Caligo

I don't post to LJ very often anymore, but there are a few folks here who might find this amusing:

While Beth was out of town over the weekend William insisted that we “watch Star Wars music,” which I interpreted to mean “the prequels.” After all, I remember these movies being, in essence, special effects set to John Williams compositions. This resulted in a quite accidental father-son May the Fourth Be with You celebration. Mostly he just likes having the music on in the background and will do other things, occasionally stopping to be entranced by, say, the “Why Flyer” chase in Episode II.

It has been several years since I last watched the (Rifftrax-accompanied) prequels. I remember going to the midnight show of Episode I with a bunch of college friends during finals week. I recall more or less enjoying it for its portrayal of Jedi combat that didn’t involve a crippled cyborg, an old man well past his fightin’ days, and/or a half-trained novice, because despite their other sins the prequels made the Jedi look like complete bad asses. I also remember, however, the criticism my peers leveled against the too-long pod race, the cringeworthy midi-clorian virgin birth, and, of course, fucking Jar Jar Binks. I saw a matinee of Episode II when I worked 3rd shift and so was pretty sleep-deprived at the time. Episode III was another midnight showing, but that was when going to bed at 4am was perfectly normal for me. However, in all cases that was a very long time ago.

As I watched them again with William I found them less awful than I remembered them being. Don’t get me wrong. I still think midi-chlorian virgin birth is silly, and the love story makes Fifty Shades of Grey look like The Lay of Leithien. But as an account of Palpatine’s rise to power and the transformation of the Republic into the Empire it is actually quite well-thought-out. Maybe it was just the lack of grown-up conversation and a desperate effort by my brain to save itself by chewing off its proverbial leg, but I had a realization about Jar Jar Binks that actually made more sense and eased the pain of watching him bumble and blather his way from disaster to disaster.

It all comes down to a historiographic approach to the Star Wars movies. In essence, I found myself looking at them as a history of the rise and fall of the Emperor as written by the rebels after their victory in Return of the Jedi. I found myself asking specifically who is writing this history? What are their prejudices? What is their agenda? This is the same sort of discussion that theologians and Biblical scholars use to come to a better understanding of the context in which each text was written. It attempts to peel back the layers of artistic license, censorship, and flat out propaganda to get closer to the truth of the events the historical record describes.

Read the Rest Here

It has become something of a tradition in the fantasy genre to lavish great attention on the food characters eat. The plot might concern an epic battle against a world-destroying monster. The heroes might wield powers that move Heaven and Earth. And yet we’ll still get a detailed account of all the spices in the stew they’re currently eating.Once in awhile there will be some method to this madness – a reason why the reader should care about the source of the heroes’ carbohydrates, protein, and nutrients. For many, however, it’s the comic book equivalent of Doctor Doom posting pictures of his latest meal on Instagram. “He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named: I’m at House of Moo, and my prime rib just arrived. Check it out! So wonderfully rare I should probably Avada Kedavra it just to be sure, if you know what I mean. ;-) ”

A lot of people point at Tolkien as the origin of this kind of absurdity. Readers have come to expect it as a part of the world-building process, they argue. True, Tolkien frequently describes food at length in The Lord of the Rings. But here’s the thing: almost half the members of the Fellowship (4 of the 9) are hobbits, which Tolkien has already established as being lovers of creature comforts, especially food (more on that in a bit).

I may be a bit too sensitive on the topic than most, but I’m not saying all fantasy novel food porn makes me sigh and skim the page looking for something interesting a few paragraphs later. Sometimes loving descriptions of food actually, you know, add important elements to the story. A clever author can use food a characterization tool or to emphasize a world’s alienness to the reader (and possibly also to the writer’s characters), but it has to move beyond showing us something familiar or it is as filling as the pictures of food people share on Pinterest or Facebook.

For example, the attention to food makes perfect sense in train scenes of The Hunger Games (more sci-fi than fantasy, but a very good example of what I’m talking about here). Katniss has teetered on the brink of starvation her whole life, so it makes perfect sense for her to relish the bounty placed before her on the train to the capital. It also gives us a sense of the depth of her pragmatism. She is clearly curious about these strange foods, but she also remains laser focused on the practical side of eating heartily before the Hunger Games (needing to build up her strength). Finally, the lavishness of the food after its scarcity a few short pages earlier emphasizes the decadence of the capital – their willingness to eat to excess while the people of the Districts starve. Collins spends a rather large number of words on this in what is otherwise an action-oriented, page-turner of a book, but because the food does so many important things for the story it actually turns out to be a really efficient use of those words.

