Category: blog

Multicultural writing

I was amazed at your answer to the last question. I knew that Solitaire is a multicultural book from the moment I read that it took place in Asia and that the protagonist’s surname was Segura , but I missed most of the racial inferences. Most writers use epithets when they have minority characters (which I dislike), and I’m glad that you don’t. Now –” after reading all the details of the characters’ ethnicities –” I think I’m going to go back through Solitaire and try to find the clues I must have missed. I knew that Jackal was Spanish, but I missed the Italian part (but now I realize Donatella is an Italian name). I knew Tiger was Asian from the way you described him and from his last name, although I thought he was Japanese or Southeast Asian. I must say, you’re open-minded for portraying an Asian male so sexually (and attractively). And I knew Snow was Scandinavian, also from the description.

I do have a few questions. How did you become so open-minded about things? Were you raised that way, or did you become more accepting over time?

Anyway, I hope your week is going well. Thanks again.

Sirene

I find it challenging to write multiculturally, and am not overly impressed by my own skills in this regard. I believe that most white writers can and should do better. When writers of a dominant culture start patting themselves on the back for getting a few non-dominant characters in the mix, it’s just a bit too close to straight married men who want the world to call them heroes because they routinely do 50% of the housework. No one would ever praise a woman for doing her 50% of the housework, or tell her husband that he must feel “so lucky that your wife helps out so much!” Same theory applies here. I should recognize in my work, as in all other parts of my life, that not everyone looks, feels, thinks, believes, behaves, dreams, fears, loves, or experiences their everyday world like me. Not because I’m a hero, just because it’s my 50% of this work. I appreciate your approval, and I’m not trying to imply that you shouldn’t like this aspect of my work (or me, grin)–”quite the contrary! But I don’t want to start falling in love with myself about it either.

Part of the challenge of writing multiculturally is my own hang-up as a writer: I dislike reading character descriptions that are so obviously only there to satisfy the “rule” that the reader has to know what everyone looks like. (“Oh, no,” she said, brushing her golden hair back from her forehead…) Ick. And we’ve talked before about white writers describing white characters in particular terms without any reference to skin color, while characters who are not white are described first and foremost as whatever sort of not-white they are. I don’t have enough experience with a spectrum of literature by African-American writers, or writers from other countries, to make the same generalization, although I’ve understood from my African-American friends and teachers that skin color is an important (although not always openly-discussed) differentiation in African-American culture. Maybe someone here knows more about this than I do?

Sometimes the kind of obvious description I mention above is necessary: sometimes the most important thing about a character is skin color (for example, in the movie Beverly Hills Cop, when Eddie Murphy walks into the redneck bar, the point is that it’s full of white people). But that’s context. If hanging a race/culture/ethnicity tag on someone isn’t right for the context, then it’s just a lazy choice.

But since physical character description is necessary sometimes, that’s where skill comes in. I wanted to make the point in Solitaire that not everyone was white, but I also didn’t want it to be a big deal (from Jackal’s perspective) that she lived in a diverse society. I thought some of my choices were pretty clumsy, and some were okay. And you caught one of my mistakes. Tiger is indeed supposed to be Chinese, but I couldn’t find a family name for him that I liked (character names are important to me, and I sometimes really struggle with them). So I plugged in “Amomato” and promised myself I’d come back and fix it…and never did. Oops (laughing). Maybe he was an orphan adopted by a forward-thinking Filipino family, or something.

Anyway, you probably didn’t miss that many clues, because there aren’t that many, because I was trying hard not to make too many lame choices (grin). And I’m still trying in the new book.

I don’t know how open-minded I am: like everything else, it depends. I’ve done a fair amount of work to overcome the effects of being raised in a racist culture, and I was blessed with parents who fought against racism in all kinds of ways during my childhood. They were civil rights activists in the 60’s, and were part of an “underground railroad” of sorts that helped Black activists get out of town (sometimes the country) when things were getting too hot. There were still race riots in the streets of Tampa in 1968 and 1969, the police force was actively and aggressively racist, and things were terribly hard for people who weren’t white.

In 1970, one of the leaders of a Black youth movement in Tampa was arrested on a marijuana charge. He and his wife, who was white, lived with us for a few months during their trial (five people in a 700-square foot house, with the two of them sleeping on the living room floor, so as you might imagine we all got to know each other better). He spoke several languages, and taught me to play chess, and let me figure out for myself whether what was happening to them was right or not.

