Cora Buhlert's Blog, page 92

Some Thoughts on the 2016 Nebula Nominees, the Shadow Clarke Award and some other awards

Yes, it’s that time of the year again, genre award shortlist time.

In the past few days, the nominees for the 2016 BSFA Award, the 2016 Aurealis Award, the longlist for the 2017 David Gemmell Legend Award and the winners of the 5th annual SFR Galaxy Awards have all been announced and a brand-new award, the Salam Award for Imaginative Fiction by Pakistani authors, has been created.

The shortlist for the 2017 Arthur C. Clarke Award has not yet been announced – though we have a complete list of all books submitted – though there already was a minor uproar when some overwhelmingly British critics from the anti-nostalgic end of the SFF fan spectrum formed a so-called “shadow jury” for the 2017 Clarke Award. Apparently, shadow juries for established awards are a thing in the UK, but not elsewhere (the rest of us doesn’t form shadow juries, just informally complains about awards shortlists and winners), which led to some confusion and bad feelings. However, the Clarke Award shadow jury does not want to take over the award itself, it’s just some people talking about books. I’m unlikely to pay much attention to their pronouncements, because the shadow jury includes several critics with whose reviews I almost always disagree, but I don’t have any problem with the existence of this shadow jury and more discussion about books is always a good thing. You can find out more about the Clarke Award shadow juries and its members at the page of the Anglia Ruskin Centre for Science Fiction and Fantasy.

Today then, the nominees for the 2016 Nebula Awards have been announced and promptly had to be corrected, because one nominee on the novelette shortlist, “Red in Tooth and Cog” by Cat Rambo, turned out to have dropped below the minimum novelette threshold of 7500 words during edits and was therefore ineligible. The story could have been nominated in the short story category, but would have knocked three other stories off the shortlist due to a three-way tie, therefore Cat Rambo, being a class act, withdrew the story from consideration.

Meanwhile, Bogi Takács has helpfully compiled links to all Nebula nominated works that are free to read online. The novelette replacing “Red in Tooth and Claw”, “The Orangery” by Bonnie Jo Stufflebeam, may be found here, by the way.

The Nebula shortlist itself looks very good, but then I’ve found that the Nebula Awards tend to reflect my personal tastes better than the Hugos, even before puppy interference. It’s also a nicely diverse shortlist with plenty of women, writers of colour, LGBT writers and international writers, including several who belong to more than one of those categories.

Let’s take a look at the categories: All the nominees in the novel categories got a lot of buzz last year. We have the debut novels by two accomplished and award winning short fiction authors, the sequel to last year’s Hugo winner and Nebula nominee in the same category, a long awaited novel by an award winning author and a debut that got a lot of buzz. All worthy books, though only one is also on my personal list.

In the novella category, what’s notable is the dominance of Tor.com Publishing’s standalone novellas, since four of the five nominees are Tor.com novellas and only one “The Liar” by John P. Murphy is from another source. Interestingly, this was also the only novella on the list that I’ve never heard of before. Tor.com Publishing is certainly good at spreading awareness of their novella line, even if I have read only two of the novellas on the list, A Taste of Honey by Kai Ashante Wilson and Runtime by S.B. Divya.

There recently was a discussion at File 770 where some posters expressed concern that Tor.com Publishing would eventually come to dominate the novella shortlists for the Hugos and Nebulas and that novellas published in print magazines would find it harder to get noticed. The 2016 Nebula Awards shortlist would certainly provide fuel for such concerns. However, one also shouldn’t forget that until the rise of e-books, the novella was considered a dying form, since it was difficult to find any markets willing to take novella length stories. E-publishing has revitalised the novella form with Tor.com at the forefront, but various small presses and indie writers (including your truly) have gotten into the act as well. And besides, Tor.com Publishing does excellent work. Even those novellas which don’t interest me personally tend to get good reviews.

The novelette shortlist is more varied. Tor.com Publishing is represented yet again with its sole standalone novelette, The Jewel and the Lapidary by Fran Wilde, but we also have novelettes from Lightspeed, Uncanny, F&SF and Beneath Ceaseless Skies. Alyssa Wong’s novelette “You’ll Surely Drown Here If You Stay” is excellent. Sarah Pinsker has been showing up on awards shortlists with increasing frequency of late, though I haven’t read this particular story. I haven’t read the two Beneath Ceaseless Skies novelettes – for some reason I don’t read that magazine all that often, though I usually enjoy their offerings when I do. Once again, the F&SF novelette is the lone unknown factor.

On to short stories: Once again, we have a nice mix of very different stories from different markets, both magazines and anthologies. “Our Talons Can Crush Galaxies” by Brooke Bolander was one of my favourite stories last year and Brooke Bolander is an author whose stories I consistently enjoy. Sam J. Miller is another author whose stories I consistently enjoy and “Things With Beards”, his take on The Thing, is no exception. Alyssa Wong is another author whose fiction I always enjoy, though I missed “A Fist of Permutations in Lightning and Wildflowers” for some reason, even though it’s a Tor.com story. I have also enjoyed the stories by A Merc Rustad I’ve read, though again I haven’t read this particular story. I did read Caroline M. Yoachim’s medical SF horror story in Lightspeed and found it interesting, though I didn’t enjoy it quite as much as others apparently did. I haven’t read the two anthology stories, though Amal El-Mohtar is another author I look out for, because she writes consistently good work. Barbara Krasnoff is the only author who’s unknown to me.

When looking at the short fiction nominees in general, it’s notable that Tor.com and online magazines dominate, whereas of the “Big Three” print magazines only F&SF is represented at all, whereas Asimov’s and Analog haven’t managed to place a single story onto the Nebula shortlist this year. This trend has been happening for a while, but it was rarely more notable than this year.

On to the Ray Bradbury Award for best dramatic presentation: There are three solid and popular choices, Rogue One, Arrival and Doctor Strange, though I’m a bit surprised Captain America: Civil War a.k.a. The Avengers in Schkeuditz (my late great-aunt Metel lived in Schkeuditz, so I got a kick out of seeing the Avengers there, even though they mostly just smashed Halle-Leipzig Airport) is missing. I have zero interest in the Westworld TV series, but it’s popular and therefore, I’m not surprised to see an episode nominated. Zootopia, on the other hand, is yet another CGI animated movie for kids that tends to end up on genre awards shortlist for reasons unknown. Kubo and the Two Strings, which to my shame I’ve never heard of, is another animated movie.

On to the Andre Norton Award for young adult fiction: At least, the nominees mostly are the sort of YA books actual teenagers would read and a pretty good selection it is, too. The Lie Tree by Frances Hardinge won the Costa Award in the UK, which is an impressive achievement. Arabella of Mars by David Levine got a lot of buzz, as did The Star-Touched Queen by Roshani Chokshi and Railhead by Philip Reeve. Delia Sherman and Kelly Barnhill are both established and popular authors. Unfortunately, I have never heard of Lindsay Ribar, though I love the title Rocks Fall, Everybody Dies.

Now a lot of the works on the Nebula shortlist are not works I would personally have nominated. Mostly this is due to issues with the theme. This year’s shortlist contains two more or less explicit Narnia references, which rarely do it for me, since I never read the Narnia novels at the age where one should read them, so the impact is lost on me. There also are at least two Lovecraft retellings, both from the POV of protagonists (a woman and a black man) H.P. Lovecraft would not have had any room for. Now I did read Lovecraft at the right age and I did enjoy it at the time, but not enough that I want to read umpteen retellings (and there have been a lot of Lovecraft retellings of late). Finally, I tend to avoid fairy tale retellings, because my personal bar for such stories is extremely high. Basically, if it’s been done and better in thirty to forty year old Czech TV movies, I don’t really want to read it. Finally, I don’t like CGI animation and therefore don’t care for what I call the Pixar movie of the year (occasionally, so I’ve been informed, not even made by Pixar) at all.

However – Puppies take note – just because many of the stories on the Nebula shortlist wouldn’t be my personal choices, that doesn’t mean they’re unworthy. Quite the contrary, I think pretty much every nominee on the 2016 Nebula shortlist is extremely worthy with the possible exception of Zootopia and that’s largely because my personal bias against Pixarish CGI animated films is extremely strong.

Send to Kindle

Rest in Peace, Richard Hatch, the original Captain Apollo

2017 seems to be determined to continue where 2016 left off by slowly killing off the heroes of our youth.

The latest casualty is actor Richard Hatch, who died yesterday aged 71. Richard Hatch was best known for playing Captain Apollo in the original Battlestar Galactica and a character named Tom Zarek in the reboot. File 770 has a tribute, while Bleeding Cool collects tributes and rememberances by friends and colleagues.

The original Battlestar Galactica is (unfairly IMO) dismissed these days, but it looms large in my personal SFF canon. For back in the 1980s, growing up in Germany with three TV channels and parents who felt that buying a VCR or getting cable TV was a waste of money, there was very little in the way of filmic science fiction, especially if you were deemed too young to watch what SF films there were in the cinema. The original Star Trek, Raumpatrouille Orion, Time Tunnel and Space 1999 had all been rerun sometime in the late 1970s/early 1980s and eventually became hopelessly entangled in my memory. The Third Programs, haven for weird and offbeat programming back then, would sometimes broadcast 1950s B-movies or old Buck Rogers and Flash Gordon serials. Very rarely, you could also see SF movies on the two TV, usually late at night and inevitably the dystopian SF films from the 1970s. And even those were not safe from criticism. A TV broadcast of Logan’s Run caused a protest storm in Germany in the mid 1980s, because the film was deemed ageist and allegedly violated human dignity. Uhm, that was kind of the point, but I guess even dystopian SF went over the heads of the usual pundits back then.

And then there was Battlestar Galactica. One of the three public TV channels had somehow acquired the rights and broadcast the pilot as well as the edited together feature film versions of several of the episodes (I didn’t see the series proper until a couple of years later) in a late Saturday night slot. And though it was well after my bedtime, I snuck out of bed and watched. And was promptly stunned and so riveted to the screen that I literally bled onto the floor. If you look closely, you can still see the stain, long faded by now, on the carpet in my parents’ living room.

Of course, it wasn’t Star Wars. Even as a kid I knew that much. However, Battlestar Galactica was as close to Star Wars as you could get (intentionally so), if you didn’t have a VCR and could neither rent nor buy videos. And while Star Wars would never be on TV (some administrative bigwig said so in an article I clipped from the TV Guide) and we would never have a VCR*, Battlestar Galactica was as good as it would get.

