Michael Swanwick's Blog, page 65
March 18, 2020
Short Fiction Review: "So Much Cooking"
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"So Much Cooking" by Naomi Kritzer
Clarkesworld Magazine, issue 110, November 2015
http://clarkesworldmagazine.com/kritzer_11_15/
This story is made up of a number of things I don't particularly like: It's one literary form (fiction) disguised as another (a blog). It's about domesticity. Only one character is presented in any depth. And it hides its true subject in the background for much of its length. But in just the same way that a particularly talented cook--I am thinking here, obviously, of Marianne--can combine foods you're not crazy about into a dish that you'll love, Kritzer has written a genuinely moving meditation on the way that humanity and quiet courage can, in a crisis, rise into genuine heroism.
So Much Cooking is a cooking blog written by Natalie--there are no last names in this story--who shares her recipes in the midst of a particularly virulent bird flue epidemic. Her husband, Dominic, works from home and they have no children. But her sister-in-law, Katrina, is a nurse and afraid of bringing home the virus to her daughters, so suddenly they have two, Monika and Jo, ages thirteen and eleven. Then Natalie learns that Monika's friend Andrea is taking care of her three-year-old brother alone and... Well, it doesn't stop there.
While the size of Natalie's family grows and grows, the food dwindles and dwindles. The desperation of the outside world manifests itself in the form of closed grocery stores, pharmacies that have run out of drugs, recipes that take more and more ingenuity to be rendered palatable in the absence of things like milk, eggs, and flour, and a dwindling sense of options as one by one the foodstuffs run out.
I won't ruin the ending for you. But given how many grim things happen by the end, I feel that I have an obligation to tell you that it ends well. With hope.
And that the hopeful ending has been earned.
And I should mention . . .
I read this story because two people whose taste I respect were enthusing to each other about how good it was. Then, being impressed by "So Much Cooking," I determined to review it. It was only when I formatted the blog, that I realized the story was over four years old.
The relevance of the story to our present situation is obvious, of course. And relevance is another thing I'm not crazy about. For an instant, I thought of not reviewing it. But then I decided there was no reason to punish the story for its date of publication and every reason to celebrate it as an excellent piece of writing. So here it is.
Just remember that Kritzer was writing about an epidemic much more virulent than the one we're currently going through.
*
"So Much Cooking" by Naomi Kritzer
Clarkesworld Magazine, issue 110, November 2015
http://clarkesworldmagazine.com/kritzer_11_15/
This story is made up of a number of things I don't particularly like: It's one literary form (fiction) disguised as another (a blog). It's about domesticity. Only one character is presented in any depth. And it hides its true subject in the background for much of its length. But in just the same way that a particularly talented cook--I am thinking here, obviously, of Marianne--can combine foods you're not crazy about into a dish that you'll love, Kritzer has written a genuinely moving meditation on the way that humanity and quiet courage can, in a crisis, rise into genuine heroism.
So Much Cooking is a cooking blog written by Natalie--there are no last names in this story--who shares her recipes in the midst of a particularly virulent bird flue epidemic. Her husband, Dominic, works from home and they have no children. But her sister-in-law, Katrina, is a nurse and afraid of bringing home the virus to her daughters, so suddenly they have two, Monika and Jo, ages thirteen and eleven. Then Natalie learns that Monika's friend Andrea is taking care of her three-year-old brother alone and... Well, it doesn't stop there.
While the size of Natalie's family grows and grows, the food dwindles and dwindles. The desperation of the outside world manifests itself in the form of closed grocery stores, pharmacies that have run out of drugs, recipes that take more and more ingenuity to be rendered palatable in the absence of things like milk, eggs, and flour, and a dwindling sense of options as one by one the foodstuffs run out.
I won't ruin the ending for you. But given how many grim things happen by the end, I feel that I have an obligation to tell you that it ends well. With hope.
And that the hopeful ending has been earned.
And I should mention . . .
I read this story because two people whose taste I respect were enthusing to each other about how good it was. Then, being impressed by "So Much Cooking," I determined to review it. It was only when I formatted the blog, that I realized the story was over four years old.
