Marian Womack's Blog

January 29, 2015

Calle Andersen - selection of reviews

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Published on January 29, 2015 09:50

November 2, 2014

Moder la Manzana · Halloween foreword

This year I was asked to write a foreword for a #SpanishHorror anthology published in Halloween. The book can be bought here. The foreword you can read below.

El lugar apestaba a flores… es decir, olía a muerte.Del relato Ánima Sola

Noviembre es un mes crepuscular, incierto, mágico. Por algo creen los ingleses que es el mes en el que se aparecen más espectros de nuestros difuntos. La última noche de octubre ha servido como una suerte de puente mágico entre el mundo de los muertos y el de los vivos, y son estos los días del año en los que se establece una comunicación incierta, frágil, entre unos y otros. Los difuntos nos visitan, rendimos culto a los santos, tomamos bebedizos mágicos, nos contamos historias de miedo, y jugamos a morder la manzana. En muchos países se celebran banquetes entre las tumbas del cementerio, donde ofrecemos a nuestros ancestros coloridas ofrendas en forma de dulces, platos especialmente preparados para la ocasión, vistosas ofrendas florales, imágenes de calaveras y estampas de santos. La mezcolanza de lo religioso y de lo pagano -los dulces, las flores, la muerte- nutre unas breves horas en las que podemos esperar lo inesperado, abrazar lo imposible.
Nuestras abuelas acicalaban las tumbas de nuestros ancestros, y nosotros decoramos nuestras casas con fantasmas de pantomima, olvidándonos de que los auténticos espectros se pasean por las calles, como bien atestiguan las leyendas comarcales, la sabiduría popular. Las tradiciones más modernas al menos no dan de lado a la comida, a la ofrenda, la luz de las velas sobre la mesa iluminando el camino a aquello que creeríamos irreal, imposible, en cualquier otro mes. Hoy día damos la bienvenida a estos tres días mágicos vaciando una calabaza, cocinando algún plato con sus entrañas anaranjadas, y colocándole una vela después de labrarla con miradas demoníacas y torcidas sonrisas. Aunque ya lo hemos olvidado, rememoramos así al pícaro Jack-O-Lantern, quien se pasea con su linterna construida con un nabo y el cabo de una vela de sebo, condenado a vagar en el espacio limítrofe entre el cielo y el infierno, visitándonos cada doce meses justos. Jack salió de su Irlanda natal para extender su veneración pagana nada menos que por todo el planeta; eso sí, contó con la ayuda inestimable de la audacia comercial del pasado siglo xx, de las películas de terror Hollywoodenses, sustitutas de las representaciones del Tenorio, de las novelas pulp de los años setenta, con sus rituales demoníacos, y del gusto por el disfraz, por la máscara, en la creencia de que su uso ahuyentará a la flaquita y nos permitirá burlarnos de ella, y así de nuestros miedos.
¿Y dónde queda aquí la literatura, se estarán preguntando? Puede que no nos hayamos aficionado al tradicional juego de morder la manzana, al menos todavía; pero sería imposible minimizar el papel que ha tenido otra tradición anglosajona en esta mezcolanza de religión y paganismo: la tradición oral, el contarnos cuentos. Cuanto más escabrosos muchísimo mejor. La literatura de terror es una pieza clave e inescapable en la enorme popularidad cultural de estos días mágicos. Y más que la sempiterna novela es el género corto, el relato, el que se convierte en rey absoluto de estas fechas. Porque todo se inició así, relatándonos historias terroríficas los unos a los otros, esa tradición de oralidad al amor de la lumbre, ya perdida… ¿O no lo está? Precisamente estos días se ve insuflada de nueva energía vital, la recuperamos y volvemos a contarnos, a leernos, a compartir relatos, rumores, leyendas. El relato corto es parte, y una parte muy viva, de la tradición de estos tres días espirituales en que experimentamos una comunión más cercana con los difuntos, este triduum religioso conocido como Allhallowtide (estación de los santos en inglés antiguo). A todos nos gustan los relatos terroríficos, los cuentos clásicos de fantasmas y aparecidos, las leyendas macabras, y también esas modernas fábulas pobladas por los héroes y heroínas de las escabrosas leyendas urbanas. Nos gusta contarlas, escucharlas, leerlas. Compartirlas, al fin y al cabo.
Paraíso 4 lleva cuatro años justos compilando, con motivo de estas fechas, una colección de relatos inéditos de terror para nuestra lectura y disfrute. Cuatro años realizando un ejercicio en el que “compartir” literatura es la idea principal. No debemos olvidar que lo que tienes entre las manos siempre ha sido una antología gratuita, y que ahora puede adquirirse mediante el pago social en la novedosa plataforma Lektu, hechos que me parecen dignos de ser destacados. Puesto que son iniciativas como la que nos ocupa precisamente las que alimentan la parte de literatura y oralidad, tan importantes, que van ligadas de forma íntima a tradiciones como la de la fiesta que conocemos como “Halloween”, estos tres días de magia que se inauguran con los dulces y las pelis de terror del día treinta y uno, y concluye con la misa a todas las almas del día dos, pero que en realidad a muchos de nosotros nos trae más recuerdos de la lectura debajo de la manta, alumbrados con la tenue luz de una linterna, que del olor a cirio y a iglesia.
En cierta manera, con esta labor anual, podríamos decir que sus promotores son en realidad responsables directos de crear una nueva tradición de todos los santos, Halloween convertida en la ocasión perfecta para tomarle el pulso a lo que se cuece ahora mismo en la comunidad de escritores especializados en lo tenebroso. Son propuestas como la que nos ocupa las que nos permiten mezclar la relectura de relatos de terror clásicos de todos los años con el disfrute de una antología inédita y, tras cuatro años de puntual publicación, ahora la esperamos agradecidos. Escritores como Francisco Miguel Espinosa, Javier Ruescas, Ángel Luis Sucasas, Joe Álamo, Sofía Rhei o Miguel Aguerralde, por mencionar unos cuantos nombres, se han sumado en pasados años a la invitación de deleitarnos con sus escalofríos literarios.
