stranded is strange to him:

"I began to be very easy, applied myself to the works proper for my preservation and supply, and was far enough from being afflicted at my condition, as a judgment from Heaven, or as the hand of God against me; these were thoughts which very seldom entered into my head" (91).

Of note here is Robinson's acknowledgement that he was not looking into things. Upon remembering his experience, he finds it strange that, taken up by more basic, economic concerns--where will he sleep, what will he eat--he thinks very little of the spiritual dimension to his fate, being stranded, alone, on an island.

A few paragraphs later, spiritual questions erupt within him. Consider this passage:

"After I had eaten, I tried to walk, but found myself so weak that I could hardly carry the gun (for I never went out without that); so I went but a little way, and sat down upon the ground, and looking out to sea, which was just before me, and very calm and smooth. As I sat here, some such thoughts as these occurred to me:

'What is this earth and sea, of which I have seen so much? Whence is it produced, and what am I, and all other creatures, wild and tame, human and brutal, whence we are?'" (93).

This passage is an interesting counterpoint to the first passage I cited. Robinson is moving along, organizing for his survival on the island. He is struggling with the "material" realities of his misfortune; and then, out of nowhere, spiritual questions flame up. They are basic questions about reality: what is the earth? What am I?

What has happened is that the immanent world has become strange to Robinson.

I find this so intriguing because often Robinson Crusoe is often cited as being unique, an innovation in fiction, for its shedding of "imaginary" plot devices like mythology, literary citatons, folklore, etc.. In this novel the material, "immanent" world--the surface texture of the world, if you will--has become a theme. 

Here, after the surface texture of the world is considered, a desire to look beyond it is betrayed. What is this world? What am I? What are those things?

We have here, in this early example of the English novel, stirrings of subsequent realism and deviations from it.

Serialized Pulp Novel: The Rogue and the Merchants (Part 14)

Here is serial 14 of my pulp novel, The Rogue and the Merchants. As usual, here is a link to the full transcription, thus far, if you want to know more about the project, the source of the manuscript, or the story of the novel's genesis. Also, all of the illustrations I've been composing are there as well: Pulp Novel Project: The Rogue and the Merchants


***

When he let the girl up, she bounded to her feet and ran to the guards and lowered their spears with her hands. They all began to talk excitedly to each other in their language, and yet, it did not matter, for the Rogue could not understand their language at all. This gave way to loud speaking and finally shouting. It seemed to the Rogue that the girl was defending him against the guards, and for this he was ashamed. Eventually, shoving and shouting, she removed the spearmen from the tent, who scowled at the Rogue as they left. She then turned to face him.

"I'm sorry," he said, bowing his head, "My reaction was not merited. Your men had a right to be concerned, to assume I aimed to cause you harm."

"Such an apology is unneeded," she said, smiling, "I'm too young to realize that some men cannot be accosted as I did you. There is such a thing as battle reflexes, and this was my first acquaintance with them. Please. Accept my apology. But please--do not speak of our god. It's too horrible a subject for me."

This stirred the Rogue's curiosity, but he had no option but to acquiesce. Why was she so reluctant to discuss her god?

Feeling no little amount of shame for attacking the girl as he did, he quietly submitted to her. He sat down and she approached him with a clay bowl filled with steaming water she had poured from her kettle. They did not speak as she dabbed his wound with a scrap-rag soaked in the same tea he had been drinking. After a few moments, she finished, and, going to the door, called for her folk to bring him food.

The two spearmen, who only a few moments ago threatened the Rogue, entered then, and they bore fruit and grains and a small joint of meat cooked in wine. By this hour the Rogue was voraciously hungry, and so he bolted his food with a great aggression and for a moment forgot the girl, who was nearby, lying on her belly, gazing on him with a distant look in her shimmering eyes.

Game Review: "Puerto Rico" by Rio Grande Games

So, I’m currently teaching Robinson Crusoe in my novel class. Because of this, I found myself thinking about "the new world" and a German-style board game I played years ago, Puerto Rico (published by Rio Grande Games), which simulates the efforts of colonists to settle Puerto Rico. This was just one of those games I played one time, and yet, and the experience of it lingered with me.

I remember loving the game. But the gaming group I was involved with at the time preferred to play a new game almost every meeting (and we met but once a week). Sadly, I never got a chance to replay it.

