Fernando Pessoa on scenery

Amiel says that scenery is a mood, but his statement is merely the weak boutade of a weak dreamer. As soon as scenery is scenery it stops being a mood. To objectify is to create, and no one says that a finished poem is the state of thinking about finishing it. Seeing may well be dreaming, but if we all it seeing instead of dreaming, i's because we make a distinction between dreaming and seeing.

In any case, of what use are these speculations on verbal psychology? Independently of me, the grass grows, it rains on the grass that grows, and the sun gilds all the grass that grew or is going to grow; the mountains arose long, long ago, and the wind howls in the same way Homer heard it - even if he didn't exist. It might be more precise to say that a mood is a scenery; the statement would have the advantage of not containing the lie entailed in a theory, even if the only truth it does contain is that of a metaphor.

These random ideas were dictated to me by the grand panorama of the city, which I saw in the universal light of the sun form the top of São Pedro de Alcântara. Every time I contemplate a panorama like that, I forget the five feet seven and one hundred and twenty-four pounds that I am physically, I have a hugely metaphysical smile for those who dream that dreams are dreams, and I love the truth of things absolutely external with the noble virtue of my understanding.

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I have no faith in scenery. That's right. I don't say it because I believe in Amiel's "scenery is a mood," one of the felicitous verbal moments of that most insufferable interiorizer. I say it because I don't believe it.

- Fernando Pessoa, The Book of Disquiet

Been reading bits and pieces of Pessoa's posthumous prose work recently. His observations, which rarely go more than a single page, are full of comments such as this that give me reasons to pause and to think about matters. While I suppose I could make some connections to the occasional discussions regarding that amped-up scenery called "worldbuilding," I won't. What I'll do is let this piece create its own images within those who read this, in hopes that perhaps they'll be willing to read this outstanding early 20th century Portuguese poet and writer.

Author Spotlight: Angélica Gorodischer

Stop me if you've heard this before: Talented female author mixes in gender role analysis and deep, introspective societal examination with prose that is evocative. But instead of being an Anglo-American writer such as Ursula Le Guin or Marion Zimmer Bradley, Argentinian author Angélica Gorodischer sadly is barely known here in the United States, despite a body of work in Spanish that rivals that of Le Guin or any other SF/fantasy author, male and female alike.

Gorodischer was born in Buenos Aires, Argentina in 1928, although she has lived most of her life in Rosario, Argentina. She has been active in writing all sorts of fiction, from SF to mysteries to feminist literature and criticism, with Kalpa Imperial (1983, 1984 in two parts; English translation done by Le Guin in 2003) being her most famous work outside of Latin America. Active from 1964 to the present, her stories depend heavily upon introspection and the presentation of rather ridiculous societal practices in a new setting to accentuate the asinine nature of things such as patriarchal attitudes and the over-reliance upon tradition to guide people. Currently, only Kalpa Imperial (which incidentally contains an oblique critique of the military junta that ruled there from 1976-1983) and the story "The Violet's Embryos" (published in the anthology Cosmos Latinos in 2003) are available in English translation.

This is a crying shame, as Gorodischer is one of those rare authors whose prose and themes resonate between generations and between cultures. Hopefully, some reading this will be encouraged to check out either one of the two English translations, or if they are able to read Spanish, will try reading her works in the original, such as the story collection Bajo las Jubeas en flor, which I'm currently reading.

Edit: For a very good interview with Gorodischer, here's a link to the Fantastic Metropolis interview that Gabriel Mesa conducted a few years ago.

Judging the Hugo Finalists Part I: Cover Art

Since 2008 is a Presidential Election year here in the U.S., I have decided that I'm going to examine the Hugo Award finalists for Best Novel according to some of the strict criteria that American voters apply to their Presidential candidates. So first, I shall look at it from the viewpoint of which finalist's cover art looks most "Hugo-like."

Ian McDonald, Brasyl.

