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 donât 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 otherâs 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 Iâve 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 otherâs 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 weâre exposed to is unlikely to erase it anytime soon.
But, back to your answer to the âquestion I did ask,â 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 charactersâ journey in a way that wasnât 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 Iâm 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 Iâve read Solitaire Iâll be picking up anything else you write, whatever the genre; but, truth be told, itâs much less likely that I would have picked up Solitaire in the first place if I hadnât come across it in the SF section of the bookstore. So, donât forget the SF/Fantasy fans of the world when youâre 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, youâre going to want to choose between your âKansas Novelâ and your âMountain Novelâ 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 wonât 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 NBPânothing 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 thereâit 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 doesâsucks 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).