I think those who sneer at the original Battlestar Galactica have no idea what TV science fiction was like pre-Star Wars. Even the better made shows like Star Trek or Space 1999 looked distinctly cheap, the sets obviously spray-painted cardboard, plants and spaceships obviously dangling on strings. We looked past those deficiencies, because we had to as SFF fans who needed their fix. Battlestar Galactica, however, was lightyears away from that. The pilot looked almost as good as Star Wars, and indeed many of the same people were involved to the point of lawsuits. And coincidentally, Battlestar Galactica was the most expensive TV show ever at the time, a record that was only broken in the early 2000s.

Battlestar Galactica was also remarkable in other ways, because the pilot violated any story expectations you might have. It starts off with Dirk Benedict and pop star Rick Springfield, who were obviously destined to be the stars of this show, since they were – like – famous (and considering I saw the pilot a couple of years after it originally aired, both Dirk Benedict and Rick Springfield would have been even better known by that time). But then, about ten minutes into the show, Rick Springfield’s rookie pilot is dead, killed by the Cylons while on patrol. Another five minutes and most of humanity is wiped out as well.

In this age of grimdark entertainment, where Game of Thrones and The Walking Dead are killing off lead characters left, right and centre, the first fifteen minutes of the original Battlestar Galactica aren’t particularly remarkable. But to audiences back in 1978, killing off the supposed star (though Rick Springfield’s Zac is a classic redshirt lead, a character who looks like they’ll be part of the main cast, only to get killed off in the pilot) and most of humanity (as well as Boxey’s dog, the original Muffet – and we all know what a no-no killing dogs is on US TV) within the first fifteen minutes must have been utterly shocking. And coincidentally, the reboot completely bungles those shock moments by keeping Zac’s death off screen and reducing the destruction of the twelve colonies to a series of explosions on a planetary surface seen from space.

Of course, the survivors of the twelve colonies pick themselves back up again – much faster than I did in front of the TV, in fact – form a rag tag fleet and set off in search of Earth, the Cylons always hot in pursuit. At this point, it also becomes clear that the real star (disregarding Lorne Greene for now) of Battlestar Galactica is not Rick Springfield’s Zac, but Zac’s older brother Apollo as played by Richard Hatch.

My younger self developed an immediate crush on him (and indeed it is striking how many of my early crushes appeared in SFF of some kind). Not only was Richard Hatch stunningly handsome, his character Apollo was also everything a hero should be, suitably dashing and brave and noble and loyal and kind. Indeed, what probably attracted me most about Captain Apollo was that in a time when most heroes were loners, Apollo was a family man. He is close to his father Commander Adama and to his siblings Athena and Zac with Starbuck** almost a surrogate brother. After the destruction of the Twelve Colonies, he also finds a family of his own, when he takes Boxey, a traumatised little boy, under his wing and falls in love with and eventually marries Boxey’s mother Serina. Serina dies soon thereafter – another thing that simply did not happen on TV in those days to characters who weren’t one-off love interests and especially not to characters played by Jane Seymour (what was it about the original Galactica and killing off characters played by then famous actors?). After Serina’s death, Apollo suddenly finds himself a single father and it doesn’t matter at all, neither to Apollo nor his family, that Boxey isn’t his biological son. Even as a young girl, I realised that Apollo wasn’t just stunningly handsome, he was also the sort of supportive partner and loving parent you should seek out. Come to think of it, Mikhail from my In Love and War series was probably influenced at least a little bit by Captain Apollo.

And of course, the new Battlestar Galactica had to mess up that most important aspect of Apollo’s character as well. The new Apollo, now called Lee Adama, is estranged from his father over the death of his brother Zac. Coincidentally, this was when my Mom stopped watching the new Galactica, maybe fifteen minutes into the pilot, because “This would never happen. The real Commander Adama would never have allowed himself to grow estranged from his son like that. Can we switch this crap off now?” In the new Galactica, there is no Boxey and there is no Serina. Lee Adama is just another of TV’s many unattached white men, who later enters a relationship with a female bridge officer and pines after Starbuck who’s female now, so it isn’t even canon slash.

In the old blog, I expounded my views regarding the new Battlestar Galactica at length, but most of those posts are lost to time now. Here is one that survived. In short, I disliked it intensely, because it took away everything I had loved about the original Battlestar Galactica and replaced it with grimdarkness and faux relevant discussion about the war on terror, the legitimacy of the president and religious debates, so many religious debates. Oh yes, and the new Galactica was also grossly sexist, erasing all the female characters from the original and giving its new female characters only one of three storylines: Get pregnant, get tortured and raped or get breast cancer. In fact, I disliked the new Battlestar Galactica so much that I referred to it as “Battlestar Craptastica” and got into fights with people I considered my friends about it (I quickly learned that they weren’t). You know how some Star Wars fans hate the prequels so much that they accuse George Lucas of having raped their childhood? That’s how I felt about Ron D. Moore and the new Battlestar Galactica.

Coincidentally, I also predicted at the time that in ten years, the new Battlestar Galactica would feel more dated than the old one, because it was so focussed on what were considered the issues of the day in the US/UK in the early 2000s. The people who liked the new Battlestar Galactica and called it the best show on television vehemently disagreed, of course. However, time has proven me right. Because the mantle of “the best show on television” was passed on to The Wire, Homeland, Breaking Bad and whoever has it these days (Westworld, maybe?). As for the new Battlestar Galactica, when was the last time you heard anybody discussing that show? It still gets invoked occasionally to advertise a new space opera type show as “the next Battlestar Galactica“, which usually reduces my desire to watch said show to near zero. I still haven’t watched The Expanse, because everybody was so eager to compare it to the new Battlestar Galactica. But the world has changed since the new Battlestar Galactica first aired, the thinly disguised “ripped from the headlines” plots that once made the show feel so relevant seem quaint now.

I think I watched maybe five full episodes of the new Battlestar Galactica altogether, though I fell asleep halfway through one of them. I do remember tuning in when Richard Hatch showed up, because I wanted to know what he looked like. Even at sixty, he still was handsome, much more handsome than Jamie Bamber who played the new Apollo. Coincidentally, I have also forgiven Ron D. Moore for ruining Battlestar Galactica, since he has done a really good job with adapting Outlander since then. I never really held a grudge against any of the actors involved, especially since many of them have done good work elsewhere before and since.

That’s not to say that the original Battlestar Galactica was without problems, cause it certainly had more than its share. And in fact, I suspect that if I had been older when I first saw it or hadn’t been so starved for any kind of SF, I probably wouldn’t have loved it as much as I did.

While the original Galactica certainly made laudable attempts at worldbuilding and at presenting a society that was alien, yet recognisable, those attempts often fell flat when the characters landed on a planet that was clearly the Universal backlot dressed up with Christmas lights (quite literally in one of the “space western” episodes) in the cheap filler episodes. And indeed, I find that I often skip the backlot filler episodes, when I watch my Battlestar Galactica DVD boxset.

As with many TV shows pre-1990, the internal continuity is often messy, though the original Galactica at least attempted to have some sort of internal continuity and a plot arc, when that sort of thing was still extremely rare. In spite of the fine actors, both regulars and guest stars, emotional scenes often fall flat. I think I grieved more for Zac and Serina than their respective families. And Boxey grieves more for his dog, the original Muffet, than for either of his biological parents. As it was, my mind often filled in the emotions that were lacking – I did this with cartoons, too. I even wrote fanfiction about Zac somehow surviving and desperately trying to rejoin his family.

The politics of the new Battlestar Galactica were blatant and often hugely problematic, which infuriated me, because I didn’t recall that the original Galactica had much in the way of political content at all. This is wrong, because rewatching the original Galactica as an adult, it’s obvious that it was full of politics and just as problematic as the old one. For starters, the original Galactica is very much an anti-disarmament polemic. The anti-disarmament message in the original Galactica is as blatant as the “war on terror” parallels in the new one. After all, the initial Cylon attack happens just after the Twelve Colonies have signed a disarmament and peace treaty. And indeed, Soviet journalist Melor Sturua got the message just clear and criticized the original Battlestar Galactica as “anti-Soviet hysteria”. Meanwhile, my younger self totally failed to see any of this, because a) the Cylons really were a threat, unlike the Soviet Union and the Warsaw Pact, which I mostly associated with East German relatives, who sure as hell were no Cylons and not remotely threatening, and b) the idea that anybody could be against nuclear disarmament was absolutely inconceivable to me, since everybody was against nuclear weapons (the 1980s were the time of the great anti-nuclear weapons protests in West Germany) except for a handful of politicians and most of those were probably manipulated by a tiny number of genuinely evil politicians.

The anti-disarmament message is front and centre in the original Battlestar Galactica, but there is another problematic political message to be found in the show. For in the original Battlestar Galactica, the military as represented by Commander Adama and Colonel Tigh is inevitably right, whereas the civilian government as represented by the changing rooster of veteran actors who make up the Council of Twelve, is inevitably wrong. Interestingly, this is one of the few aspects of the original that the new series kept, though here the conflict between the military and the civilian government is reduced to a conflict between the characters of the new Commander Adama, as played by Edward James Olmos, and President Laura Roslin, as played by Mary McDonnell. Come to think of it, the original series also moved in that direction towards the end of its run by contrasting Commander Adama with a female member of the Council of Twelve, played by Ina Balin. They made a very shippable couple.

But in spite of its problems, the original Battlestar Galactica remains highly watchable and entertaining even almost forty years after it was made. A large part of the reason are the likeable characters (unlike the new series, where absolutely no one was even remotely likeable) and the actors who played them who managed to smooth over many of the problems. And Richard Hatch as Captain Apollo was very much the heart of the original Battlestar Galactica, along with Dirk Benedict’s Starbuck and Lorne Greene’s Adama (extra shout-out for Terry Carter as Colonel Tigh, who was always my Mom’s favourite).

Richard Hatch also showed up in other TV shows during the 1970s and 1980s. I vividly remember him playing a creepy stalker who harrasses Connie Seleca in an episode of Hotel. And of course, he also starred in The Streets of San Francisco, after Michael Douglas left. But while I was always happy to see him on TV, I knew next to nothing about Richard Hatch, the person. According to the tributes and obituaries, he seems to have been as nice a person in real life as he was on screen as Apollo. He also was an acting coach and teacher, which is probably why you saw less of him on TV after approx. 1990.

So rest in peace, Richard Hatch, the one and only Captain Apollo.

*Indeed, both happened within approx. three years. We got private television via our aerial, the Star Wars films finally came to German TV and we also finally got a VCR.

