Jane Lindskold's Blog, page 148

TT: London’s Shadow Side

Looking for the Wednesday Wandering?  Just page back one and wander with me through the wending ways of book titles.  Then grab your flashlight (or torch) and join me and Alan as we take a step in the the urban fantasy side of London.

Anything is Possible on the Shadow Side

ALAN: One of the striking things about Neverwhere was that Gaiman’s characters were actually personifications of the city of London itself, an interesting conceit which has also been embraced by another British writer, Ben Aaronovitch.

Aaronovitch has written a series of semi-comic novels about Peter Grant, a young constable in the Metropolitan Police who, following an encounter with a ghost, becomes the first official apprentice police wizard in fifty years. In the first novel (Rivers of London) Grant has to deal with personifications of the actual London rivers (Thames, Fleet, etc.). All the novels are structured as police procedurals but they are nevertheless urban fantasies in the sense that we’ve been using the term. And it helps that they are very, very funny.

JANE: These sound good.  I may need to give them a try.

ALAN: I’ve also been very impressed with a series of novels by Simon Green. He’s mostly known as a hack writer of fairly trashy fantasies (many of them with bad puns in the title), but he’s also written a brilliant series of gritty urban fantasies featuring John Taylor, a classic pulp fiction private investigator who is based in the Nightside – an avatar of London where it is always 3:00 a.m. The Nightside itself is definitely a small area of the real London, yet it is clearly much larger than London itself.

The Nightside books are very dark and cynical (in the best hardboiled detective tradition). They are often funny, even when dealing with tragic circumstances and they are full of SF/F tropes with lots of mythological references. They are like nothing else I’ve ever read and I love them.

JANE: Now that’s  really interesting.  I must admit, I was only familiar with Simon Green’s work from the fantasies you mention.  These sound much more to my taste.  Can you give me the title of the first one?

ALAN: The first book is Something From The Nightside. I’m sure you’d love them. However, you should be aware that the series has twelve books in it and it is absolutely essential to read them in order. A friend of mine started with book number six, didn’t understand a word of it and gave up completely…

However, don’t worry – there may be twelve books in the series, but each is quite short (at least by modern standards) so reading them is not an onerous task at all.

JANE: (Scribbling down titles with mad haste…)  Go on!

ALAN: I’m also very fond of a trilogy of remarkably subversive YA novels by Michael de Larrabeiti. They are known as the Borrible trilogy – and the first novel is simply titled The Borribles. The eponymous borribles are runaway children living rough on the streets of present day London. However the city absorbs, adopts and protects them. Eventually, by some never properly explained mysterious process, they are “borribled” and their ears become long and pointed. Borribles are constantly battling the forces of law and order and if they are captured by the police they will have their ears clipped, which presumably turns them back into normal children again.

Borribles appear to live forever, barring physical catastrophe, but they continue to look like children for the whole of their lives. One borrible remarks in passing that he remembers the old queen – it’s not clear whether he is referring to Victoria or to Elizabeth I, but in either case, he’s obviously very, very old.

JANE: Subversive?  Why?

ALAN: The books deride the safe and somewhat dull adult world, and they glorify the wild, scruffy and rather anarchic world of the Borribles. Materialism is constantly being sneered at. The Borribles lead very fulfilling lives even though they have no significant material possessions at all. Adults, who crave material wealth, are always presented as the enemy. The borribles value comradeship and cooperation above all else, and whatever they have is available to anyone. Borribles live a very extreme left wing lifestyle and I can easily imagine Karl Marx giving them a high five! The books also deal with some uncomfortably mature themes, such as trying to decide which causes are noble enough to die for and which are not.

JANE: Reminds me, actually, of some of the early Charles de Lint urban fantasy, particularly  the short stories.  Prompted by our earlier discussion, I started re-reading Dreams Underfoot, and the same themes of mutual caring and anti-materialism are dominant there.   Jilly repeatedly states variations on, “On the streets, we look after our own.”

As de Lint has ventured into YA, he seems to have abandoned this earlier sensibility.  I’ve wondered if he fears promoting a “subversive” lifestyle that in reality would not be nearly as enchanting as it is in his stories.   I mean, even in the stories where a kid on the street gets in trouble, the fairy folk come to the rescue in the eleventh hour.  That makes for a satisfying story, but…

Do you have any other suggestions for Old World urban fantasy I might add to my list?

ALAN: Michael Moorcock published Mother London in 1988. It was presented as a mainstream novel (indeed it won the Whitbread Prize, a prestigious literary award) but it flirted with urban fantasy as it told the story of the city of London in a series of vignettes from some very unreliable narrators – three outpatients from a mental hospital who may be psychic and who may be hearing the voice of the city as it tells its story through them. Some people might describe the story as magic realism rather than urban fantasy – but I’m a huge Moorcock fan, so let’s give him the benefit of the doubt.

JANE: Perhaps in this case one person’s magical realism is another’s urban fantasy?  Surely the city telling its story is about as “urban” as the fantastic can get.

ALAN: 1988 was a good year for London. In that same year, Christopher Fowler published his first novel, Roofworld. High above the city, those discontented with the dehumanized existence of urban life below have joined an alternative society that has thrived in the skies since at least the 1920s.  Currently it is under the leadership of former physician Nathaniel Zalian. But now the existence of Roofworld is threatened by Chymes: madman, necromancer, and leader of a gang of drug addicts and skinheads.

JANE: Sounds both creepy and interesting.  I may need to give Roofworld a try, though I must admit, I’m more familiar with Fowler as a writer of horror.  I don’t usually read horror because if it’s good – well, it scares me!  I have enough nightmares without help.

ALAN: Yes indeed – Fowler went on to carve out a very successful career as a writer of horror novels (though his short story collection City Jitters has many elements of urban fantasy). However, for the last few years, he has been writing a superb series of urban fantasy detective novels about Arthur Bryant and John May who are employed by Scotland Yard’s Peculiar Crimes Unit.

Bryant and May (there’s a lovely pun there for British eyes) have been working together for many years and they are close friends despite their different approaches to the cases they work on. Bryant is very much an alternative lifestyle man. He gains his insights by consulting witches and psychics, and by reading arcane books about everything from ancient religions to the history of forgotten London landmarks. May, on the other hand, is a modern man who likes to play with his gadgets. He is very pragmatic and has little time for all that magic nonsense, though he can’t argue with the results!

JANE: That sounds rather like team in the X-Files.  If I remember correctly, one was a believer and the other solidly materialistic.  I could be wrong…  I mostly heard about the show second hand.

ALAN: Me too! I don’t think I’ve ever seen an episode of the X-Files. What a lot you and I have in common!

JANE:  Well, I hope one of our readers will fill us in.  Now, I’m going to have to ask you to interpret that pun about Bryant and May…

ALAN: The firm of Bryant and May was founded in the nineteenth century (by Francis May and William Bryant) to manufacture safety matches. For generations of British smokers, the words “matches” and “Bryant and May” were almost synonyms. There was a definite feeling that if it wasn’t manufactured by Bryant and May, it wasn’t really a proper match. Sadly, the company no longer exists. It became a casualty of both the decline in the popularity of smoking, and various company mergers.