¿Y qué es lo que se cuece, en el universo del relato de terror? El botón de esta muestra en particular sugiere una clara respuesta: lo que se cuece ahora no puede ser más interesante o audaz. Este puñado de relatos, seleccionados con mimo, destacan entre muchas cosas por la diversidad en sus propuestas, algo que se agradece, por su clara intención por acercarnos a otras visiones, a otros “halloweens” si cabe. Gracias al sincretismo de la religión con lo pagano, tan propia de este triduum concreto, la presencia de la Santa Muerte se deja sentir entre estas páginas, que también se asoma a las creencias populares, a los ritos paganos, a los rituales maléficos que enturbian los festejos, pintándolos de vivos colores pero también de incertidumbre y miedo. Encontramos la pérdida de la inocencia como hilo conductor, ya sea porque el héroe se descubre así mismo como víctima de un ritual; ya sea porque descubrimos a una inesperada caperucita que, en una deliciosa vuelta de tuerca, consigue amedrentar un tanto a su particular lobo adolescente; ya sea porque marchamos al encuentro de una nueva y desconocida cultura que nos aterroriza. Abunda entre estas páginas la lectura subyacente de que lo tenebroso aguarda agazapado, esperando que bajemos la guardia. El relato como fábula moral, como leyenda de toda la vida, que guarda un aviso para el lector.
Se agradece que entre los relatos ofrecidos se encuentre también presente aquello que la tradición española nos ofrece en estas fechas. Por un lado, recuperando esta idea de transmisión de las leyendas populares que tienen todos los pueblos, un tropo clásico del que aquí se sirven con maestría para confeccionar una tela de araña estructural tejida con buen pulso narrativo. Es imposible no pensar en la leyenda escabrosa becqueriana, cuyo claro homenaje queda patente. Y por otro, agradablísima sorpresa, resucitando al mismísimo Tenorio, ese gran olvidado al lado de la reluciente calabaza labrada. En esta breve muestra el ejercicio literario se empecina en regresar a los temas eternos que nos aterrorizan a todos. Pero aquí el amor no trasciende a la muerte, la vejez es triste, y los espectros viven atrapados para siempre en su propia estación de penumbras, en su puerta gris entre el mundo de los muertos y el de los vivos, donde no hay contacto posible, no puede haberlo nunca en realidad, y si hemos creído lo contrario alguna vez hemos sido engañados.
Este un cruce atípico y atractivo entre los tropos clásicos y las apuestas más modernas se sirve de las máscaras teatrales, las ritualísticas, las literarias, como el disfraz que nos ayuda a envalentonarnos. El ejercicio literario es en cierta medida una máscara también. A estas alturas ya sabemos que la curiosidad mató al gato, y que las venganzas sangrientas no pueden –ni deben- tener un final feliz. Pero estos relatos van más allá. Varios de ellos apuntan maneras bizarras y decididamente gamberras, porque también es una tradición de estas fiestas atreverse a lo que nadie se atrevería. Descalabran el concepto de familia, o abordan una mirada gótica sobre el “otro” extranjero que consigue una fabulación claustrofóbica, casi sicótica, en la que el autor se sirve de los tropos de este modo literario para presentar un mundo demencial, de dantesca violencia y horror “humano”, donde los horrores “reales” sobrecogen más aún que la trama “ritualística” del relato.
También encontraremos “tratos” en estas páginas, agazapados, dispuestos a asestarnos el golpe, el “truco”, en cuanto accedamos a sus siniestras peticiones. Porque son acuerdos con seres venidos del inframundo con los que sería mejor no detenerse ni un segundo. “¿A que no te atreves?”, pregunta uno de los relatos en su título. Estos escritores se han atrevido, y ahora nos toman de la mano para que accedamos a acompañarles a ellos por los caminos menos transitados del terror. Te invito a que participes, a que entres en nuestro juego, a que muerdas la manzana. Cabe todo lo que puedas imaginarte aquí, la leyenda, la fábula, el modo gótico, el humor negro. También el cuento de tono atemporal, mágico casi, el del relato literario que cruza la frontera entre la alta literatura y el género de terror, espejo a su vez de los vivos y los muertos dándose la mano durante este triduum, cruzando las fronteras que separan sus dos mundos. Encontramos, nos deleitamos, con el tropo literario del ritual del que nada se explica, el del cuento clásico de encuentro con el demonio, o el de la historia de amor condenada. Y ese juego fabulador con el sabor de la leyenda antigua, de la literatura de antaño, nos incapacita para negar la evidencia de lo que vemos, de lo que leemos, de lo que aprendemos. Algunos seres despertamos un día con una marca en la frente. Algunos estamos destinados a enfrentarnos con el demonio, que aparecerá en muchas formas distintas, la de un caballero, la de un verdugo, la de una diosa. Algunos sobreviviremos, otros no lo haremos. Volveremos entonces a renacer, a la literatura esta vez, convertidos en los nuevos héroes de las leyendas de los Halloween futuros.
Madrid, Octubre 2014

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Published on November 02, 2014 13:59

October 24, 2014

Andersen Street - new children's book (English press-release)

Cortesía de La Galera editorial (Barcelona, 2014)

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Published on October 24, 2014 10:29

October 10, 2014

Calle Andersen - mi primer libro infantil

Copenhague, siglo XIX. Bienvenidos a un nuevo mundo de tecnología y descubrimientos. Un mundo donde se ha conseguido crear vida artificial. Y si, para ello, han de desaparecer unos cuantos niños de la calle, ¿a quién le importa? No tienen familias. Nadie va a echarlos de menos. Total, ¿quién iba a mover un dedo por salvarlos? Tú.

