Raven's Wing

Aren't these gorgeous? I got them as souvenirs on my trip to Iceland and was a bit sad I couldn't fit more into my suitcase, but I did some googling and found a webshop that ships to Europe, USA, and Canada. The art is by Sveinbjörg Hallgrímsdóttir, and her company is called Sveinbjörg.  I like the ravens the best (yeah, big shock), but the Garden Party series looks nice, too. 

In the Forest of Memory

. . . is up on the SpeckLit site, along with the rest of my new drabbles.

This one is my favourite so far. Check it out here, if you want. And there's lots of cool stuff by other writers, too. It's amazing what people manage to express in a hundred words!

Whitman's Civil War: Writing and Imagining Loss, Death, and Disaster week 3

This week our instructors, Professors Ed Folsom and Christopher Merrill, talked about how Whitman's voice changed with what he was writing, like when he wrote letters to the family of wounded soldiers, he wrote in the voice of the soldier. I've never thought that in writing a letter for someone, the writer's voice comes through, because I've imagined it to be more like taking dictation, but that's not the whole truth. These letters were written for a specific audience, the loved one of the soldier, but they were also passed around and helped with fundraising. The more effective the letter, the more people it got passed to. The poem "Cavalry Crossing a Ford" is also interesting in its abstraction: you can't tell who the soldiers were or even which side they were fighting for.

 When reading "Opening of the Secession War," I noticed how different names were used for the war, and both sides used names that fit their ideologies The South called it “The War Between the States” or “The War for Southern Independence,” while the North had “The War of the Rebellion,” “The Great Rebellion,” or “The War for the Union.” Freed slaves named it “The Slaveholders’ Rebellion” and "The Freedom War.” The names say a lot about what the war meant to people. It's also easy to forget that while we know how long the war lasted from reading history books, the people experiencing it didn't. Whitman thought this was a rebellion that would be over and done with in a couple of weeks. Those four years  (1861-1865) of uncertainty and horror must have felt like a lifetime.

One of the poems we studied  this week was "When I Heard the Learn’d Astronomer" from Drum Taps. You can read it below:

WHEN I heard the learn'd astronomer;
When the proofs, the figures, were ranged in columns
before me;
When I was shown the charts and the diagrams, to add,
divide, and measure them;
When I, sitting, heard the astronomer, where he
lectured with much applause in the lecture-room,
How soon, unaccountable, I became tired and sick;
Till rising and gliding out, I wander'd off by myself,
In the mystical moist night-air, and from time to time,
Look'd up in perfect silence at the stars.

          Walt Whitman/Drum Taps

It's a strange poem to find in the middle of poetry about the war, but it's a moment of reflection. When things are really bad, you can look at the stars and think of the immense distances in space and time and how small a war or a human lifetime is in the great scheme of things. There is a future, even if it seems like the end of the world now. It helps put things in perspective, looking from "time to time." Some people read this poem as Whitman rejecting the science, but as the instructors explained, he only understands that he's looking into the past, that the light he is seeing has come a long way, because of the lecture he attended. It's a beautiful moment. This is something that is useful to remember as a writer: a little light in the darkness can bring everything into sharper focus.

For this week's assignment, we wrote about a conflict or trauma viewed from an unexpected place that might reveal something unexpected about the conflict. Very challenging.

Science Fiction Classics: The Day of the Triffids and The Midwich Cuckoos by John Wyndham

Images from wikipedia.org

John Wyndham Parker Lucas Beynon Harris (1903-1969), or John Wyndham, as he was more widely known, was an English science fiction writer. He's famous for his "cosy catastrophes," disaster stories that take place in the English countryside. Three of his works are on my Science Fiction Classics list, so I decided to lump these two together. The Chrysalids, which some consider his finest work, is the third one, but I left that for later.

Triffids is a fun read, but the plot feels quite familiar. That's not surprising, because almost every zombie flick ever made owes it a lot. 28 Days Later has whole scenes that feel like they were taken almost straight from the book, and the opening of The Walking Dead probably has its roots here, also. The premise is interesting: what if almost everyone in the world went blind overnight? How long would it take for society to degenerate into savagery? Add to that the flesh-eating and walking plants, the triffids, and you have a recipe for disaster with all the fixings.

Cuckoos was a bit of a let-down for me, because I enjoyed Triffids so much. It explores another disturbing idea: everyone in the small village of Midwich loses a day and all the women find themselves mysteriously pregnant afterwards. They then give birth to strange, alien children, and creepiness ensues. For me, the execution felt a bit boring, and I didn't like the point-of-view shifts between the first person narrator and an omniscient view. There are also a lot of long conversations about morality and society and evolution, which slowed up the pace. The plot gets going when the children start to grow up, but it's still a bit slow. It was okay, but I probably wouldn't read it again. 

With both books, you can see the phantom of the Cold War in the distance: the triffids were genetically engineered by the Russians, and we also find out that the Russians had Cuckoos of their own, whom they kept alive in case the children would be an advantage in the arms race.

I think these books are considered classics more because of the ideas they explore than any literary merits. Wyndham's characters are a bit on the thin side and his style is clear and readable, but not very distinctive. That's the problem with the older science fiction classics: they tend to feel a bit cliché, because the idea has been recycled so many times since the classic was written. But you have to remember which was the original.   