**The producers obviously expected female viewers to fall for Starbuck, but while I like both Starbuck the character and Dirk Benedict, the actor, I never found him remotely attractive. Coincidentally, I felt the same way about Dirk Benedict’s other famous role, Templeton Peck a.k.a. Face from The A-Team, whom I once again liked, but never found remotely attractive.

Send to Kindle

Indie Speculative Fiction of the Month for January 2017

[image error]It’s that time of the month again, time for “Indie Speculative Fiction of the Month”.

So what is “Indie Speculative Fiction of the Month”? It’s a round-up of speculative fiction by indie authors newly published this month, though some December books I missed the last time around snuck in as well. The books are arranged in alphabetical order by author. So far, most links only go to Amazon.com, though I may add other retailers for future editions.

Once again, we have new releases covering the whole broad spectrum of speculative fiction. This month, we have urban fantasy, epic fantasy, Asian fantasy, space opera, military science fiction, post-apocalyptic science fiction, dystopian fiction, science fiction mystery, paranormal romance, fantasy romance, aliens, werewolves, robots, UFOs, intergalactic traders, FBI witches, magical source-fixers, mutant assassins, murdered gods, monsters in the woods and much more.

Don’t forget that Indie Speculative Fiction of the Month is also crossposted to the Speculative Fiction Showcase, a group blog run by Jessica Rydill and myself, which features new release spotlights, guest posts, interviews and link round-ups regarding all things speculative fiction several times per week.

As always, I know the authors at least vaguely, but I haven’t read all of the books, so Caveat emptor.

And now on to the books without further ado:

[image error] Dick and Henry and the Temporary Detective by Kenneth Buff:

Space is full of adventure. And danger too. Fresh off their last case, Captain Dick Shannon and his harvest bot, HN-R3 report to Station 2 for reassignment, only to find the station in the middle of an attack that threatens the lives of everyone on-board. Now, Dick and Henry must work together with a mysterious woman, hopping from planet to planet in search of clues in order to save themselves and bring the monsters responsible for the destruction of the station to justice before it’s too late.

 

[image error] Hunted Wolf by Stacy Claflin:

Her fiancé’s family wants her dead. And they won’t stop until she is.

Victoria and Toby have faced one trial after another since falling in love. Now they must face Toby’s old pack—a cruel traditional group opposed to anyone refusing to follow the old ways. Toby will do anything to protect Victoria, even to the point of separating from her. He sends her to a fierce bear shifter colony, where she will be hidden and protected.

Life with the werebears begins to take its toll, and Victoria’s worries get the best of her. She fears for Toby and her pack, but her thoughts are torn—she also fears her sister is in danger. Victoria is compelled to find and protect her, so she leaves the sanctuary of the werebear colony and sets off in search of her.

Victoria encounters so much more than she could have imagined once she embarks on her quest. Will she be able to find her sister before Toby’s old pack finds and kills her?

[image error] The Cost of Business by Zen DiPietro:

Cabot Layne has unintentionally become the owner of someone else’s problem. In order to get free of it, he’ll need to use every bit of his trader cunning. If he does it just right, he might stay out of prison. With a little luck, he’ll even manage to turn a profit.

 

 

 

[image error] Murdered Gods by Marina Finlayson:

Lexi didn’t set out to steal a god’s ring, but when a magic artifact starts trying to talk to you, what’s a girl supposed to do? She’s always had the ability to talk to animals, but this new development amps up the crazy. Now she’s afraid her power is out of control and she’s losing her mind.

The only person who could possibly reassure her that she’s not going mad is her mother, who has always refused to discuss the source of Lexi’s strange ability. Now that the jewellery is getting chatty, maybe she’ll finally spill the beans.

Unfortunately, going home means a trip back to the human territories, and Lexi only just made it out of there alive last time. She’s hoping for a quick visit, but with a god hellbent on retrieving the ring and a fireshaper she might have accidentally betrayed on her tail, life is about to get horribly complicated—for her and everyone she cares about.

[image error] Alien Tales and Lore by G.J. Gundersen Jr.:

Strange messages from alien visitors start to appear in the newspapers. A young farmer dares to visit a mysterious pyramidal hill that, according to village legends, was built by aliens. A lowly researcher at a government installation finds a fully functional alien spacesuit …

These are just some of the stories included in Alien Tales and Lore.

Gundersen’s entertaining stories are told in a folkloric or fairytale style, but they are unashamedly set in a modern age where odd occurrences may often be brought about by alien technology. The tales included in this volume are by turns enchanting, surreal, and troubling. But as with all fairytales and folktales, they offer an insight into human nature. Gundersen writes a new tradition for an age of alien contact!

[image error] Source-Breaker by Kyra Halland:

After twenty-seven years in the trade and with a string of failures behind him, Kaniev the Source-Fixer is ready to go home and take up fishing. First, though, one more repair job lies ahead of him – the magical Source Chaitrasse is experiencing problems. Kaniev’s depleted finances and self-confidence demand that this time, he get the job done right.

Fransisa, once presumed to be the next High Priestess of Source Chaitrasse and now displaced by a young Chosen, the natural heir to the position, is struggling to hold on to her authority at Chaitrasse when a wandering tradesman appears, telling her the Source has a problem and he’s the one who can fix it. Though he looks more like a wandering brigand than a powerful wizard or wise scholar, Fransisa decides it can’t hurt anything to let him take a look.

Kaniev’s ill-fated attempt to repair Source Chaitrasse leads to a sorcerer who is conducting dangerous experiments with magic. Caught in the sorcercer’s schemes, Fransisa and Kaniev must overcome their past failures and their differences to stop him before the Sources of magic and all the lands around them are destroyed.

[image error] Songs of Insurrection by J.C. Kang:

The Empire of Cathay teeters on the brink of rebellion, and only the lost magic of Dragon Songs can prevent the realm from descending into chaos.

Blessed with an unrivaled voice, Kaiya dreams of a time when music could summon typhoons and rout armies. Maybe then, the imperial court would see the awkward, gangly princess as more than a singing fool.

When members of the emperor’s elite spy clan uncover a brewing rebellion, the court hopes to appease the ringleader by offering Kaiya as a bride.

Obediently wedding the depraved rebel leader means giving up her music. Confronting him with the growing power of her voice could kill her.

[image error] Chameloen Assassin by B.R. Kingsolver:

Libby is a mutant, one of the top burglars and assassins in the world. For a price, she caters to executives’ secret desires. Eliminate your corporate rival? Deliver a priceless art masterpiece or necklace? Hack into another corporation’s network? Libby’s your girl.

Climate change met nuclear war, and humanity lost. The corporations stepped in, stripping governments of power. Civilization didn’t end, but it became less civilized. There are few rules as corporations jockey for position and control of assets and markets.

In the year 2200, the world has barely recovered the level of technology that existed before the ice melted and the subsequent wars. Corporate elites live in their walled estates and skyscraper apartments while the majority of humanity supplies their luxuries. On the bottom level, the mutants, the poor, and the criminals scramble every day just to survive.

Urban Fantasy set 200 years in the future.

[image error]

By popular demand, here is the annual Oscar reflections post.

I wasn’t actually sure whether I would be watching live this year or not, because of the time differences the Oscars tend to start in the middle of the night and generally last into the early hours of the morning. Besides, I wasn’t feeling all that well (that inflamed aphthous ulcer is somehow affecting my entire system and makes me feel tired all the time). Besides, as usual, I care very little about most of the nominated films and actively loathe several of them.

In the end, I decided to start watching and go to bed, once I got too bored or too angry to continue. Once the endless red carpet interviews were finally over (yes, the gowns are pretty, but do we need to spend approx. two hours of repetitive interviews to gawk at the same gowns on the same attractive women) and the show proper began, my first reaction upon seeing the host was, “Who the fuck is that guy?” Because I had honestly no clue who the earnestly grinning fellow was.

A quick glance at the TV guide revealed that this was one , comedian and creator of the Family Guy adult cartoon and writer of Ted, last summer’s comedy about a very rude teddy bear. A look at IMDB also reveals that Mr. MacFarlane has loads of voice acting and writing credits for cartoons, mostly stuff like Dexter’s Lab, Johnny Bravo and Cow and Chicken, neither of which I ever liked. Oh yes, and he had a small part on Star Trek Enterprise. Still, with such credits you’d expect an Oscar host who knows what he’s doing and who would probably even manage to be funny. Unfortunately, Seth MacFarlane, in spite of his impressive credits, was no such thing.

Honestly, Seth MacFarlane is probably the worst and the rudest Oscar host I ever recall seeing. Because Mr. MacFarlane’s idea of humour is to be as offensive as possible. Honestly, we had racist jokes, we had anti-semitic jokes, we had ageist jokes, we had misogynist jokes galore. The man accused George Clooney of being a pedophile, for fuck’s sake. He made jokes about domestic abuse. He called Jennifer Anniston a former stripper. He made a crack about Jean Dujardin’s (last year’s winner of the best actor award for The Artist) lack of Hollywood success (Jean Dujardin has an active and distinguished career going in France. Not everybody wants a Hollywood career). He asked Daniel Day-Lewis, who apparently subscribes to the method type of acting, whether he had gotten so deep into Abraham Lincoln that he tried to free African-American actors like Don Cheadle when he met them at the studio. He accused Denzel Washington of substance abuse (which in retrospect may have been a reference to Washington’s movie Flight, which I have not seen, but wherein Washington apparently plays a pilot with a substance abuse problem). He made jokes about the supposedly incomprehensible accents of Selma Hayek, Javier Bardem and Penelope Cruz. He compared Ben Affleck to one of the Kardashian sisters (apparently that was a joke about facial hair – Affleck’s or the Kardashians’). He made jokes about Amy Adams never winning an Oscar. He had his Ted character talk about the supposed Jewish conspiracy that rules Hollywood – honestly, I was waiting for the Ted character to pull out a copy of the Protocols of the Elders of Zion. He tried to hit on Sally Field – dressed up as the Flying Nun. He sang a song about the boobs of actresses, a song that sounded like something my 6th graders would come up with. And because that wasn’t offensive enough, several of the films with boob exposure he listed were films about rape and sexual violence (Monster, Monsters’ Ball and The Accused, probably more). Uh right, because the gang rape scene in The Accused is so stimulating that you can’t think of anything other than Jodie Foster’s breasts. Honestly, this guy was going for the full offensiveness bingo. About the only -ism he left out was fatphobia, which was notable considering that there were several women with non-Hollywood typical figures (Melissa McCarthy, Octavia Spencer, Adele, who has a surname, Atkins) on stage.