Todo empezó de la forma más inocente que pueda imaginarse. Cuando Sofía y yo nos conocimos, allá por 2008, descubrimos que teníamos el mismo cuento de hadas favorito: La Reina de las Nieves, de Hans Christian Andersen. La pregunta que siempre nos habíamos hecho ambas fue... ¿qué ocurría después? Gerda realiza un viaje que le cambiará la vida, que la hará más sabia y madura. Mientras Kay... Kay ya nunca será el mismo tras su paso por el castillo de la Reina de las Nieves. Es más, ¿podemos estar seguros de que no queda rastro del cristal en su ojo...? ¿Y si ese "trocito" de magia le ha conferido algún tipo de poder, alguna forma especial de mirar el mundo? La resolución del cuento de Andersen planteaba más preguntas que respuestas. Así que nosotras nos animamos a indagar en alguna de ellas, en clave de literatura infantil, y en clave de un subgénero que empezaba a interesarnos a ambas muchísimo por aquellos días, el Steampunk. El resultado es un libro que no esperaba ver publicado, y mucho menos en una editorial infantil y juvenil de tanto prestigio como La Galera. Si no recuerdo mal, terminamos de escribirlo alrededor de 2010-11. Ha tardado, por lo tanto, entre cuatro y tres años en ver la luz. Y desde entonces ha llovido lo suyo.

Desde entonces, por ejemplo, mientras nuestros queridos Kay, Gerda, Ada y Joachim esperaban pacientes su turno, Sofía aceptó un encargo muy especial de la pequeña editorial para la que trabajo: dar vida a un personaje que personificara nuestro amor por todo lo victoriano, lo misterioso, lo oscuro, lo distinto. El malvado James Moriarty fue el elegido, en una tarde de meriendas y té que pasará a la historia de Ediciones Nevsky. Creo que no exagero si digo que Sofía ha creado un personaje perfecto, el que tal vez sea su mejor personaje infantil hasta ahora, y que ha escrito una serie maravillosa, para niños y no tan niños.

¿Existiría La calle Andersen sin el pequeño Moriarty? Creo que sí. ¿Existiría Moriarty sin La calle Andersen? Eso ya no lo sé. Porque, en cierta manera, La calle Andersen fue el primer proyecto conjunto que nos animó a colaborar en más cosas, especialmente dentro del ámbito de lo infantil. La experiencia había sido muy buena. Ahora, se repetiría de una forma un tanto distinta, ya que yo me encontraba muy centrada en "rescatar" la pequeña editorial, y en mi papel como editora. Fue una suerte que Sofía aceptara colaborar con nosotros, y fue una suerte todavía más grande que publicara la serie con nosotros. Porque Moriarty nos salvó, no exagero.

Una pregunta más, y una respuesta más: ¿Cómo se escribe a cuatro manos? Con mucha paciencia. Y conociéndose muy bien. Creo que no lo habríamos hecho si no hubiéramos intuido ambas que nuestra forma de pensar y de trabajar era muy similar. En esas circunstancias es mucho más sencillo de lo que pueda parecer.

Se publica estos días, por fin, La calle Andersen. La espera ha terminado. Ojalá disfrutéis leyéndolo tanto como nosotras disfrutamos escribiéndolo.

La calle Andersen, Sofía Rhei y Marian Womack (Barcelona: La Galera, 2014) 978-84-246-5239-5, 240 pp. (a partir de 9 años)

#CalleAndersen

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Published on October 10, 2014 10:17