And so, before I allowed myself to reflect on all the other important things I should have been doing, I was in my car driving to Medina, Ohio with the intent of buying Peurto Rico , which I found at one of the only gaming stores in the area, Alter Reality Games.

I got my sister-in-law and wife to play it with me last night; and so, I’d like to review it.

First, I want to talk about the tone and feeling of the game, which comes through due to the unadorned yet very satisfying art. The game suggests “the new world” and--though historical accuracy or historical specificity isn’t that important in the game (the game simulates the creation of no “specific” colony on Puerto Rico) I do get the sense that the time period is the early 16th century.

What’s the point of the game? It’s a resource game and so you spend time growing sugar cane, coffee plants, indigo, corn, and tobacco, and shipping it back to the “old world.” Also, you spend time building plantations and production buildings—like coffee roasters and sugar mills—for the preperation of your agricultural output.

It should be clear: this isn’t a military game. The goal of the game is to build up Puerto Rico and not to fight each other. In fact, there is no military mechanic at all.

The gameplay. One thing that really endears me to this game is that its diceless. The only random element are the other’s players actions (which you have to react to) and a few piles of shuffled “plantation cards” (you never know what kind of plantations you have the option of establishing). With that said, this is a very “skill based” game. Because the goal of the game is to produce a functioning enterprise that turns out the most goods and profit in doubloons, the vast majority your gameplay efforts are centered around organizing and building yourself up.

In a way the game is similar in spirit to Mayfair Games popular The Settlers of Catan. Though I really like that game, I prefer Puerto Rico. Why? An excessively large element of Settlers of Catan is random luck. Although Peurto Rico is similar to Settlers of Catan in that its up to you to establish your colony any way you want, in Settlers, luck, I think, determines your success more than any strategy you deploy (folks will, of course, disagree with me here).

Conclusion: this game was as fun if not more fun than I remembered it. If you want a strategic, thought provoking game that will satisfy your desire to build, organize, and consolidate, but one that is less “combative” than, say, Axis and Allies, then this is your game.

Serialized Pulp Novel: The Rogue and the Merchants (Part 13)

Here is serial 13 of my pulp novel, The Rogue and the Merchants. As usual, here is a link to the full transcription, thus far, if you want to know more about the project, the source of the manuscript, or the story of the novel's genesis. Also, all of the illustrations I've been composing are there as well: Pulp Novel Project: The Rogue and the Merchants


***

"An herb that heals the body. My people have known the secret of it for many years. It's called achras, and it was given to us by our god."

Directly after she said this, she closed her eyes, sighed, made a strange sign over her body--a kind of blessing gesture--and then, sighing again, she placed the palms of her hands to her eyes and rubbed. A great weight seemed to be upon her.

"Your god must be loving, indeed, and wise, to give such gifts," the Rogue said, sipping the last of his tea. He did feel rejuventated and his wounded arm tingled. He looked at the wound: though it gave forth an odorous puss and fizzed and bubbled, the feeling was strangely pleasant. This amazed him. "I would utter a prayer of thanks to your god, if I knew his name!" the Rogue said earnestly.

"Do not speak of HIM!" the girl said. She strode over to the Rogue and, covering his mouth with her hand, hissed for him to cease his speech. The Rogue, however, was a trained fighting-man, and, as she startled him, he reacted with instincts. Believing himself to be attacked, he grabbed the girl's wrist, spun her around, and pinned her, face down, onto the be-carpeted floor of the room. To her back he held the point of his wickedly curved blade. He drew a pearl of red blood from her bare back.

"No, no, no!" she shouted, her fear causing her voice to tremble. "Ix, ix azutha!" she shouted in her language.

Presently two strong lads ran into the tent, spears in hand, and shouted at the Rogue, who stood over the prostrated girl gripping his naked blade. They brandished their spears menacingly, and, foam flecking their mouths, they threw what were obviously curses at him.

The girl, however, shouted over them. The Rogue, whose sense had been lost to the battle-lust, snapped back into consciousness. When he realized what he was doing, where his instincts had brought him, he let his dagger fall to the ground. He let the girl loose and held up his hands.