After about five minutes of MacFarlane’s brand of humour – long before the worst of it – I was ready to strangle the guy and was waiting for someone else to do it for me. In fact, whenever MacFarlane came on stage I was waiting for him to spot a black eye, because someone had hit him, unimpressed by his brand of humour. I was waiting for someone to brain him with an Oscar on stage.

Eventually, someone did show up to inform Mr MacFarlane that “Hey, dude, you’re not even remotely funny.” And not just anyone, but Captain James T. Kirk (actually William Shattner stuffed into an admiral’s uniform and the Enterprise command chair) supposedly come back from the future to warn MacFarlane that his unfunny comedy was alienating the audience so badly that he would be labeled worst Oscar host ever. iO9 has a video of the Captain Kirk bit, though it doesn’t work, at least not for me.

Me: “What, you mean he’ll get even worse?” and “Why did they have to send overweight Admiral Kirk back from the future? Why couldn’t we get the original series version?”

And yes, he got worse, for the boob song came during the Kirk bit (presented as a “recording” from the future). And Flight, reenacted by sock puppets. And Seth MacFarlane, dressed as the Flying Nun, trying to hit on Sally Field.

Once Kirk showed up, I screamed at the screen, “Oh, just phaser the guy and save us all the pain. Or beam him to Mars. Or beam down a squad of fully armed Klingons onto the stage, after having told them that Mr. MacFarlane had just mortally insulted the whole Klingon Empire.”

Of course, this was still the Oscars, not Star Trek IV and a half – Saving the Oscars, so none of that happened and MacFarlane just continued to be offensive. When Chris Pine and Zoe Saldana from the travesty that is J.J. Abrams rebooted Star Trek showed up on stage to present an award, I was hoping for the real Kirk to come back and blast the pretender Kirk to smithereens.

Apparently, I’m not alone in my sheer disbelief at the offensiveness of Seth MacFarlane. The Guardian has a summary of MacFarlane’s unfunny jokes here, while Sarah Hughes comments on the general misogyny of MacFarlane’s jokes, complete with a video of the boob song in all its awful glory, also at the Guardian.

The worst thing about Seth MacFarlane is that the man has obvious talent. I mean, the man can sing, the man can dance – just look at those dance numbers. And if he had only been singing and dancing – well, I would have been impressed. It was only a pity that he had to talk.

That said, there was one joke of Mr MacFarlane’s that had me laughing out loud, even though it was as offensive as the rest of them. For when talking about the best actor nominees, MacFarlane mentioned that Daniel Day-Lewis was not in fact the first actor to be nominated for an Academy Award for playing Abraham Lincoln, Raymond Massey had also been nominated for playing Lincoln sometime in the 1940s.

“But…”, said Mr MacFarlane, “…there was only one actor ever who really got into Lincoln’s head and that was John Wilkes Booth.”

Resounding silence in the auditorium – the sort of silence where you could have heard the proverbial pin drop – while I was quite literally bent over laughing. Whereupon Seth MacFarlane added, “Too soon, you say. It’s been 150 years, for heaven’s sake, and it’s still too soon?”

So why did I laugh at that joke, even though it was as offensive as the rest of them? I think it’s a matter of distance. Because Abraham Lincoln is very much an icon for Americans, an inviolable, untouchable icon. While the whole issue of the Civil War and slavery is still very much a taboo topic even 150 years later (see Mr MacFarlane’s “too soon” comment). It was quite stunning that this year we had two nominated films (Lincoln and Django Unchained) which deal with the subject of slavery without any of the romanticizing of Gone with the Wind, Raintree Country, North and South and a dozen others in the same vein – and that 150 years after the event. Americans are really slow about coming to terms with this particular aspect of their past.

So why was a crack about Abraham Lincoln and John Wilkes Booth funny to me? It was funny for me, precisely because I recognized it as skewering a sacred cow (Lincoln) and addressing a subject that’s still very much taboo in the US (the Civil War), but yet I had sufficient distance from the subject not to be personally offended. It’s the same reason why e.g. Pope jokes are funny when you’re not Catholic – because the skewering of other people’s sacred cows can be funny.

And yet I was familiar enough with the history of the Civil War and the position of Lincoln in the American consciousness to recognize that there was a sacred cow being skewered here. Because the Germans I talked to today didn’t really get the Lincoln joke at all, not without laboured explanations. And indeed, I have met several otherwise well educated people (several Germans and one Chinese) in recent times who were very impressed by the Lincoln movie and inevitably said, “Wow, I didn’t know anything about that.” And I inevitably thought, “How can you not know?” But then, I’m hardly typical. After all, I studied English at university, which includes British, North-American and Commonwealth history. And I spent a year of my life attending a kindergarten in Biloxi, Mississippi, where they had portraits of all American presidents up to that point (which would have been Jimmy Carter) on the wall* and where Jefferson Davis hung right next to Lincoln. And they probably would have taken Lincoln down and thrown him into the trash, if they had been able to get away with it. Meanwhile, the US Civil War or the subject of slavery for that matter barely figures in history or English textbooks in Germany at all. I tend to at least mention it in the appropriate context in my classes, but the curriculum does not back me up there. So yeah, of course a lot of people don’t know anything about Abraham Lincoln.

When Seth MacFarlane was not on stage, th show suddenly became a lot more tolerable. There was a tribute to fifty years of cinematic James Bond, which managed to condense the Bond movies into one series of explosions, fights, car chases, gadgets and cheesecake – well, that’s not so far off the truth, though I’d also add in Ken Adam’s wonderful production designs, followed by Shirley Bassey singing “Goldfinger” and being just plain awesome. Though it was a bit mean towards Adele, who performed her own Bond theme song later on and would inevitably be compared to the best Bond theme songs of all time now (though she did go on to win). There was a tribute to Hollywood musicals with songs from Les Misérables, Chicago and Dreamgirls, probably because those were the only Hollywood musicals whose casts are still alive and still look like they used to when making the films in question. Though Chicago and Dreamgirls and even Les Misérables are not the first or even the fifth thing to come to mind when thinking of “great Hollywood musicals”. And since Chicago happened to win the Oscar for best picture exactly ten years ago, there was yet another tribute reuniting the cast of that “landmark musical” (said Seth MacFarlane) on stage, while I was left wondering in what parallel reality Chicago was a landmark musical, because in mine it was viewed as a “Let’s pick something inoffensive, since the Iraq war just started” compromise winner and – by some of our more pessimistic pundits – as a sign for the cultural decline of Hollywood.

Robert Downey Jr. appeared on stage again in his Tony Stark persona (or maybe Tony Stark regularly attends the Oscars, pretending to be an actor named Robert Downey Jr.), this time accompanied by four of his fellow Avengers. They were responsible for the other good joke of the evening, when Samuel L. Jackson was fumbling with the envelope and said, “Typical, five superheroes and we can’t even open a single envelope.” Now if the combined might of the Avengers had only been able to do something about Seth MacFarlane.

The appearance of five Avengers castmembers (But why only guys? Why no Scarlett Johansen?) also addressed a problem that’s all too common. The Avengers was the most successful film both in the US and worldwide last year and one of the better offerings in the superhero genre and yet it only received a single Oscar nomination in the special effects category, where it promptly lost out to Life of Pi. Of course, it’s also worth noting that the other most successful film of 2012 (it beat out The Avengers by a mile in most of Europe), the French film Intouchables, was not nominated at all, not even for a foreign language Oscar, even though it was a far more typical Oscar-winning film than The Avengers.

So on to the winners: They should just rename the best feature length animated film award the Pixar award and be done with it, because once again the Pixar entry du jour, Brave, won against far more interesting films such as Frankenweenie or Paranorman. Now I’ve said before that whatever magic Pixar exerts – and it obviously does, considering that so many people love their movies – it does not work for me nor for any other German person I’ve ever met.

Daniel Day-Lewis won the best actor award for his portrayal of Abraham Lincoln, which was really quite inevitable, because – as explained above – Lincoln is an American icon. I for one was backing Hugh Jackman, but then Daniel Day-Lewis certainly deserves the award for his performance (though his babbling after winning was hopeless – he said to Meryl Streep, “We both won an Oscar for playing heads of state, me Maggie Thatcher and she Abraham Lincoln”. Now I really would have loved to see that). Apparently, this is Daniel Day-Lewis’ third Oscar win, a true rarity. I only recalled his win for My Left Foot in 1990, though apparently he also won for There Will Be Blood in 2008, a fact I had completely forgotten. But then, There Will Be Blood is rather forgettable – sorry, Upton Sinclair.

Anne Hathaway won the best supporting actress award for her portrayal of Fantine in Les Misérables. Again, this was a pretty obvious decision. A popular movie, good actress and good singer and Anne Hathaway’s mother apparently played the part on stage. Plus, Sally Field already has an Oscar. Though apparently, plenty of people hate Anne Hathaway, because she’s young and pretty and thin and was wearing no bra under her gown and – horror of horrors – committed the cardinal sin of showing visible nipples under her gown. An adult woman has nipples, now that’s a scandal.

Jennifer Lawrence won the best actress in a lead role award for her part in Silver Linings Playbook and promptly stumbled in her gown with its ridiculously long train. The gown reminded me so much of Katniss Everdeen’s infamous fire-catching gown in The Hunger Games that I expected it to burst into flames any moment. Now this was a win I did not call. I expected this award to go to Emanuelle Riva, who is after all 86 years old, and won’t have that many more chances to win an Oscar, or to Jessica Chastain, because Zero Dark Thirty had more buzz. Besides, everybody seems to be mad at Jennifer Lawrence these day, because she supposedly snubbed Meryl Streep at the Golden Globes. What is more, Silver Linings Playbook seemed to be more of a romantic comedy from what little I know about the film, which isn’t much – I pretty much dismissed it out of hand, because the presence of Bradley Cooper and the word “playbook” in the title suggested a sports movie, probably about American football, and I don’t care for those.

But my favourite to win in this category was Quvenzhané Wallis, the 9-year-old star of Beasts of the Southern Wild. In fact, Beasts of the Southern Wild was the only movie nominated in the major categories that I really cared about. It was also my favourite for best picture. But of course it did not win, because it’s a fantasy film about people of colour, played by people who weren’t actors before they made this film, living in the swamps of Louisiana – which is about as far as you can get from what is considered relevant in Hollywood. Plus – unlike Django Unchained, Lincoln and (presumably, since I haven’t seen it) Flight – there was no white saviour figure in sight. Even worse, in Django Unchained, Christoph Waltz (more on him later) won an Oscar for playing the white saviour figure, while the black lead actor wasn’t even nominated. And while it was encouraging to see quite a few people of colour on stage doing presentations, the nominees in the major categories are still overwhelmingly white, whiter than in other years in fact. The only exceptions were Quvenzhané Wallis and Denzel Washington in the acting categories, neither of whom won, and Ang Lee (who did win) in the directing category.