The relevance of the story to our present situation is obvious, of course. And relevance is another thing I'm not crazy about. For an instant, I thought of not reviewing it. But then I decided there was no reason to punish the story for its date of publication and every reason to celebrate it as an excellent piece of writing. So here it is.
Just remember that Kritzer was writing about an epidemic much more virulent than the one we're currently going through.
*
March 16, 2020
Karen E. Quinones-Miller!
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On Saturday, Marianne and I broke our self-isolation to see Karen E. Quinones Miller at the Haverford Free Library of Philadelphia, where she talked about Harlem Godfather: The Rap on My Husband Ellsworth "Bumpy" Johnson, which she co-wrote with the gangster's widow, Mayme Johnson.
Bumpy Johnson was a complex man. He did all the terrible things that gangsters do (except peddle heroin, which he disapproved of) but he also did a lot to support the community in Harlem. He had a library so good that members of the intelligentsia borrowed books from him.
Karen knew him when she was a girl as a kindly man who encouraged her to get the best education she could and to make something of herself. It was only when he died that she discovered he was also one of the most dangerous and feared men in New York City. As an adult, Karen stayed in touch with his widow and they two became fast friends.
Speaking of complex people, Karen E. Quinones Miller is ex-Navy, a former reporter for the Philadephia Inquirer, a historian, and a best-selling novelist. When her first novel, Satin Doll, was turned down by numerous agents and publishing houses, she published it herself--and sold 28,000 copies in eight months. One bidding war later, it was published by Simon & Schuster.
Karen is one of Marianne's and my favorite people. She is brimming with life. Karen wrote a semi-autobiographical novel titled Angry-Ass Black Woman and, yes, it's possible to imagine her aflame with righteous wrath. But she is one of the most positive people I know. It's a joy to see her.
Karen doesn't make many public appearances since she was diagnosed with multiple sclerosis. But when she does, she's a pleasure to be with. So there's my tip for you: If you ever get a chance to meet her, do. You'll thank me afterward.
*
On Saturday, Marianne and I broke our self-isolation to see Karen E. Quinones Miller at the Haverford Free Library of Philadelphia, where she talked about Harlem Godfather: The Rap on My Husband Ellsworth "Bumpy" Johnson, which she co-wrote with the gangster's widow, Mayme Johnson.
Bumpy Johnson was a complex man. He did all the terrible things that gangsters do (except peddle heroin, which he disapproved of) but he also did a lot to support the community in Harlem. He had a library so good that members of the intelligentsia borrowed books from him.
Karen knew him when she was a girl as a kindly man who encouraged her to get the best education she could and to make something of herself. It was only when he died that she discovered he was also one of the most dangerous and feared men in New York City. As an adult, Karen stayed in touch with his widow and they two became fast friends.
Speaking of complex people, Karen E. Quinones Miller is ex-Navy, a former reporter for the Philadephia Inquirer, a historian, and a best-selling novelist. When her first novel, Satin Doll, was turned down by numerous agents and publishing houses, she published it herself--and sold 28,000 copies in eight months. One bidding war later, it was published by Simon & Schuster.
Karen is one of Marianne's and my favorite people. She is brimming with life. Karen wrote a semi-autobiographical novel titled Angry-Ass Black Woman and, yes, it's possible to imagine her aflame with righteous wrath. But she is one of the most positive people I know. It's a joy to see her.
Karen doesn't make many public appearances since she was diagnosed with multiple sclerosis. But when she does, she's a pleasure to be with. So there's my tip for you: If you ever get a chance to meet her, do. You'll thank me afterward.
*
March 13, 2020
My Invisible Collection
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Everybody collects something--even if it's just dust. Me, I've started a collection of invisible things. That's it there up above.
I doubt you can easily read the labels in the photo so, in no particular order, here's what they say:
Contents: Nothing
Gluten free, low sodium, organic, non-GMO. Zero calories. No cholesterol. Contains no nuts or nut byproducts. No animals were harmed in the creation of this product. Lasts forever.
Contents: AirThis rich mixture of nitrogen, oxygen, argon, carbon dioxide, and trace gases is a curated blend of molecules certified to have been once breathed by Abraham Lincoln, Cleopatra, Saul of Tarsus, and other world celebrities. Also dinosaurs.