JANE: Great pun… and a lovely cultural window.  Thanks!

As we’ve been having this discussion, I’ve thought of something that I should have put in my earlier definition of urban fantasy.  The city in question should be contemporary –  not a flirtation with the past.  For example, Emma Bull’s War for the Oaks is definitely urban fantasy, but her Territory, which is set in the Old American West, is not.  Urban fantasy should be entwined in the here and now of the author, not in once upon a time.

ALAN: That’s a good insight and I definitely agree with it. Now that you’ve reminded me of the title, I find that I do actually have Territory on my shelves and I remember reading and enjoying it. But I never once thought of it as urban fantasy, so I suspect I must have subconsciously come to the same conclusion that you’ve come to. Thank you for putting it into words – I think it’s an important distinction to make.

JANE: Now…  With that in mind, let’s move on to discussing the new urban fantasy – aka Buffy Fic!

Titles Meant?

This past week I finished three volumes of the Lumaterre Chronicles by Melina Marchetta.  It’s a pretty good series.  I have quibbles, but I certainly am glad I took the time to read the books.  The thing is, I never would have even picked the books up if my friend Julie hadn’t mentioned really liking them.

Mis-Titled?

The titles certainly never would have caught my attention.  The first is Finnikin of the Rock.  What’s a “Finnikin”?   It turns out to be a person’s name, but (based on the cover photo) it could as easily be a sword.  (A young man’s face and a sword are all that is pictured on the cover.) And what’s the ‘rock’?  A band?  A group or nation?  A place?  (It turns out to be a place.)   Not exactly captivating.

The second book in the series is Froi of the Exiles, and the third Quintana of Charyn.   As titles, these have a little more going for them, but only if you’ve read the first book and know who Froi and Quintana are.  “Exiles” has a certain emotive ring to it but, coupled with the nonsense word “Froi,” it’s not exactly a hook.  (And the covers repeat the same motif – a face and a bladed weapon – so they’re not exactly a help.)

I had the same complaint about the title for another of Marchetta’s novels, Jellicoe Road.  I adored Jellicoe Road.  As was my custom when trying a new author, I first took the book out from the library.  As soon as I finished it, I went out and bought a copy.  However, the title certainly would never have caught my attention.

Titles, it seems to me, are pretty important.  A good title might draw a new reader in.  A poor title might push a reader away.

My favorite example of this comes from Tim Power’s novel Drawing of the Dark.  I’d already read and enjoyed some of Power’s novels, but when I saw a friend reading this one, I flinched away.  The title reminded me of dozens of carbon copy Tolkienesque fantasy novels in which some Dark Lord is doing Bad Things because if he wasn’t there wouldn’t be a novel.  Happily for me, the friend told me I was an idiot and loaned me the novel.  I loved it.  (The “dark” of the title turns out to be beer.)  I own a copy.

Lots of elements can go into creating an effective title.  One possibility is to use a word or words that are freighted with emotion or symbolism.  “Twilight” is one of these.  As a title, this tells a reader nothing, but as a word it packs a wallop.  Game of Thrones is a really good title.  “Game” is active.  “Thrones” tells you what the prize is and something about the setting.  In combination, there is even a hint of irony, since the passage of a throne should never be a game.  All good.

Moonheart is a great title.  Both “moon” and “heart” are words that hold a lot of emotion and symbolic impact.  Charles de Lint could have chosen to call the book “Lorcalon,” which is the actual name given to the “heart of the moon” song his protagonist uses to call upon her inner power, but he had the sense to see that  “lorcalon” would mean nothing and might turn readers way, rather than drawing them in.

How the first “Harry Potter” book ended up with two titles is an interesting tale.  The original British title was Harry Potter and the Philosopher’s Stone.  However, when the book was released in the U.S., the title was changed to Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone because of the general belief that 1) American readers would not know what a philosopher’s stone was; 2) that the word “philosopher” would be a turn-off .   This second title does work within the context of the book.  The stone in question was created and owned by a sorcerer.  However, the act of retitling says a lot about how important titles are in making sure a book finds its audience.

I personally think that for titles to do their best, they need to make sense.  The publishers who decided to retitle this “Harry Potter” novel clearly had this in mind.  If you know what a philosopher’s stone is, really, this is a very intriguing title.  If you don’t, it’s just misleading nonsense.

It also helps if titles within a series indicate they are part of a series.  Sometimes, as with the Melina Marchetta books, structure is enough to show the connection.  Sometimes a repeated word helps: Harry Potter and….  Sometimes a series title catches on, as with Robert Jordan’s “Wheel of Time.”  More often though, the series tends to be referred to by the title of the first book.  Game of Thrones is not the series title.  That’s “The Song of Ice and Fire.”

 

Of course, the author does not always have control of the title.   I learned this the hard way when some anonymous higher up at Avon Books decided that the sequel to Changer could not be Changer’s Daughter.  After working through a long list of possible alternatives, my editor and I finally arrived at Legends Walking.  However, to this day I encounter people who say “You mean there’s a sequel to Changer?  I never realized it!”  That’s why, despite possible confusion, I gave Legends Walking back its original title when I re-released it as an e-book and POD.

The series title for my “Firekeeper Saga” never caught on.  Even at Tor Books, the series tended to be referred to as “the wolf books.”  Therefore, imagine the confusion when the third book came out with a title that didn’t have “wolf” in it.  The Dragon of Despair was my working title for the manuscript, but I always assumed we’d come up with another title – one with “wolf” in it.  However, some anonymous person at Tor told my editor, “Oh, no!  We like that.  Books with ‘dragon’ in the title sell well.”  Maybe so, but when The Dragon of Despair was released, Tor had several other “dragon” books in the catalog…  I think that probably only led to confusion.

So, what do you think about titles?  Any examples of a great book doomed by a poor or generic or misrepresentational title?  Any great titles that made you pluck a book off a shelf?

 

TT: Gambolling with Gaiman

Happy Independence Day — both here in the U.S. and in many other nations.

Looking for the Wednesday Wandering?  Just page back one to find out why weeding my garden makes me think about writing.  Then come and join me and Alan as we continue our look at urban fantasy with a focus on some of the works of Neil Gaiman.

Some of Gaiman’s Take on Urban Fantasy

ALAN: Whenever Urban Fantasy is mentioned, sooner or later Neil Gaiman comes into the discussion. His early novel Neverwhere exemplifies this brilliantly, though most of his books can be categorised as urban fantasies.

JANE: Oh, yes!  I first encountered Gaiman’s work when Roger Zelazny turned me on to Sandman.  At that point, Sandman wasn’t yet finished, but was increasingly popular.  Both Roger and I were living in relatively small cities (me in Lynchburg, VA; he in Santa Fe, NM).  We fell into the habit of each buying two copies of each issue and mailing them to the other.  That way, if Sandman sold out at our local store we wouldn’t miss a part.