The Weird History of the Novel (Part 1): Robinson Crusoe and Reality

Introduction: So, I decided to try and "thread together" my professional life (teaching, literary scholarship) with my hobby/obsession (creative writing, weird fiction). And so, I'm starting a new post series, "The Weird History of the Novel." This will basically be a running commentary on the class I'm teaching this semester at Case Western Reserve University, "The History of the Novel." Though the class is an introduction to the history of the novel, this post series will have a thematic "slant" to it.  

Meta-comment/Blogging comment: Sorry for the crappy banner. Doing hand-drawn ones is taking up more time these days than I have. ::sigh:: I did, however, want to highlight this series as something I'm returning to. And, I've been told banners "brand" series and kind of make a commitment to your blog readers that this is an issue/line of thought you aim to return to.

Anyhow...

***

I started re-reading Daniel Defoe's Robinson Crusoe this morning. I'm starting my history of the novel class with it. This novel (along with a press of coffee) made me start thinking about "realism" and how "realism" is just as important for the weird genres as "deviations" from realism. Let me explain.

Robinson Crusoe is often cited as being an example of realism because, unlike the literary works that preceded it, it cites no mythology or legends nor does it overtly cite any previous literature; it's completely new, completely novel. Thus, it's considered one of the first true novels.

I like this way of defining the novel. Very often people define the novel in terms of what it is: a long narrative; lots of description; characters who come from the middle class. It's useful, though, to consider what novels aren't. In the case of Robinson Crusoe, the suggestion is that novels are realistic; that is, they represent the world as it is, devoid of mythology or the obfuscations of legend.

Hmm. It's true that some literary historians describe the first novels as a reaction against non-realistic literary genres like the romance. And yet, to say that the novel is necessarily preoccupied with the "realistic" is to set oneself up to argue that science fiction novels, fantasy novels, supernatural horror novels, aren't novels at all. I'm not sure what's at stake in this claim. For now, I'll table it.

But it's interesting. If we accept Robinson Crusoe as an example of one of the earliest novels, then we can use it to frame the novel not just as another media vehicle (e.g. the play, the song), and not just as another literary genre (e.g. the epic poem, the sonnet). In other words, we can begin to define the novel in terms of a discrete theme.

What is that theme? Reality.

Is it useful to think of the novel, the earliest novels, like Robinson Crusoe, as being thematically preoccupied with the real? Is the novel, by its very nature, preoccupied with a kind of reality principle?

Review of Jeff VanderMeer's Booklife: Strategies and Survival Tips for the 21st-Century Writer

So, I need to write my prospectus for my dissertation. And so, apologies in advance if my posts are a little lean for the next couple of weeks.

I need to work on brevity anyways!

Today I want to briefly review a very good book: Booklife: Strategies and Survival Tips for the 21st Century Writer, by Jeff VanderMeer.

Generally put, this book is a must-read for anyone who aspires to be a writer in our current, “post-print” context.

Let me be clear: this book isn’t about e-publishing specifically. It is, however, about surviving in an environment where the traditional road to publication is being metaphorically ripped up and re-paved.

Booklife was published in 2009 and so, in this fast-paced and changing environment, some folks might think any advice it offers—considering its ostensible purpose (to help you survive now)--is outdated.

I don’t think so. Not at all.

Reading this book I was struck how much of the advice he offers three years ago seems to prempt developments in publishing today.

One thing is certain: this book has definitely changed the way I plan to proceed with developing my life as a writer. Thanks to Mr. VanderMeer I have eagerly discarded my preconceived notions about the road to becoming a professional writer of fiction.

Let me try to distill in a few sentences the key lesson I took away from this book.

VanderMeer compares developments in professional writing and publishing today to previous developments in the music industry (post-Napster, ITunes music store, Myspace, etc..). He compares the profusion of independent musicians and labels to the emergence of independent publishers and “dyi” writers. Thus, just as independent bands needed learn to market and, more importantly, create their own niche markets/consumers, so writers of this moment and the future will have to learn to do this as well.

Gulp. That’s a tall order.

He’s has all sorts of ideas about how to create those audiences, and I won’t give them away.

To wrap up: this book is a must read if you want to be a writer today.