Contents: Tennessine Atom (1)By weight, the most expensive material in the universe. Properties: Unknown. Do not chill, heat, shake, stir, or in any way molest. This atom is more valuable than you could ever hope to be. How sad to be you.
Contents: EctoplasmThis triple-hexed jar contains one vengeful ghost. Opening it is extremely dangerous. Skeptics and debunkers are urged to take the jar home before doing so.
Contents: Gaseous Anti-Matter0.003 g compressed anti-hydrogen. Exercise extreme caution in handling. A massive energy conversion capable of leveling a city block will occur if exposed to regular matter. There is a small possibility of setting fire to the atmosphere. Use of this product is illegal in 187 nations. Fun for the whole family.
*
Everybody collects something--even if it's just dust. Me, I've started a collection of invisible things. That's it there up above.
I doubt you can easily read the labels in the photo so, in no particular order, here's what they say:
Contents: Nothing
Gluten free, low sodium, organic, non-GMO. Zero calories. No cholesterol. Contains no nuts or nut byproducts. No animals were harmed in the creation of this product. Lasts forever.
Contents: AirThis rich mixture of nitrogen, oxygen, argon, carbon dioxide, and trace gases is a curated blend of molecules certified to have been once breathed by Abraham Lincoln, Cleopatra, Saul of Tarsus, and other world celebrities. Also dinosaurs.
Contents: Tennessine Atom (1)By weight, the most expensive material in the universe. Properties: Unknown. Do not chill, heat, shake, stir, or in any way molest. This atom is more valuable than you could ever hope to be. How sad to be you.
Contents: EctoplasmThis triple-hexed jar contains one vengeful ghost. Opening it is extremely dangerous. Skeptics and debunkers are urged to take the jar home before doing so.
Contents: Gaseous Anti-Matter0.003 g compressed anti-hydrogen. Exercise extreme caution in handling. A massive energy conversion capable of leveling a city block will occur if exposed to regular matter. There is a small possibility of setting fire to the atmosphere. Use of this product is illegal in 187 nations. Fun for the whole family.
*
March 9, 2020
The Iron Dragon's Mother Schematicized
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Look what I found, buried deep in the papers on my desk!
This is a very early plot diagram for The Iron Dragon's Mother. It's interesting to contemplate how I thought it might all play out. Helen's line (in purple) notes that she learns the world she finds herself in, while Caitlin, indicated by the red line, learns "to act." (In the actual fact, Caitlin always knew how to act; what she learned was how to lie.) To these are appended the observations that Caitlin learns life while Helen learns to die.
Also interesting is that Fingolfinrhod, as yet unnamed, was being considered as a recurrent character and as a possible love interest for Helen. One could see Helen falling for him hard--she always had a weakness for disastrous boyfriends.
But there at the end of the timeline is a short exchange between Caitlin and Helen. The subject is Caitlin's mother (one of several), the Dowager. Caitlin speaks first:
"What do I do with her?"
"You're asking me? I never could handle my own."
So I knew right from the beginning that the novel would end with the question of what to do with the Dowager.Which means I had a better grasp on the shape of the thing than I often suspected I did, when the writing got difficult.
*
Look what I found, buried deep in the papers on my desk!
This is a very early plot diagram for The Iron Dragon's Mother. It's interesting to contemplate how I thought it might all play out. Helen's line (in purple) notes that she learns the world she finds herself in, while Caitlin, indicated by the red line, learns "to act." (In the actual fact, Caitlin always knew how to act; what she learned was how to lie.) To these are appended the observations that Caitlin learns life while Helen learns to die.
Also interesting is that Fingolfinrhod, as yet unnamed, was being considered as a recurrent character and as a possible love interest for Helen. One could see Helen falling for him hard--she always had a weakness for disastrous boyfriends.
But there at the end of the timeline is a short exchange between Caitlin and Helen. The subject is Caitlin's mother (one of several), the Dowager. Caitlin speaks first:
"What do I do with her?"
"You're asking me? I never could handle my own."
So I knew right from the beginning that the novel would end with the question of what to do with the Dowager.Which means I had a better grasp on the shape of the thing than I often suspected I did, when the writing got difficult.