Harry Potter skirts the border with its magical candies, also introduced on a train near the beginning of the first book. In this case, food is used to contrast the familiar of the everyday world with the exoticism of the wizarding world. In Hero’s Journey terms, it helps frame the crossing of the threshold. It is the extraterrestrial jazz music of the Mos Eisley Cantina as the aliens look up from their drinks to stare at the newcomers. It gives the hero a sense of the world he has just entered – one where children’s candy sometimes hops away and the toy surprise might have a picture of a famous wizard who looks back at you. All of this is played off as perfectly normal, fun, and not sinister at all (somehow) In the grand scheme of things Rowling doesn’t spend a huge amount of time on food-as-world-building specifically. She gives enough details about the stuff that is weird to Harry and then dials it back to the occasional introduction of butterbeer.

Which brings me to Tolkien who, despite his flaws as a storyteller (be fair: he could ramble a bit at times. *cough* Tom Bombadil *cough*), used food as a symbol of hobbit values. Whenever you have hobbits with you, you have lavish descriptions of food. The Shire reflects these values not just in the homes and gardens of Bag End but seemingly everywhere you turn. Despite their constant eating, the hobbits never want for food until they leave the Shire. Things get a bit hairy between Bree and Rivendell, but Rivendell is clearly a good place because it has lots of delicious (and exotic) food. Throughout The Fellowship of the Ring, where the hobbits go, so go their appetites and their talk of food, hot baths, and comfortable beds.

It might be easy to dismiss this as coincidence. So Tolkien gave us a bunch of food-obsessed characters. Can’t he stop talking about food for even one chapter? But then we have the opening of The Two Towers wherein Strider, Gimli, and Legalos pursue the army of orc in hopes of rescuing Merry and Pippin. For the duration of the chase much is made of the trios refusal to stop for food or sleep. There is no comfort or rest for them. In the absence of any hobbits they are focused completely on the object of the quest. When they finally find Merry and Pippin, the pair are sitting on the ruins of Isengard’s larders having defeated by cleverness and diplomacy the very wizard that defeated and captured Gandalf in the previous book. Rather than strutting like peacock’s over their unlikely victory, however, their first act is to offer Gimli, Legalos, and Strider food and drink. This is practically a fable of hobbit morality: There is no crisis so serious and no task so important that one shouldn’t stop awhile and have breakfast.

Looking at the journey of Frodo and Sam, we see more examples of the close relationship between hobbits and food. Throughout their quest in Mordor Tolkien makes a point of showing them sharing food. In most cases Sam offers food to Frodo, and the two eat from the same piece of lembas. The food becomes a symbol of the shared suffering of their passage through the Dark Lord’s lands. As the supply dwindles, so too does their hope of success.

Gollum gets in on this symbolism, too, as his loathsome eating habits become a shorthand for his condition as a fallen hobbit. What makes them so terrible? The “eating raw meat” bit isn’t the half of it, actually. The fact that he cannot stomach lembas – the journey bread that has become a symbol of the shared suffering of Frodo and Sam – also reflects his wretched condition. What separates him from wholesome hobbits is his habit of eating alone. We see the hobbit food-sharing ritual throughout the trilogy – from the feast at Bilbo’s long-expected party to Farmer Maggot’s gift of mushrooms to Merry and Pippin’s invitation to the trio to share in their delicious spoils of victory. Gollum’s tendency to eat alone, to take food and slink off somewhere else to consume it, is indicative of his fallen condition far more than his love of, um, river sushi.

Recall how he wins a little trust from Frodo and Sam: by bringing them a gift of rabbits to eat. This is no accident. The stomach is truly the fastest way to a hobbit’s heart. But it also begins a path toward possible redemption where Slinker gives way to Stinker. Frodo buys into this far more than does Sam, who violates this code by telling Gollum, “Go and catch another and eat it as you fancy – somewhere private and out o’ my sight.” After Sam spurns this gift of food and refuses the wretch’s company, Gollum slides away from redemption and deeper into the conniving Stinker that cannot resist the call of the One Ring.