I went with my parents to court during the trial, and watched the police officer at the courtroom door “search” my mother’s purse by dumping it out on the table, or the floor, every time she went in or out; all the Black women were searched this way, and no other white woman was. Our phone was tapped. Uniformed officers showed up at our house for no particular reason. We were followed by patrol cars and unmarked cars (I was even followed as I walked to school one day, dangerous 10-year-old that I was). It was a little taste of what Black and Hispanic folks in Tampa lived through every day in a thousand different ways. It sucks that it happened, and is still happening to people everywhere, everyday; and it also taught me that racism is real, which was a very good thing for me to learn. I remember going to boarding school and describing some of this to my peers, many of whom flatly asserted that I was lying, that those kinds of things couldn’t happen in America. Go figure.

Because I was an only child, I spent a lot of time in adult company. My parents rarely excluded me from adult events as long as I was respectful and didn’t act up. Our parties were full of people of all colors, all ages, poor and wealthy, people who drank and those who used drugs, gay and lesbian people as well as straight people. I met bikers, Viet Nam veterans, low-level Mafia soldiers, lawyers, priests, artists, people with illness or disability. There was a lot of difference in the room when I was growing up. Along with loving me unconditionally and making sure I got an education way above my class expectations, it is the most powerful thing my parents did for me. Those three things built my foundations in ways that I’m still only just figuring out.

And does this make me Wonder White Woman? Absolutely not. I still struggle with racist assumptions and fears. I find it frustrating and shaming, but there you go, this is where we live and this is what it does to all of us.

I am learning these lessons again, in different context, in my study of American Sign Language and Deaf culture: much of our learning centers on the assumptions that hearing people make about deaf people, and the ways that deaf people can be oppressed by those assumptions. As part of that study, last year we read a book called Uprooting Racism: How White People Can Work for Racial Justice, by Paul Kivel; I highly recommend it. It’s not a book that beats up white folks about individual racism; rather, it looks at how racism manifests in America’s legal, educational, social, economic and cultural systems, and how any of us can take individual steps to push back against the various ways that this oppression has been institutionalized. It’s about ways in which white people can become allies to people of color. Some of the students in my class wondered why we were reading a book on racism to learn more about the experience of deaf people in America; by the end, it was pretty clear.

Uprooting Racism put me strongly in mind of another excellent book that explores systemic oppression from a different perspective: How To Suppress Women’s Writing, by Joanna Russ. Both great books.

And I’m sorry as hell that there’s any need for them. Sometimes I wonder why we’re all so damn hard on each other all the time. Socialization, enculturation, the slow accretion of assumption that congeals into Truth About The World and Everyone In It…. and whether we embrace it or fight against it, it still happens. Creating a worldview is a human thing, it’s what we do and I wouldn’t change it. I just wonder why so many people feel that there can be only one?

Yeeks, if we were drinking real beer instead of virtual pints, no doubt people would be propping me up and making go-home noises about now. And so I will. Cheers.

Not just a white world

Hello Kelley,

I wanted to let you know that I have read your novel Solitaire and loved it. I also wanted to let you know that I never would have, if Nicola had not been so effusive in her praise of it…I absolutely had to purchase it and am thoroughly pleased that I did so…it was an EXCELLENT read! It was vivid, alive, intriguing, captivating. I loved the concept, the depiction of the characters, I loved the flow of dialogue, the description of all that was tangible and not…absolutely lovely.

I have a question though, and I hope you don’t think it narrow-minded; it is not meant that way at all, I am truly curious. And perhaps someone has already asked this question, forgive me if that is the case…but: In light of the fact that Hong Kong is, shall we say, a major background, in the story, are Jackal, Snow (who sounds stunning) and the other characters Asian? I ask this because I don’t wish to fall into the trap of assuming all characters, in any book, are Caucasian.

Thanks so much for this. 🙂

Ciao.

~Rebecca~

Well, neither do I (smile), which is why I tried not to make whiteness the default value in the book. I visualize Ko as a true multinational corporation, a mix of people of many backgrounds bound together by the corporate metaculture. I think if you look again, you’ll find that Jackal is half Italian and half Spanish; Turtle and Jane are Hispanic; Bear, Crichton and Khofi Andabe are Black (I think of Bear as Afro-Caribbean and Andabe as African, but there are no specific clues to that). Tiger and Chao are Chinese. Estar is her deliberately indefinable self. Snow is as purely Norwegian as someone growing up in Asia can be. Scully is pretty generic Anglo-mutt. Neill is Australian, although you’d never know it from the book.