McDonald's cover art has some good features - it is dark, with "cool" purples and other neon-like effects highlighting the "differentness" of his view of mid-21st century Brazil. There are vehicles moving around, which is always a plus, but he might take a hit for there not being any rocket ships or guns on display. While some might argue that the helicopter-like things gives a sense of air and perhaps even space transport, it isn't quite phallic enough in appearance to compensate for the lack of cone-like projectile transports. The overall appearance is pleasing to the eyes, but it might be downgraded in the eyes of some Hugo voters because of the lack of the aforementioned "Hugo accessories."



Charles Stross, Halting State.

At first glance, Stross's cover might appear to be too "simple" and blocklike. However, judging based on past Hugo covers, the cover art for Halting State does give a sense of distance and yearning that some Hugo voters might find appealing. If one stares at the image long enough, one can detact just the barest hint of a cone-like projectile arising, which ought to meet the phallic vision test. Furthermore, there is a block-like entity in the foreground above the title which might be a play on Arthur C. Clarke's famous monolith from 2001: A Space Odyssey. In a year in which SF fans are mourning the death of Sir Arthur, it might be a providential stroke of luck that could prove to be the difference.



John Scalzi, The Last Colony.

Scalzi has long been a favorite of the WorldCon crowd, having won the Campbell Award for Best New Writer a few years ago. But with the cover art for The Last Colony, Scalzi might have found the recipe for insuring himself of a high finish in the Hugo voting. There are spaceships! Spaceships, I tell ya! All in this image! Plus there is more than just the requisite phallic imagery rising prominently, but there looks to be some sort of battle going on! What Hugo voter steeped in the genre's past couldn't look at Scalzi's cover art and think how favorably it looks compared to the previous great Hugo winners? This perhaps might be the most "Hugo-like" of all of the covers displayed here, but only time shall tell, no?



Robert J. Sawyer, Rollback.

Canadian author Robert J. Sawyer has won multiple Hugo and Nebula Awards before for his work, but some voters might be divided based on this cover art. Sure, the huge gear-laden watch-like thing in the background looks cool, especially with the black backdrop, and perhaps the fuzzy humanoid in the foreground is intriguing in his/her/its vagueness, but where are the rockets? Where are the other hints of gadgetry that might make the reader stare at the cover for a long length of time and perhaps influence his/her vote? This is a rather bland cover and for those voters who are swayed by the images in their head, Sawyer's cover art might prove to be too bland to make a lasting impression on the Hugo voters.



Michael Chabon, The Yiddish Policemen's Union.

Sure, sure. We all know that Chabon has won a crapload of awards for his writing over the past few years and that he won the Nebula and Sidewise Award for this particular book. So while those who hold stock in things such as prosery and actual storytelling talent might be enamored with Chabon, those Hugo voters who take the time to judge the book carefully by its cover are going to take one glance at this and go, "Missile Command? In 2008?" But a further glance will show even a lack of any real cone-like projectiles that could serve to offset the first impressions of this cover. For those astute Hugo voters voting on the basis of the cover art, Chabon's likely would finish around the bottom, with even "No Award" giving it a run for its money.



And there you go, possible ways of judging this year's finalists based on the cover art alone. Later in the week, there'll be at least one more judging of the finalists based on other criteria. Hope this gave you food for thought.

Reviewing Epistemology, or a Struggle to Self-Define Relevance

Seems that in the past few days on a couple of the blogs that I have listed in my Blogroll, there has been a bit of a chatter about what constitutes a review and if there ought to be some sort of "standards" involved for blog reviews. Since my name has been evoked in passing, I shall endeavor to weigh in with the appropriate gravitas that this deserves.

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Yep, that pretty much covers all that needs to be said. But to elaborate a bit, here goes:

1. Having "standards" does not equate to "communism" (frankly, that was a ridiculous comment and should have been thought out before being posted). A set of "standards," "codes," or whatever-the-hell-you-want-to-call-it is nothing more than a framework from which the writer can then develop his/her approach. The "standards" would be nothing else but a minimal set of criteria that the audience can use to judge the worthiness of a writer's review (or other things).

2. If you half-ass it, you half-assed it, so don't argue about it. Tired of some using excuses such as "it wasn't meant to be a real review" or "I'm not wanting to be a critic." If you don't want others to rip into you (or at least rip into you with some justification), then just stop half-assing it and put effort into what you're doing.