N.K. Jemisin has more on the disgraceful treatment of Beasts of the Southern Wild in general and Quvenzhané Wallis in particular. Now personally I viewed Seth MacFarlane’s nasty comment more as a jab against George Clooney (and a really awful one at that, since MacFarlane basically accused Clooney of being a pedophile) than at Quvenzhané Wallis, but then MacFarlane still turned a 9-year-old, a rather young and small looking 9-year-old at that, into a sex object. As for the Onion and the person who wouldn’t vote for her, because they couldn’t pronounce her name (What does that voter do in the foreign language category? Not vote, because he cannot pronounce anybody’s name?), I have no words. And how could anybody at the Onion ever think it would be okay to use the c-word in a public tweet about any Oscar nominated actress, much less a 9-year-old girl?

Which brings us to the bit about this year’s Oscars that is most discussed in the German language media, namely the “triumph of the Austrian film” with Christoph Waltz winning his second Oscar as the best supporting actor in Tarantino’s Django Unchained and Michael Haneke winning the best foreign film Oscar for Amour. Hereby commentators in both Germany and Austria or always quick to point out that this is in fact a triumph of the Austrian film and that the Germans have nothing to do with it, even though Haneke was born in Munich to Austrian parents and Waltz holds a dual German-Austrian citizenship (which shouldn’t even be possible according to German law, but I guess such things don’t apply to white, non-muslim movie stars). My answer to this is, “Folks, you can keep them both and Ulrich Seidl, too, for all I care. You’re welcome to them, cause we don’t want them.”

There are many talented actors and filmmakers working in the German speaking world (i.e. Germany, Switzerland and Austria) today (and Austria’s 2008 Oscar win for The Forgers was well deserved). However, Christoph Waltz** and Michael Haneke are not among them. Christoph Waltz had a lengthy acting career in Germany and Austria before Quentin Tarantino discovered him – however, he was not even remotely memorable. Waltz himself says it’s because he simply wasn’t offered good parts in Germany and Austria, but that’s bunk, because among a lot of trash like The Roy Black Story (Waltz plays sappy “Schlager” singer Roy Black) and run-of-the-mill TV productions like Tatort, Polizeiruf 110 and Rosa Roth, he was also in a few films that were really good like the historical drama König der letzten Tage (King of the Last Days) and the remake of Die Zürcher Velobung (Engagement in Zurich), one of the best German films of the 1950s and probably my favourite romantic comedy ever. Honestly, Waltz got to play Büffel in Engagement in Zurich and complains that there are no good roles in Germany for him? Go on and play Nazis for Tarantino then.

As for Michael Haneke, I already disliked him intensely before most Americans had even heard of him. The Piano Player, Caché, The White Ribbon and now Amour – they’re all horribly depressing films which sadly match Hollywood’s idea of what a foreign language film should be like, namely grim and depressing. It doesn’t help either that Amour is in the popular new genre (in Germany and Austria at least) of dementia melodrama, i.e. films about old people in the grip of dementia. Because dementia is such an important subject in an aging society and we are apparently refusing to address it – well, maybe because most families already have one or more very ill elderly relatives in their lives (I have four at the moment, though only one has dementia) and don’t want to watch films and read books about sick elderly people. Though – and it pains me to say this – Haneke’s Amour is far from the worst of the dementia melodramas. There are some pretending to be documentaries which feature actual dementia patients and chronicle their illness in great details, though those patients are unable to consent.

Which only leaves us with the main prize, the Oscar for the best film of 2012. I totally did not call this one, since I expected a race between Lincoln and Zero Dark Thirty with maybe Les Misérables as an noncontroversial compromise. Instead, Argo won, much to my surprise, and gave us the chance to see George Clooney and Ben Affleck (But what’s with the beards?) on stage accepting Oscars as producers. Clooney was really classy to stand back and let Ben Affleck and the non-moviestar producer do the thank you speeches BTW. He was also classy not to punch out Seth MacFarlane.

I don’t really have much of a beef with the win for Argo, though it’s not a film I’m personally interested in. Besides, Argo winning best picture royally pissed off Iranian officials (well, it is kind of embarrassing for Iran to have fallen for a ploy as stupid as that), which means it can’t be all that bad. Here’s a report from the Washington Post and, for balance’s sake, from the Iranian news channel Press TV.

Is Argo propaganda? It probably is, but then so is Zero Dark Thirty and I know which film I prefer. Besides, being propaganda has never stopped any film from winning an Oscar. In that context, I saw a really interesting interview with Slovenian philosopher Slavoj Zizek on TV, wherein he called Argo “feel-good propaganda for the CIA” and “probably a worse film than Zero Dark Thirty“, which he dislikes. But unfortunately, that interview is not online, more the pity.

Here is the full list of winners, by the way.

*My parents say that I could recite the names of all presidents and point out the correct portrait at the age of five, though I have no real memory of that and I certainly couldn’t do it now. I can still recite the Pledge of Allegiance (with “under God”), though, and sometimes demonstrate it to my students.

**Since everybody and their brother are bashing Oscar nominated actresses today, I think I can say something not quite flattering about Christoph Waltz.

" data-medium-file="" data-large-file="" class="alignleft size-medium wp-image-6197" src="http://pegasus-pulp.com/wp-content/up..." alt="Inwards Bound by Jim Rudnick" width="188" height="300" /> Inwards Bound by Jim Rudnick:

Tempted by the dissolution of the huge empire inwards, Duke Scott and the Baroness and the Caliph join forces to send a ship inwards bound, to find new planets for the expansion of the RIM Confederacy—led by the new captain, Bram Sander. Making a mind-reader a ship’s captain means more than one might expect, and Bram has to worry about the issues that arise.

Broken now into smaller Warlord realms, the first thing to do is to find allies and that becomes a major thrust in the RIM Confederacy ships first voyage inwards—and that leads to various new allies and antagonists too. One Warlord wants to join the Confederacy and one wants to take it over by force and the chances of that happening are real.

As the new secret mine for Xithricite is found by the Confederacy who now mines the red ore in secret, the Warlord fomenting war sends declarations to the Confederacy ship and Bram must respond. Aided by his own red ship and the Leudies gifts, he foists the Confederacy wishes on the Warlords—and the battles begin…

[image error]Send to Kindle

A handy guide to all SFF-related posts of 2016

I don’t normally do eligibility posts. I’m not opposed to them on principle, but I feel incredibly awkward making one, so I don’t.

However, someone added my name to the 2017 Hugo Nominations Wiki (thanks, unknown reader) and I’ve noticed some traffic coming from there. There are some links at the Hugo Nominations Wiki, but in case you’re interested in what else I write, here is a handy overview of SFF-related blog posts I’ve written in 2016. The posts are in chronological order, from January to December of 2016.

BTW, the 2017 Hugo Nominations Wiki along with the Hugo Spreadsheet of Doom and Rocket Stack Rank is a great resource for anybody looking for Hugo recommendations.

At this blog:

SFF, Romance and Abuse Narratives
Two Literary Deaths and Some Thoughts on the 2015 Nebula Nominees.
More Reactions to the 2015 Nebula Award Nominees.
Yet more reactions to the 2015 Nebula Award Nominees.
Rest in Peace, Sir Ken Adam.
J.G. Ballard, High-Rise and Butalist architecture as instant dystopias.
More on J.G. Ballard, High-Rise, Brutalism and Architectural Horror.
Hugo Season 2016: The Return of the Puppies.
Of Star Wars and Mary Sues.
The obligatory 2016 Hugo Shortlist Post.
2016 Hugo Shortlist: More Thoughts and Reactions – and the Clarke Awards.
Yet more Hugo debate 2016 – and a bit about the Clarke Awards.
And even more Hugo links – and the Locus Awards.
The 2015 Nebula Awards, the Bram Stoker Awards, the Eurovision Song Contest… and a bit about football.
Cora guest-blogs elsewhere – and some thoughts on dialogue as characterisation.
Alarm für Cobra 11 and the Lester Dent Pulp Fiction Masterplot.
The July Short Story Challenge Revisited – 31 Stories in 31 Days.
Of Retro Hugos and Dragons.
The 2016 Hugo Awards or Fandom 2 : Puppies 0.
More 2016 Hugo Awards Reactions.
Yet more 2016 Hugo Award Reactions.
Of Hugos, Puppies and WorldCon 2016 – and a bit about the Clarke Award.
Even More Hugo and Clarke Award Reactions.
Why we celebrate that so many women and writers of colour won Hugos this year.
The 2016 Dragon Awards or Participation Trophies for Puppies.
More 2016 Dragon Award Reactions.
The Three Fractions of Speculative Fiction.
Rücksturz in die Zukunft – “Raumpatrouille Orion” at Fifty.
“Bullet Holes” and the Creativity Pressure Cooker.
Ruminations on the series finale of Mad Men or The world’s longest Coke commercial.
Rest in Peace, Carrie Fisher and George Michael, and Fuck 2016.
Twelve editions of Indie Speculative Fiction of the Month.

Elsewhere:

Guest post at Sarah Ash’s blog.
I also contribute to the Speculative Fiction Showcase, a group blog focussed on indie SFF.

Fiction (SFF only):

Valentine’s Day on Iago Prime , short story.
Lovers’ Lane , short story.
Double Feature , novelette.
The Death of the American Dream , short story.
Conspirators , novella.
The Three Quarters Eaten Dessert , short story.
Dreaming of the Stars , novelette.
Graveyard Shift , novelette.
Courting Trouble , short story.
Bullet Holes , short story.
Southern Monsters , short story collection.
The Cursed Arm of Driftwood Beach , short story.
Liquid Muse , short story.
“The Reanimated Reunion Tour” in Monster Maelstrom, edited by George Donnelly, short story.

Send to Kindle

Photos: Snow 2017

2017 started just like 2016 ended, with mild weather. However, by the end of last week, winter finally arrived in the form of storm Egon.

Here in Northern Germany, we weren’t hit nearly as badly by Egon as some other regions, though Egon certainly made his presence felt, as the following photos show:

[image error]

Overnight, Egon brought a layer of fresh snow and swirling snowflakes.