It doesn’t seem narrow-minded to me to question whether a white writer has considered that not everyone (and especially not everyone of importance) in her story is white. Quite the opposite. I think it’s good to read beyond majority-culture assumptions (all characters are white, straight, middle-class, Christian, physically unlimited, etc. unless otherwise labeled to identify their “difference from the norm”). And it’s good to write beyond these assumptions. But it’s not enough for a writer to go through her manuscript and hang a race tag on everyone. How stupid it would be to write a paragraph in the opening of Solitaire about Jackal looking for her web, “a racially diverse group of peers with a variety of cultural perspectives,” or some such crap. Especially if hanging the race tag is all the writer does. Creating characters who are essentially mainstream white folks in terms of worldview, experience, cultural assumptions and behavior, and then painting their skin a different color, does nothing to recognize diversity. It’s just bad writing. It takes more work to make people actually different from one another, particular in ways that reflect something about where they came from as well as who they are individually.

I’m not completely happy with the job I did in Solitaire in this regard, but the errors are those of execution, not imagination. And one reason I chose Hong Kong as the background for Ko, and Al Iskandariyah ( Alexandria) as the seat of world government, is that the world is edging toward a rebalance of power, in my opinion. If the people of the world will get off our asses and do something to help Africa, and if China builds a few more cultural and long-term economic bridges with other nations, then I think in thirty years it’s not going to be only white western superpowers driving the global cultural and political agenda. I think that will be a very scary time for many white westerners.

I’m glad you enjoyed the book and were willing to take a chance on it. But honestly, what would you expect Nicola to say (grin)–””My sweetie wrote a book and it sucks, don’t buy it”?

Cheers.

Because I want it

I’ve read your post and your @U2 “don’t download” article. I think you’re selling yourself a bit short. Yes, the essay was passionate, but it also made good sense. As you say, anyone who’s been stolen from knows that it hurts. The core of any counter to your argument is that it’s OK to steal from someone you admire (the folks doing the stealing must admire U2, because the music is what U2 is). That’s the claim that‘s truly illogical, no matter what smokescreen it hides behind.

As for a side-stepping argument that downloading the music isn’t really stealing, that’s difficult to refute in the same way that, if confronted with someone who was adamantly claiming that two plus two was five, I would be struck dumb for awhile, wondering what I could say that would make any impression, that would bridge the gap between us. Your approach was, I think, the best one — not getting into an elaborate argument about what constitutes stealing, but rather pointing out the result: that U2’s members were hurt and upset. No matter how someone defines the action of removing the band’s music from their possession, anyone who downloads it is participating in hurting people they claim to admire and empathize with. So again, don’t apologize (maybe you weren’t exactly apologizing, but your post is a little bit defensive) for being too passionate. Your article is emotional, and that’s great. It gets people to pay attention. But if you read it again, in a cooler mood, I think you’ll see that it makes good sense too.

Anonymous

Well, thank you, you’re very kind, and in fact I do think the article makes sense. I didn’t feel defensive when writing my post, or the article itself; I felt vulnerable. Perhaps my post miscommunicated in some way, but it doesn’t matter: I’d hate to end up crawling down my own navel trying not be defensive about not being defensive (big smile).

The argument about why stealing is fine that most gives me pause goes something like this: I really like their stuff and they should be thankful for such big fans like me because we keep them going, and besides they have enough money already. I find this particular sideways entitlement creepy on multiple levels. There’s the unspoken attitude of They have more than I do, so fuck them, who cares how they feel? The less obvious counterpart is, They have more than I do, but as long as they don’t act like they’re better than me then it’s okay — which is peachy until you start defining “acting better than me” as someone saying “Excuse me, but you’re interrupting my private conversation and I don’t want to sign something for you right now.”

I know I’m wandering, but this is a question I sometimes ask people: what do you or should you do when you spot a favorite celebrity in public? Is it okay to approach someone at dinner to ask for an autograph or express appreciation of their work? Is it okay if they aren’t eating yet? (Seriously, I’ve heard this argument). Is it okay if they’re standing at the urinal? (I’ve always understood that guys aren’t supposed to watch each other pee, but is it okay if one of them is famous? It’s a particular aspect of celebrity that seems a little harder on men…) I’ve had people tell me it’s their absolute right to demand a celebrity’s attention at any point because “they knew what they were getting into when they became famous, and it’s part of their job to respond to people like me.” And when people aren’t invariably gracious about being approached, they get labeled as stuck up, arrogant, forgot how they got there, think they’re too good for their fans, etc. Which is one of the responses that U2 has received as a result of this CD incident. The circularity of this reasoning befuddles me (I can’t help but perceive it as Tthey think they’re better than me because I’m rude, to which my response is, Well, yeah…).

I suppose it boils down to the truth that there’s no rational argument to be made with someone who is essentially saying, I want it because I want it, and I’ll take it because I can. That’s why it scares the bejesus out of me, whether it comes from a kid who steals someone else’s lunch money, or from the President of the United States (and I wasn’t thinking of Clinton).