Arbitrary rating: 5/5

Opening the Skull's Trapdoor: Coming Up with Story Ideas by Association

Tonight I want to review another essay in the anthology, How to Write Tales of Horror, Fantasy, and Science Fiction, edited by J.N Williamson. I reviewed another essay in this anthology in a previous post. I had some reservations about this book, but, generally, find it quite useful. Here's a link to my original post: Short Fiction: Making the Premise Conform to the Treatment

The essay I’m reviewing is by Ray Bradbury and is titled, “Run Fast, Stand Still, or, The Thing at the Top of the Stairs, or, New Ghosts from Old Minds.” Talk about a mouth full of a title.

I trust Ray Bradbury. Even though his fiction isn’t my favorite, he’s a celebrated writer in the genres I care about. And so, any advice he gives on writing is worth our attention. 

His essay is somewhat general in approach and offers no pragmatic advice on the actual work of writing. It does, howoever, offer some very good advice on coming up with ideas.

It’s a kind of personal manifesto, an attempt to articulate where his ideas for his stories comes from. The most striking element of this essay is his description of his “list.” 

In this essay Bradbury describes a list of nouns he composed early in his writing career, and of this list he writes, “I was feeling my way toward something honest, hidden under the trap door on the top of my skull.” 

He talks about writing stories based solely on a single noun like “The Lake,” or “The Ravine,” or “The Basement.” In prose that is part revelry and part personal memoir, Bradbury makes a case for composing narratives through a kind of unconscious process of association. In other words, he suggests you think of a few nouns and just start telling stories about them. 

Let me give this a try. The Rock. Can I tell a story about “the Rock.” Hmm…

Let’s imagine a giant rock with a flat plane at the top. It’s kind of a stage, high up in the sky. Below it people gather, late at night. They stare up at the rock, where there is a fire burning. There is a priest up there. A table. A knife. Some burning incense. And, of course, a sacrificial victim.

Whew. That was strange. So it can be done! There be a story there!

Female Imagery in Sci-Fi/Fantasy/Horror (Post 2): Margaret Brundage Weird Tales Cover Art Oct 1933

Margaret Brundage was one of the most prolific cover artists for the pulp magazines; for Weird Tales specifically, she created 66 original pieces of cover art. Like many of the contemporary readers of the pulp, I was not aware that a woman created much of its cover art. Naively, I just assumed that men drew the beautiful, scantily clad women on these covers. In a similar vein as Frazetta’s Vampirella cover, these images were meant to attract the reader’s attention, to draw him in, to get him to purchase the magazine. But on further reflection, something does come across through Brundage’s work that does not (for me, anyway) happen when I view Frazetta’s paintings.

The characteristic that is most telling of Brundage’s work is its inherent movement. To look at this particular image, I am struck by its apparent natural fluidity. Like Frazetta’s work, Brundage’s females are curvy, seductive, and seem to embody great power. Unlike Frazetta’s work, though, all of Brundage’s paintings seem ready to burst forth from the page. Their power is highly charged, active.

This image of the Vampire Master (I can only assume that that was what Brundage’s was illustrating as it’s the only story title printed with the image) shows her posed unusually. The angle of her arms, the placement of her hands, give the impression that she was caught in mid-action. Perhaps she is getting ready to extend her arms outward from her body; perhaps she will extend them in front of her. She may even be in the process of dropping her arms by the sides of her body. The viewer does not know, exactly, what’s she doing, but her movement transcends the page. She actually seems to embody more power than Vampirella does because of Brundage’s ability to give her paintings such life.

What also intrigues me about Brundage’s choice of images is that she typically did not illustrate scenes from the stories. Often, she would just create images that showed what she believed to be the essence of a story, her impression. The vampire master, then, may look nothing like this; she might not even be a woman. So, while still succumbing to the commodity nature of the publication, and the fact that images of beautiful women probably sold more issues, Brundage may be inverting this trend.

By choosing to present so many images of women on the cover (and many of her covers show only women, no men) even when the female characters may not have played a major role in the stories or even had been in the stories to begin with, she was instead reserving this space for images of powerful, active women.

Serialized Pulp Novel: The Rogue and the Merchants (Part 12)

Here is serial 12 of my pulp novel, The Rogue and the Merchants. As usual, here is a link to the full transcription, thus far, if you want to know more about the project, the source of the manuscript, or the story of the novel's genesis. Also, all of the illustrations I've been composing are there as well: Pulp Novel Project: The Rogue and the Merchants

***

In spite of it being in the middle of the night,
everything here was brightly lit.