[image error]

The streetlight neatly illuminates the swirling snowflakes.

[image error]

Not modern art or a camera defect, but the gale force winds of Egon turning snowflakes into streaks of white.

After Egon had blown through, the temperatures dropped and so the snow Egon had brought stuck around, joined by hoarfrost. The result was icy cold, but very pretty indeed.

[image error]

Snow and frosted trees along our street.

[image error]

Yet more frosted trees in the other direction.

[image error]

The oak tree next to the house is covered in hoarfrost.

[image error]

One last look up the street with frosted trees and snow-covered houses.

By the time dusk was falling, the already magical scenery became even prettier, because in addition to snow and frost, we also got fluffy pink clouds.

[image error]

A pink evening sky above a snow-covered world.

I have been busy these past few days, but I did find the opportunity to go hiking in the woods for an hour today. Of course, I also took some photos and with a better camera, too. I hope to post those tomorrow, but for now enjoy these smartphone photos of winter in North Germany.

Send to Kindle

Multi-Author Speculative Fiction Promotion

Fantasy author Andrea Pearson has organised a huge speculative fiction multi-author promotion from January 10 to January 14.

Over seventy authors are participating, with works ranging all across the speculative fiction spectrum, from epic and urban fantasy via paranormal romance all the way to horror and science fiction, so there’s sure to be something for every taste.

And best of all: All books are only 99 cents!

You can find a full list of all participating books here, including one title that may seem familiar to some of you.

So what are you waiting for? Go and buy some books!

Send to Kindle

New Year’s Day 2017

I spent a quiet New Year’s Day.

In past years, I have occasionally gone to a gathering with some family friends in the Teufelsmoor region just north of Bremen on New Year’s Day. But they always invite a guy who sprouts a lot of racist and xenophobic nonsense and I’ve had my fill of that.

So I stayed at home, slept in, wrote a bit on the next In Love and War story and did my bimonthly taxes (which I have to hand in on Monday).

And since I missed the meeting at a (pretty good) restaurant, I treated myself to a really nice meal. And since I love Cajun food and can’t get it in Germany, unless I cook my own, I made Venison Sauce Piquante.

Now many Sauce Piquante recipes use some very unusual (outside Louisiana, that is) meats like alligator, snapping turtle or armadillo, all of which are pretty much unavailable in Germany, unless you raid the local zoo (and I’m pretty sure ours does not have snapping turtles or armadillo). However, I came across a recipe using deer, which is readily available in Germany during the winter months. Better yet, I still had some leftover deer in the freezer from Christmas. So Venison Sauce Piquante it was.

Here is the venison sauce piquante simmering on the stove. You can barely see the meat for sauce and vegetables, but it is in there.

And here it is on the plate, served with rice.

The result was absolutely delicious. I’ll definitely be making this again.

Send to Kindle

New Year 2017

Here in Germany, it has been 2017 has been here for about five hours now and on Times Square, that crystal ball should be dropping soon.

But first, let’s have some photos of holiday decorations at Roland Center mall here in Bremen.

Holiday decorations at the Roland Center mall in Bremen.

More holiday decorations at the Roland Center mall in Bremen.

A closer look at the big Christmas tree at the Roland Center mall. The Peek & Cloppenburg store in the background, one of the anchor stores, recently closed.

I’ve never been one for big parties (been there, done that) and with the heightened security concerns this year, going out to one of the big parties would have been even more of a hassle, since they probably wouldn’t let you in anywhere without extensive security checks.

So I went to a local Italian restaurant with my parents for New Year’s Eve dinner. They had a set menu. Here are some photos:

The first course of the New Year’s Eve menu was a platter of mixed antipasti.

The pasta course of the New Year’s Eve menu was gnocchi with pesto.

The main course of the New Year’s Eve menu was pork medallions in masala sauce with mediterranean vegetables and potatoes.

The dessert for the New Year’s Eve menu was Tiramisu.

And finally, a latte macchiato for the way home.

We got home at about a quarter to eleven with about an hour to go until midnight. I found that some of my students had sent me What’s App messages, wishing me a Happy New Year, which was very nice.

A lot of good luck symbols and a lucky clover plant for a happy new year.

The champagne is open, the glasses are full, 2017 can come.

My Mom’s glasses are vintage lead crystal BTW and really, really nice. Much nicer than mine, at any rate.

After a few sips of champagne, it was time for the fireworks. Now New Year’s Eve 2016/2017 has definitely been the most intense year for fireworks I’ve ever seen. Of course, this year we had the full legal sales period for fireworks from December 29 to 31, i.e. the full three days. Some years, there is a Sunday in the way and one day is missing.

The fireworks marketing was also more intense than in previous years. Most stores had extra flyers for their fireworks, Aldi – which is one of the biggest sellers of fireworks – extended their opening hours and apparently had videos previewing the firework effects on their website, which seem to have vanished now.

And there certainly was a whole lot of firework in my parents’ normally quiet semi-rural/semi-suburban neighbourhood. More than I can ever recall seeing there. By sunset on New Year’s Eve, it sounded like World War III had broken out outside and December 30 wasn’t much better.

As for why there was so much more firework this year, I suspect part of the reason may be demographics. Several families in my parents’ neighbourhood have school aged or teenaged kids who love fireworks. Plus, the Lebanese family who moved in a bit down the road had enough fireworks that the entire street was blocked with spent fireworks batteries. They kept shooting fireworks up to approx. 2 AM, long after everybody else had stopped. And the Russian family who moved into the house directly behind my parents’ after the elderly lady who’s lived there for as long as I can remember had to move into a nursing home not just started their fireworks early, they also had a New Year’s Night barbecue in the garden.

Another reason for the increase in fireworks this year might be that more and more people are opting for fireworks batteries, which offer more bang for buck – literally – than for single shot rockets and firecrackers. We only had a single battery this year, 100 shots (according to the packaging – actually, I think it was fewer) for 6.99 Euro. You really can’t beat that price, especially since the cheapest rocket pack cost 9.99 Euro.

Finally, I suspect that we weren’t the only people who opted to go only for dinner or stay at home altogether this New Year’s Eve. Terrorism fears and the whole heightened security circus probably put a lot of people off. Never mind that you can’t shoot fireworks in the party zones in most cities anymore – which is a good thing, because the risk of injury or accidental fires is much greater there. So the suburbs get more fireworks.

Photographing fireworks is always tricky, but I managed to get some good shots.

New Year’s Night Fireworks

More fireworks.

And even more fireworks.

Fireworks with a neat crackling star effect.

A fireworks battery in the process of firing.

And that’s it for tonight. A happy new year to all my blog readers and followers and may 2017 be a better year for all of us than 2016 was.

Send to Kindle

Indie Speculative Fiction of the Month for December 2016

It’s that time of the month again, time for “Indie Speculative Fiction of the Month”.

So what is “Indie Speculative Fiction of the Month”? It’s a round-up of speculative fiction by indie authors newly published this month, though some November books I missed the last time around snuck in as well. The books are arranged in alphabetical order by author. So far, most links only go to Amazon.com, though I may add other retailers for future editions.

Once again, we have new releases covering the whole broad spectrum of speculative fiction. This month, we have urban fantasy, epic fantasy, space opera, military science fiction, post-apocalyptic science fiction, dystopian fiction, science fiction romance, paranormal romance, vampires, werewolves, trolls, robots, starships, crimson queens, genetically engineered dragons, alien bounty hunters, Venusian affairs, telepaths, miracle drugs, brainwashed soldiers, monsters in the woods, Christmas in space and much more.

Don’t forget that Indie Speculative Fiction of the Month is also crossposted to the Speculative Fiction Showcase, a group blog run by Jessica Rydill and myself, which features new release spotlights, guest posts, interviews and link round-ups regarding all things speculative fiction several times per week.

As always, I know the authors at least vaguely, but I haven’t read all of the books, so Caveat emptor.

And now on to the books without further ado:

Emperor of the Fireflies by Sarah Ash:

Sparks… glittering like fireflies against the night sky…

Kai and Masao, once enemies, are now condemned to the sea by the Tide Dragons Sacrifice. If Hotaru, the new emperor, is unable to summon the Tide Dragons of Ebb and Flood at the Autumn Moon Festival, he will forfeit the right to rule Cipangu. The two Sacrifices face a desperate race against time to free themselves from this ancient curse before Hotaru binds them with forbidden magic to obey his will – forever.

Sakami, Kai’s lover, has become a kitsune, a fox spirit. She is determined to do all in her power to save him – but is Hotaru, aided by his treacherous shikigami, Kurika, just too formidable an opponent to overcome?

Liquid Muse by Cora Buhlert:

Jonah Winter has developed the perfect creativity enhancing drug – one hundred percent effective, non-addictive and safe.

Ron Varnhagen has experienced the drug’s remarkable properties for himself and plans to invest in Jonah’s venture. But then he learns of the horrifying secret behind the drug and its production…

This is a short science fiction story of 2600 words or approx. 10 print pages altogether.

Ayers by Andrei Cherascu:

In the corrupt city of Mei Jhabo, a mysterious new thoughtenhancer has devastating effects on the consumer’s brain. Its emergence is linked to the sudden rise of one of the city’s most ruthless drug gangs. Leading the fight against it, Commissioner Celia Wallace employs the services of the famous Ayers-Ross Thoughtprotection Agency. Their mission: retrieve an undercover agent sent to infiltrate the gang and protect the information inside his mind.

For ambitious young telepath Alex Lea, this seems like the perfect opportunity to prove that he is a worthy successor to his idol, legendary Mindguard Sheldon Ayers. But, in this profession, the course of things can change in an instant.

After an ambush leaves him separated from his team, Alex must learn to become his own guardian first. Pushed to the limits of his ability, he comes across an enemy far more dangerous than anyone suspects and a plot that threatens the very future of the Federation.

AYERS is a prequel set a few months before the events of MINDGUARD. It can be read as a stand-alone or at any point in the series. For reasons pertaining to themes and character study the author recommends reading the books in order of publication.

Shadowrise by J.J. Green:

In the void, the Shadows lurk, waiting to arise.

Jas Harrington and the crew of the Galathea have made it back to Earth. Now they face an investigation into the Shadow attack on the ship and the infiltration of the colony world of Dawn.

They find that things have changed since they went away. Strange disappearances and odd behavior lead them to the question: have the Shadows invaded their home planet?

When the former navigator Sayen Lee investigates, she’s taken hostage. Can Jas get her back? And can they find out what’s been happening on Earth before more lives are lost?