And I do stand by my belief that emotional arguments, however true, are suspect in this culture. I think this is partly because this culture uses unsound emotional arguments all the time (ad hominem attacks, or stating personal values as if they were world truths, etc.), and this makes us suspicious that emotion can ever be properly allied to logic. After all, it’s almost always used as a weapon against logic. I think that’s really what I meant by my post. As you’ve said, it’s hard to know how to respond to that sort of thing.

When did we start thinking that feelings didn’t matter? And, conversely, when did we start thinking that they were an adequate basis for law or justice?

Please, can I go there too?

I agree with your thoughts about both the good and the bad sides of brotherhood/ sisterhood, the good side being the comfort zone of being with people you don’t have to justify yourself to, the bad side being a bunker us-against-them mentality. I see the good side first hand in my work environment, we researchers being able to understand each other’s arguments without involved explanations and feeling that, as long as we do our work competently, the nerdish aspects of our personalities are mutually overlooked.

One of the strangest cases of the bad side I’ve experienced first hand is my brother (who lives in a rural area) having his Ford pickup vandalized because many of the locals, who are culturally homogenous, have formed gangs that get in fights and deface each other’s property over arguments about whether Ford or Chevy is the better brand of motor vehicle. Incredible… but true. I suppose that such stuff is part of human nature, and it seems that even the rapid cultural flux we’re exposed to is unlikely to erase it anytime soon.

But, back to your answer to the “question I did ask,” the one about whether you would continue writing in the SF/Fantasy genre. In a nutshell, it seems that your answer was no, unless one of those settings offered something that would support the characters’ journey in a way that wasn’t otherwise possible. That makes sense, and real-world literature can be wonderful; The Brothers Karamazov is one of my favorites. The Bridge Of San Luis Rey is another. But, I have to admit that when I’m in the mood for recreational reading, I do love fantasy novels that give me a cool place to wander around in, and that in general I tend more towards reading SF/Fantasy than mainstream. Now that I’ve read Solitaire I’ll be picking up anything else you write, whatever the genre; but, truth be told, it’s much less likely that I would have picked up Solitaire in the first place if I hadn’t come across it in the SF section of the bookstore. So, don’t forget the SF/Fantasy fans of the world when you’re choosing among the no doubt numerous potential plots swimming around in your head!

It seems that the last 10% of any project is the most difficult to see through, and I expect that when you get to that point, and the going requires 100% effort, you’re going to want to choose between your “Kansas Novel” and your “Mountain Novel” rather than carrying them both along. Has that point come yet? Since neither of them involve aliens attacking with laser guns, or unlikely heroes/heroines overthrowing a dark lord, I won’t cast a vote one way or another, but whatever your choice, best wishes on making good progress.

Anonymous

People get het up over the most amazing things. If I drove our humble but doughty Toyota into your brother’s neighborhood, do you suppose the Ford and Chevy tribes would band together against the invader? You’re right about human nature; people will take their kinship wherever they find it, or create it if necessary, which is where things can get a little scary sometimes (ritual vehicle-mutilation being just one possible outcome).

It’s true that brother/sisterhood offers a kind of experiential shorthand, which is how I interpret your description of working with your fellow researchers. There’s a lot to be said for not having to establish context every time you express an opinion or idea, and for having a bond that forgives everyone’s individual warts in service of the larger interest. I think that’s what a good team is (in sports, in business, in love, in family).

As for reading and writing, well, who knows where I’m going (she said, with a brave smile). Some of my longest-owned, best-loved books are sprawling fantasy, sf or horror novels. I still turn to them for comfort reads, but I find I’m not reading as much new work in the field(s) as I used to. I’m reading a bit more mainstream, a lot more mystery/thriller, and a great deal more nonfiction. I find much current mainstream fiction dissatisfying and am trying to pinpoint why, so I can avoid doing it myself. I dunno, maybe it’s just me, but I’d rather read Mary Renault or John D. MacDonald or Patrick O’Brian than Don DeLillo any day of the week. I have recently enjoyed Set This House In Order by Matt Ruff (great writing and an amazing metaphor system, just wow…), and Tropic of Night by Michael Gruber (twisty mystery). I need to expand my mainstream horizons: I’m not exposing myself to all that’s out there, partly because I get a little tired of wading through tens of thousands of clever words, wondering when the story is going to start. I’ve become suspicious and curmudgeonly (laughing)! Must improve.