*
March 6, 2020
The 60th Anniversary New York International Antiquarian Book Fair
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Yesterday, Marianne and I made a quick jaunt to the Big Apple (do people still call NYC that?) for the New York International Antiquarian Book Fair. One of those half-for-business, half-for-fun things one does.
I won't pretend that we managed to see it all. A quick pass around the perimeter, with pauses to chat with people we know, was pretty much it. Nor did I take notes, so there won't be a full-scale article about it. Still, the Park Avenue Armory (this was a big event) was chock-a-block with nifty stuff any book lover would want.
Just two examples: A miniature book of a biography of Robert Godard, bound between two boards of meteoric iron--acid-washed, of course, to bring out the Widmanstätten patterns. And a quite beautiful artist book, one of four, made from a first edition of Finnegans Wake, with each page torn into strips and woven into a new page, then bound together. It was an audacious thing to do and I have to admire the artist (sorry, I don't have her name; as I said, I took no notes) for the nerve she displayed there.
I was of course daydreaming about items I'd love to own, had I only the shelf- or wall-space for them. Marianne, meanwhile, was making mental notes for future Dragonstairs Press projects.
Oh, and the book above? One dealer had a set of cheap shelves ("Everything $400 or Less!") and there on it was one of Gardner Dozois's best of the year volumes. Signed by Gardner and Gene Wolfe, and only $175. I had no idea such a thing existed. Gardner didn't talk much about his own accomplishments.
Also, and I realize the irony of this, special limited editions and spectacular leather bindings meant nothing whatsoever to the man. He was all about the words rather than the objects. When I interviewed him over the space of several years for Being Gardner Dozois, I discovered that he hadn't even kept copies of all of his own stories.
I'm sure Gardner would have thought the artist-book of James Joyce's most daunting work was a waste of a good reading copy.
*
Yesterday, Marianne and I made a quick jaunt to the Big Apple (do people still call NYC that?) for the New York International Antiquarian Book Fair. One of those half-for-business, half-for-fun things one does.
I won't pretend that we managed to see it all. A quick pass around the perimeter, with pauses to chat with people we know, was pretty much it. Nor did I take notes, so there won't be a full-scale article about it. Still, the Park Avenue Armory (this was a big event) was chock-a-block with nifty stuff any book lover would want.
Just two examples: A miniature book of a biography of Robert Godard, bound between two boards of meteoric iron--acid-washed, of course, to bring out the Widmanstätten patterns. And a quite beautiful artist book, one of four, made from a first edition of Finnegans Wake, with each page torn into strips and woven into a new page, then bound together. It was an audacious thing to do and I have to admire the artist (sorry, I don't have her name; as I said, I took no notes) for the nerve she displayed there.
I was of course daydreaming about items I'd love to own, had I only the shelf- or wall-space for them. Marianne, meanwhile, was making mental notes for future Dragonstairs Press projects.
Oh, and the book above? One dealer had a set of cheap shelves ("Everything $400 or Less!") and there on it was one of Gardner Dozois's best of the year volumes. Signed by Gardner and Gene Wolfe, and only $175. I had no idea such a thing existed. Gardner didn't talk much about his own accomplishments.
Also, and I realize the irony of this, special limited editions and spectacular leather bindings meant nothing whatsoever to the man. He was all about the words rather than the objects. When I interviewed him over the space of several years for Being Gardner Dozois, I discovered that he hadn't even kept copies of all of his own stories.
I'm sure Gardner would have thought the artist-book of James Joyce's most daunting work was a waste of a good reading copy.
*
March 4, 2020
Short Fiction Mini-Review: "Mingus Fingers"
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Once upon a time, science fiction writers liked to write about jazz musicians. Like SF writers, jazz musicians were outsiders. Unlike SF writers, they were acknowledged to be the quintessence of cool. The protagonist was usually obscure but always one of the Greats.
That was long ago, and the sub-genre died pretty much away.
But here comes its resurrection, "Mingus Fingers" by David Sandner and Jacob Weisman and the first of two things that makes it particularly interesting is that while the protagonist is good enough to sit in with Charles Mingus, he's nowhere near on the same level. But his underage nephew and ward, Kenny, might well be.