The Crimson Queen by Alec Hutson:

Long ago the world fell into twilight, when the great empires of old consumed each other in sorcerous cataclysms. In the south the Star Towers fell, swallowed by the sea, while the black glaciers descended upon the northern holdfasts, entombing the cities of Min-Ceruth in ice and sorcery. Then from the ancient empire of Menekar the paladins of Ama came, putting every surviving sorcerer to the sword and cleansing their taint from the land for the radiant glory of their lord.

The pulse of magic slowed, fading like the heartbeat of a dying man.

But after a thousand years it has begun to quicken again.

In a small fishing village a boy with strange powers comes of age…

A young queen rises in the west, fanning the long-smoldering embers of magic into a blaze once more…

Something of great importance is stolen – or freed – from the mysterious Empire of Swords and Flowers…

And the immortals who survived the ancient cataclysms bestir themselves, casting about for why the world is suddenly changing…

Mission: A Venus Affair by V.A. Jeffrey:

Bob and his family are going on a much-needed vacation towards the hottest destination in the solar system: Vepaja City, Venus! But as soon as they reach Venus someone from his past makes an inconvenient request: make a secret deal that promises to benefit Bob, U-net and the Boss. Who is this mysterious character? Does this person really care about helping him or is there a darker agenda? Is this side mission really in Bob’s best interest? If he agrees to the deal U-net could reap an advantage in the coming war. But is this mission legitimate or is it a trap?

 

Of Cinder and Bone by Kyoko M.

After centuries of being the most dangerous predators on the planet, dragons were hunted to extinction. That is, until Dr. Rhett “Jack” Jackson and Dr. Kamala Anjali cracked the code to bring them back. Through their research at MIT, they resurrected the first dragon anyone has seen alive since the 15th century. There’s just one problem.

Someone stole it.

Caught between two ruthless yakuza clans who want to clone the dragon, Jack and Kamala brave the dangerous streets of Tokyo to steal their dragon back in a race against time before the world is taken over by mutated, bloodthirsty monsters that will raze it to ashes.

Of Cinder and Bone is an all-new sci-fi thriller from the author of the Amazon bestselling Black Parade novels. Don’t miss out on this explosive first-in-series!

Rayzor’s One by Michele Mills:

Rayzor of Twelve, a lonely Bounty Hunter banished from his home world, is determined to follow his mission parameters: He must extract his target from a primitive planet called Earth with zero human casualties.

His plan unfolds with precision, until a human female gets in the way.

Rebecca doesn’t understand what the hell is happening. One moment she’s scared and alone in the spooky forest. Then a seven foot tall alien warrior is gazing at her with dark passion, his clawed hands touching her reverently. He’s kissing her, claiming her and saying, his voice hoarse with emotion—that she is his Bride.

His Bride? Wtf?

This stranger is swoon-worthy, but…She doesn’t know his name, or what species he is and he’s kidnapped her, thrown her on his goddamn spaceship and now she’s speeding away from Earth to parts unknown. And he expects her to fall into his arms?

Oh hell, no.

For Whom the Bell Trolls, edited by Lindy Moone and John L. Monk:

It’s a Smorgasbord of Trolls!

Funny, touching, titillating and suspenseful, there’s a story for every adult reader in For Whom the Bell Trolls, a unique, illustrated “antrollogy” by 24 international authors. Arranged from light to meaty fare, the book’s “menu” offers up fanciful and farcical stories, family-oriented tales, romance, mystery, even magically surreal literary stories — starring all sorts of trolls, from the all-too-real Internet variety to the man-eating, bridge-dwelling trolls of legend.

South of the Spire by Neil Mosspark:

Three weeks after a southern exploration team left the Citadel to map the unknown lands to the south, their cartographer’s journal was found stuffed into the hollow of a tree. It accounts the southern exploration team’s journey, documenting the ruins of ancient man, and the threats encountered in the post-apocalyptic forest.

… There are more than just wild things in the wilderness.

 

Ghosts of Noodlemass Past by T.S. Paul:

The War with Earth looms over everything. It is overshadowing even Noodlemass, the Holiday Celebration of Athena Lee’s planet. Refugees have no where to go and children are trapped out in the cold without shelter. The best solution is to use local Hotels to put them up for the winter. One problem with that. The owner won’t sell or even lease.

What will Wilson and his gang of cybernetic heroes do to help? Wilson provides his unusual spin on a Christmas Classic!

Hounds of God by Justin Sloan

Torn from her parents at a young age, Katherine is raised in a pack of werewolves like herself and brought into the ways of the Hounds of God: An army of werewolves that will bring justice to evildoers.

But when their leader is killed and everything Katherine has believed is thrown on its head, she sets off with a small group of friends in search of a cure to what she now believes is a curse.

This search for a cure leads her to a fight for survival where she’s challenged to embrace the beast within. Will she give up everything to stop the nefarious army of werewolves, betraying those she once considered family?

Justice Is Calling by Justin Sloan and Michael Anderle:

The History of the World wasn’t what Valerie was taught.

The daughter of a vampire and sister of a devil walking, Valerie finds out she has something neither her brother nor her father possess:

She has Honor.

Now, she needs to flee a brother who leaves her for dead. Because, if there is one thing Valerie understands?

It’s that Justice Doesn’t Turn the Other Cheek.

150 years after a near apocalypse, the world is rebuilding. Survival has become the only rule, and justice is in short supply. Now, Justice has come calling.

Shades of Honor by Sandy Williams:

She won her freedom. Can she win a war?

Commander Rhys Rykus is facing court martial. With his career on the line, he’s ordered to keep his distance from the brainwashed Ash and protect her from afar, but sinister elements threaten her safety. He accepts a new mission that puts them on the same warship, knowing it will take all his self-control to fight his feelings for her.

Lieutenant Ramie Ashdyn is no stranger to fighting for her life. Still under the influence of the Coalition’s brainwashing, she cares little for her own safety. She merely wants to protect the Coalition… and reconnect with Rykus.

Rykus knows how important Ash is to keeping all of them alive, but the target on her back is enormous. Will the growing threat to the Coalition take down Ash and Rip’s only shot at love?

Send to Kindle

Rest in Peace, Carrie Fisher and George Michael, and Fuck 2016

The annus horibilis of 2016 has struck once more, because after the death of George Michael on Christmas Day, we also lost Carrie Fisher yesterday, aged only sixty, following her heart attack on December 23. And her mother Debbie Reynolds followed her only a day later, aged 84. I can’t even begin to imagine how horrible this must be for their surviving family.

And just because they shouldn’t be forgotten, yesterday also claimed the lives of Richard Adams, author of Watership Down, who died aged 96, American actor Ricky Harris, who died aged only 54, and British actress Liz Smith, who died aged 95. And today, German singer, songwriter and musician Knut Kiesewetter became the hopefully last notable victim of 2016, when he died aged 75 (a former president of the German Central Bank also died, but his death was mostly greeted with shrugs and “Who was this guy?”).

All this happens at the end of a year that has already claimed the lives of Alan Rickman, David Bowie, Prince, Robert Vaughn, Leonard Cohen, Götz George, Manfred Krug, Bud Spencer, Sir Ken Adam, Tanith Lee, Zsa Zsa Gabor, George Kennedy, Guido Westerwelle, Hans Dietrich Genscher, Hildegard Hamm-Brücher, Walter Scheel (Was 2016 trying to exterminate the FDP, too?), Jutta Limbach, Fidel Castro, Tamme Hanken, Umberto Eco, Harper Lee, Gene Wilder, John Glenn, Anton Yelchin, Uwe Friedrichsen, Roger Willemsen, Roger Cicero, Erika Berger, Peter Lustig, Maja Maranow, Muhammad Ali, Sonia Rykiel, Vera Rubin, Rick Parfitt, Alan Thicke and whoever I have forgotten.

Indeed, the “Let us remember the artists who left us in 2016” bit at the end of the news today had to be hastily amended with “George Michael and Carrie Fisher died as well”. I did not watch the special obituary edition of Markus Lanz’s show afterwards and the one time I did tune in, there was Andreas Gabalier murdering Leonard Cohen’s “Hallelujah”, so I quickly switched off again.

Is this sheer amount of deaths in 2016 (along with all the other awful things that happened) unprecedented? I’m not sure, since a lot of people, including famous people die every year. But it certainly seems as if 2016 saw the loss of many people who were important to me and touched my life in some way. Many of these people were giants and icons of my childhood and teen years.

The loss of Carrie Fisher and George Michael within days of each other hit me harder than most of the 2016 deaths (though Alan Rickman, Götz George and Sir Ken Adam also hit me hard), because I was a huge fan of both of them.

Along with the rest of Germany, I probably saw George Michael for the first time, when Wham! performed “Young Guns” on the legendary music program Musikladen back in 1983 (here’s a clip, complete with host Manfred Sexauer, who left us two years ago), because my Mom and I always watched Musikladen (and in fact, my Mom had been watching since the very first episode back in 1965). But I didn’t became a fan until “Wake Me Up Before You Go Go” came out a year later. I have a “My Class” book from the period (this is the exact book I had in the early 1980s), where everybody filled out his favourite colour, movie, book, song, etc… and every second kid wrote down “Wake Me Up Before You Go Go”, because everybody loved that song.

I don’t think I knew George Michael’s name then – at the time, I did not care about the names of singers or their personal lives and only remembered the names of artists once I realised that it made recording songs you liked off the radio easier. But I certainly loved his music, “Take Me to the Edge of Heaven”, “I don’t want your freedom”, “I’m Your Man”, “Careless Whispers”, “A Different Corner”, “Club Tropicana” and of course, “Last Christmas”, which is my favourite of all modern Christmas songs and the one where I will inevitably turn up the volume, once it comes on. Coincidentally, the central characters of two different Christmas romances I wrote, Christmas Eve at the Purple Owl Café and Christmas Shopping with a Broken Heart, share their first kiss to “Last Christmas”. Because it’s simply that great a song.

By the time, George Michael left Wham! and started his solo career, I certainly knew his name. My cousin had a huge crush on him. She didn’t know he was gay and I don’t think I did either, though it’s bleedingly obvious in retrospect. Not that I would have cared, I loved the music, not the man. I remember dancing along alone in my room to “Faith” and “Monkey”, I remember writing the lyrics to “Father Figure” into my diary, I remember how I and a couple of friends scared the older brother of a friend half to death by singing and dancing along to “I want your sex” at a birthday party. “I want your sex” is still on my “I have to write a sex scene and need to get inspired” playlist.