The old man left, leaving the Rogue with his granddaughter. She took him by the wrist and led him silently into one of the largest huts. From the hut issued  a plume of black smoke. Obviously there was a fire inside.

The young girl held back the cloth that served as the portal door and nodded with no smile, "Go on," she said, "nothing is inside but fire to warm the water I need to clean your wounded arm."

The Rogue was surprised by her words. "You speak the language of Tabun Stoh!" he said. "Wonderful! I was afraid my conversation would be limited to your grandfather, young one!"

He entered, followed by her, into the hut.

"Oh, no," she said. "He taught me. He's a very wise man, educated in many languages. I understand your prejudices and expectations, considering how we live, which must seem a barbarous way to one from the city."

The Rogue said nothing. He was too distracted by the interior of the hut, which was clean and well organized. It was lit by a central fire that was ventilated by a smoke-stained hole in the roof. The floor was covered in many layers of furs; and there were what appeared to be cushions of woven cloth stuffed with wool. And the hut smelled wonderfully; some dried spices, hanging from supporting rafters, fragranted the place.

The young girl smiled and walked over to the fire-pit. Out of the various furs she pulled a bronze tea-urn, which she hung over the flames. Into it she poured a water out of a skin that had been hanging from a hook. In a few moments she had brewed a drink, a kind of root. She poured the rogue some, served it in a clay cup, and when he drank it it tasted bitter and vaguely sweet. It seemed to quicken his mind, which had been dulled from the cold night. In a few moments the colors in the room seemed more pronounced. The girl giggled when he held his hand before him and looked at it with great curiosity in his face.

"The drink you've brewed--it's powerful. What is it?"

The girl smiled.

Edgar Allen Poe, "The Masque of the Red Death," and Perversity as an Aesthetic Experience

Today is Edgar Allen Poe’s birthday, and so I thought I’d write an homage to one of his best—my favorite—stories: “The Masque of the Red Death.”

This story always stirs me. It’s truly horrifying. And its not just the plot that disturbs—the story of the pestilence, the supernatural elements, the blood, the ghostly personification of the Red Death that drives alls the revelers into the black room. It’s also the tone of the narrator.

If I had to pick one adjective to describe the narrative tone, it would be, perverse.

Generally speaking, a “perverse” something is considered a deviation from the "normal" or what is expected. But I think there’s a little more to it when we describe something as perverse in an aesthetic context. Let me explain.

In art, not only is something or someone “perverse” if it deviates from the norm of things, that perverse thing is a source of pleasure. Pleasure, satisfaction, glee—these are just as important elements to the aesthetic of “perversity” as any deviation from the norm.

That pleasure married with strangeness is the tone of the narrator in Edgar Allen Poe’s, “The Masque of the Red Death.” He’s relating the story of a group of selfish aristocrats who have cut themselves off from the world to escape a horrible pestilence; furthermore, he’s relating the story of how they are inevitably brought down by that pestilence.

And in relating this story he strikes an almost a giddy, pleasured, tone, as if their vain attempts to keep the dangers of the world at bay are laughable. As an artistic experience, I find this quite moving. It effects my body and just the mind: it gives me the shivers. 

In this story we have a 3rd person omniscient narrator who is not “dis-interested” in his characters; he’s quite “interested” in his characters. Furthermore, he seems amused by his characters, in the same way a little kid who is plucking the legs off a spider is amused by arachnids.

Let me be clear: I’m not elevating this sort of perversity for its own sake; Poe’s victory, I think, is to conjure an artistic experience out of this gruesome material.

There’s an image in this story, right after the duke falls dead, that always gets me. All night long the revelers have been avoiding the black room with the red light. The duke dies. And here is their reaction: “Then, summoning the wild courage of despair, a throng of revellers at once threw themselves into the black apartment […].” This "allegorically resonates" for me: these folks have been avoiding death and ignoring it for so long; and now that they have glimpsed true cosmic horror, they run to their deaths (the black room), embrace it.

When the narrator states at the end of the story, “And the flames of the tripod expired. And Darkness and Decay and the Red Death held illimitable dominion over all,” I pecieve a quality of exulation here, a kind of grim rejoicing or celebration of death’s victory that is completely in earnest and completely perverse.

Happy birthday Mr. Poe.

