Over at Imgur, a user named vadge posted the above pic with the caption, “Blade Runner is set 4 years from now in 2019. This picture is Beijing, today.”
As John R. Fultz noted in a Facebook comment, “And still no damn hovercars…” But at least we can look forward to Goblin Gliders in our very near future.
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Helen Lowe’s The Wall of Night has been getting some good press. The opening volume won the Morningstar Award for Best Fantasy Debut, and the second was nominated for the 2013 David Gemmell Legend Award. At my old stomping grounds SF Site, Katherine Petersen kicked off her review of the second volume as follows:
Helen Lowe’s Wall of Night series has the potential to become a classic, right up there with the likes of George R.R. Martin’s A Song of Ice and Fire. The Gathering of the Lost is the second of this four-book series and takes us deeper into the world of Haarth where the first book, The Heir of Night, mostly introduced us to Malian, heir to the House of Night and her friend and ally Kalan, both of the Derai. The nine houses of the Derai garrison a large, rugged mountain range that gives the series its title. But after the Keep of Winds where Malian grew up was breached five years ago by long-time Derai enemies, the Darkswarm, it’s the whole land of Haarth, not just the Derai in jeopardy…
Lowe has a lyrical prose style that often seems more like poetry. Sometimes it seems writers try too hard to evoke their characters or surroundings, but for Lowe it seems effortless.
In my last couple of posts (a while ago now) I was looking at small-scale storytelling, first talking about the cozy mystery, and then about whether the “intimate” form of fantasy novel might be that subgenre’s equivalent. I don’t think there’d be much of a disagreement, however, if I suggest that Fantasy and SF are better known – particularly by the general public – for their larger-scale (dare I say epic?) narratives.
And speaking of epics, aren’t there really two main subgenres of large-scale narratives in Fantasy and SF? The epic, and the military? With the former most closely associated with Fantasy, and the latter with SF.
Normally, I have a personal rule against covering the same topic twice in so many weeks. Primarily this is because I have an extremely short attention span and I assume you do as well.
But I just couldn’t let this go.
Last week we joined together to lament the assumed loss of a true Aliens sequel directed by Neill Blomkamp and ignoring the mediocre efforts that were Alien 3 and Alien 4. We also shook our collective fists as the mercurial Ridley Scott who, after foisting Prometheus upon us, originally threatened to continue the torture with Prometheus 2, but instead took a hard left turn and commandeered the Aliens sequel by turning it into connective tissue between the Prometheus and Alien storylines.
We knew this from reading cryptic Ridley Scott quotes during which he referenced if not clarified his new project entitled Alien: Paradise Lost.
However, no sooner had we begun to get our brains around this when last Friday the newswire was abuzz with fresh Scott quotations, stemming from his Thursday evening appearance and the AFI Festival (American Film Institute).
According to IndieWire, Scott remarked that the project formerly known as Alien: Paradise Lost will now be called Alien: Covenant.
But buckle up, because there’s more.
Here’s a photo from the first Worldcon, taken by Bill Dellenback. In this one, Jack Darrow is signing something, while P. Schuyler Miller (holding a pipe), looks on. Forrest Ackerman — or 4SJ — looks a little bored. I think the guy standing to Darrow’s right, in the foreground, is his good friend Otto Binder, but I’m not certain on that.
I acquired this photo many years ago, along with a whole batch of other material, from the estate of Jack Darrow. In the 1930’s, Darrow was pretty much fan #2 behind Ackerman. Among the material in Darrow’s estate were a number of photos that had been taken by Bill Dellenback (later staff photographer for the Kinsey Institute) at the first World Con in NY in 1939, which both Darrow and Dellenback attended.
I have a carbon copy of a letter dated August 16, 1939 that Darrow wrote to his friend, Walt Dennis, concerning the first Worldcon. In part, it reads as follows.
According to several reliable sources (and even some photographs), BCS editor Scott H. Andrews was at the World Fantasy Convention two weeks ago. I know most of the editors in the field, but I’ve never met Scott, and that’s an oversight I’d like to correct some day. Unfortunately, I wasn’t able to make the con this year. Ah well! Next year for sure.
Issue #186 has short fiction from Bruce McAllister and Tamara Vardomskaya, and a podcast by Cory Skerry. It is cover-dated November 12.
“Holy Water, Holy Blood” by Bruce McAllister
He was comparing me, a peasant boy, to himself, a pope, but this did not feel strange. He wanted us to be friends — that I could tell — so why not make of us equals?“The Guardian’s Head “by Tamara Vardomskaya
This bridge, I knew, was itself a sign of the empress’s faith in us. A permanent bridge expected the water to yield and hold back.Audio Fiction Podcast:
“Bloodless” by Cory Skerry
But she wouldn’t let him make it through the gate; the inside guards were there to deal with travelers. Kamalija was here to deal with monsters.
Bruce McAllister has been nominated for the Hugo, Nebula, and Shirley Jackson Awards. Tamara Vardomskaya is a Canadian writer who has previously appeared at Tor.com. Cory Skerry’s last story for Beneath Ceaseless Skies was “Sinking Among Lilies” (Issue #92).