August 27, 2014

My LonCon 3 – What I did at the 72nd World Science Fiction Convention

The complete collection of Edmund Crispin's collected SF for Faber & Faber (London, mid 1950s)
The above picture highlights something I particularly like about SF/F fans: they respect their own history. The LonCon proudly featured a number of display panels on which information about past Hugo awards was featured, laced with the highlights of older conventions. A con is a meeting point between friends, you learn that rapidly. We have encountered old friends and made new ones, met some of our own authors for the first time, de-virtualised people we deeply admire, had lunch with our favourite writers and publishers. After attending ComicCon as well, some deeply enjoyable features of LonCon that spring to mind are: (A) its size, not disproportionately large, nor too small; (B) the many goodies to chose from in the form of art, all sorts of creative projects on the go, new and secondhand books, amazing people to stop and have a chat with; and (C) its impressive program of panels, talks, meetings, screenings, workshops, concerts, and many other events (I counted thousands; I doubt I’m wrong) covering… well, absolutely everything.
I arrived on Thursday, and very soon had the pleasure of meeting personally a number of Spanish science-fiction professional bloggers and Con organisers, the brains behind El Fantascopio, Ignotus-winners VerdHugos podcasters, Sense of Wonder, Fantástica Ficción, Más Ficción Que Ciencia, amongst others: people I have followed on social media for a while, and who are, among others, setting the trends in Spanish science-fiction. I also had the pleasure of meeting the brains behind the first Spanish Female S-F Anthology (the Women Destroy Science Fiction of the Hispanic world), forthcoming this year, its editors Cristina Jurado, and Leticia Lara. It was a real pleasure to finally meet some of these interesting people in person, for the first time. Spanish author and speculative fiction rising star, Jesús Cañadas, was also there, participating in a number of panels and events. I also had chance to say hello and chat a bit with Cristina Macía in the stand promoting EuroCon Barcelona 2016, and could ask her about the public’s response to their campaign. Today we know that the EuroCon 2016 will take place in Barcelona. Frankly, after getting to know, during my recent visit during the now legendary #GigaCon, the extent of both fandom and professionals involved in genre fiction in the city, I cannot think of a better place to host not only this event, but any other Con or genre-related event.
In the middle of the day, I boarded the DLR back into the centre of London for Jeff VanderMeer’s reading from Acceptance in genre bookshop Forbidden Planet. Jeff had recently been one of my instructors at the Clarion Science Fiction and Fantasy Workshop, and I have been following, and reading, the Southern Reach trilogy eagerly, so I couldn’t let the opportunity pass to get my hands on the third part, only available on the VanderMeer’s UK tour. One of my fellow Clarionites, Singaporean writer Manish Melwani, was also in the reading, and it was great to catch up with someone who had been involved so shortly ago in that life-changing experience.
After the reading we went for a drink with the VanderMeers and their guests, although I had to leave in a hurry and in the middle of a storm for my panel. As it always happens with London, I hadn’t calculated quite how far away I had gone into the centre, and how far away I was. The rain made progress slow, and a cursory look at the tube’s packed entrance made me realise it would be difficult to find space in the first few trains. I was despairing that I couldn’t find a taxi when, out of nowhere, a pink London “black cab” came to the rescue under the rain! If it hadn’t been for the nice taxi driver, I would have missed my own event!
The panel, my first ever panel, ‘Understanding Steampunk’, was a wonderful experience. I was allowed to take part in an interesting debate with a Steampunk dream-team: Steampunk authors Oliver Plaschka, Kaja Foglio, Kim Lakin-Smith, and moderated by one of my absolute role-models, young visionary publisher Gillian Redfearn. Considering I tend to shy away from public speaking, the generosity of my co-panellists meant I had a delightful first-ever-panel experience, and the chance to talk at length about our forthcoming book in English The Best of Spanish Steampunk. The day ended with a charming dinner with part of the extremely well-informed corps of Spanish science-fiction intelligentsia I had met earlier in the day.
*
Friday was an intense panel day, both attending and collaborating. My co-editor at Ediciones Nevsky, James Womack, participated in the panel ‘Translating Genre’, with translators Tom Clegg, Gili Bar-Hillel and Elisabeth Vonaburg, and moderated by Sue Burke, highlighting the problems to get genre books translated into English from other languages. This panel led to a very interesting discussion with a fellow Dutch publisher over translation projects and initiatives destined to bring talent into the English-speaking markets. There was so much good going on, that I decided to leave translation topics safely into my partner’s expert hands, and attended a simultaneous panel I was specially interested in attending, ‘An Anthology of One’s Own’, moderated by Julia Ríos and with the presence of Ann VanderMeer, Jeanne Gomoll, Alisa Krasnostein and Alex Dally, in which past, present and possible futures of female anthologies were discussed with deep knowledge, humour and intelligence. Between panels, we could say hello briefly to Nina Allan, in her way to one of her many events, and finally explore to our leisure the books on sale. We visited the stands of Titan Books, NewCon Press, Gollancz, and had a good look at the secondhand goodies on offer. We are particularly pleased with our major find, shown above: the complete collection of science-fiction anthologies compiled by our adored Edmund Crispin for Faber & Faber in the mid nineteenth fifties. As an unexpected bonus (they were carefully wrapped by the bookseller in plastic bags), some of the authors had signed their contributions in the TOC. Sweet! In our walk over the main resting area, we saw Laurie Penny and another of my Clarion instructors, Geoff Ryman, having coffee together. James knows Laurie from his Oxford days, and I rejoiced in the chance to say hello to another of my Clarion teachers, so we went to say hello and had a chat with them.
*

Nina Allan poses with Máquinas del tiempo, the Spanish translation of The Silver Wind.
Saturday was our more intense day. We started early, attending another panel I would like to highlight here (it is practically impossible mentioning them all), on voice and narrative structure, ‘The Lexicon Gap’, moderated by Alistair Rennie and with James Patrick Kelly, Stanislaw Krawczyck, Gary Wolfe, and our author Nina Allan. We had the chance to have coffee with Nina after the panel, and to get to know her a bit better. She will be attending the MirCon next December, something for which we also have to thank the MirCon organisers and Nina’s fellow Spanish-speaking publishers, Fata Libelli. One of the highlights of our day was lunch with Ann and Jeff VanderMeer. The couple behind the most inspiring anthologies in genre were kind enough to make a little break in their busy schedule (Jeff had signed one thousands copies of Acceptance that morning!) to have lunch with us, Spanish bloggers and some of the organisers of MirCon, in order to share with them a bit about Cons and gatherings in the Spanish speaking world. After this lovely interlude, it was back to the ExCel Center for more panels and meetings. We had a chance to meet Jo Walton, one of my favourite writers of fantasy, and completed a wonderful afternoon attending Lisa Tuttle’s reading, a writer I greatly admire. After her magnificent and spine-chilling tale, we were able to chat with her for a bit. Next up was the panel ‘The World at WorldCon: SF/F in Spain’, moderated by Sue Burke and with Susana Arroyo, Miquel Codony, Elías Combarro, Leticia Lara and Cristina Jurado. I was deeply impressed among other things with the attending audiences’ knowledge of Spanish gatherings such as Semana Negra and Celsius, as well as some of the most relevant Spanish authors in the field.
After this panel, it was again running to the DLR to attend a dinner organised by Ann and Jeff VanderMeer with some charming Clarion alumni Tamsyn Muir; Hugo Nominees Jeremy Zerfoss, Wonderbook’s designer extraordinaire, young rising star Thomas Olde Heuvelt, and John Chu; and other guests. A perfect ending for a perfect LonCon. The VanderMeers are an exception in that they take a real interest, and put a lot of effort, in bringing into English voices from other languages and cultures. I could never thank them enough for their hospitality and their welcoming attitude to anyone interested in learning, sharing and finding out about exciting new translation projects and cross-cultural activities.
*
LonCon has been magnificent, extremely useful, and packed with interesting things. And I have learnt so much. After three extremely packed days, we weren't able to return on Sunday and Monday; but I still got to enjoy Geoff Ryman’s wonderful tiara, and the buzzing excitement of the Hugo Awards, from a leafy corner of the world thanks to streaming. There is only hope for more Cons, more interesting people, more amazing creativity, more projects, more sharing between different countries, in the future.