Sandman is convoluted, complex, and ultimately completely satisfying.  If it had been written as a novel, rather than helping give rise to the now abused term “graphic novel,” it certainly would have been classified as urban fantasy.

ALAN: I’ve never read Sandman. My first exposure to Neil Gaiman was Neverwhere and I only read that because I was absolutely entranced by the television series. I read the book and was immediately converted into a Gaiman fan, but even so I never went looking for Sandman – I have a bias against comics/graphic novels. I simply don’t know how to read them and they bewilder me. I don’t understand the continuity (probably because I don’t have a very visual imagination and pictures don’t really speak to me at all).

JANE: It’s a shame you don’t respond to visual storytelling, because Sandman is what a graphic novel should be.  These days the term tends to be applied to any collection of comic books bound into a trade paperback volume.  Sandman is an episodic novel.  Gaiman was permitted to suggest what artist would illustrate which part of the story.  (Believe me, this is not common, as I know from my limited experience with that industry.)   Gaiman would pick an artist whose style he felt worked well with the story.   We chatted once about Charles Vess’ illustrations for the “Midsummer Night’s Dream” sequence and Neil commented, “No one does fairies like Charlie.”

There was other attention to detail that helped take Sandman beyond the usual run of “comic books.”  Word balloons and the lettering of text varied with the speaker, for example.  This made it seem as if the characters had individual voices.   The work became more like a performance, not merely an illustrated story.

ALAN: That’s a clever idea!

JANE: In any case, returning to Gaiman’s novels…  I’ve never seen the Neverwhere television show.  I encountered the novel first when Jim and I went to Neil’s reading at a World Fantasy Convention.  He’s an excellent reader and we enjoyed ourselves very much.  After, we were standing outside the room chatting with our friend, Andy Miller.  Neil came out, paused, thrust a heap of print-out into my hands and said something like: “I was going to give you the book I was reading from but X took it from me.  I printed this out in case there wasn’t a copy of the book here.  Would you like it?”

Needless to say, I did!  Neil really is a very nice person, one of the handful of Roger’s friends who I felt went out of his way to make sure I knew he considered me a friend, too.

ALAN: Oh yes – Neil is a truly lovely person. Once he was a guest at an Australian convention and Robin was appointed to be his minder, to make sure that he was always at the right place at the right time. Naturally she fell in love with him and even today, many years later, she gets a really soppy smile on her face whenever she talks about him

JANE:  I’ve talked to other of Neil’s “minders,” and they all have the same reaction!

Despite my inclination to really, really want to love Neverwhere, I felt it fell short – rather as if the novel was waiting for someone to come along and illustrate it or perform it.  Don’t get me wrong, I liked Neverwhere a lot.  There was just something lacking.

It wasn’t until American Gods came out that I felt that Neil had hit his stride as a novelist.   Although it could have been illustrated or performed, it didn’t need the visual collaborator to make it work.  I got caught up in the story from the first.  I’ve re-read it several times since and enjoy the story every time.

ALAN: I could never get to grips with American Gods, probably because it was telling far too large a story and was about far too many important things. One of the things I’ve always enjoyed about Neil’s books is his lightness of touch, his humour and I found that missing in American Gods. The style was too serious (dare I say ponderous?) and I bounced right off it. However, he redeemed himself in the sequel. Anansi Boys is a delight – the lightness of tone is back and I absolutely loved it. Of course it helps that Anansi is the trickster god, the joker…

JANE: Ah…  Here is where we differ.  Perhaps since I encountered Neil’s work in Sandman (which despite being a “comic book” is anything but light), I have never thought of his work primarily in terms of humor or lightness.  That isn’t to say there isn’t any humor in Sandman, but that isn’t what I think of first when I think of  a Neil Gaiman tale.

I’ll be honest.  I was very disappointed by Anansi Boys.  Perhaps because of my familiarity with both mythology and literary fiction, I was able to predict the plot from about chapter two.  In fact, eventually, I gave a quick verbal sketch of what I thought was coming for Jim and every bit of it came true.  There were some nice touches in the prose, but I’ve read the story of two brothers who are rivals but need to bond to face a common problem so often that even the supernatural touches could not redeem it from a feeling of “same old, same old” for me.

Ah, well…

ALAN: Yes, that’s certainly true. But, as we’ve seen before, I tend to be a bit more forgiving of such plotting defects than you are. For me, exuberant prose can always rescue a tired plot. Neil was having fun telling his tale, and I was having fun reading it. I can’t argue with your analysis because it’s perfectly correct, but in the end I found that it didn’t really make any difference to my enjoyment of the story.

I also loved The Graveyard Book which is a novel built up of short stories. It describes episodes in the life of a child called Jack who is brought up by the ghosts in a graveyard. Structurally it owes a lot to Kipling’s stories about Mowgli in The Jungle Book (a debt Gaiman freely acknowledges) and it is a joy to read. And it is a brilliant urban fantasy as well, in the sense that you and I have been using the term. Again, of course, I’m biased. Kipling was a huge influence on me when I was a child.

JANE: You know I’m a Kipling fan…  I think that’s why I wasn’t crazy about The Graveyard Book.  If I want to read The Jungle Book, well, I’ll read it.  I also found myself thinking that the story really wasn’t about Jack.  It was about Jack’s parents learning to give Jack up – to let him grow up.  I found this odd in a book ostensibly for younger people.

I thought the opening was amazing, though.  I’m sure it gave many young readers nightmares!  Since it was intended to be scary, that’s just fine.

Oh!  You mentioned that The Graveyard Book is a novel built up from short stories.  Given Neil’s long history of work in comics, I think this is a natural form for him and he’s very smart to know he should use it.

ALAN: I think that’s very true – I’ve heard Terry Pratchett talking about Good Omens (the novel that he and Neil Gaiman collaborated on) and Pterry says that one of the things he brought to the project was control over the structure. He says that Neil seemed to have problems with the idea of a long, continuous narrative. Perhaps they were ideally suited to each other – Pterry himself has written almost no short fiction, and claims that he hates doing it. So each of them complemented the other and the whole was greater than the sum of the parts!

JANE: Oh!  I loved Good Omens.  That novel was a great combination of the strengths of two wonderful and talented writers.  So often collaboration dilutes, rather than enhances, but Good Omens was an exemplar of the best collaboration can be.

ALAN: Neil has just published a new novel called The Ocean At The End Of The Lane. It’s a semi-autobiographical novel about a young English boy, slightly socially inept, who spends much of his life lost in books. At the end of the lane where he lives is a farm where three generations of women live. The youngest, Lettie, is eleven years old – there are hints that she’s been eleven years old for a long time, possibly centuries. On the farm is a pond which Lettie says is an ocean. And who is to say that she’s wrong? The women befriend the young boy and when a malevolent spirit slips into the world and seduces his father, the women, and the ocean, play a large part in saving him. It’s a wonderful book. I loved it!