Conversely, a lot of the current speculative fiction I’ve picked up is NBP—nothing but plot. I know there are exceptions, but I’m just not finding a lot of them right now. I hold my breath for new Le Guin, Robin McKinley, Patricia McKillip, Peter Straub, Stephen King (well, we’ll see what happens there—it would be a shame if he truly means to publish no more beyond the last books of the Dark Tower series). There would be other people on this list, but they’re dead. Part of what I like about all these folks is their ability to create worlds and people that I love spending time with: a confluence of character, dialogue, prose that is witty and graceful as opposed to arch or clunky (or arch and clunky, oh, the horror….), an interesting world experienced through people who feel and behave, as opposed to just do, do, do. And what I want, I am figuring out, is to write a mainstream novel that does what my favorite speculative fiction does—sucks me in, makes me feel, gives me adventure, and provokes in me the urgent wish to go there myself and be with those people for whatever they’re going to do next. I’m not Pomo-Irony Girl, and shop-and-fuck-between-mojitos novels are not my calling, so I sure hope there’s room for me in the pond.

There I go, not answering the question again. As it happens, right now I am focusing on the mountain novel. There are some structural and character problems with the Kansas book: I’m not bagging it, but I do need to let it cool for a bit so I can scrape the big layer of fat off the top (anyone who has ever cooked lamb shanks is with me in this moment, I know). Part of the problem with the Kansas book, I am realizing right this minute, is that it doesn’t do what I just said in the last paragraph that I want to do in a mainstream context. There’s no adventure, no Please, can I go there too? No sense of camaraderie with the protagonist. Well. Damn. There it is. I can see I’ll be waking up at 3:00 this morning with my brain already chewing on what needs to change.

I think the mountain book is already different in this regard, at least I hope so. As I envision it right now, it’s very much about community and interconnection in a way that the Kansas book (light bulb!) really isn’t. I said to Nicola a while back that although the story and people of the Kansas book aren’t like Solitaire, on some level it was starting to seem similar to me. And I don’t need to be writing the same book twice.

It’s tricky. The Kansas and mountain books are both about disconnection and reconnection, about rebirth, as is Solitaire. On some level, it’s likely that everything I’ve ever written can be said to spring from these roots, and I’m sure it will be possible to point at whatever I write next and say it’s just like the last one. But the Kansas book feels like Solitaire without as much emotional solidity, whereas the mountain book feels very much like the next thing to do.

Goodness me, what a week. Table-pounding essays and important fiction realizations. Thank you for this round, it’s been wonderfully useful as well as interesting. I will certainly enjoy my actual beer tonight, and feel as though I’ve deserved it (grin).

Going public

Many of you know that I’m a staff writer for @U2, the best damn U2 website on the planet. I have another article posted there to share with you, and a little background as well.

The big U2 news of the past week is the theft of a rough copy of the new album (due out in November), and the band’s concern that the entire thing will show up on the internet and be downloaded by a million people. There are many fans who think this is a fine thing to do: I’m not among them. I got so fired up about this in @U2 internal discussions that I ended up with the assignment of a “don’t download” essay, and another staff writer took the pro-download position.

Those essays went up last night at about 11 pm West Coast time, just as I was heading to bed. When I got to my computer at 8:15 this morning, there were already emails stacking up from people who had read the essay, followed the link to this website, hunted around for contact info, and taken the time to write thoughtful responses. There is also a discussion in the @U2 forum.

It’s not like I need more proof of the connective power of the internet, but wow…

Writing the essay left me physically exhausted and emotionally shaky in a way that only fiction ever has before. I’ve never before made a passionate and opinionated public statement knowing that it would be seen by tens (possibly hundreds) of thousands of people, all of whom have passionate opinions of their own. It’s made me feel “public” in a way I never have before. I think this has to do, at least partly, with deciding to break the unspoken rule that debate is more valid when it is factual and intellectual. Our culture regards argument based on emotion and personal values as unfortunate at best, contemptible at worst. Trying to craft an essay that people would stick with even after they realized what it was (yeesh, it’s all about feelings and stuff!) was challenging and scary. Feelings are hard to articulate, not easily defined head on; they like to turn their head when you’re trying to take a picture (which is why metaphor is so useful in fiction). But I had to try, or the argument devolves into, “It’s wrong because I feel it’s wrong.” Which is valid, sure, but pretty much a conversation-stopper: that wasn’t the point for me.

I ran into so many temptations: to be dispassionate and clever rather than passionate and clear; to take a preemptive defensive stance (you’ll probably say I’m pious, naïve, unhip, kiss-ass, and here’s why I’m really not); to hedge about my own bootlegs in order to make my position more seamless and secure. I’m glad I didn’t (at least not consciously or deliberately), but I’d be lying if I said it wasn’t a near thing.