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Published on August 27, 2014 07:55

August 11, 2014

Looking back at #Clarion2014 (from never-ending week7)

Fate puts together a nice bunch of like-minded people to fight the zombie apocalypse, defeat an evil villain, find a magical object necessary to prevent the end of the world. They live the adventure of a lifetime. The story ends, the plot draws to its inevitable yet well-developed conclusion… and each one of them has to say goodbye and go back to their pre-adventure existence. I’m always left thinking about what happened next. Did they stay in touch? How could they just break up their newly formed fellowship, and continue as if nothing had happened after their life-changing experience? Who could go back to a “normal” life after being the Doctor’s chosen sidekick for a couple of series?
The only problem with living the adventure of a lifetime is that adventures come to their heart-breaking end. Attending the Clarion Science Fiction and Fantasy Workshop more resembles an adventure than anything I have experienced so far, perhaps with the exception of my first year at Oxford. The college system, another thing I had not experienced until then, was a slightly surreal and eccentric environment filled with clever people, which happens to put a lot of effort in making you feel part of something. And we were something, the most riveting MCR in the whole University, the one with the most creative people and doing the craziest, most awesome things. We worked hard and we played hard, made friends that lasted a lifetime, and learnt a stupid amount of things in a ridiculously short time. It was a one-off, and I did not expect to experience something similar in my entire life. And then I went to Clarion, and I found myself, once again, in the company of a small group of hand-picked individuals with a similar outlook on life to my own, interests very similar to mine, goals and dreams to match the ones I’ve been secretly nursing for the past few years. I felt at home instantly.
It’s only beginning now to dawn on me how privileged I have been to meet this people and be part of this project. They are not just amazing writers, but very nice human beings as well, who have made me feel welcomed, supported and that I belong, even at my lowest moments. I could not have asked for a better fellowship. Not to mention being tutored by admired writers whom I hold in awe. Clarion has made all of this possible. It will be difficult to convey a sense of the unimaginable goody-packed six weeks that felt like six months, so crammed they were with creativity, art, writing, partying, fun, sleepless nights, cups of tea and coffee, bottles of wine, craft beer… We worked hard, yes; we played harder, in order to stay sane. The working overcame the play, the working became the play. And, for once in a very long time, at least for me, working in the sentence stands solely for “writing”. Dream of dreams.
We have been an extremely productive Clarion group, and most days we had four stories to critique in the workshop (which meant our tutors were kind enough to cram their planned lessons on the evenings, and even during the weekends). And, in order to keep up with that rhythm, we had to keep writing. All the time. Clarion is a great testing ground for many things, and the first thing you learn is that you can really produce like a pro; you’ve always been able to. You just didn’t know it. Pre-Clarion, you would have nursed the two ideas you had for short stories in a year for months, not wanting to start on them for fear of mangling them. At Clarion you had to come up with new ideas every week, and you had to sit down and write them. And they had to be good, of course. The Clarion experience also resembles very closely being the parent of a toddler: you have to learn to write around the cracks, at odd times, into the early hours. It is demanding, but it couldn’t be more productive. It simply works. Having slept an average of 4-5 hours every night, I have also learnt I could run Great Britain if I wanted, as Margaret Thatcher and Tony Blair famously did on those hours sleep. Not bad at all!
The fact that we have been an extremely close-knit, supportive group has been crucial in keeping the writing going, the flow of ideas alive. I had never attended a workshop before, and didn’t know what to expect. This is what you get at Clarion: 17 extremely clever people who give you thoughtful advice on your piece, find its flaws, eloquently show you the way to improve it. Not counting on the wonder of beta-readers (thank you Leena, Noah, Kristen), the generosity, the creative impulse at the service of a bunch of other individuals. They are your karass (I am using Kurt Vonnegut’s definition here), and you want to see them doing their best. Being thrown together with extremely creative people does wonders to everything: writer's block, self-esteem, nourishing your own creative buds, the need not to sleep because you want to carry on talking forever with these interesting, clever individuals who are your friends now, as if by magic… I stopped doing collages a long time ago, now I need to get back at it. Why? Writing is not enough! The ways in which I have to express myself have grown exponentially after Clarion. I have even bought an ukulele at Clarion, me, who have never played anything more than the tambourine at Christmas. I really feel now I can tackle anything. Try me.
Time behaves in an unexpected fashion, something you wish you should be able to recreate at home. It is not good. You need the Californian sea-breeze, the endless tea-fuelled nights, and the company. Time does not expand anywhere else as it does at Clarion. But in the workshop, when you are writing all the time, it seems to do exactly that. In four effective hours you achieve the equivalent of a whole week of work back home. You emerge to the common room exhausted, zombie-like, and make yourself some tea. You sit down with people who have just being doing the same, and what do you do but start talking about writing, about what you are writing and what they are writing? The common room becomes a brain-storming testing-ground for endless possibilities, fuelled by active imaginations, wine, tea, coffee, dreams. You drink your tea and it tastes better than it ever did. Being grateful for those moments could never be enough.