3. For a great many people, a "review" involves much more than giving one's personal reaction to something. Sure, on certain levels it'll work as a personal recommendation, but don't be dismayed if others reading such posts end up concluding that you couldn't write a "proper review" if your life depended upon it. For many, a "review" is a much more narrowly-defined entity, one that involves a lot of thought and awareness of a writing's themes, structure, and how its basic elements play out and how such elements compare to other works. If the reviewer doesn't come to "own" the review and to demonstrate some sense of "authority" in what he/she is talking about, then why in the world would that review be a decent one?

4. As for the "can you call it a 'review' if you don't finish the book" question, see point #3. If you don't meet at least some of those criteria, then how would someone like myself gain any real insight into the work, other than you don't like it?

5. I really could care less what you do with your personal blogs. If you want the respect accorded to a "professional," then browse through their writings and see what works best and incorporate elements of that while maintaining something of "you" in the writing process. For example, take this The New Republic book review. There are things in here, for example, that I could use to help me get over a stumbling block I've had whenever I've wanted to review multiple works. Doesn't mean I have to ape the style completely; but noting how it flows and how the reviewer has come to "own" the review provides a valuable perspective for me.

And that's about it for this edition of keeping the teacup waters oscillating.

The Hugo Finalists: Plans

Although I'm still mired in a reviewing slump, I do plan on doing a bit of prognosticating on the Hugo finalists for Best Novel in the next few days (once I read the Sawyer and Stross books; sadly, I was sent every Scalzi book but the contending one a couple of weeks ago, so there'll be a hole in my guessing, I suppose). Since I'll be in teacher training Monday-Thursday and then school starts on Friday, it might end up being only a single capsule-like commentaries on these books and not full-blown reviews. But hey, predicting things is the fun part, no?

Although I have reinstated the Hugo poll for the next few days, I'm curious to know your predictions. If you have a link, post it in the comments, or just comment below.

Ice cream cone?

From the recent CNN article on Arthur C. Clarke's last book, The Last Theorem, co-author and fellow "Golden Age" writer Frederik Pohl says something a bit asinine:

Pohl said the type of work he and Clarke did was different from much of what is written today. He said that rather than delving into difficult subjects like astronomy, math and physics, young writers sometimes turn to an easier route by writing fantasy.

"Science fiction is sometimes a little hard," Pohl said. "Fantasy is like eating an ice cream cone. You don't have to think a bit."

You don't have to think a bit...

While I could just make the simple "I'm rubber and you're glue" response about how apparently he wasn't thinking when he said this, I'm bored enough (and not sleepy enough, alas) to explore this a bit further. Depending on what you call that amorphous (non)entity known by some as "science fiction," the "science" part of the fiction isn't all that hard; you research, take notes, and you incorporate it into a fictional setting. After all, that's what led to those piles and piles of dreck being produced by the pulps in that so-called "Golden Age," no? After a cursory examination of many of the more hallowed texts (Clarke, Asimov, Heinlein), I found myself thinking the hardest part about their fiction was the "readability" of each; in many cases, the stories were rather dry, transparent, and outside of the presumed "novelty" of having Idea co-opt the more traditional place of honor accorded to characterization and prosery (and plot, if I must), the stories often had little to recommend themselves to me. While I had a SF/Fantasy-loving maternal grandmother who introduced me to Ray Bradbury, my general literary experience up until my mid-20s was decidedly in areas where the presumed strengths of such stories are downgraded and their apparent faults became magnified. Therefore, it's going to be quite difficult for me to avoid scoffing (scoff, scoff!) at Pohl's comments.