JANE: I haven’t read it yet, but I certainly plan to do so.

Come to think of it…  The new book also sounds like an urban – or should I say farmland? – fantasy!  I can see we’re far from done with this topic, but I’m off to write, so we’ll need to wait until next week.

Weeding and Writing

I’ve been very restrained this year.  It’s already July and I haven’t talked about my garden yet.  I’ll admit, part of the reason is because it was a very hot, very dry spring and the official start of summer wasn’t a lot better.  I wasn’t quite certain I  was going to have a garden to talk about.

Lilies and Trumpet Vine

However, a couple nights ago, we got our first measurable rain since May 10th.  True, it was only four hundredths of an inch.  (Yes.  That’s correct.)   However, it was rain.  Also, last Friday, we picked our first vegetable: a couple of red radishes.  Tuesday we picked our first couple of zucchinis and four ichiban eggplant.  I think we officially have a garden.

This isn’t to say we haven’t had a hard time of it.  We’ve lost three out of our eight tomato plants.  However, with the sort of whimsy only known to the garden goddess, we have quite a few volunteer tomato plants coming up in the narrow strip by our front sidewalk, probably from seeds that were in the grey water I watered with last year.  If this week cools off as predicted, I’ll transplant a few of these tomato plants elsewhere.  I just might leave a few more out front and see what they’ll do.  After all, last year, as some of you may remember, we ended up successfully raising cantaloupe there.  (See WW 8-08-13, if you’re interested in how this unlikely situation came about.)

We’ve also been struggling with our cucumbers and chard…  The catnip and Italian parsley seeds never did germinate…  However, that means I do have someplace to transplant some of my sweet and cinnamon basil seedlings.  These are coming up nicely, but the area they’re in is being shaded by a combination of desert four o’clock and oriental lilies.  These latter seem to think they’re supposed to be trees…

And, of course, there are weeds.  New Mexico specializes in wind, so even if we didn’t fertilize with manure and other organic material that contains seeds, we’d still have weeds.  This year, perhaps because their less fortunate relatives are not germinating at all (the majority of our yard – where we don’t water – looks like a sandbox), the weeds in our garden beds are sprouting with rare vigor. And that means weeding.

Sandy soil means that weeding is relatively easy.  Additionally, our guinea pigs like some of the weeds (grass, young tumbleweed, and wild portulaca are all favorites), so there’s an added incentive.  Nonetheless, I end up feeling a bit sorry for the weeds.

And so, to distract myself, I find myself thinking about writing and how writing is very much like gardening.  For one, as I have noted elsewhere (WW 1-27-10 and WW 5-16-12), preparing the foundation is important, otherwise, your story is not going to grow strong.

Then, as with my volunteer tomato plants, you need to be open to ideas that sprout up where you didn’t plan for them to go.  Maybe they’re just fine where they are.  Maybe they need to be transplanted.  Either way, they shouldn’t be ignored or destroyed simply because they weren’t part of your original plan.  Sometimes the best ideas are volunteers.

And then there is weeding…  Sometimes, hard as it is, you need to get rid of things that don’t belong in the story at all.  Often, as with weeds in a garden, these ideas may be lush and strong, but they may also be choking to death the rest of the tale, stealing water and nutrients that are needed by what you started out to grow in the first place.

Worse, some weeds look a whole lot like the plants they’re competing with.  This morning I pulled a lot of wild mallow.  Especially in the early stages, these look so much like hollyhocks that I’ve heard them called “wild hollyhocks.”  But, if you’re hoping to grow hollyhocks, mallow won’t do.  It’s strong and tough, and it’s going to kill the rest of your story…  I mean, the rest of your plants.

Learning to tell what’s a valuable volunteer and what’s a strangling weed takes practice, both in gardening and in writing.  Sometimes the only difference is whether or not that plant (or idea) is what you need, where you need it.  Figuring this out often requires going back to your original vision and deciding how far from that plan you want to deviate.

And remember, hard as it may be to pull those weeds, when you’re looking at your strong, well-focused, and dynamic story, you’re not going to regret it in the least.

So is it silver bells and cockles shells and pretty maids all in a row?  What do you writers and readers like in your garden of prose?

TT: Urban Fantasy, the First Time Around

Looking for the Wednesday Wandering?  Just page back to come and play in the center of the galaxy where new stars – oops! I mean “words” – are born.  Then join me and Alan as we pull out our machetes and venture a few steps into the complex jungle that is urban fantasy.

Gateways into the Urban Fantasic

JANE: I’m eager to continue our exploration of urban fantasy with what might be termed “classic” urban fantasy.  Where would you like to start?

ALAN: Well, to begin at the very beginning, I suspect that the story that probably best defines the genre is Charles Dickens’ A Christmas Carol. It has all the elements we’ve highlighted as important – the city and the people in it loom large and are the most important of the story. But the supernatural elements (the ghosts) have a large part to play in tying together the threads of the plot and bringing it to a satisfactory conclusion. The one could not happen without the other and that, I think, is the whole secret of a successful urban fantasy.

JANE: Interesting!  I don’t think I would ever have thought of A Christmas Carol, but I certainly see your point.

I first became aware of the term urban fantasy in the days when my novel Changer was written, but not yet published.  Editors and such like kept referring to Changer as urban fantasy.  I had to ask what they meant.  The inevitable answer was “You know, like Charles de Lint’s stuff.”  And so I finally read de Lint and immediately became a fan.

Now you see why your comment last week made me grin.

ALAN: Indeed I do. And now I’m grinning…

JANE: If I had to pull one of  de Lint’s novels out of the many I’ve read as a favorite, it would be Someplace to Be Flying, but that doesn’t mean I don’t like the rest.   I’m very fond of the Crow Girls, for one…  For another, the cosmic level de Lint was able to take his plot without losing the very human element really impressed me.

ALAN: My first de Lint novel was Moonheart which is set in the city of Ottowa. As with some of the other books we’ve discussed, it draws heavily on mythology (Celtic and Native American in this case) but it is set firmly in the modern city and tells the story through modern eyes and modern perceptions. I’d never read anything quite like it before and I was blown away by it.

JANE: De Lint also has the gift of writing short stories that tie into each other so that they become more than a single story but something other than a novel.  I got Jim hooked on his work with the collection Dreams Underfoot – and Jim is not usually a short fiction reader!

ALAN: For me, and for a lot of people, de Lint’s most impressive work is an on-going series of novels and stories known collectively as the Newford stories. They are set in a fictional city (the eponymous Newford). Many characters (both natural and supernatural),appear again and again in the books, sometimes in major roles and sometimes as minor players and you can dip into the series almost anywhere (always a good thing about a long series). However, there is a trilogy somewhere in the middle which tells the tale of Jilly Coppercorn – an artist who has a significant role to play in the stories of some of the other Newford characters.