If anyone is interested in discussing any of this over a virtual Guinness, the pub is always open.

Cover me

I walked into a barnes and nobles bookstore a few days ago and I was searching for a new book (even though I have a dozen at home that I haven’t read and another dozen on hold) when I found a book called Holy Fire by some other author, but it had the same cover as your book. Not the white one with the box and the face in it, but the face with the electronic stuff around it and the circle around the eye. I just wanted to let you know that there is another book out there that has stolen your book’s cover.

Alexander

No, really, it’s okay. Holy Fire is a novel by Bruce Sterling, a highly respected and accomplished writer, and was first published in 1997, long before Solitaire. The original artwork for the cover was created by a wonderful artist named Eric Dinyer. When it came time to create a new cover for the trade paperback of Solitaire, the publisher’s designer found this image and adjusted it for my cover. This happens a lot in publishing; it’s called recycling artwork, and it’s a way for the publisher to give a book a new “look” without the sometimes high cost of commissioning original art.

Bruce Sterling is aware that Solitaire used the same art as Holy Fire: he made a brief remark about it on this blog if you’re interested.

Ambivalence

I just finished reading Solitaire and am left with a few questions and conclusions.

I identified with Jackal in her search of “what am I and what am I suppose to do” in regards to being the “Hope”. I couldn’t figure out the big deal. But then, global and corporate domination isn’t something I would want to be associated with.

I saw her as a victim and a pawn, even at the end.

The elevator scenario was not her fault. She was doing her best, doing something when no one else was. And interestingly enough, I never thought she hit the wrong button, but instead the whole console was rigged by the terrorist. Nobody was going to get them out no matter what she or a technician did.

As I thought about the story, it dawned on me that the title of the book is ironic. Jackal was never by herself. Ever. Before prison it was Ko watching her, and during her sentence, the scientist/jailers were with her. Her implants kept her connected to the real world. No matter how much she thought she was alone or solo, she had to subconsciously understand that there were people always watching her. Interacting with her. Monitoring her every brain spike and functions. Her retreat to a unpopulated Ko showed she knew it would be the only way to be left by herself.

And now, she still isn’t alone. I never read where her implants and tracking devices were removed. She’s still not her own person. She’s still being controlled and observed, but just on her own terms.

Another puzzling part was her aversion to touch. Why would the lack of it for her imagined 8 years encourage her to pull away from it? It was mentioned at the end she recognized the last time someone had touched her, but yet, was uncomfortable with the one person whose touch she should have needed the most. Weird.

I enjoyed the “management “dialogs. It was interesting to see how things can be perceived with a corporate vision.

Thank you for a very thought provoking book.

Claudia

You’re welcome, although the book you read certainly wasn’t the book I meant to write. Not that it matters. I’ve been having an interesting discussion with a teacher about intentionality, and we agree that the writer’s intention isn’t the point of the reading experience. Still, I must say I’m sorry to hear that for you Jackal is a victim and a pawn throughout the book. I wouldn’t enjoy reading a book like that, and don’t much enjoy the thought that someone believes I’ve written one. But mileage varies, and it’s interesting to try to see the book from your point of view.

Very little of Solitaire is ironic, from my perspective (oh, here I go, talking about my intentions. Sorry. It’s hard not to, since I’m the writer as well as a reader in this case). Some long-term customers of the virtual pub may get a little tired of hearing me say this (oh well): I really do believe in hope, and small joys as well as great ones. I would wish the book to reflect that without irony.

Of course, Solitaire is also a novel that explores ambivalence on almost every level of the narrative, which is perhaps what has sparked some of your observations. It’s true for me that Jackal is still being observed, for example (her implants are there to stay), and controlled (she is still a convicted criminal with limited civil rights). And I also think she’s very much her own person, as much as any of us can be within the limitations that arise from living with other people in social structures.

There are so many folks in the world who never get to live on their own terms: it’s not an easy thing for me to categorize as “but just.” I think it’s a triumph: a small one perhaps, but a life of small triumphs is a successful life indeed.

The touch issue is another expression of the ambivalence that’s so much a part of the book. Not intentional (grin), but I can see how it fits into the larger pattern. Being literally untouched for an extended period of time can be a horribly isolating experience, especially if the body adjusts to it, and it becomes a physical norm. I think all humans have an individual baseline of touch (as we do with personal space, or tolerance of pain), and it’s my experience that if my baseline isn’t being met (because people are touching me too much, or not enough), I become uncomfortable. I think Jackal’s baseline changes pretty drastically in VC.

Touch is also part of the overall metaphor of connection in the book. Jackal identifies herself so strongly as connected (with Ko, the web, her family), and then she is so forcibly disconnected: her confusion about touch once she is out of VC is part of her overall confusion about reconnecting.

