This is my very first Scalzi novel and I selected it because of the hype around Redshirts (which wasn’t available on Overdrive L). Lock In is a science fiction thriller … Continue reading A Few Thoughts on John Scalzi’s Lock In (Tor, 2014)
Let me begin by stating the obvious: N. K. Jemisin is a brilliant fantasy writer. The prequel to The Obelisk Gate, The Fifth Season, has recently been awarded the Hugo Award and it should not surprise you that a novel that by all accounts is an epic fantasy should win a science fiction award, because Jemisin kills it across every genre. The Fifth Season follows Damaya, Syenite, and Essun, three women “orogene,” individuals endowed with magic abilities to control seismic and other geological movements. In spite of having what appears to be very useful—and cool—powers in the context of a world perpetually ravaged by genocidal natural disasters, orogenes are considered subhumans by the non-magical “stills.” Orogenes (also pejoratively called “roggas”) are forcefully removed from their communities—when they are not killed by their parents—and trained at the Fulcrum to become Imperial agents in charge of controlling and protecting people from disasters. For yet unexplained reasons, the Stillness suffers from catastrophic natural disasters eventually unleashing “Fifth Seasons”—decades, sometimes centuries-long post-apocalyptic winters. Living in the Stillness revolves entirely on preparing for Seasons by imposing ruthless laws on the social and economic organization of comms and cities. The novel begins with Essun’s discovery that her husband Jija beat to death their infant son Uche after discovering that he inherited his mother’s (secret) orogeny. Essun goes on a vengeful quest to find Jija and their daughter Nassun, whom he kidnapped. Other chapter PoVs follow the child Damaya, who is taken to the Fulcrum for training, and Syenite, a four-ringed Imperial Orogene who goes on a mission with her ten-ringer mentor Alabaster. By the end of the novel, we discover that all three characters are one and the same person at different point of her life.
Obelisk Gate beings where Fifth Season left us, with Essun in the mysterious, orogene-controlled comm of Castrima, a city within a giant geode. We finally have access to Nassun’s point of view as her father takes her to the mysterious comm of Found Moon, founded by Essun’s Guardian Schaffa. Guardians control orogenes as they have magical abilities to negate their orogeny and to use it against them. As Essun tries to integrate into Castrima and learn everything she can form the dying Alabaster, who charges her with a mission to end all Seasons, Nassun becomes a powerful orogene at Found Moon.
Obelisk Gate refuses to give us easy solutions to the conflicts of Fifth Season. Essun does not find Nassun, and has in fact almost abandoned the idea of ever finding her. Moreover, Nassun does not turn out to be a stereotypical loving daughter; in fact, she has little affection for a mother who brutally trained her to control her orogeny in secret. She resents her for marrying Jija, who clearly was a still who would never overcome his hatred of orogenes, and for failing to give her more information about her own past. Obelisk Gate avoids the pit trap of so many second installments by keeping the story fast-paced and surprising. It further complicates the overarching plot and expands upon the magical creatures briefly outlined in the previous novel, especially the mysterious stone eaters. However, although I loved the second-person narration in Fifth Season, I found it tedious here. I would have preferred a change in narrator, for although the revelation of the narrator’s identity as Hoa at the end of Fifth Season was a nice plot twist, in Obelisk Gate it becomes frustrating because we have yet to discover why Hoa is retelling the entire story to Essun (presumably). A change in narrators would have brought a breath of air into the story.
Overall, Obelisk Gate engrossed me into the brilliantly complex world of the Stillness as much as its prequel, and kept me on my toes for the final installment.
There’s this specific brand of impostor syndrome (you know, the plague of academia) that affects super productive people, especially women. Of course, we’re all “productive”—yes, even procrastinators—but I’m talking here … Continue reading On Dealing With Productivity Anxiety
A couple of days ago, Slate published a piece by Jacob Brogan provocatively entitled “Science Fiction is for Slackers.” Brogan argues that sf icons like Luke Skywalker and the replicants … Continue reading Science Fiction is For Thinkers
Residue has all the potentials of a great sci-fi/mystery series, although there is much room for improvement. The casting is impeccable with Natalia Tena and Iwan Rheon as the leads who, in spite of their radically opposite roles in Game of Thrones, have great chemistry on the screen.