Everyone (including me) is a little bit in love with Jilly, but in Promises to Keep, The Onion Girl, and Widdershins, we learn some of her backstory. It’s harrowing. Newford is not a real city and the supernatural elements are pure fiction but nevertheless the stories are firmly rooted in reality and Jilly’s story epitomises this. The words “Charles de Lint” and “Newford” on the cover of a book mean that I have to buy the book immediately and everything else stops until I’ve read it all the way through.

JANE: Ah…  Jilly!  Yes.  She’s a great character and her personal history, although harrowing at times,  is a survivor’s tale.  I sat up all night reading Onion Girl when my beloved elderly cat, Gwydion, died suddenly.  Far from the dark elements of Jilly’s story making it harder for me to read, her determination was a balm for my grief.

Shifting (reluctantly) away from de Lint…

One of my personal favorite  urban fantasy novels is War for the Oaks, by Emma Bull.  The opening didn’t grab me, so, despite many recommendations, I didn’t read it for the longest time.  Then David Weber jumped up and down and said: “So skip the opening!  I promise you, you will love this book.”  So I did and he was right.

In War for the Oaks, the fairy folk are warring for a park in Minneapolis.  For reasons too complicated to go into here, the members of a local band are drawn into the conflict.  Although the point of conflict may be a park, the setting is very urban: bars, rock and roll, motorcycles…

ALAN: I also recall that you mentioned the name Terri Windling when we were chatting. That’s not a name I’m familiar with – can you tell me a little more about her?

JANE: Terri Windling is a very high profile editor.  She’s less prolific these days, but for quite a long time she edited The Year’s Best Fantasy and Horror anthologies with Ellen Datlow.   Windling also was the editor for a lot of the early urban fantasy authors.  I believe she edited both Charles de Lint and Emma Bull.  Additionally, she was the editor for the urban fantasy Borderland anthologies.  She has a fondness for both myth and fairy tales as themes and has been responsible for a lot of the best work in those areas for many years.

As a writer of fiction, Windling isn’t very prolific, but her novel  The Wood Wife is an excellent urban fantasy piece.  Unlike much that had been done to that point, it’s set in the American southwest, near Tucson, Arizona.  Although a great deal of the action is set in the desert, there’s a distinct urban fantasy vibe to the piece.

ALAN: Interesting. I wonder how she slipped underneath my radar?  Obviously I need to add her to my reading list.

Although the urban fantasy that we’ve been discussing here has come out of the New World, Dickens isn’t the only Old World author to write urban fantasy. There’s quite a lot of it that comes from the UK.

JANE: Absolutely!  Let’s touch on some of these next time.  Right now, I’d better get to work.  I hear a puma screaming my name!

Bridezillas, Sci-Fi, and “-gate”

This past weekend, when some friends dropped by, conversation turned to a wedding in which one of the young ladies had been a bridesmaid the day before.  She apologized for being a bit short of sleep.  Apparently, the bride had wanted a say on every little detail – but had also left getting those details arranged until the last minute.

A Bridezilla

“Oh,” said another member of our little group sympathetically.  “A Bridezilla.”

Now, I believe that word has been popularized by a television show, but I’ll admit, not only did I immediately understand the term, I knew it would stick in my head because of its appropriateness.  An image of the Japanese movie monster Godzilla clad in a wedding gown, complete with train and veil, rampaged into my imagination.  Instead of roaring, I heard, the monster bellowing: “No!  You can’t wear your hair that way!  It will look all wrong!”  “No!  Hold the flowers like this!  Gracefully.  Don’t strangle them!”

Because I love words, I started thinking about why “Bridezilla” works so well.  I realized that sound is key.  Both “God” and “Bride” end in a strong “d” sound.  They are also single syllables, so although the words are not at all visually similar, they scan alike.

Now that “Bridezilla” has been popularized, “Groomzilla” also might enter the language, but it never could have done so on its own because, without the sound link, it is dependent on “Bridezilla” to “sound right.”

This got me thinking about how many neologisms (neo = new; logism from “logos” meaning “word”) depend on this sort of sound link to catch on and enter the general vocabulary for more than a very short time.

A term near and dear to our genre is “Sci-Fi.”  SF Fan lore credits the origin of this word to the late Forrest J Ackerman who deliberately coined it to echo another term popular at the time: “Hi-Fi” (short for “high fidelity,” which was the “high definition” of its day).

When I was getting more involved in the SF/F field back in the 1980’s, saying “Sci-Fi” rather than “SF” was considered just a little déclassé.  I have no idea if the same prejudice, especially with the popularity of the “SyFy” channel, still holds.

In a catalog, recently, I came across a listing for a “fandex.”  This was a collection of cards fastened together at the bottom, so that they could be consulted without the need to shuffle through the cards.  The source for this word was pretty obvious: fan + index, condensed into “fandex.”  Will the word gain ground and enter the general vocabulary?  Hard to say, but it does have the advantage of being neatly descriptive.

Sometimes, neologisms evolve to such an extent that the original source becomes lost.  The Watergate political scandal created a trend for dubbing first any political scandal, then any scandal at all, with a word ending in “gate.”  This trend seems to have finally fallen out of use (I hope?), possibly because the association became so attenuated with time that it lost its impact.  After all, the original Watergate was nothing more than a complex that combined residential apartments and the business offices where the break-in was committed.  Unlike the “ zilla” in “Bridezilla,” which alludes to a monster out of control and so has come to have a meaning of its own, “gate” doesn’t have the same associational impact.

For those of us who create imaginary worlds – and sometimes imaginary languages to go with them – what it takes to make a successful neologism is worth considering.  Even for those who don’t,  neologisms are just plain fun.

I hope you’ll share your favorite neologisms.  Let’s journey through the winding maze that is a living language!

TT: The Mean Streets of Urban Fantasy

Looking for the Wednesday Wandering?  Rev your engine and take a spin around the Unser Racing Museum with me.  Then join me and Alan as we venture into the mystic streets of urban fantasy.

Wonder Doesn’t Stop

JANE: A few weeks ago, Alan, you referred to “Buffy/Twilight urban fantasy rubbish.” (TT Roger Zelazny: Master of Odd Twists.)

This, of course, triggered a desire in me to make urban fantasy in its various incarnations our next topic.  Shall we?

ALAN: Yes, let’s.

JANE: Even before we get into discussing specific writers, the term “urban fantasy” provides a fruitful ground for discussion.  Compared to some of the sub-sections of fantasy we’ve discussed, “urban fantasy” – as a distinct term – is relatively new.

Do you know when the term came commonly into use?

ALAN: This is purely anecdotal, but I think I first became aware of it in the early 1990s, and the stories that brought it to my attention were mainly by Charles de Lint.

JANE: I smile…  You’ll see why eventually, but I want to try out a definition of urban fantasy first.