Swords and Dark Magic: Garth Nix's, "A Suitable Present for a Sorcerous Puppet" and Narrative Richness

Today I’m going to continue my extended review of the anthology of Swords and Dark Magic, edited by Jonathan Strahan and Lou Anders. I'm committed to working my way through this entire anthology, reviewing each story. Here is a link to previous posts in this series: An Extended Review of Swords and Dark Magic

The story I’m focusing on today is “A Suitable Present for a Sorcerous Puppet,” by Australian writer, Garth Nix.

This was my first encounter with Garth Nix, and it was a strange one.

To begin, I don’t think I would classify his story as a sword and sorcery. It was too light-hearted, playful, and comical. Consequently, it was more of a fairy-tale or a kind of parody of sword and sorcery.

Let me be clear: I don’t think comedy or playfulness shouldn't be in sword and sorcery. Of course it should. The Conan stories are tinged with dark comedy. The “Fafhrd and the Gray Mouser” stories are filled with joking and witty dialog. And yet, in both Howard and Lieber's cases, the comedy and playfulness is always juxtaposed with a dark and dangerous world.

In this Nix story there is a notable conformity, I think, between the humorous and playful tone of the characters and the world/context within which their story unfolds.

I’m wondering if a “dark, dangerous world,” is a necessary component of sword and sorcery.

In spite of its playful nature, I still found the story entertaining. Parts of it were quire amusing: the protagonist is likable enough, a wounded warrior who is otherwise infallible; and his companion, a “sorcerous puppet” named Mister Fitz, was interesting.

It’s most endearing quality for me were the glimpses of the fantasy world that came through. Let me explain by considering a brief passage. Referring to the unorganized nature and other strange idiosyncrasies of a book the protagonist is reading, the narrator states, “these might be symptomatic of the somewhat unusual end of Jerreke, a city-state which had defaulted on its debt so enormously that  its entire population had to be sold into slavery” (181). Here you have a “micro-narrative” that makes the short story what I call “narratively rich,” meaning, the overarching narrative trajectory is pleasantly sidelined to encapsulate additional stories, stories not included for the sake of their narrative functionality but for their own sake, the pleasure they offer.

Another way of referring to this effect is the “Arabian Nights” effect. This is where you fold narratives within narratives, not for the sake of furthering an overarching plot but for the visceral pleasure of storytelling. Nix doesn’t quite do that here. And yet, there is a tendency to do that in this story that makes the world quite rich.

This story is a firm 3 out 5 in my view.

Juxtaposing Real Life with the Fantastic: The Gamers: Dorkness Rising

And so it begins. The semester is on me! Tomorrow, I start teaching my “History of the Novel” class; and, I begin, in earnest, the task of writing my dissertation prospectus. Be prepared for "reports" regarding those projects (if they treat on subjects relevant to this blog, of course).

Over "lunch-breakfast" this afternoon a good friend of mine reminded of a movie that I love. And so, I want to review it! Unlike the other film’s I’ve reviewed—the "Rankin and Bass Masterpieces" and The Dark Crystal, this film is not "mainstream," so there's a good chance you might not have heard of it.

Before proceeding into the review proper, however, you should know that it’s streamable on Netflix; also, the production company—an independent film company based out of Seattle called Dead Gentlemen Productions—has DVDs available on their website: Dead Gentlemen Productions

Apparently these folks have quite a following! All I know of them is this film, which I love. I’ve watched it at least five times.

One thing is certain: I’m seeking out more of their stuff. Because it’s not hyperbole when I suggest that this film, released in 2008, is already a kind of “contemporary” cult classic.

Gods! I haven’t even give you the title yet! The film is called The Gamers: Dorkness Rising, and it’s written and directed by Matt Vancil.

What’s it about? Well, it’s a little complicated to explain if you haven't played tabletop roleplaying games like Dungeons and Dragons. And yet—it’s quite easy to explain if you do play roleplaying games. If my description of the plot comes off to you non-RPGers as alienating, don’t be turned away! The humor and cleverness of this film is not so “sub-cultural” that you won’t find yourself laughing and perhaps touched.

Anyhow. Back to the question at hand. What’s it about? It concerns a group of friends who play Dungeons and Dragons together. If you play Dungeons and Dragons, then you know that D&D is a kind of “collaborative storytelling ritual.” Thus, the film also relates the story of this group of friends’s Dungeons and Dragons “campaign,” that is, the story they tell and act out together.