I am guessing that, because of the anchor-team picking us, even if we all had our own developed and distinctive aesthetics, we did share a similar discourse at work beneath the surface of our formal approaches: we were all veering on the liminal between genre and literary writing, testing that thing called slip-stream, challenging genre assumptions and bringing a literary approach to the known tropes. All my fellow writers produced high quality prose every single week. I was, am, in awe of many of them, have developed literary crushes on their prose, have become a self-proclaimed fan of a few of them. This is perhaps due to the intensity of the Clarion experience; but this intensity is sought for, induced, by the course’s structure, which aims at making us feel part of the Clarion’s extended family, and to establish bonds that will last a lifetime. Clarion does not only give you confidence in your writing, and therefore in yourself; it also provides you with your own support group to go into the world. Clarion has been my Hogwarts, and who hasn’t dreamt of going to Hogwarts? My karass, and I’ve always needed a karass. I cannot imagine my writing, but also my future life, without this group of extraordinary people being there somehow. Thank you all; #week7forever.
#BonusTrack: Highlights!
Week (1): Gregory Frost gently introduces us into the pace and what to expect from the program. He claims that Clarion is like doing an MFA in a month. We stare at him in disbelief. Do I need to say it: he will be proved correct. We are treated to some amazing lectures on creative writing which open a few secret chests for us, certainly for me. Critiques begin, karaoke night starts happening (to my dismay), and we get to know each other. The week draws to a close with a rare outing into San Diego Old Town for the most delicious Mexican food, discovering the cliffs for the first time, and concludes with a few words from our instructor to ease us into Clarion, and into the world. Gregory Frost couldn’t have been a more generous, warm, uncle-life figure to have been broken into Clarion. He made us believe we will be able to do it, to reach the last week intact. If this wasn’t enough, I saw a hummingbird this week, the first of my life, and the first of a few. A wonderful premonition of the happy days to come.
Week (2): Geoff Ryman puts us through our paces: everyone is expected to hand in one story for the critique sessions. I think this was a blessing: it established the pace we managed to keep going during the following weeks, it showed us that we could do it, and from then onwards each one of us more or less had a story each week, with the odd week to take a rest out of the six. By the end of this first fortnight I have cried once, laugh many times, and learnt things not only about my writing, but also about myself. I am beginning to fully comprehend what I’ve left myself in for. Geoff is so much fun to be in, so knowledgeable in his lectures. He cooks chilli for us and for new instructor, Catherynne Valente. He goes and we realise then that we are deeply missing him, and Gregory as well. It’s been two weeks and we already feel as if we’ve been there two months. Home seems a faraway construct, an imaginary world. There is only the writing, the learning, and the constant challenge. And we all raise to the occasion. There is also a lovely Steampunk tea we are all invited to, where we meet a load more of nice people, and a bunch of us gets to see the polar bears at San Diego Zoo.
Week (3): As much as I admire and read widely my previous two instructors, Catherynne Valente is perhaps the one author I identified most with in many ways. Meeting her has been a revelation. I get ghostly Oxford-like sensations again: there I was, being tutored by a person who knows absolutely everything… I simply didn’t want her to stop talking at all, ever. This week was packed with things: emotions, creativity, discussions… If week one was a gentle introduction, and week two brought us up to the pace of things to make the most of Clarion, week three brought it all together. Being there made sense, the endless hours of work made sense. She challenged us with the “Lock Box of Forbidden Words of Doom”, a single exercise which made a better writer of me in hours. Absolute magic. Valente also pumped up our bibliography by recommending and using in her lectures and discussions a number of key works that made me realise I was where I had to be. During her reading at Mysterious Galaxy Bookshop some fans gave her an ostrich egg; Catherynne would cook it for us that Saturday for breakfast before leaving, and we all eat it together, perhaps the most bizarre and bonding meal I’ve had. It was delicious, btw.
Week (4): My lowest point, due partly to exhaustion, insecurities and general self-doubt; and so, I was extremely thankful to have someone like Nora K. Jemisin as an instructor, with her sensible approach to writing, teaching, and life itself. Nora was a godsend at a delicate time. Perhaps, sensibly, it was the week I gave myself time off, and focused on getting more needed sleep. This was also the week when, thanks to Nora, I learnt all I never knew about the marvels of worldbuilding; she was amazing at conjuring up civilizations, and I couldn’t stop gaping at her mastery of it, and noting things down like a madwoman. There were other important themes discussed in class, topics I am afraid I had never even thought about before going to Clarion; and so the learning curve just grew and grew… exponentially at this point. When Nora leaves I realise we’ve crossed a bridge; if we had made it this far, we have nearly made it.
Weeks (5) & (6): Jeff and Ann Vandermeer have been the captains that have steered this boat, even before getting there. I am sure that the majority of us have applied this particular year in order to be instructed by them. In my case, after reading Finch a few years ago, my whole approach to writing and how I wanted to write completely changed. I’ve read many others of his books since then, but Finch will always remain one of the crucial texts for me as a writer. As an editor and publisher, I’ve long admired their anthology work, and so the opportunity to be taught by both of them, during two whole weeks, was more than I could have hoped for. Their generosity knows no bounds, and included such amazingly surreal things as treating us all to a lunch in ComicCon with Lev Grossman and Charles Yu, just because they are nice like that. Their lectures and insides into the publishing world have left us speechless, feeling that, perhaps, we step onto a bit more secure ground than before. During these last two weeks some of my awesome fellow Clarionites received their due honours as Leonard Pung Scholar and Octavia Butler Scholar, two deeply moving times for all of us. Week six was the first time I ever got to the beach; simply no time before that. And week five is also the week when we got to experience the wonderful craziness of ComicCon, a beautiful ordeal difficult to forget.
Thanking all these wonderful people will never be enough. And now I have a little piece of advice to give you, dear reader, if you decide to go to Clarion next year: I didn’t made it to Karaoke until the last week… fatal mistake! Go to Karaoke! That’s all I’m saying. You can always get up an hour earlier to finish that last critique tomorrow morning.
And keep the writing going, of course. You know you can do it.