Through much of my life, George Michael’s music was always there. I have four CDs with his music, more than by pretty much every other artist. He has written so many songs I love that I have a hard time picking a favourite (and I just realise I forgot to mention “Cowboys and Angels”, which is also on “I need to write a sex scene” playlist). I’m heavily music synaesthetic, which means that I don’t just get colour and taste with music (though I get that, too), but whole mini movies, provided the music is good. I always got mini movies with George Michael’s music.

A lot of the imagery I get for pop music from the 1980s is space-themed in some way, because this was also the time I became first a Star Wars and then a huge SF fan in general. Which brings me to Carrie Fisher, who is certainly part of the reason why I am an SF fan today.

Back in the late 1970s and early 1980s, there were not a whole lot of role models for girls who weren’t fainting damsels in distress or older mother and housewife types. Even Charlie’s Angels, who were pretty awesome and kick-ass, answered to a man. The lone exception was science fiction, because SF gave us Uhura and Tamara Jagellowsk and Janice Rand and Dr. Helena Russell and Athena and Sheba and Cassiopeia and of course, Princess Leia.

I still remember how I first encountered Princess Leia, in action figure form during a show and tell session in a kindergarten in Biloxi, Mississippi, in 1978, clutched in the hand of a classmate along with Han Solo (that kid knew who the best characters were). Many of my classmates at the time were obsessed with something called Star Wars, which I hadn’t seen and wasn’t allowed to see. But up to that point, all the Star Wars characters I’d seen were either robots or scary people in masks or monsters or young men, none of which seemed very interesting. This Princess Leia was different. For starters, she was a princess and like every little girl aged five, I loved princesses. Plus, she had the most gorgeous gown and fabulous hair, which was a huge thing, when you were a kid forced to wear pants all the time (because it as practical) and always had your hair cut so short you got mistaken for a boy (but it was practical). And I decided there and then that I wanted to look just like her.

So I refused to have my hair cut short anymore and announced that I wanted to have long hair from now on (and I still do). I also rebelled against the all pants all the time (especially since pants aren’t all that comfortable, if you’re still growing) and insisted I wanted to wear dresses. I spent the next several years trying to look like Princess Leia. I came close at times (and I wished I had a photo of ten-year-old me with a Leia hairstyle, but no one was nice enough to take one), though I never fully succeeded, probably because no real world human being can ever really look like Leia without a lot of Hollywood magic, not even Carrie Fisher herself.

I never had Star Wars toys as a kid, until I bought them years later at the flea market (and of course I have the action figure of Leia in that iconic white gown, the same one my classmate so long ago had). It even took me years to actually get to see the movies, since my parents did not get that “I think this movie looks interesting and people are talking about it at school” translated as “I really, really want to see this, so take me there.” And though my Mom had no compunctions about dragging me to see The Name of the Rose, when I was really much too young for it, Star Wars or Indiana Jones or indeed anything I really wanted to see was deemed too scary for me.

Though when I finally did get to see the Star Wars movies, I realised that Princess Leia was even more amazing than I’d thought. She spits at Darth Vader, mouthes off to Tarkin, withstands torture and utterly fails to be impressed by her would-be rescuers Luke and Han, once they show up, and promptly takes charge of her own rescue, which particularly impressed my young self, because the princesses I was used to never did that. She continues to impress throughout the original trilogy, leading the Rebellion, helping to repair the Millennium Falcon, kissing Han Solo, threatening Jabba with a bomb and then strangling him with the chains he uses to bind her, befriending Ewoks, shooting Stormtroopers, kissing Han Solo some more. And by the time, The Force Awakens came around, Leia is still leading the Rebellion, now promoted from Princess to General and showing all those little girls who once wanted to be her that life doesn’t end at forty or fifty. Obi Wan and Yoda both had it wrong. Leia was clearly the most impressive of the Skywalker siblings.

But while I could not watch the movies until they finally hit German TV, what I did have was a box full of newspaper and magazine clippings with pictures of Star Wars characters and other stills from SF movies and toy catalogues from the early 1980s featuring Star Wars action figures. I still have that box, too, somewhere. I know it’s purpose is gone now I can watch the actual movies anytime I want, but I can’t bear to throw it away, because those clippings once meant so much to me.

I also have a collection of film books and magazines from the 1980s, which still fall open at the pages featuring Star Wars all those years later. I also have the Star Wars novelisations – in English – even though I had to special order them from the bookstore at a time when that was enormously expensive and took ages. I still remember having to paintakingly spell out the title of The Empire Strikes Back to a bookstore clerk.

Indeed, I suspect that I learned Carrie Fisher’s name from one of those clippings or magazines. At any rate, I promptly set out to watch any movie she ever made, like I did with any of the other Star Wars cast. This is how I came to see Under the Rainbow and The Burbs and Blues Brothers (okay, a friend forced me to watch that one, but once Carrie Fisher showed up, brandishing that rifle, I actually enjoyed it). Carrie Fisher’s appearance in it also definitely contributed to my decision to watch Harry and Sally, though a Time Magazine review of the movie I read on a plane also helped to persuade me. I sneaked the magazine off the plane (though I supposed I need only have asked if I could have it) and made everybody I knew read that review, trying to persuade them that we needed to watch that movie. The magazine is in my box, along with the newspaper clippings.

In spite of my collection of newspaper and magazine clippings, I did not know much about Carrie Fisher’s personal life. I knew that her parents had been Hollywood stars themselves and that she’d been married to Paul Simon, but that was about it. I certainly did not know about her struggles with addiction (nor about George Michael’s, for that matter), until the movie version of Postcards from the Edge came out. That’s probably for the better, because with the strict anti-drug education of the 1980s, it was a serious topic of discussion whether you were even permitted to consume and enjoy art and music made by people taking drugs, because – and no, I don’t get the reasoning behind that one either – consuming art and music made by people who take drugs somehow made you more likely to take drugs yourself. Given that the teachers who promoted that sort of crap were part of the sixties generation and many of their idols had already expired from drug use, that whole attitude was even more hypocritical (and pisses me off even thirty years later). Nonetheless, it was a sadly common attitude at the time. And so I’m glad that teenaged me did not know about Carrie Fisher’s and George Michael’s struggles with addiction and that I only found out when I was ready to handle that knowledge. Because that way, I got to enjoy their art without worrying whether it was wrong to do so.

Given the backlash still facing public figures, particularly women, who admit to struggling with addiction and mental illness, it is even more remarkable that Carrie Fisher chose to be so open about her problems. And indeed it was Carrie Fisher’s utter frankness about her life and her illness that made us realise she was not just a talented actress who happened to play an iconic character, but a remarkable woman and feminist icon in her own right. Quite a few tributes I’ve seen (I’m collecting a bunch of them for the weekly link round-up over at the Speculative Fiction Showcase) focus on this aspect of her life. One of my favourites is this collection of 15 of Carrie Fisher’s most memorable feminist lines at New York Magazine.

As always when public figures who have touched a lot of lives die, there are those who simply have to police the way other people choose to remember the dead. There’s a tweet going around berating people for mourning Carrie Fisher and George Michael, but not Donald Henderson, former head of the CDC who was instrumental in the eradication of smallpox and who died in August 2016.

And then there is this truly awful editorial from the Guardian, which claims that we mourn dead celebrities as a replacement for religion and because we don’t have enough real friends.

For starters, I really hate any “X is a replacement for religion” pronouncements, usually made my people who can neither understand that people manage to live just fine without religion nor why someone would enjoy X for its own sake. So X – whereby X can be football, science fiction, superhero movies, sports not football, fandom, etc… – simply has to be a replacement for religion. Such pronouncements are not just clueless, but also massively offensive. I’m not religious and – amazingly – I’m not missing anything. If I was, I know where the local church is. And the local mosque. And the local Hindu temple. I could also locate the nearest synagogue, if I wanted to. However, I am a lifelong science fiction fan. Not because I miss religion, but because I love SF. I’ve also been a fan of both George Michael and Carrie Fisher. Not because I miss religion, but because the art they made was important to me.

I also don’t get why people feel the need to police who and how we mourn. There are mourning rituals I don’t get, e.g. public memorials of flowers, votive candles and stuffed toys or crosses set up at the site of deadly road accidents (which wasn’t a thing in Protestant parts of Germany until about twenty years ago and still seems strange to me). But I wouldn’t dream of telling people they shouldn’t put up those crosses or lay down those flowers. It helps those who engage in those practices. It doesn’t have to help me.

On a similar note, I resent that I am expected to feel more deeply about the recent terrorist attack on a Berlin Christmas market than about any of the other many terrorist attacks of 2016 in Brussels, Nice, Istanbul, Jordan, Afganistan and elsewhere, simply because the Berlin attack happened in German soil. For even though Berlin happens to be the German capital, I don’t have close connections to the city. I have been there a handful of times in my life (including at the place where the attack happened, since it’s a prominent part of the city), all of them years ago. I don’t have any friends or family who live in Berlin and I don’t know anybody who was directly affected by the attack. But somehow, caring more deeply about the loss of two artists who shaped my youth than about a terrorist attack in a city I have little connection to makes me a bad person.

People have the right to mourn whom and how they choose. I never quite got the intense reactions to the death of Princess Diana (and only her, no one beyond their families cared much about Dodi Al Fayed and the driver who were also killed), for though her early death of tragic, it wasn’t a world stopping event for me. Nor do I get the equally intense reactions to the assassination of John F. Kennedy or people weeping over the death of Pope John Paul II. I don’t remember the death of Elvis, but I do remember when John Lennon was killed and I was very confused (I was seven at the time) how many people were sad that a man I’d never heard of had died. That the radio only played “Imagine” and not the Beatles songs I’d actually have recognised didn’t help either. But while these deaths didn’t elicit the same reactions in me, they clearly meant a whole lot to many other people. And who am I to tell them they’re wrong?

Ann Leckie puts it even better in this post on her blog about mourning rituals and what their purpose really is. And indeed, I have been to funerals of people who had less impact on my life than either George Michael or Carrie Fisher, neither of whom I’ve ever met. I still went to honour the dead and their families. And my presence as well as everybody else’s presence seemed to comfort the close relatives of the deceased.

So the ever grumbling pundits should just allow us to mourn the passing of the icons of our youth, even if they weren’t the icons of their youth.

So rest in peace, Carrie Fisher, George Michael, Debbie Reynolds and everybody else we lost in 2016 and may the Force be with you all.

Send to Kindle