And so you have two narratives here: (1) the story of their real lives, sitting around the game table, laughing, drinking soda, arguing, etc., and (2) the story of their D&D campaign, set in a fantasy world plagued by the evil necromancer Mort Kemnon. So, you have two narratives juxtaposed over top of eachother here: a realistic one and a fantasy one. This narrative juxtaposition is the source of much of the pleasure of the film—its humor, its insights into human character, etc.. Let me try to explain.

An example. There’s one character, Gary, who has decided to play a sorcerer in the D&D game. And so he plays another character, a sorcerer. And yet, he can’t decide on which gender to make his character. And as he’s playing, he sometimes forgets his character is a girl. And so, you have a character in the fantasy world, a sorcerer/sorceress, by the name of Luster, played by two actors: Christian Doyle and Jennifer Page. One scene you have a scantily-clad, sexy sorceress; and the next scene you have a dude in excessively feminine sorceress’s clothing. What is the result of these complicated narrative swirlings that I’m having difficulty articulating here? Hilarity.

Aside front he plot, you have some very good comedic acting in here. The character of Flynn Fine, the womanizing bard (played by Scott C. Brown), is hilarious. There’s a scene where he attempts to use his bard-singing abilities to calm the rage of a marauding band of goblins, and is pin-cushioned with spears. This moved me to tears (tears of laughter, that is). When I watch the film, this scene is a “rewinder-and-play-againer”.

The stories of other characters--the game master, Kevin Lodge (Nathan Rice), and the “rules lawyer,” Cass (Brian Lewis)—are, in addition to being both hilarious and fun, touching stories. Kevin is struggling with writer’s block; Cass is struggling with his need to “win,” to be the best, the greatest, the one. There's another character, the fighter Daphne (Carol Roscoe), who is perfect at being the opposite of the stereotypical mighty-thewed warrior: intelligent, sweet, noble, and--nevertheless--deadly. In a fun way her character shines a lot of light on gender stereotypes.

For being an independent film company, the production value is also quite impressive. Costuming, computer effects, choreography, props, scenery: all of these suggest that this film is indeed an “independent,” low-budget production—and yet, the production elements seem to suggest a characteristic style, a unique flavor that is endearing and impressive rather than cheesy.

Anyhow, I love this movie! In juxtaposing “real life” with “fantasy life,” it reveals important inter-connections between the two; and it does this difficult work with humor and authenticity in a way only an independent production could.

Serialized Pulp Novel: The Rogue and the Merchants (Part 11)

So, here is serial 11 of my pulp novel, The Rogue and the Merchants. By the way: I will never type up another novel manuscript on a typewriter. Never again. Never. This is quite boring, transcribing this. I'm glad I've found a reason to type it all up, though, because otherwise, it would have lingered in my basement, in my filing cabinet, yellowing.

As usual, here is a link to the full transcription, thus far, if you want to know more about the project, the source of the manuscript, or the story of the novel's genesis. Also, all of the illustrations I've been composing are there as well: Pulp Novel Project: The Rogue and the Merchants

***

They graybeard climbed a kind of stone stump and announced in a loud voice something in their strange language, and then the village plaza began to empty of folk. The women who were weaving left their work unfinished, grabbed their children, and disappeared--looks of resent hanging about their faces--into their houses.

The men began to follow them, leaving the Rogue and the old graybeard in the empty plaza alone. The ones who were armed left their weapons at their portals when they went inside. And then, they were alone.

It was eerie for the Rogue, standing there in the flickering light of those strange, smoking torches, not speaking to the old man who had on his face the vague suggestion of a grin.

A moment later, out of the darkness, a beautiful, dark-haired female came up to the old man and the Rogue. She was young, barely a woman, and--in spite of the apparent custom of her tribe--she had long black hair. Her eyes, however, were painted black like the other women.

In spite of her longer hair, there were other differences about her. On her head she wore a circlet of iron, which appeared to be fashioned in the likeness of a crown of ivy. There were settings for gems, but the gems had obviously been removed. If the gems had been present, the Rogue thought, it would have been a beautiful piece of jewelry indeed. As it was, it was somewhat dull. And yet, the Rogue admitted to himself, this young one needed no jewelry to beautify her.