I thought Peter Jackson did a marvelous job latching onto this symbolism of food and the sharing of food when he adapted the trilogy for film. In the first movie, Gimli extends a dwarven hospitality similar to that offered to travelers by hobbits and elves. It also shows up in one of the most powerful scenes in Return of the King: The Steward of Gondor, having sent his son to his death, instructs Pippin to sing for him while he eats. We get close-ups of his meal and, tellingly, he is the only one eating. In refusing transform embrace the ritual of meal-as-communal, he shows how far he has fallen from Grace. He is as sick in mind and soul as is Gollum, and at least Gollum is conflicted about his isolation.

The argument that elaborate descriptions of food are traditional in fantasy because of Tolkien misses the fact that Tolkien actually used food as a symbol of hobbit morality. While detailed accounts of meals can be a world-building or characterization tool, as with all tools it has right and wrong uses. The same goes for any pure descriptions in the genre – the clothes characters wear, their physical descriptions, and even the places and creatures that make up a fantasy world. If these are used to immerse the reader or illustrate character or sense of place through indirect means, there is nothing wrong with them. But a detailed account of an ordinary meal rarely accomplishes that and too often comes across as a way of filling space or as lazy world-building. I’m a big fan of food, but if you’re going to write a 1,000-page epic set in an exotic fantasy world, maybe you shouldn’t waste those pages lavishing attention on the flavor of beef stew. Just saying.

Cross-posted from my writing blog here, but it seemed like a pretty decent fit for my (itsy bitsy) audience here.

I got into a conversation this week about the Bechdel Test with some other writers. The Bechdel Test, if you're not familiar with the term, is a means of testing gender bias in a work of fiction (usually movies). It asks whether the work in question has:

1) At least two female characters
2) Who talk to each other
3) About something other than a man.

Many of its proponents also insist that the characters be named women. A depressingly large number of movies fail this test. This does not make them bad movies, but it is indicative of the real problem that women don't have anything close to equal representation in film.

A common criticism of this test is that it doesn't reflect the depth of that representation, only its breadth. That is, you can have those women talking about stereotypical "female topics" like clothes and babies and still pass the Bechdel Test. You don't even have to give them any significant screen time - just enough to show that some conversation is happening. Supporters sometimes say this is kind of the point - movies don't even pass the test by cheating, which only makes their failure more pathetic.

More recently, a fan of Pacific Rim suggested an alternative or complimentary test of representation of women called the Mako Mori Test (named for the film's female protagonist). A work passes Mako Mori if it has:

1) At least one female character
2) who gets her own narrative arc
3) that is not about supporting a man's story.

In many ways, this is a much easier test to pass, although loads of movies fail it. I don't think it is an adequate enough measure of the representation of women in fiction to act as a replacement for the Bechdel Test. However, I find the Mako Mori Test intriguing as an addition to the Bechdel Test. If Bechdel is minimal measure the quantity of representation - it's breadth, if you will (multiple women talking to each other about something other than a man) - then the Mako Mori Test acts as a minimal measure of the quality of representation - its depth (at least one woman has her own story focused on her).

Less than 60% of movies pass the Bechdel Test. I don't know the numbers on the Mako Mori Test, but many of those that wouldn't pass Bechdel would not pass Mako Mori, either. In fact, some of those works that pass Bechdel don't pass Mako Mori (and vice versa). The value in examining these tests together does not lie in saying "if a work passes either, it passes a basic test of the inclusion of women." Rather, I feel it is worth demanding that most works be able to pass both tests, and even that is a low bar, requiring that the movie or book has:

1) At least two female characters
2) who talk to each other
3) about something other than a man,
4) and at least one of them gets her own story arc
5) that is not about supporting a man's story.

This doesn't get a work a gold star that says, "This is a feminist work," but it indicates the creator has made at least a minimal effort to include women as a part of the story. In short, it means it is less of a part of the problem (lack of representation of women in fiction and film) than a work that fails either or both Bechdel and Mako Mori.

Why should I or anyone else care? I hear people (mostly white men) complain that these sorts of tests encourage writers to create casts of characters using arbitrary and artificial guidelines. They object that some stories (like The Shawshank Redemption) have no room for a conversation between two women, while others (like Indiana Jones: Raiders of the Lost Ark) really only have room for one character's arc. If women want better representation, these critics declare, they should write the stories themselves!