The second particularly interesting thing about this story is that the almost-but-not-quite great musician is also an almost-but-not-quite great boxer. And in order to support the young man abruptly dumped into his care, he goes back for one last fight.
Take my word for it, it's tough to donkey up the knowledge to convincingly portray a jazz musician or a boxer. Doing both in one story? It's a recipe for disaster.
Yet Mingus Fingers is not a disaster. Rather, it's a graceful and touching portrayal of a man with the odds loaded against him who gives his all for a child who has a shot at something more than he ever had.
This is a slim $8.00 single-story paperback from Fairwood Press. It's nicely made, too.
*
Once upon a time, science fiction writers liked to write about jazz musicians. Like SF writers, jazz musicians were outsiders. Unlike SF writers, they were acknowledged to be the quintessence of cool. The protagonist was usually obscure but always one of the Greats.
That was long ago, and the sub-genre died pretty much away.
But here comes its resurrection, "Mingus Fingers" by David Sandner and Jacob Weisman and the first of two things that makes it particularly interesting is that while the protagonist is good enough to sit in with Charles Mingus, he's nowhere near on the same level. But his underage nephew and ward, Kenny, might well be.
The second particularly interesting thing about this story is that the almost-but-not-quite great musician is also an almost-but-not-quite great boxer. And in order to support the young man abruptly dumped into his care, he goes back for one last fight.
Take my word for it, it's tough to donkey up the knowledge to convincingly portray a jazz musician or a boxer. Doing both in one story? It's a recipe for disaster.
Yet Mingus Fingers is not a disaster. Rather, it's a graceful and touching portrayal of a man with the odds loaded against him who gives his all for a child who has a shot at something more than he ever had.
This is a slim $8.00 single-story paperback from Fairwood Press. It's nicely made, too.
*
March 2, 2020
Short Fiction Mini-Review: "GO. NOW. FIX." by Timons Esaias
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This is one nifty little story!
"GO. NOW. FIX." by Timons Esaias appears in the January/February 2020 issue of Asimov's Science Fiction. The protagonist is a PandaPillow, which is just what it sounds like--a consumer product meant to comfort a child or traveler. It has senses, motility, and the ability to reason, but you wouldn't call it an AI. It's just a very capable expert system.
At the start of the story, there is an explosion and he PandaPillow tumbles out of overhead torage in an airliner filled with blood and unconscious human beings. Following protocols, it connects to Customer Service and sets out to rescue everyone. Then...
Well, then you have the pleasure of reading the story. Being the sort of story it is, you know the PandaPillow will come through. But that doesn't take away the suspense. Or the satisfaction of watching it happen. Or the pleasure in a carefully crafted ending to the story.
This story's just for fun. And fun it is. I recommend it.
And I should explain . . .
One of my New Year's resolutions--well, actually, the only one. I am so old that previous New Year's resolutions have rendered me practically perfect in every way--was to start reviewing short fiction again. Short fiction doesn't get many reviews and when it does, it's usually a sentence or three in the course of a review covering an anthology or magazine.
Alas, I have a lot on my plate these days. So I haven't the time to write thoughtful, seriously structured reviews the way I once did, back in the old New York Review of Science Fiction days. So, recognizing that I was being too ambitious, I lowered my sights. Now I am resolved to every now and then write a line or three in praise of a story that catches my eye.
So I have begun. Fingers crossed, I should be continuing to review stories I like in the coming weeks, months, or years.
*
This is one nifty little story!
"GO. NOW. FIX." by Timons Esaias appears in the January/February 2020 issue of Asimov's Science Fiction. The protagonist is a PandaPillow, which is just what it sounds like--a consumer product meant to comfort a child or traveler. It has senses, motility, and the ability to reason, but you wouldn't call it an AI. It's just a very capable expert system.
At the start of the story, there is an explosion and he PandaPillow tumbles out of overhead torage in an airliner filled with blood and unconscious human beings. Following protocols, it connects to Customer Service and sets out to rescue everyone. Then...