The old man barked an order at the girl, who nodded and answered him; but she did not hide what was obviously the resentment she felt in regards to the old man's orders. It shown clearly on the sharp features of her face in spite of her efforts to hide it. "I leave you with my granddaughter. I am as a father to her, for she has no parents else. She will properly tend to your wound. I've told her to see that you're made as comfortable as we can make you." He rubbed his brow and stroked his beard. "And so I leave you, ranger, rogue--whatever you are. I'm weary. This night has been exerting. I must sleep. Tomorrow, after you've rested and ate, we will go and fetch your comrades." The Rogue touched his head and bowed.

A Review of "A Game of Thrones: The Board Game"

So, I really enjoy George R.R. Martin’s, A Song of Fire and Ice. I also enjoy the HBO’s adaptation of A Game of Thrones. And so, I was somewhat excited when my sister-in-law, Beth, got a copy of Fantasy Flight’s A Game of Thrones: the Board Game (2nd edition). It took us a while to get around to it, but last night Beth, my wife Nicole, and I gave it a try.

Sidenote: It should be made clear: this isn’t the board game adaptation of the HBO adaptation of A Game of Thrones. This is a board game based on the novel, and so folks coming to it expecting film stills from the HBO production—images of Sean Bean and Emmy-award winning actor Peter Dinklage—will be disappointed (not that there’s anything wrong with the HBO production. It’s great! I’m looking forward to season 2.)

A brief historical excursion: 

In the past I’ve tended to be less of a “boardgamer” and more of an RPGer. Although I’ve preferred tabletop roleplaying games since I started playing them, I’ve also greatly enjoyed strategy games like Risk, Axis and Allies, Squad Leader, and Shogun. But about seven years ago, after I graduated from undergrad, I made contact with a really great group of boardgamers through a co-worker of mine. They introduced me to all sorts of boardgames: The Settlers of Catan, Ticket to Ride, Puerto Rico (yes, the game, not the country).

Since then, I’ve been eager to play more "euro" board games. Of late, my favorite game is Arkham Horror, published by Fantasy Flight Games. This is a great game set in the world of H.P. Lovecraft’s fiction and Cthulhu Mythos.

Back to the game:

Which reminds me: A Game of Thrones: the Board Game is published by Fantasy Flight Games. When I learned this, I was excited, because they have a very good reputation as a game company and their version of Arkham Horror is so fun.

Let me be up front: I loved the game. I think it has great potential for “cloak and dagger” intrigue (alas, not much of this happened with just 3 players).

Unlike other strategy board games, like, say, Axis and Allies, the point is not simply to build armies and deploy battle tactics. You could conceivably win this game by taking no military actions whatsoever. Also, the battle mechanic in this game is somewhat simplified, making players consider alternatives to victory.

That’s another important element of the game: it’s diceless. There is no random element, other than a few decks of cards that generate events each turn. I love that. I like the idea of diceless games.

I’m sure everyone who has played the Risk has experienced this irritating phenomenon: when you attack, say, Madagascar with 30 armies and your opponent--the dice having been bespelled by dark sorcery--defends with one army. Yeah. Statistics. Kind of silly.

There’s something to be said about diceless games: you can’t claim the dice were in your favor or they were against you. If you win, you win; if you lose, you lose.

Another thing that has to be noted about this game is the artwork. It’s beautiful! The tokens, the figurines, the cards, the game board map: all of it is just so-detailed, skillfully drawn, and truly captures the essence of Martin’s continent of Westeros.

I’m sure this artwork has been doctorted up digitally (who doesn’t do this these days?). And yet, theres that raw “brush stroke” quality to the artwork that is missing in a lot of the contemporary gaming art I encounter.

One last thing that makes this game fun: in spite of it being a cloak-and-dagger, stab-eachother-in-the-back sort of game, there is also a mechanic that forces you to occasionally come together in the name of Westeros: the wildling attack. There are some pretty horrible consequences for a wildling victory. This is a great additon for a game like this, I think. Taking out your enemy becomes more of a moral dilemma when you know they are all that’s seperating you from the hordes to the north.

Conclusion: 4.5 stars out of 5. 

By the way, here’s a link to my Boardgame Geek profile. I’m new on there, and so I’d be eager to make any connection! Jason's Board Game Geek Profile