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Published on August 11, 2014 08:11

May 30, 2014

House of Leaves - Mini-Review

In the early 2000s I was up to my eyebrows in academia, and my themes were narrative labyrinths and the gothic; I cannot believe none of my teachers directed me towards this masterpiece of American Gothic. Good things, aplenty; bad things... a rare few and we prefer to give them a miss. While ultimately reading as a ghost story written for readers of the New Yorker, it does take itself lightly, even humorously, with a great deal of self-mockery for the academic lingo and the high-brow hyper-analysing sense of self, and all this is to its author's credit. The *house* and whatever goes on in it is not the main issue here, as we deal with the over-neurotic and obsessively cataloguing mind of our times, inevitably taming the horrors into the quotes of academic studies. Our world, sadly, is unable to contain the gothic "trope" on its own, presumably after seeing so much horror in its [most] gothic century, the past one. The house, to a certain extent, feels quaint when compared with what lurks outside. What matters here are the fears, the many pasts, the hidden atrocities committed under the apparent normality of the familiar, and the horror of the quotidian. In the darkness we just encounter ourselves, and all those lurking. A noteworthy achievement, which one feels at some point couldn't have been put together without a certain believe in its "wholeness", or even "reality", by its author, his publisher, and a cohort of convinced followers, artists and collaborators of all kinds. Its lone author cannot be anything other than a genius, or someone with an IQ which breaks the charts. And, incidentally, well-versed in mostly everything, Narrativity and the discourse of the Gothic being perhaps the quintessential elements of his fascinating imaginary. I will not forgive him for not including Pascal Bonitzer, though. A narrative maze is not whole without him.

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Published on May 30, 2014 06:52

May 16, 2014

the publishing year when my BIG small-press publisher dreams became truth

I said once that my biggest dreams as a publisher would be to publish H.P. Lovecraft and a (much needed) Spanish new translation of The Master and Margarita. Well, this publishing year we have done both things at Ediciones Nevsky.

Many thanks for the support of our readers and followers, and the help of everyone involved. I cannot tell you how many collaborators you need to pull off, on two-year long stretches of work, projects of this magnitude.

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Published on May 16, 2014 08:20

April 20, 2014

Presencia Humana. The Spanish "New Weird" magazine

The Anthology which originated the project, and the two issues of Presencia Humana. Revista de creación extraña.

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Published on April 20, 2014 08:17

April 8, 2014

Spanish Sci-Fi Roundup (I)