As I see it, one of the major elements of urban fantasy is that the fantasy story takes place in an urban environment. This is a great contrast to much fantasy, which is pastoral in nature.  Indeed, in a great deal of traditional fantasy, cities are considered non-magical places, even antithetical to magic.

Although in urban fantasy the setting is usually contemporary, many of the magical elements draw on myth and folklore, or use traditional magical elements.   Even more importantly, in urban fantasy, the magic belongs in the city.  Magic isn’t reserved for a single odd shop selling magical curiosities or a cabal in hiding.  In urban fantasy, the faerie folk, to cite one commonly used trope, continue live among humanity as they always have.  They’ve just adapted.

ALAN: You’ve hit the nail right on the head – in urban fantasy, the fantastical elements are tightly integrated into the story. They are perceived as normal and open, part of everyday life (initially they might take some of the characters by surprise, but acceptance soon follows).

JANE: I mentioned above that I was rather late even being aware there was something called urban fantasy.  You can imagine my confusion when, some years ago, I became aware that the types of story the term referred to had expanded.

I’d been peripherally aware that once again there was a resurgence of interest in fiction about vampires and werewolves – often in a softer, more romantic mode than they had been presented in the Horror boom of the 1980’s.  The term by which these stories were called initially was usually “paranormal romance.”   There may have been another…  Supernatural something?  If so, it slips my mind.

I’ll admit, I’m not much interested in either vampires or romance as the driving elements of a plot, so I pretty much gave these a pass. Since it seemed to me that many of those writing this new “urban fantasy” were influenced by the Buffy television show, I tended to refer to these stories as “Buffy Fic.”

ALAN: Lovely phrase. It’s very descriptive. The first time I heard you use it, I immediately filed the serial numbers off and started using it myself.

JANE: That’s cool!

ALAN: It’s this tendency to throw the supernatural kitchen sink into the mixture and, at the same time, to de-emphasise the role that our contemporary society plays in the events of the story that makes me sneer at this kind of story. I think the strength of the genre lies in its contemporary real world setting and the fantasy elements should have a part to play in the contemporary real world problems of the characters. The further away you get from that, the more the supernatural is emphasised over the more mundane, the less convincing the story becomes.

Though having said that, all is not hopeless and there are some examples of Buffy Fic that I’ve enjoyed a lot.

JANE: Me, too.  Well, since there seem to be two related but distinct types of fiction both being referred to as urban fantasy, maybe we can start by discussing the older variation, then move to the newer one.

However, as usual, I need to go write!  Let’s save this discussion for next time.

The Unser Racing Museum

Automobile racing is one of many things that I’m aware exists but know almost nothing about.  However, when Michael Wester suggested that we go check out the Unser Racing Museum here in Albuquerque, I was willing to give it a try.

Built for Speed

I first heard about the Unser family when I moved to Albuquerque and asked what Unser Boulevard was named for.  That was when I learned that New Mexico was home to a racing dynasty that had been notable in the sport for going on four generations.  Even then, my only thought was that the name explained the way some people drove down that particular road – as if they were in a race.

As for the Unsers,  before our trip, I couldn’t have named a single Unser, although “Al” and “Bobby” swirled up out of my subconscious as possibilities.  Our visit began with Jim taking pictures of a couple of cars — antique, one ultramodern – on display outside.  We then progressed to the double door that led into the museum proper, the handles of which were shaped like a steering wheel, split down the middle.

The main museum is round with six “spokes” off a central hub.  The central hub is designated the Winner’s Circle and features a brilliant yellow racing car – one of those that won the Indie 500.

The first spoke contains the gift shop and some small displays, including a family tree of four generations of Unsers.  Flags designate those who have been involved in auto racing.  There is also a magnificent piece of stained glass that I found myself thinking I wouldn’t mind having, even if the subject was a racing car.  The first hub has a few displays, but most are reserved for the other five hubs.

The displays in the first hub center around the Pike’s Peak race.  This is the race that infused the Unser family members with their enthusiasm for racing.  Rather than going around and around a track, this race goes up a very steep mountain and features some hairpin curves that nearly double back onto themselves.  As if this isn’t terrifying enough, until recently, the track was dirt.

The Unsers have won this race so many times that in racing circles Pike’s Peak is often called “Unser’s Mountain.”  Nor do they always compete in the same type of car or class of race.  One of the more recent victories was by Jeri Unser (a fourth generation and the only female to take up racing) in an electric car.  Her time was so good that she beat many gas-fueled vehicles.

The second spoke was devoted to the Indianapolis 500.  What was really cool about this room was that it didn’t just focus on the race, it focused on the technology of the cars.  It’s one thing to look at a low slung, smooth-tired car and admire its lines.  It’s much more fun when there are displays (and all the displays at the Unser Museum were excellent) to explain why the cars are built that way and what advances have been made over time.  An added flourish for a novice like myself was an explanation of what pit crews do and how crucial their contributions are to success or failure in the race.

The third spoke was called Jerry’s Garage.  When the Unsers first came to New Mexico, they ran a gas station and garage.   This garage is where the “boys” not only learned to drive, but often built their own cars.  I was really impressed to find out that many of the Unser drivers were also mechanics and engineers, so they understood their cars from the tires up.   In one anecdote, am Unser associate talked about seeing the flash of a diamond Indie ring on the finger of the Unser who was, at that moment, helping him grub through the engine of his car.

Throughout the displays, there had been a lot of stress laid on the competitive spirit of the Unsers, both with other drivers and with members of their own family.  It was rather nice to see this balanced by some less competitive qualities as well.

The fourth spoke was devoted to racing fans.  The walls were lined with handmade quilts, and the displays included gifts made by fans and given to the Unsers.  Particularly flashy was a black and white checked guitar from Nashville.  However, just in case you forget that this museum is all about cars, a Model A Ford in beautiful condition dominated the center of the room.

The fifth centered around some very cool educational displays, including an array of engines with explanations about how they worked.  There were interactive touch screens on which you could quiz yourself on race car lore – including how the tracks are set up, the technology, and even the role played by the weather.  The crown jewel of this room was a high class racing simulator, realistic enough that I found myself jumping whenever the car got a little too close to the walls or another vehicle.

After Jim and Michael both had a chance at the racing simulator, we went over to Unser Two.  This building contains a selection of both racing and antique cars.   I haven’t mentioned something really special about this museum.  The vehicles aren’t behind ropes.  You can walk right up to them and peer inside the cabs.  Visitors are asked not to touch the cars – which are polished to a perfect gloss.  Given the lack of fingerprints, I think this wish was respected.

Unser Two also contained a display room containing hundreds of racing trophies – and these were only some of those earned by the members of the Unser family.  In addition to the usual cups and engraved plaques, there were some beautiful works of art, including a miniature Japanese samurai helmet and race cars sculpted from what looked like gold wire.  There were a selection of champagne bottles and a milk bottle…  This last would have puzzled me greatly, but I’d learned that a bottle of buttermilk is traditionally presented to the winner of the Indie 500.