These arguments miss the point of exercises like the Bechdel Test and the Mako Mori Test. The process of creating a cast of characters is already arbitrary. The author (or screenwriter) determines the traits of every character s/he creates, including the character's sex. Indiana Jones is a cool character worthy of his own story arc (and film franchise), but if Raiders of the Lost Ark didn't exist there would still be plenty of male action heroes. The Shawshank Redemption is an incredible film, but if it didn't exist, there would still be plenty of jailbreak movies featuring men.

As a white male writing in a genre that has traditionally been dominated by white male authors writing for white boys and men (high fantasy), when I'm called upon to introduce a new character, it is easier by far to default to one that either shares my experience as a cissexual, heterosexual, dominant-culture male or fits existing tropes - many of which assume gender roles that don't make nearly as much sense in our imaginary worlds as some would have us believe. It is trivially easy to be more inclusive in terms of representing other groups in one's fiction, but only if you don't ignore the problem and "go with the flow." Whether we want to accept the role or not, as writers we help shape the culture of our genre, even if it is only in a small way.

This is even more important for indie authors or author-publishers or whatever it is we're calling ourselves these days. One common excuse creators in "the biz" make for failing to achieve really basic tests like this is that those with decision-making power (producers, editors, publishers, and directors) do not take representation seriously. It's easy to cluck tongues at an executive's declaration that blockbuster action movies starring a woman will fail at the box office, but what can the poor, well-meaning screenwriter or author do? And what can an audience do to combat this except boycott movies that do not so much as nod at a more equal representation? Grind our collective teeth, mostly.

But indie filmmakers? Indie authors? We have no such excuse. We are responsible for everything that goes into our books - from the cover art to the plot to the characters. So if we want to ignore the opportunity to be more inclusive in favor of mostly peopling our books with characters who look like us, hey, that's our call to make. But it would wouldn't be the bravest one we could make.

The Bechdel and Mako Mori Tests may be less critical in other genres where representation is less of a problem, but the geek subculture that reads high fantasy (not all fantasy readers are geeks, but many geeks are fantasy readers) is not as inclusive as women and minorities as it could, and should, be. In truth, it can be actively hostile to women, who are perceived as a minority even though they make up half the human population, and as outsiders even though geek women are every bit as passionate about the things the love as any man.

There's really no reason why geekdom shouldn't have just as many women in it as men, but at least part of the problem is a lack of fair representation of women in the books and movies intended to target geeks. While some girls will still fall in love with the sort of "boy with a sword" books I read growing up, I don't think balance in the geek community can happen without greater and better representation of women (and minorities) in the media that targets that community - especially the young people of that community.

As "just another white, male fantasy author," I can't be a female voice in geekdom, but I can choose to write books that do not tell young women that they have no place in fantasy except as characters who play the same roles women have been playing in fantasy stories since the Middle Ages. I find that exercises like the Bechdel Test and the Mako Mori Test help draw my attention to missed opportunities to stop being a part of the problem (under-representation of women in high fantasy).

Kingmaker passes Mako Mori but not Bechdel. In fairness, neither of us had heard of the Bechdel Test when we were writing it, so the whole "if you don't think about it, you'll gravitate toward writing characters like yourself" thing applies to us as well. That has since been remedied. Lesson of the Fire passes both. Nosamae Ascending will easily pass both. It wasn't difficult. It didn't require us to turn our books into "an affirmative action campaign," as some authors seem to think it would. A little bit of awareness can go a long way, and a little bit of representation can make the genre, and the people who read it, that much more inclusive.

So, Matt and I decided to do this thing:

Go to Amazon between now and Tuesday, and you can get a copy of our epic fantasy Lesson of the Fire for free Spread the word, and if you read it and feel moved to write a review (good or bad), please do that.

Matt and I have released our second book - a standalone epic fantasy called Lesson of the Fire. The ebook is live for sale on Amazon (as well as borrowable by Amazon Prime members), and the paperback will be out in a couple days.



Sven Takraf has burned a path through rival wizards to seize power over Marrishland, power he means to wield like a torch to bring sweeping reforms to its stifling magocracy. But fire can immolate as well as illuminate, destroy civilization as well as bring it, and Sven is burning out of control.

As the fires of the Takraf War spread from the crumbling citadel of the capital to the swamps and marshes of the rest of Marrishland, they disturb yet another enemy that fears Sven’s stubborn fire, one whose massed force stands poised to sweep down like the waters of a swollen river from a broken dam - waters that will snuff out every fire in Marrishland...