Well, then you have the pleasure of reading the story. Being the sort of story it is, you know the PandaPillow will come through. But that doesn't take away the suspense. Or the satisfaction of watching it happen. Or the pleasure in a carefully crafted ending to the story.
This story's just for fun. And fun it is. I recommend it.
And I should explain . . .
One of my New Year's resolutions--well, actually, the only one. I am so old that previous New Year's resolutions have rendered me practically perfect in every way--was to start reviewing short fiction again. Short fiction doesn't get many reviews and when it does, it's usually a sentence or three in the course of a review covering an anthology or magazine.
Alas, I have a lot on my plate these days. So I haven't the time to write thoughtful, seriously structured reviews the way I once did, back in the old New York Review of Science Fiction days. So, recognizing that I was being too ambitious, I lowered my sights. Now I am resolved to every now and then write a line or three in praise of a story that catches my eye.
So I have begun. Fingers crossed, I should be continuing to review stories I like in the coming weeks, months, or years.
*
February 29, 2020
More Praise for the Novel No-One Is Raving About (But Everybody Should)
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In the February 2020 issue of Locus, I somehow managed to miss the fact that Graham Sleight included The Iron Dragon's Mother in his list of "ten books of the year." So let me now note that happy fact.
Based entirely on those books on his list that I've read, I'm in extremely good company.
You can find Sleight's Year in Review here.
And I should explain . . .
The title of today's blog post is a paraphrase of something Jonathan Strahan wrote in that same issue of Locus:
The book of 2019 I loved most that no-one else seemed to be raving about (even though they should have been) was Michael Swanwick's The Iron Dragon's Mother. Ostensibly the third in a trilogy, in truth it's a standalone tale of a post-industrial fantasy which I loved very much and recommend.
*
In the February 2020 issue of Locus, I somehow managed to miss the fact that Graham Sleight included The Iron Dragon's Mother in his list of "ten books of the year." So let me now note that happy fact.
Based entirely on those books on his list that I've read, I'm in extremely good company.
You can find Sleight's Year in Review here.
And I should explain . . .
The title of today's blog post is a paraphrase of something Jonathan Strahan wrote in that same issue of Locus:
The book of 2019 I loved most that no-one else seemed to be raving about (even though they should have been) was Michael Swanwick's The Iron Dragon's Mother. Ostensibly the third in a trilogy, in truth it's a standalone tale of a post-industrial fantasy which I loved very much and recommend.
*
February 26, 2020
Pausing to Admire the Universe
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What an extraordinary universe we live in! What an amazing time to be alive! When I was a child--no, we need not go back that far. When I sold my first story in 1979, the Solar planets were all mysterious fuzzballs of light. Pluto was a featureless dot. And now we get close-up pictures like the above of the atmosphere of Jupiter.
Over at Science and Nature, courtesy of NASA's Juno probe, there's a portfolio of fresh new close-ups of the king of planets. You can see them by clicking here.
Take a deep breath. Disengage from politics for just a minute or two. Any species capable of taking photographs like these can't be all bad.
*
What an extraordinary universe we live in! What an amazing time to be alive! When I was a child--no, we need not go back that far. When I sold my first story in 1979, the Solar planets were all mysterious fuzzballs of light. Pluto was a featureless dot. And now we get close-up pictures like the above of the atmosphere of Jupiter.
Over at Science and Nature, courtesy of NASA's Juno probe, there's a portfolio of fresh new close-ups of the king of planets. You can see them by clicking here.
Take a deep breath. Disengage from politics for just a minute or two. Any species capable of taking photographs like these can't be all bad.
*
February 19, 2020
Reading Letters from Amherst
.I came back from Boskone with rather a self-indulgent pile of books and am now midway through the first, Letters from Amherst by Samuel R. Delany.
One of the stranger perks of dedicating one's life to the arts is being able to read a friend's private letters without involving oneself in a morally questionable decision. Chip's letters display all the virtues of his fiction. They're vivid, carefully observed, and the product of a particularly fine mind.
But I won't review the book here. Either the mere existence of a book containing five long narrative letters by Delany makes you determined to buy it, or else you don't want it. In the latter case, nothing I might say would convince you otherwise. In the first, nothing would deter you.
So I will simply say: There it is. You know whether you want it or not.
*
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