There was also a small gallery of racing related art, some of which was surprisingly good.  I think my favorite there was a painting with repeated renditions of the Indie “Marlboro” car that made me think of folded origami figures, rather than automobiles.

After we left, we all agreed that the museum had been a lot more fun than any of us had anticipated.  I found myself wanting to read a book about the Unsers and wishing that I’d had energy to stand and read some of the longer touch screen presentations.  As a writer, I was reminded how good it is to push my limits.  Too often it’s easy to only do things you know in advance you’ll enjoy.  Far more creatively stimulating is pushing your horizons.  Maybe what you learn won’t show up in a story right away, but someday it will, making you very glad you made the effort.

TT: Roger Zelazny – A Look at Some of the Rest

Looking for the Wednesday Wandering?  Page back one and get my point of view on, well… Point of View.  Then come and join me and Alan as we conclude our discussion of the novels of Roger Zelazny.

By the way, tonight (Thursday, June 13th, 6:30 pm), I’m doing a book signing at Alamosa Books here in Albuquerque with Darynda Jones and Shea Berkeley.  Hope to see some of you there!

Doorways to Strange Places

JANE: Well, Alan, in the best tradition of these Tangents, we’ve tangented off our discussion of various sub‑genres of Fantasy into a discussion of Roger Zelanzy, a writer of Fantasy and Science Fiction whose work we both enjoyed.

Where shall we go next?

ALAN: What about Roger’s Dilvish stories? I could never really come to grips with them. I’ve tried reading them several times but they always strike me as straight down the middle of the road fantasy novels with nothing especially outstanding or original about them. I’ve never managed to get more than two or three chapters into them. It seems to me that this world would have been an ideal place for Roger to explore his mythological themes from a less technological point of view, but I never saw any sign of that at all ‑ or indeed of anything else either. On the other hand, it may well be that I’m missing something important here. Roger was always a subtle writer, so perhaps I just haven’t spotted whatever it was he was trying to say.

JANE: I like the Dilvish stories, but I don’t think I ever took them as anything more than some light sword and sorcery.  Dilvish reminds me rather of the Grey Mouser from Fritz Lieber’s tales.  However, those stories have a firm following.  After Roger’s death, they were among those I was most often asked about.

ALAN: Strange. They never attracted me at all.

Mythologies are closely tied to histories, of course, and Roger explored the way that history might work in another of my favourite novels, Roadmarks. Again it’s oddly constructed. It only has two chapters ‑ “One” and “Two” and we swap between them. Each happens (for want of a better word) in a different time and place and the very first chapter of the book is “Two.”

There’s a road that runs through time rather than through space and the travellers on can take exits to various historical periods. But history is mutable, and changes to it simply produce extra forks in the road, so there’s always something new to see.

It’s full of Roger’s trademark humour. I love the idea of Hitler driving furiously up and down the road looking for the places where he won. And what about Mondamay, the futuristic but malfunctioning warrior robot whose major hobby and interest is pottery. And the cybernetic incarnations of Baudelaire’s “Flowers Of Evil” and Whitman’s “Leaves Of Grass” which talk and argue with the protagonist(s), constantly quoting from themselves.

JANE: I liked Roadmarks quite a bit, although I never could quite believe Roger’s claim that the chapters that take place in various historical settings were arranged at random.  They sure seem to have a logical development to me.  However, maybe that’s a logic superimposed by this reader’s mind.

Another of Roger’s odder books is Doorways in the Sand.  It’s an amusing book.  I especially liked the aliens.  What do you think of it?

 ALAN: Oh, I love Doorways in the Sand. It’s an untypical Zelazny novel in that it is an overt comedy with elements of farce. Fred Cassidy is a perpetual student (he has a guaranteed income until he graduates, so he makes sure he never graduates). Then Fred is accused of stealing the star‑stone, an interplanetary artifact which came to Earth in a trade for the Mona Lisa and the British Crown Jewels. He is pursued by telepathic psychologists, extraterrestrial hoodlums, and galactic police in disguise.  The star‑stone (which he didn’t steal but which has designs of its own) flips him through multiple realities and alien perspectives, through the many doorways in the sand. He even graduates. It’s very surreal. Here’s a quote:

“I was not completely surprised when I raised my head and saw a six‑foot‑plus kangaroo standing beside the wombat. It considered me through a pair of dark glasses as it removed a sandwich from its pouch. ‘Peanut butter is rich in protein,’ it said.”

JANE: I agree…  Lovely stuff.

ALAN: Fred’s hobby is climbing buildings. He loves high places. They soothe and comfort him when he is upset or worried. And, anyway, he finds climbing fun. It’s an odd sort of hobby to have. Did Roger have any personal connection with climbing or climbers?

JANE: Not professionally or anything, but I’ve heard that back when Roger lived in the Baltimore area he’d often escape crowded parties by going out on a roof ‑ say where a porch jutted out and the roof could be reached by a second story window ‑ and sit there, smoking a cigarette and seeing what would happen.  Often someone would join him and they’d chat.

Jay Haldeman (brother to Joe and author under the name of Jack C. Haldeman) was one of the people who’d often join Roger on the rooftops.  Since Jay was in many ways the model for Fred Cassidy ‑ he also spent a long time studying before taking his degree ‑ this connection seems pretty obvious.

When Roger died, Jay came out to New Mexico for the memorial service.  He was a lovely man, like Roger in that his seeming quiet held a lively intellect and a fine sense of humor.  He said he’d dreamed of Roger on the night he died…  I liked Jay a lot.  His death a few years later was a real loss.

ALAN: One day in a bookshop, I spotted a novel by Roger called Jack of Shadows. The title fooled me. I thought it was another Amber book (because of the reference to shadow) and so I bought it on the strength of that.

In point of fact Jack of Shadows has nothing whatsoever to do with Amber. It is a pure fantasy novel (with a brief bow to “science” in that it takes place on an Earth that keeps one face constantly towards its sun). Magic rules and Jack of Shadows, Shadowjack the Thief, has broken the compact and duped the Lord of High Dudgeon (how does Roger consistently get away with such terrible jokes?). I never regretted my decision to buy it ‑ it is a wonderful book. Jack shines so brightly. He leaps off the page and demands that you hear his story. From the Dung Pits of Glyve (where the dead are regenerated) to the search for Kolwynia, The‑Key‑That‑Was‑Lost the inventiveness never flags. I think Jack of Shadows is my most serendipitous mistaken buy.

 JANE: I liked it, too.  It could have gone the same route as the lighter “Dilvish” stories, but manages to have a bit more depth.  Roger told me that he had a vivid image of the World Machine and not much else when he started the book, but he was confident there was a story there and went after it.

What do you think of Damnation Alley?  I know that many people prefer the novella, but I actually like the novel better.  The character development is stronger and the story feels less like a string of verbal special effects.  Hell Tanner is an interesting character, especially in contrast to what most think of as the “typical” Zelazny hero.  He lacks the poise of so many of Roger’s characters but ‑ perhaps for that reason ‑ has a lot more “heart.”