Considering that Spanish literature has traditionally been dominated by realism, it is refreshing to see that the new releases sections in bookshops are more and more filled with books in the fantastic mode, horror writing or speculative fiction. The increasing numbers of books being published in these genres is down to three factors: the work of indie presses, ever active and helping to normalise the inclusion of “genre” fiction within “literary” collections (this follows on from Stephen King’s maxim that there are only two “genre labels, good and bad literature”); the “discovery” of weird literature, a literary niche in which a variety of authors are now active, including figures from science-fiction and fantasy backgrounds as well as more standard literary writers; and the rise of the slipstream. To these you need to add the major groups which are taking their cue from indie presses and publishing genre writing, adding to its normalisation, but also with the idea and hope of selling “literary” science fiction to mainstream readers.
This is what has gone on in the past few months, a roundup of titles which represent these three trends, as well as marking the unstoppable emergence of writers who put their literary skills to the service of genre fiction.
Airean , Angel Luis Sucasas (Spórtula, 2013): A short story collection by one of the youngest authors here. Sucasas is a stylist without fear, capable of addressing any topic without blushing, and creating his own language as he goes along. He elegantly mixes weird fiction, horror, and dark fantasy, to create his own brand of speculative fiction, basically establishing the rules of the game for any kind of future “Spanish new weird” to come. His beautiful prose is measured and assured, but by no means unctuous, and it flows with the security of its own lyrical realism as it dares to go anywhere. Perhaps the only flaw to the overall collection may be that not all the stories flow at the same level of excellence, a minor consideration judging by what he can do with a wide range of fantastic material.
Un minuto antes de la oscuridad - A minute before darkness , Ismael Martínez Biurrun (Fantascy, 2014): Biurrun is, arguably, the best writer of speculative fiction to appear in Spanish letters in recent years, judging him only at the level of the quality of his prose. But he has other things going for him: good plotting, excellent cliff-hangers, and an assured use of all the tropes of genre fiction, put to use within the framework of writing of the highest quality, as effective as it is precise. Here, a Madrid on the verge of the collapse of civilization, but where sometimes even mobile phones work (a much more difficult to navigate and more interesting plot devise than a mere post-apocalyptic capital) is dissected under the gaze of characters who still don’t understand what is happening around them, trying desperately to fix some humanity to their lives, to live by their human desires and to commit very human mistakes. It is full of adrenaline, desperate at times; the ending is devastating, an ending parallel to the end of civilization which it maps, but it occurs almost quietly, as the only possible option. Cloning is here more than a gimmick; it is central to the questions of duality and identity in a world in which who you are starts not to matter, a premise which moves the novel along. An intense reading, you read it with your heart in your mouth, and are not disappointed a jot.
El show de Grossman - Grossman’s Show , Laura Fernández (Aristas Martínez, 2013): The only woman in this article, but by no means the only one writing genre fiction of the highest quality, Laura Fernández is my Spanish discovery of the past year. A shamelessly, let’s even say a proud, writer of the most flamboyant space opera, as funny as it is insightful. Charting with panache the dysfunctional world of teenagers and high school (on another planet), she reinvents with humour and nostalgia a universe of adolescent problems, crushes, famous science fiction writers, and love stories which need fixing, in the process establishing new and meaningful connections between our very “human” problems and our interaction with the world. And who better to fix it all than a bunch of teenagers in a spaceship disguised as an old van? And is there a more climatic ending than during a rock concert? A refreshing an interesting writer, with an imagination all her own, skilful in making us believe that her craft is all in the surface of things, but who is touching on deeper issues, all presented in a beautiful illustrated edition by indie press Aristas Martínez.
Terra Nova (vol. 2) , Mariano Villarreal y Luis Pestarini (eds.) (Fantascy, 2013): An interesting an extremely worthwhile experiment, this is the sequel to Terra Nova (vol. 1), a very successful attempt at showcasing the best Spanish speculative fiction alongside its Anglo-Saxon practitioners. The first volume was published with specialised press Sportula and was done under reader subscription, going to earn reap rave reviews, as well as seven nominations for the Ignotus prizes, the major science-fiction literary award in Spain. The second has graduated to a major publishing group Random House, being published under its new fantasy and sci-fi imprint, Fantascy, proving that the experiment was highly successful. In this volume, the Spanish writers not only hold their ground, but they graduate with flying colours. It goes to show the excellent form of Spanish genre writing right now, with at least two discoveries to take into account: Felicidad Martínez and Pedro Andreu, names to follow up in the future. Bonus Track: Terra Nova (1)has been translated into English and it is available in e-pub. It can only be hoped that the exercise is repeated with this volume.
Los nombres muertos – The Dead Names , Jesús Cañadas (Fantascy, 2013): The past year has seen a revitalised interest in H. P. Lovecraft and his legacy here in Spain, partly because of new translations of his work, partly because of the rise in the weird “mode” of literature. Spain, a breeding-ground for both gothic and surrealism, was the perfect space for the emergence of the “weird”. Meanwhile, several volumes of “homage” to Lovecraft in the form of short stories have appeared in small indie presses, but only one novel in which he is made to be the protagonist of his own adventure: finding the Necronomicon, a book which, he knows better than anyone, does not exist. This is a fine adventure novel, written with deep knowledge of the author, his writing and the world around him, but also with care and respect. Lovecraft is not a caricature of himself; he emerges as the unlikely hero we all know he was deep inside. Cañadas writes also with the same assurance and high standards as other slipstream authors, and it is a pleasure to read, far beyond its entertainment value. An unlikely road movie which show us Lovecraft as we never expected or imagined we will see him, and which is, nevertheless, highly believable. No easy feat to perform, and one from which the author emerges more than successfully, triumphant.
El hombre sin rostro – The man without a face , Luis Manuel Ruiz (Salto de Página, 2014): This novel is a rare treat: a seemingly old fashion adventure folletín, or old Spanish adventure story, charting the progress of charming characters in an early xxcentury Madrid filled with secret governmental programmes, eccentric scientists and a ghostly Frankenstein-esque assassin with a secret weapon at his disposal only Jules Verne could have dreamt of. Ruiz is not a recent arrival to the literary scene; he’s been translated into English before, and was the recipient of the International Novel Prize at the Frankfurt Book Fair some years back. Now he returns after an hiatus to what he does best, putting to good use his well-honed literary skills in the service of a text which entertains without being superfluous, crafted with an elegant prose style which has been called “retro” by some reviewers, but which goes beyond formal considerations to read joyously. It gains points by having one of the best female characters ever imagined in Spanish letters, although it loses out somehow by its length, short, almost novella-esque, leaving the reader wishing for more. It has been said that it is the first in a series, and, that being the case, this reviewer cannot find fault with it.
Deshielo y ascension – Thaw and Ascent , Alvaro Cortina Urdampilleta (Jekyll & Jill, 2013): A highly unusual proposal, this novel is a philosophical treatise, a gothic roman, and a meditation on the disintegration of modern civilisation. In an Earth covered by frost, where we’ve mastered interstellar travel, but find ourselves lonelier than ever amongst the stars, more devoid of the ever-protecting embrace of God, humanity barely manages to survive, in a society founded on the remains of a humanist cultural heritage, which now proves useless and outmoded. Special mention should be given to Cortina Urdampilleta’s chosen style, a rich prose inherited from the C.xix novel, and with the gothic mode as its flying ship. Bonus Track: a full review (in Spanish) of this novel can be read here.

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Published on April 08, 2014 04:43

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