Hmm. That’s interesting to think about. Thanks for bringing it up.

I’m glad you enjoyed the management dialogs. I enjoyed writing them, and sometimes miss using my “business brain” on a daily basis as I did when I was in the corporate world. At the moment, I’m a member of a degree committee for a master’s candidate in organizational systems design, which is giving me the chance to share some of my knowledge and experience, and learn new things. Great fun. The corporate world isn’t the only arena where these skills are useful, but it’s one where having skill can make a huge difference to the quality of everyone’s daily experience. I’m biased, of course, but I wish more people cared enough about this stuff to instill it in their corporate cultures.

Cheers.

Movie Solitaire

First of all, thank you for answering my previous question (your answer was long and definitely worth the read!). I especially liked the way you defined an expert novelist –” “Expert doesn’t mean the product is perfect, only that the results are conscious and shaped, rather than a splatter of hope, energy, desire held together by fledgling skills and a prayer….” Even though I have been writing for nearly a decade, I am still quite young, and I found your words to be both refreshing and encouraging.

So, here’s my newest question for you: if Solitaire ever became a movie, who do you see in the roles of your characters? Would you even want it to be a movie?

Have a nice day. I’ll be back soon to read your response.

Sirene

I’d love Solitaire to become a movie, especially if the film preserved the emotional core of the book, although I couldn’t control that. Those are the dice you roll when you sell a book to the movies –” there’s a reason they call the process “adapting,” and it’s not just the book that has to adapt, you know? It’s everyone, including, maybe especially, the author. Nicola has also just recently posted some musings on the subject of book-to-film, and while I’m not sure I would go so far as to say I don’t care a whit about plot, I do agree that details go up for grabs. Some things can’t be translated.

What I would want is someone to make a movie about Solitaire because they cared about the same things I did: the essential characters and relationships, and what I think of as the heart of the book, the reconstruction of self and the power of hope. Some of the plot is necessary for that, and it seems to me it would defeat the purpose to morph the story into a cyberpunk revenge-thriller with lots of Ko baddies in sharkskin suits and dark glasses stalking Jackal across the NNA. But that could happen, and maybe it would be a better movie. It just wouldn’t be the book.

There’s something about writing that makes people inclined to treat their own work as sacred and immutable. But it can’t be that way in film or television, which are such collaborative media. In a funny way, I think my background in facilitation made it a lot easier for me when I first encountered this fundamental difference in worldview, when Alien Jane was adapted for Welcome to Paradox on the Sci Fi Channel. I had one author tell me point-blank that I shouldn’t watch the episode, that it would only upset and anger me, and that it was inevitable that “they” would ruin the story. I was startled by that point of view. I assumed (still do) that TV and movie people want to tell the best story they can, just like I do, and that they look for the best way in their medium the same way I do in mine. I know this is possibly naïve, certainly not true in all cases, but it’s still my default assumption. Most people don’t try to make crap.

Anyway, it was a genuine thrill to see Alien Jane on the screen, and to marvel over the changes as well as the similarities. I had a great experience corresponding with the people who made the show; they were charming, enthusiastic, intelligent and thoughtful, and were in fact trying to tell the best story they could. I was delighted to be a part of it, and I’d do it again in a New York second. But I wouldn’t expect a movie of Solitaire to be my vision of the story: I’d expect it to be the combined vision of the director, producer, screenwriter, actors, editor, cinematographer…. a veritable artistic gumbo. How cool it would be, to have something I wrote be the seed of such collaboration.

As far as casting, nope, I have no opinions about specific actors. I did have an actor in mind when I wrote Neill, but that’s just my private vision, and I think there are many folks who could play the role well. I think it would be mistake to make everybody white or whitebread, and I think it would be a mistake to make Snow a boy, but I can imagine either happening.

Ah, the visions in my head…. it would be such a kick to visit the set of Solitaire (something I didn’t get to do with Alien Jane because I didn’t ask quickly enough, and they had already finished shooting) and see the work in process, see some part of the essential book coming to life. Wow. I would sit in a corner with a goofy grin, I’m sure. Witnessing creation can be really boring and sometimes frustrating, but it can also be a pure rush when all the work comes together. I’ve experienced it enough in my time as an actor, and a facilitator, to treasure it when I see it happen in the world.

Send me an angel

I bought your book and I liked it, but I would like to get it signed and I wanted to know if you were going on tour. I couldn’t find any dates. I also wanted to know if you have another book coming out soon, or if your working on one. Oh yeah, and my favorite character is snow.