But to a degree, he is correct about some fantasies, especially of the high/heroic/epic varieties, since those are by their very natures formulaic and episodic. It doesn't take much to follow another's basic framework, but for those who dare to push a bit further and to take chances, it takes a helluva lot of thinking. I'm not referring to the ill-defined "worldbuilding" (a term which I've made it quite clear over the past 18 months that I dislike and think is used too often as a crutch when trying to analyze stories), but rather to how an author is going to structure his/her story. Some of the finest examples of storycrafting have taken place in the speculative/imaginative fantasy branch of literature and in many cases, authors have had to make radical departures from expected literary techniques in prose, setting, characterization, and plot sequencing (or non-sequencing in many cases). "Like an ice cream cone?" Um, yeah. Must be the reason why I like reading all of those "dark fantasy," "New Weird," or "New Wave" writers instead of the "Golden Age" people. Whatever.

Addendum on the ARC/Reviewer discussions

So the ever-circular discussions on online reviewing and the "worth" of said blog reviewers is still going on. Andrew Wheeler's post on the subject is a sobering and worthwhile read for many, as it grounds the discussion more in the day-to-day realities of the publishing industry and why the concept of publishers paying online reviewers is a rather laughable concept. But I want to take this a step further, to address the ancillary discussion of ARCs/bound galleys and this presumed "guilt" that many online reviewers have expressed in their posts over the past week.

I said here (way back at the beginning of this particular round) that I felt no "guilt" at all about not reviewing books that I receive from publishers. What I should have elaborated upon is the history behind this, since I think my professional background might have left me with a more pragmatic (if not cynical) view of this.

Both as a history grad student in the 1990s and now as a teacher of six years' experience, I have been exposed many times to promotional materials from book publishers. Sure, these are academic publishers, with a different target list and goals, but with much more in the way of goodies than virtually any mass-scale fiction publisher is ever going to provide. Although I missed out on my current county's textbook adoptions for social studies (since I wasn't hired until June, when they had already placed their orders), I have seen the process many times (or had my mother, also a teacher, detail them to me) to know the general gist of things:

A county announces their decision to buy new sets of books for the next 3-7 years for particular subjects/grade levels in that school district. With books costing $40-100 each, this is a huge event and various academic publishers (Houghton Mifflin, McGraw Hill, etc.) compete to land a very lucrative contract. They throw "sample parties" for school representatives, showing off their wares as well as providing food and entertainment. Sundry "freebies" are provided, from sample texts (with the corners cut to distinguish it as a promotional copy) to kits for utilizing texts. All "free of charge" to the teachers, for them to keep as they wish.

Now since there are usually 2-6 publishers competing and with each giving out their free samples, you better bet that there are those whose efforts were in vain...this time and for a particular district. What about the samples? They are sometimes stored in closets, or occasionally photocopied and used as supplemental texts. It's a business, you know, and sometimes the best layout and presentation wins, regardless of the quality of the texts. In most cases, the "losing" publishers don't mind that their sample copies are being used in such a fashion, because they know if there's favorable feedback, come next round in a few years, they'll be back in the running for those lucrative contracts.

So what does this have to do with ARCs/bound galleys being sent my way? I'm pretty much in the same role as any teacher is with textbook adoptions. I evaluate the text, comment on it, perhaps others will adopt it then and now, or perhaps not. If I'm not the one evaluating/commenting on it, another one is. Word gets out, regardless of messenger. Just as teachers are not "paid" by publishers to evaluate texts for their districts (the school districts do this, with online/print 'zines being the rough analogue to the school districts, I suppose), nor am I ever "paid" by a publisher, because I'm not a publicist hired to promote the company's bottom line. I evaluate texts on the side; I'm never compensated with money by second parties.

Finally, on another peripherial discussion of this issue, that of "professional reviewers," I'll just state here what I stated before in various places: Being "professional" means having a serious, dedicated approach to doing something, perhaps viewing it as a craft in which one can always improve. Money follows that; it never leads to "professionalism." While there are no national code of ethics for reviewers (online or print, outside of standard journalistic practices), it never hurts to adopt the attitude of "ya know, my commentaries can be better and made virtually air-tight if I work at how I construct my arguments and rationales, not to mention my writing." It is something I strive to accomplish, even if I fail at it from time to time. Just another thing I've learned over the years at my day job, I suppose. I do believe that if one aims to be as "professional" in all aspects as possible, most, if not all, of the points of contention made lately would fade into the insignificance that such things deserve.