Who: Those willing to abandon themselves to the book, to strap themselves into the funhouse ride Lansdale has prepared will have the time of their life.
Why: Read this for dialogue that flows over you. For a gradual creep into weirdness that disorients and amazes all at once.
When: Read this when you want to be reminded that a good writer can take us wherever he or she likes. WHen you need to be shown that you can be as weird and surreal and downright odd in your writing as you like, as long as you do it with panache.
Where and how: Lansdale is a terrific reader – if you get a chance to hear him in person, do it! If not, try an audio book, in order to appreciate the way it flows. And don’t read it in scraps. Sit down and stay a spell.
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"(On the writing F&SF workshop) Wanted to crow and say thanks: the first story I wrote after taking your class was my very first sale. Coincidence? nah….thanks so much."
~K. Richardson
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Nattering Social Justice Cook: This Is Not A Review
So I read a book recently and I loved some parts of it and other parts…not so much. And I’ve been thinking about it ever since because there was one part of it I just adored but I don’t feel like I could tell anyone to read the book without a big “hey and you should watch out for this” addendum. I’d bounced off a previous book by this author with what was supposed to be grimdark but had a big ol’ weirdly ungrimdark gendered cliché early on that made me think so hard about it that I couldn’t pay attention to the rest of the book, so I was already a little cautious, yet optimistic because I knew the author to be a good writer.
I’ve talked before about reading when the protagonist is markedly not you, and how used to it women — and other members of the vast majority the mainstream media calls Other — become. And this was a good example of a very young, very male, very heterosexual book. Which God knows I’m not opposed to. I remain a huge fan of the Warren Murphy and Richard Sapir Destroyer series and Doc Savage was a big influence on me, growing up.
So why did this book hit me so hard in an unhappy place? Because it was so smart and funny and beautifully written and involved connected stories about a favorite city and magic, which are three of my favorite things. And because it had a chapter that was one of the best short stories about addiction that I’ve read, and that left me thinking about it in a way that will probably shape at least one future story.
And yet. And yet. And yet. Women were either powerful and unfuckable for one reason or another or else fell into the category marked “women the protagonist sleeps with”, who usually didn’t even get a name. Moments of homophobic rape humor, marked by a repeated insistence on the sanctity of the hero’s anus, and a scene in which he embraces being thought gay in order to save himself from a terrible fate, ha ha, isn’t that amusing. And I’m like…jesus, there is so much to love about this book but it’s like the author reaches out and slaps me away once a chapter or so.
Books shouldn’t be banned. Books should be discussed, argued about, and used to learn and advance. Certainly there are books to exist to offend and use it as a marketing technique. This is not a new phenomenon, and it’s something that some authors use to good financial effect, like the authors who promise not just that the reader will find themselves in the book but that by some strange alchemy they are sticking pins in SJW voodoo dolls and then something about salty tears blah blah blah. It’s interesting that in such cases, reading is unnecessary – it’s the act of financial consumption that matters, and whether or not one tweets to signal one’s virtue.
Those are border cases, though. Most books just want people to read them and prefer to entertain over outrage. I’m about 95% sure the book that provoked this piece wasn’t intended to be edgy in its reinforcement of 1960s upper-middle-class American gender norms. It’s simply its take, a particular point of view that is not universally inherently tiresome except that it’s been a facet of the mainstream narrative for so long.
I’ve been carrying this book around since days in Baltimore, when my ex gave it to me as a Valentine. It came in a charming little boxed set complete with temporary tattoo. Nowadays I have several real tattoos but I still draw on this book, particularly for the Literary Techniques in Speculative Fiction class.
What:Surrealist Games, compiled and presented by Alastair Brotchie is a compedium of games played by members of the Surrealist movement along with illustrations and surrealist quotes. Games include echo poems, provocations, and oral description of objects perceived by touch.
Who: Any writer is the better for a little dose of surreality from time to time, and any forays into the book will yield a few interesting phrases at the least, or perhaps even a whole new mind.
Why: Read it to find some writing games that you can play solo or with similarly-verbally-minded friends. Read it for the equivalent of a poetic whack upside the head. Read it for the creative sparks flung out by its pages.
When: Read it at a time dictated by the roll of a die or the motions of a lizard on the wall.
Where and how: Graze through the pictures and see what inspiration leaps from the paper to your brain. Don’t treat it like a manual, working your way through game 1, game 2, game so on. Instead, let it fall open and see where chance takes you.
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