Alexander

No tour unless I pay for it myself, or find a tour angel who wants to jet me and my sweetie to places where people will turn up in droves, buy lots of books, and ply us with good food and wine and conversation…. ah, the writer’s life as it should be. I really enjoy doing readings and signings, and wish I had more opportunity. I think I’d do well on a tour –” I enjoy meeting readers, booksellers, reps and journalists, and there’s nothing like face-to-face mutual goodwill to help spread the word about the work. Anyone who can get me or Nicola on Fresh Air or All Things Considered, and would find a very nice dinner with us an incentive, please feel free to pull some strings on our behalf (grin).

I always post information about appearances in News, and will certainly give advance notice of anything outside of Seattle. Right now, the only way to get a book personally signed is to order one through University Books, and I’ll go in and sign it. (edited in 2008 to add: I’m not doing this right now, but you can email me directly and I’ll give you a PO Box to send a book to. Kludgy, I know, but there it is.) I know you’ve already bought the book, I’m not asking you to buy another, but perhaps someone will get you a signed copy for your next present-receiving occasion.

I like Snow too. It’s good to have a person of focus in one’s corner, as Jackal certainly knows.

Taking care

It’s one of those days, snarky, and I can’t get into my work… which is dull and corporate in nature anyway and I woke up with a splitting headache and that dreadful phrase in my head, “what’s the point of it all?” And my co-workers keep telling me that my underwear is showing and I can’t really do anything about it. I think the bottom line, after reading Virtual Pint and a few dozen Ask Nicola‘s is that everyone is reaching out from their various corners of the earth, myself included, for reassurance that whatever path we are taking or abandoning or considering is ok and that there other people reading and writing and drinking and eating and fighting traffic and picking blueberries or apologizing to a lover. It’s compounded need for company in this world they say is getting smaller but actually is so freaking enormous that its impossible to even scratch the surface. And, Kelley, your forum is a great hostel for all of us looking for the point of it all. It is so important, especially in this out of control world, that we all can talk. And share. And listen. That we write. And we read. Work out lyrics and try new things based on recommendation. Kudos, Kelley. What would be a good brew to try on a day like this?

anonymous

I’m sorry you had a snarky day and hope this one is better.

One particularly unhappy year, chock full of snarky days, I was living in Chicago with very few personal connections, no money, no sweetie, and a roommate with a coke habit that didn’t quite hide her vast sadness. I worked in television production and watched the few women I knew in the business become brittle and barbed from the same battles I was fighting. I was beginning to understand that I wasn’t going to be an actor. So I started spending at least two evenings a week in a lovely hot bath drinking a homemade chocolate milkshake. Did it make anything better? Hard to say. At the time, it felt like I was hanging on by my fingernails; now it seems to me that I did a pretty good job of taking care of myself during a hard time.

I was reading the Sunday paper that winter –” white sky, gray trees, snow blowing against the living room window. On the front page of the travel section was a picture of people in a pontoon raft on the Colorado river in the Grand Canyon, the hot sharp light of summer. People in motion. People doing something large. I read the article and felt large myself, and also sad, a sort of miserable, resigned ache. And that just pissed me off, you know? So I cut the article out of the paper and carried it in my bag for a year. Every time I got out my car keys or my wallet, I saw it. It turned so soft from handling that it felt like a cloth handkerchief. I started the Kelley Eskridge Invisible Savings Plan (a way of hiding money without actually putting it out of reach). I ate a lot of potatoes and tuna sandwiches that year, and sixteen months later I was on the river myself. And it was fucking amazing, not only because it was as near as I’ve been to a sense of the sacred, but because I felt in motion myself, driving instead of drifting.

So that’s my strategy for the bad times: find small ways to live large while I’m working on the large ones. I talk to Nicola. I laugh as much as I can. I drink Stella Artois or Oranjeboom. I listen to music that makes me feel bigger in the world. I cook myself the potato-chip tuna casserole my mom made when I was a kid. I read an old favorite book. I watch an oh-my-god-if-I-could-only-meet-that-person movie. I dream. I still want to be in a movie, meet U2, have a bestseller, earn an aikido black belt, write a kickass screenplay for one of the women in Searching for Debra Winger, spend two weeks in Moorea, design and build our own house, be fluent in ASL. And go back to the canyon. I’m working on it.

I’m glad you enjoy the virtual pub. I do too. It’s become important to me in ways I didn’t expect. I’m grateful for the conversations here. I like the mix of idea and experience, personal and general. The talk of hopes and fears jostling with reports on the state of the world from our particular corner of it. Sometimes a warm fire and a beer and the sense of companionable folk at nearby tables is just the ticket. Look, there’s your chair.