Tena plays Jennifer, a professional photographer working on a series on people affected by the great December 31st explosion that blew up in the city center. A year later, the whole neighborhood, now abandoned and quarantined for potentials chemical aftereffects, remains as much of a mystery to the inhabitants of the unnamed big city (the series was filmed in Gloucester) as to the viewer: why did it explodes? What is the government really doing behind the heavy military guarding the quarantine zone? Why are buildings still standing, apparently untouched? (but seriously, what kind of explosion was that??). As Jennifer and her boyfriend, Jonas (Rheon)–whom you cannot quite unsee as Ramsay–who works in the Home Office, investigates and discover the dark secrets the government is trying to hide, mysterious black shadows dangerously plague the citizens of the city.
On top of an interesting premise, Residue has truly magnificent, if a little repetitive, aesthetics and shots. The entire series is composed in spectrums of gray, green, and red which make for stunning shots of desolate urbanism and dark Chinatown settings–in fact the series flirts a little too closely with racist representations of “Asian” cultures as seen in Blade Runner–or every other cyberpunk movie, really–that dig the Orientalist look but not quite actual Asian people (spoiler alert: this show is very white). Nevertheless, I really liked the show’s photography, but as a commenter on the Netflix page said, you will probably only like it if you’re, like me, guiltily enjoying hipster Tumblr aesthetic blogs (but jokes aside who DOESN’T like those?).
The problem with Residue is that there isn’t much else besides great actors and super cool aesthetics: the narrative develops extremely slowly and the dialogue is at times difficult to swallow. I have to admit that I didn’t realize this was a three-episode long season intended to be seen as an extended pilot. So I continued watching it thinking the plot would eventually pick up; if I’d known I was watching three hours of “pilot” I would have certainly stopped and rewatched Buffy or something. If the first episode did make me excited because of its originality and intrigue, the next two added nothing to the mystery besides confusion as to the characters’ motives and frank disbelief at certain scenes. By the end of the third episode I didn’t find myself particularly looking forward to see more, although I did love Tena’s character, who seems to take no shit from anyone.
Overall I’m not entirely abandoning this show because I do love the actors/characters and I do believe that the story could go somewhere with a little boost in the writers’ room and a quicker pace BUT if the show does continue–and from the Netflix commenters nothing is more uncertain–it’ll have much to do to convince me that this is not just another residue of a good idea (eh? eh? Anyone?).
Writing is agony. I sometimes have the surges of energy and excitement that come along when you write something you are passionate about, but mostly writing is excruciating and exhausting. As I tell my students, writing is like football. Watching every game of the season does not make you Peyton Manning–it doesn’t even make you remotely good at throwing a ball. In order to be good you must do, not just observe. Like in football, writing cannot be taught or self-taught. No matter how many books you read on the topic, no matter how many writing courses you take, to be a good writer, you must write. And like football, writing is hard: it takes effort, time, energy, and sacrifices. However, just like football players must also be coached, it’s a good idea to read a lot and read about writing in order to adopt good techniques and habits.
In this spirit, I’ve been reading Wendy Laura Belcher’s book Writing Your Journal Article in Twelve Weeks (2009) and really loving it so far. Belcher’s central argument is in favor of a daily writing schedule and she strongly advocates against writing in huge chunks of time, and against procrastinating in general. Many writers agree that the only way to write is…to write. And then write some more.
“Often it’s been observed: Writing is largely habit. Paradoxically, not writing can also be a habit. The writer who, again and again, must defer or delay getting to pen, paper, or processor finally develops mental habits of deferment and delay. A good percent of what passes for “writer’s block” is simply the habit of not writing, gotten out of hand and reaching the level of addiction—possibly because of pleasurable feedback, such as concern and attention from others over the problem or even through good feelings about the things accomplished instead. Thomas Disch’s cure for writer’s block at the Clarion Workshop was simply to insist that no other student communicate with the “blocked” student in any way, or even acknowledge his/her existence, until she or he had written a story. As a technique, it was devastatingly effective—usually succeeding within twenty-four hours.” –Samuel R. Delany
Most of us can relate to Delany’s argument. “Writer’s block” is a kind of hip predicament: it makes you sound all intellectual and cool. There’s also a certain glamor to procrastination. I often hear other grad students boast about their capacity to write 20+ pages the day before a paper is due. They seem to be happy about the fact that they haven’t started on a project yet or that they’re just being lazy. I’ve written before that I think this is a strategy within impostor syndrome—if you’re heavily criticized on a project, you can always justify your perceived failure by arguing that you didn’t really give it any time or effort. I also think that it’s a way to fight off the nerd image stuck to good students (and all grad students are good students, and all of us are nerds!). It’s a way to say–I’m in grad school because I’m inherently brilliant, and if I bothered to actually work hard, I’d reach the top.