ALAN: I didn’t realise there was a novella. I’ve only seen it as a novel. I thought it worked brilliantly.

Didn’t they make a movie of it?

JANE: They did, but it’s a movie I’ve never seen.  Roger asked very little of me by way of restrictions, but once he jokingly asked me to never watch that movie, so I never have.  A few years ago, I gave the VCR tape I had of it to Roger’s son, Trent, so I couldn’t give into temptation.

ALAN: Probably a wise decision.

I know we’re both fans and therefore biased, but I think that Roger’s books all stand the test of time very well indeed. The stories written by many of his contemporaries sometimes seem clunky and a little old fashioned to modern eyes. But Roger’s stories are just as fresh and as bright as ever they were. What do you think?

JANE: Occasionally, as in elements of the setting of Doorways in the Sand, I do find the novels become dated.  However, overall, I think they have held up very well.

A few years ago, when the Chronicles of Amber were released as an omnibus, one of the most frequent comments I heard was a variation on “Those characters sure do smoke a lot.”  At the time the stories were first released, social smoking was a part of the landscape.  However, as I noted in the biography of Roger that I wrote back in the mid‑nineties, he never stopped  growing and stretching as a writer, adapting to the world as it changed around him.

Somehow, I feel certain that if he’d written another Amber novel, some character would have commented, “Man!  Did we ever smoke a lot back then.”

But, sadly, he never got the chance…  I’m happy that what he did write remains stories I can recommend to newer readers.

Next time, let’s return to the sub‑genres of Fantasy.  Something you said a while back has given me an idea where I’d like to go.

How Many Points of View?

A wander from my Wandering before I even get into it.  Tomorrow evening (6:30, Thursday, June 13th), I’m doing a book signing at Alamosa Books here in Albuquerque with Darynda Jones and Shea Berkley. Although the official focus will be our various YA projects, I’m sure other works will be discussed as well.  I hope some of you will be able to drop by.

Point and Views

As I mentioned last week, I’ve finally found my way into the sequel to Artemis Awakening (to be released May of 2014).   First, without giving any spoilers, I can safely state that Artemis Awakening has two point of view characters.  As I worked my way into the sequel, I realized that this book demanded a third.  Why?

If I tell the honest truth and say because it “felt right,” you’d be justified in wanting to roll your eyes in frustration.  So, although that’s perfectly true – I have been writing for publication for over twenty years now, and decisions I used to work my way through have become reflex – I’m going to try to explain a little about the criteria I use to decide how many points of view a book needs.

The first element to consider is what narrative voice I’m using to write.  If it’s first person (“I”), then I usually stick with one point of view.  I have read books that work with two or more “I” narrators, but usually that’s not a choice I make.  One of the reasons I write first person is I want to be locked into one point of view.  If I feel the book needs more than one point of view, then I shift to third person.

When I was starting Through Wolf’s Eyes, I considered writing it in first person.  I stopped after a relatively short time.  Firekeeper’s way of seeing the world is so peculiar that I realized that an entire book told solely from her point of view would be maddening.  Therefore, I added Derian’s point of view.  He knew what horses and tents and stew pots and all sorts of other things were, which was very helpful.  As the book progressed and more action started taking place in the royal court – a social sphere nearly as alien to Derian as human society in general was to Firekeeper – Elise stepped in.  And so on…

I think of this as a “fan” structure, because as the plot unfolds, so does the number of point of view characters.  Too often, authors introduce all the point of view characters in the first few chapters, whether or not they’re needed.  This can keep the reader from getting involved with the story, because of all the skipping around for no apparent reason.

Q: So, how many point of view characters does a novel need?

A: As many as it needs.  Seriously…  Some stories need only one point of view character.  My novel Child of a Rainless Year does just fine with only Mira’s POV.  (Although her aunt’s journal entries could be considered another point of view, I suppose.)  So does Brother to Dragons, Companion to Owls.  However, it was suggested to me that Marks of our Brothers (my second published novel) might have benefited from an additional POV, that the tension could have been heightened if the reader – although not necessarily the characters – had a better idea what the bad guys were plotting.

Maybe so…  Certainly, David Weber gets a lot of mileage out of giving the reader both sides of a conflict, so that the reader knows who is planning what and what errors each side is about to make because of ignorance regarding the complexities of the situation.  There’s definitely an advantage to this choice if building tension important to the story.

Another reason for more than one POV is to permit “showing” rather than “telling” about various events.  A good example of this is Tolkien’s novel The Two Towers, where events separated by distance are told each as their own story, rather than having one set reported upon at some later date.

However, for me, distance alone is not enough reason for adding another point of view.  What I really enjoy is becoming immersed in the different ways two people who might be within touching distance perceive the same event or other characters.

Here’s a great exercise if you want to explore the impact of point of view  on a story.  Take a section from a book you know well, then retell the action from the different points of view.

Let’s use the journey through the Mines of Moria from Tolkien’s The Fellowship of the Ring.  Tolkien tells this mostly from the point of view of an omniscient narrator, although occasionally he dips into Frodo’s POV, usually when he wants to add some emotion.  Now, sink yourself into each character and tell that section from the different point of view.

Gimli would be initially optimistic, then apprehensive, then what?  Frightened?  Vengeful?   His point of view of current events would be colored by “I remember when…”  “I had hoped…” with every step, every new piece of information.

Gandalf…  Does he sense the evil still lurking?  Does he realize that they are in a death trap – a death trap that he suggested they enter?  How does this color his reactions to the place?  Remember, he’s also the leader, so he’s going to be worried about his followers, not just himself.

Legolas?  Go beyond the cliché “elves and dwarves don’t get along.”  He’s seen the carved door with its hints of old friendship between the races.  Would he mull over how time has changed relations?  Is this, perhaps, the turning point in his own relationship with Gimli?

How about the humans?  How do they feel about these dwarven tunnels?  Cramped?  Claustrophobic?  Do they feel their relative youth as a race?  Would Boromir and Aragorn think the same way?  Why not?  How would these differences color how they see what is precisely the same place?

The Hobbits would probably be delighted to be underground, yet frightened by the death and destruction surrounding them.   Again, would Frodo, with his greater education and sense of history, see things differently from the younger hobbits?  How would Sam’s soul – so romantic, yet so practical – color his view of the place?  How about Merry and Pippin?  Does their reaction go beyond relief at being out of the snow?  Do they differ from each other in any way?

These differences are among the reasons I usually prefer writing from the point of view of one or more characters, rather than from that of an omniscient narrator.   Point of view can add richness and spice.  It can add character to events that otherwise could become nothing more than plodding plot.  Like any spice, point of view should be handled with precision and care but, without it, I find that the most exciting story can become bland.

Now… Off to find out what my newly added point of view character has to say…  He’s a bit creepy, but I think it’s going to be interesting to see what’s going on inside his head.