All of the books mentioned above were published in the 1950s, so you have to take that into account while reading them. The attitudes towards women feel quite outdated. It didn't really bother me that much with Triffids, but considering the subject matter of The Midwich Cuckoos, I felt the full horror of what was done to the women went unexplored. I'd be curious to see what a woman writer would do with the same subject matter; it would be a very different book. While the "mansplaining" and how the women act can feel cringeworthy to the modern reader, I think Wyndham's attitudes might have been considered outlandish in the 50s, even progressive: women studying engineering, working outside the home, thinking for themselves; it's all there. It's like Wyndham's frustrated with how women won't help themselves and prefer to stay at home and have babies and mooch off their husbands. You have to remember Wyndham was born in 1903, so he was in his fifties when he wrote these books. I think that if he had been born later, all of this would have been handled differently.

So, I recommend Triffids for its fun B-movie high jinks, but maybe skip Cuckoos if you're not passionate about understanding the history of science fiction.

Science Fiction Classics read: 42/193

Gotta Catch Them All?

Have you tried Pokemon Go yet? I gave it a go, just to see what all the fuss is about. Okay, it's kind of fun, but I found it interferes with conversation too much when walking with friends, and when I'm on my own I'd rather think about my next story, so this one's not for me. I'll keep the app on my phone, though, in case my niece and nephew want to play.

I do like the idea of games utilising augmented reality, and it opens so many possibilities for cool stuff. I'm thinking of trying Star Walk (an app that lets you explore constellations) next, but right now it's still too light out to see any stars. 

Whitman's Civil War: Writing and Imagining Loss, Death, and Disaster week 2

Last week we began by reading some of Whitman's writings about war before and after the Civil War. You can see how his experiences changed him and his writing. There's a difference between imagining something and actually experiencing it firsthand. This led to an interesting discussion about whether you can write authentically about something you only imagined. Especially for a speculative fiction writer, this is a valid question. Sure, you can do research about medieval sword-fighting techniques, even put on armor and get whacked with a sword, but you can never personally experience fighting a dragon. A lot of the time you try to take some experience you've had that might in some emotional or physical way resemble what you're writing about and use that. And try to do a lot of research, of course. For the story to feel real, you have to develop a knack for faking the small but crucial details that help sell the story. I feel that many fantasy and science fiction writers do this quite well, but does the subject matter mean their stories are less real than stories set in the real world?

We also talked about the anxieties writers and artists face when turning disaster and death into art. It's a sensitive subject. What if you hurt people? Trigger anxiety and bad memories? Is it disrespectful to use a disaster or even someone's personal tragedy for story fodder? Depends on how you do it, I guess?  Most people don't want to bear witness to the madness that is the world today, but we're forced to. It seems like every week there's another shooting or terrorist attack, and the war in Syria and the refugee situation make the headlines almost every day. A lot of the time writing about death is the writer's way of making sense of what happened. Speculative fiction as a lens gives some distance. Maybe we fantasy and science fiction writers have it easier in that regard?

The writing assignment had us write about disaster while using some kind of constraint, like doing it in sonnet form, because many experimental and modern writers turn to traditional forms when writing about loss. An interesting and challenging exercise.

Lots to think about.

What about you guys? Any thoughts?  

Iceland: Part 2

Here we go: more adventures in Iceland, as promised. These are the Dverghamrar, Dwarf Stones, which were formed when lava cooled in seawater. This place gave me a strong Labyrinth vibe for some reason.

Here's a glacier (Vatnajokull?) up close and personal. 

You have to respect the glacier. Here's what can happen if you don't. (Sorry about the bad pic.)

I think it looks like a huge block of liquorice ice cream. 

Loved the black sand. It's really something. 

You can't really see it in the pictures, but the sand sparkles in the sunlight like there's bits of gold mixed in it. 

Jokulsarlon glacial lagoon was amazing, too. 

You can see the glacier in the distance. That's where the icebergs come from.

Here are some of the beautiful Icelandic horses. I've only ridden a horse once, but I'd love to go horseback riding with these guys. They were so friendly. 

This is Dettifoss, the waterfall that appeared in the movie Prometheus. (The best thing about the movie, frankly.) They filmed it from the other side, so it looks quite different here.

This is Namaskard. I could only handle the stench for five minutes. Interesting, but you'd need a gas mask to enjoy it. 

A crater lake.

This was my very favourite place on the tour: the Dimmuborgir, "dark castles."

The lighting was bad that day, but these are really something. It looks like a natural citadel full of caves and crevices for nasty things to hide. I was half expecting orcs to come pouring out of the caves at any moment. 

I'll leave you with Godafoss, another beautiful waterfall. The name means "Waterfall of the Gods," and the story goes that when Iceland converted to Christianity, the people threw the statues of the old Norse gods in the waterfall to show their commitment to the new faith.

Iceland is a beautiful, magical country. If you like outdoorsy activities, you'll love it, but you can see it comfortably from a tour bus too. Just wear warm clothes and respect the environment, and you'll have the trip of a lifetime.