If you do do your very best on a project, you expose yourself to criticism that can be uncomfortable and challenging to your ego. You can always leave your writing at that and never touch it again, but if you’re hoping, like me, to get published, you need to work doubly hard to transcend the first draft stage. That’s why I’ve been making efforts to improve my writing, and that’s why, after many recommendations, I am reading Belcher’s book.
On pages 26-38, Belcher lists and responds to the major obstacles to writing that her students say they encounter. Some of the most common include “I’m not in the mood,” “I’m too busy,” and “my ideas are not good enough,” to which Belcher gives excellent advice. She gives particular solutions to each of these complaints, but mostly the answer is: write, even if badly, even while in line at Walmart, even if you feel shitty. And mostly, I think she’s right–there is literally nothing that can prevent you from laying down words on the screen or on paper at any time of the day.
But one of my personal obstacle is missing from this list, and it’s about the difficulties of the editing process. Like most, I find that editing my work is by far the most challenging aspect, because the excitement of the early stages and the inspiration are mostly gone by the time you must revise your work. The first thing I do at the editing stage is to make a list of my editor’s (a professor or a very generous peer, but mostly my husband) comments, which allows me to better understand their criticisms by rephrasing them. The second thing I do is to make a reverse outline of my essay. Sometimes the progress of your argument seems logical, but time and insight may reveal gaps or forced transitions. Because I am revising seminar papers, I find a lot of superfluous paragraphs (often “lit review” type passages that serve to prove myself as an expert on the topic and do not really advance my argument). I also often feel like the actual research that I have made during the semester is superficial or even lacking.
During any given semester, grad students have to write three different projects from three different seminars, on top of the regular weekly workload. Even if you are savvy enough to do coherent projects with a common research base, it is very hard to make significant and profound research in such a limited time. So when I try to revise my work during breaks, I’m often frustrated because I feel like I have to re-read the same books because I don’t remember their arguments clearly enough, or that I have to read more books.
This is where I am right now. And of course reading new material will inevitably spark my creativity and passion for the project again. The problem is that it also provokes a real fatigue in me that is not uncommon to the post-semester depression I’ve written about here. Having to read new material also make me very nervous, because I am afraid it will change my argument tremendously and force me to transform my entire essay. Writing this now I realize that that’s a good thing–transforming my essay is the entire point of revising it. Anne Lamott says that it can take her up to five pages of bad writing to reach one good paragraph (“Shitty First Drafts”). I often feel like it takes me half of my actual final paper to reach that good paragraph. In fact, the professors who have read my work this semester all at one point pointed out one passage and wrote “this should come earlier”. The reason they wrote this comment, I realized, is that the passage in question is my actual argument, an argument it took me several pages to find. My adviser told me recently that it happens to everyone, because of course, as Belcher and others argue, writing is an integral part of the thinking process. In other words, you cannot come up with complex, challenging, original ideas without having written extensively–you cannot just “think them up”.
But editing is an exhausting and painful process. It highlights the issues with your arguments and writing, and it makes you come to terms with all the things you must do to improve just at the moment you thought you were done. So at the moment, I’m taking things slowly by trying to read a lot and doing a little every day. I am currently editing an essay I am still very happy and excited about, and reading Belcher’s book step by step in the hopes of being able to send it to an academic journal in my field by the end of the summer.
What are some of your editing techniques? Please share in the comments!
This summer I challenged myself to read Le Guin’s entire oeuvre, which, considering the immense reading list I imposed myself, is largely unlikely. But anyway I decided to start with … Continue reading Retro Book Review: Rocannon’s World (1966) by Ursula K. Le Guin