So I posted a response to the Department of Justice allegations against Apple and five of the Big Six publishers on Tuesday, contending, among other things, that certain events would of necessity come to pass before we could say publishing had adapted to ebook technology.

One of my predictions from Tuesday partially came true on Wednesday, and the reasons given for why it came true were the same as the arguments I made for why it would happen. This must be what economists feel like roughly 50% of the time. So I kind of felt like I should post a response to having one of my predictions come true. Because even if it's all just coincidence, it still feels kinda neat.

BABY!!!

*Ahem*

As many of you have already heard either via Facebook or Beth's post, William Blake Zawadzki was delivered via c-section at 5:36am on 2/17 - 20.5 inches long, 7 lb, 14.6 oz.

Baby is healthy. Mother is recovering well from the surgery and is able to walk around a little bit, now. I'm a little bit sleep deprived from playing pacifier last night, but it was very nice to sleep with William in the room with us.

And yes, we named him after the English Romantic poet. We knew the names we were choosing before we came home from the 7 week appointment. Beth suggested it, knowing that the juxtaposition between William Blake's "Little Lamb" and "Tyger, Tyger" was the first time I felt like I understood a poet and was probably one of the main reasons I became an English major two years later. I told her it was certainly a good possibility, but there were tears in my eyes as I said it, so she knew I wouldn't spend much time thinking up alternatives.

Blake's poetry is full of personal mythology, paradoxes, and abundant rage at the social injustices and religious hypocrisies of the poet's time. Reading Songs of Innocence and Experience, I always got the sense not that he was trying to tell people how to make the world right but that he wanted to show them how it really was and the ways in which it was wrong and the ways our experiences could cripple us, if we let them.

As a young man I thought that was an almost perfect goal for a writer to pursue. I have since grown less interested in pointing out social problems in my fiction. It is so easy to do it badly and sound like a self-righteous pedagogue instead of telling a story. His mythology is often obscure to the point of being inaccessible to all but a few readers (kind of like reading The Silmarillion if you're looking for an easy-to-read fantasy novel). And he had some personality issues that were, um...okay, so he was a bit of an asshole.

But I still find Blake's paradoxes absolutely fascinating, because so much of the experience of my emotional life really hinges on paradox and contradictions. I cope with anger by making jokes, and with grief by laughing (which is exceptionally difficult to explain at funerals). Poetry and beautiful music, in the right emotional context, can make me cry, while having some dickhead swear at me and call me names only provokes cold anger and a desire to respond with dismissive sarcasm.

This dead poet won my soul for poetry, and without that discovery, I don't know whether I would ever have fully explored my learned loves of literature, music, film, and all the other arts that celebrate the world and the human experience. In tribute, I have named my firstborn son after the man who taught me to love poetry through his poems. Yeah, I'll probably do my darnedest to pour my love of the arts into this young person along with my love for him.

This world is full of terrible things but also so much beauty and wonder, and I want to show my son all those things. And it is full of some serious assholes, but there are so many amazing, kind, and inspiring people, too, and I want to introduce him to all the people. And the world is wide and can never be fully understood, but we owe it to ourselves to seek out as much of it as we can, so I want to take him all the places. And don't get me started on the ideas - so many ideas that will cripple and destroy, but so many more that can uplift and motivate and guide, so of course I want to show him all those ideas, too.

I'm only two days into fatherhood, and I've only started to share this joy in being.

THE LITTLE VAGABOND (from Songs of Experience)

Dear mother, dear mother, the Church is cold;
But the Alehouse is healthy, and pleasant, and warm.
Besides, I can tell where I am used well;
Such usage in heaven will never do well.

But, if at the Church they would give us some ale,
And a pleasant fire our souls to regale,
We’d sing and we’d pray all the livelong day,
Nor ever once wish from the Church to stray.

Then the Parson might preach, and drink, and sing,
And we’d be as happy as birds in the spring;
And modest Dame Lurch, who is always at church,
Would not have bandy children, nor fasting, nor birch.

And God, like a father, rejoicing to see
His children as pleasant and happy as He,
Would have no more quarrel with the Devil or the barrel,
But kiss him, and give him both drink and apparel.

Contractions started at about 2am and are becoming gradually more frequent and intense. I'm posting this because "update social networks" was on the pre-hospital to-do list, and I'm far too drowsy to deviate from it.

More updates as soon as I have a baby in my arms.

Some thoughts on the writing lessons I learned or had reinforced by participating in NaNoWriMo.