The Saratoga Hilton, site of the 2015 World Fantasy Convention
Ask a literary agent how writers should pursue representation, and they almost always say, “Go to any convention, and we’ll all be in the hotel bar.”
In years past, I’ve tried agent/author speed dating at the Nebulas weekend, pitch sessions with agents at writing conferences, commenting on agents’ manuscript-wish-list blog posts — all the in-person variations but the bar, because the bar is not my natural habitat. Then again, in years past, I didn’t have an award in my pocket. Lots of people may be ambivalent about awards, but agents like them. This year I figured I might be out of my element, but I would no longer have that aura of desperation that surrounds unpublished novelists with no specific prospects. I finally had something an agent might want.
So I set my sights on the World Fantasy Convention, a con known for a base of attendees consisting almost entirely of professionals in the field. I love a good panel, I love a good reading, I love a good casual schmooze, but I had a mission. One that was certain to throw me into a wide variety of interactions that would range from the awkward to the absurd, with perhaps a little sweet spot of productivity in the middle.
When John O’Neill asked me to write a con report, I told him I had none of the kinds of impressions people record in them. What I had instead was my misadventures in agent hunting. John was laughing already, and urged me to post it.
If you want to know about the World Fantasy Awards and their banquet, memorable quotes from notable figures, the controversy over the toothless harassment policy, I’m not your girl. Not this time, anyway.
But you can time-travel back to the start of my most recent unfinished agent hunt and watch me indulge my hubris.
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Christopher Golden is one of the most popular horror writers on the market; Stephen King called his 2014 novel Snowblind “deeply scary.” His latest is a new twist of the legend of doppelgangers, and follows five people confronted with doubles. It’s available in hardcover from St. Martin’s Press.
When Tess Devlin runs into her ex-husband Nick on a Boston sidewalk, she’s furious at him for pretending he doesn’t know her. She calls his cell to have it out with him, only to discover that he’s in New Hampshire with his current girlfriend. But if Nick’s in New Hampshire… who did she encounter on the street?
Frank Lindbergh’s dreams have fallen apart. He wanted to get out of the grim neighborhood where he’d grown up and out of the shadow of his alcoholic father. Now both his parents are dead and he’s back in his childhood home, drinking too much himself. As he sets in motion his plans for the future, he’s assaulted by an intruder in his living room… an intruder who could be his twin.
In an elegant hotel, Tess will find mystery and terror in her own reflection. Outside a famed mansion on Beacon Hill, people are infected with a diabolical malice… while on the streets, an eyeless man, dressed in rags, searches for a woman who wears Tess’s face.
Dead Ringers was published by St. Martin’s Press on November 3, 2015. It is 310 pages, priced at $25.99 in hardcover, and $12.99 for the digital edition. The cover was designed by Ervin Serrano. See all our latest New Treasures here.
Last week I wrote about how I spent a month living in Tangier working on my next novel. Luckily my family came down with me for part of the time, and since it was my son’s first trip out of Western Europe I wanted him to enjoy himself and open his eyes a little. So what do you show a ten-year-old in Morocco? Well, besides the Casbah and the medina market, what better than an old pirate port?
Asilah stands on Morocco’s Atlantic coast and like many of the country’s ports started out as a Phoenician trading center about 3500 years ago. It’s most famous as the last base of the famed Barbary pirates, who started being a menace in the early Middle Ages. Their heyday was from the 15th to 19th century, when they terrorized shipping in the Western Mediterranean and the Strait of Gibraltar. Several European interventions, including the United States’ first overseas adventure, failed to stop them. The rampant piracy was one the excuses the French and Spanish used to establish colonies throughout North Africa.
What’s up with the Big Fat Fantasy books? Books that crest a thousand pages, books that fell forests, books that travel in savage packs of series. We wait three years, five years, ten years for the next volume. Meanwhile, the scope of what the author must remind readers about between installments expands (a storytelling problem anatomized over here by Edward Carmien). We click over to the fan-run online encyclopedia to remind ourselves who the characters are, both because it’s been so long since the last volume, and because the cast size is just that large.
Yet many of us love such books. In my case — and maybe yours, too — not just a few odd specimens of the type, but the type itself.
Thomas Parker laid out all the objections that can be leveled against the sprawl of our genre’s most popular novels, not as an outsider but precisely as an insider shocked at what has become normal to him. (Embrace the tongue-in-cheek hyperbole and just go with it — the main point’s still sincere.)
Someone please tell me. Why? Why do we do this to ourselves, we devotees of science fiction, horror, and (especially) fantasy? What did we do to deserve this? What crime did we commit in some previous existence that we now have to expiate with such bitter tears? Judge, I deserve to know! I demand answers!
If readers are asking themselves that question in that way, even in jest, you can bet the authors are, too, often with a greater level of frustration.
I have to marshal all my hubris to say this in public, but guys, I think I might have the answer. Seriously, not just an answer, but maybe the central answer.