Larry's Fun Little Game

I’m not a big fan of ‘memes’, but I saw this over at the OF Blog (I know it’s not really a meme, but it’s close). Anyway, I found it caught my eye, so I’ll jump in.

Five Recent Reads:

The Dragons of Babel by Michael Swanwick (currently reading)

Before They Are Hanged by Joe Abercrombie (review)

The Inferior by Peadar Ó Guilín (review)

Mistborn: The Final Empire by Brandon Sanderson (review)

The Traitor by Michael Cisco (review)

Seeing all these together makes things seem rather more eclectic than I had realized.

One I Am About To Start Reading:

The Martian General’s Daughter by Theodore Judson (this upcoming release by Pyr looks very good)

Confessions of a Formerly Color Blind Reader

First, read this post by David Anthony Durham about the oft used argument of being a ‘color blind’ reader.

I’m a pretty standard example of an American upper-middle class upbringing and could serve as a great example of the term W.A.S.P. (White Anglo-Saxon Protestant). As such, I’m almost certain that I’ve at some point claimed to be ‘color blind’ regarding reading and some issue or another – and when I made the claims I considered this to be a positive example of a lack of racism.

Over the last several years I’ve noticed that I can’t really make that argument anymore. I actively seek out diversity of one kind or another in my reading. I want to read a book from a different perspective. I bought ___ because the author is from Columbia, and ___ because it’s originally a Russian work, and ____ because it’s from Japan, and ___ because her perspective sounds intriguing, and ____ because he’s African, and ____ because he’s homosexual, etc. Were these the only reasons – maybe? I don’t know, but they were reasons. And I certainly don’t do this for every book I get – I get a lot of books because they sound good (and I may not know anything about that author), and I of course get books specifically because I know of the author even if I don’t know of that particular book. But, I can say that I know longer buy books blindly, and my reading experience has been greatly enhanced as a result.

And in spite of the entire previous paragraph, a study of my bookshelf would reveal that a large majority of the books were written by white males. It sure makes me think.

The Once Upon a Time Challenge

Carl V. over at Stainless Steel Droppings is hosting The Once Upon a Time Challenge. It’s basically personal challenge to read books within a few subgenres of SFF: fantasy, fairy tales, mythology, and folklore. There are many levels of participation encouraged, so check it out. Links to reviews people have written for the challenge are being posted here.

I’m not a strong participant as I’ve got a pretty big list of books that I’ll be reading in the near future, however I’ll be trying to participate as I can. Go check out his blog – there are lots of posts relating to the challenge there and elsewhere that include reading lists and recommendation among other stuff.

In Defense of Escapism

Ahh…here is another one of those great internet discussions, spilling over from message boards to blogs about an issue that’s been discussed to death. This time it seems to have started with M. John Harrison posting this about the sin of worldbuilding, it was followed up with some message board discussion at wotmania and ASOIF. Then Larry/Dylanfanatic/Freebird posted this blog, Pat at Pat’s Fantasy Hotlist followed up with this entry with Gabe Chouinard responding here. And several others have weighed in as well.

Fine, I’ve said what I have to say about worldbuilding elsewhere, so this is not really a direct response to any of that above, just an extension of my reaction to that discussion.

For whatever reason, admitting that you read for any sort of escapism is akin to admitting you like country music, Nascar, Natural Lite beer, live in a trailer, etc. You are immediately regulated to being less intelligent of a reader and just not getting it. Suddenly, you are less than respectful.

Well, I read for escapism – it may be the biggest reason why I enjoy reading as much as I do. It’s almost certainly the biggest reason why such a large proportion of my reading is in speculative fiction.

Let’s face it – reality sucks a lot of the time. I spend 9, 10, sometimes 12+ hours, 5 days a week working. I like my job, but I won’t pretend that I’d keep working if I won the lottery. Beyond that, it’s hard not to take a cynical view of the world today – there’s terrorism, unnecessary war, an idiot running the most powerful country in the world, religious extremism, global warming, etc. If I allow it to sink in it’s hard to not get angry, depressed, and unhopeful. Then, when I get home it’s time to various chores and projects, and of course there are family relationships to deal with.

So when I get some free time I absolutely want to escape this reality and fully immerse myself in some alternate world. I don’t need much; I just crave something that is different from my perspective, something that might require a suspension of belief. Speculative fiction of all sorts is where I most often turn to for this. This is what I enjoy; this is my hobby.

Am I looking for cliché, epic fantasy that is pure escapism – usually not, but sometimes I am. I do enjoy books that contain depth – that are thematic, metaphorical, political, great statements on the human condition, etc. I also enjoy books that are just plain fun, while not being particularly deep. And yes, in almost all cases, escapism is still the biggest driving force behind my enjoyment of reading. Loosing myself in the story, the world, or the language – yes this is an escape.

For whatever reason, it’s assumed that if you read for escapism, you must be reading some 10-book series of epic fantasy, something that is poorly written, easy for others to dismiss. I don’t get this – I can escape just as easily into something by Jeff VanderMeer, Haruki Murakami, Graham Joyce, or Hal Duncan. Escapism equating to bad writing is fallacy.

Perhaps the issue starts in the way people define escapism differently from one another. Maybe people deny things in themselves and others. Maybe people are just different.

People read for lots of reasons. Denying that escapism is one of the biggest is a mistake – it should be embraced. Looking down on anyone for their own reasons for reading is horribly short-sighted. Look, if escapism is an evil word to you – fine, just don’t tell me how wrong I am for embracing it. I can accept that you read for reasons different than my own; can you do the same?

Edit: Gabe adds another post and Tobias Buckell jumps in (thanks for the link).

Edit 2: Dylanfantic/Larry/Freebird reflects some more - some interesting ideas to think on, but ultimately I'm not sure he 'gets' it.

Edit 3: I think I'll stop adding edits after this, but there is some great discussion on this happening at The Lotus Lyceum. Deep Genre offers something tangental to the issue, and The Lotus Lyceum discusses that also.

The Stack

From time to time you may see me reference The Stack – The Stack is simply the books I have at home waiting to be read. These are books that I have not read before – so it doesn’t include books that I’d like to reread. Also not included are a few nonfiction and similar books around that house that belong with The Stack but have a different geographical location, so they generally get excluded. Below is a tally of the 94 books that make up The Stack at the moment. With collections of short stories, various omnibus collections, and the exceptions mentioned above, this is just a rough count.

I typically read between 40 and 50 books in a given year, so you can see that I have a 2-year reading supply at home. Of course The Stack is ever growing as I obtain new books – there is what I like to call The Waiting List (my list of books to get) for The Stack. So happily, I have lots of reading to look forward to, though I’ll admit that there are books on The Stack that I may never get around to reading, though I intend to try.

The Stack has a strange dominance over my life – it never seems to get smaller (just a year ago I think it only had 60 or 70 books), and I often find myself staring at it as I choose my next book to read. My wife’s opinion of The Stack probably shouldn’t be mentioned.

Anyway, here it is for your enjoyment, The Stack:

Sarah Andrews – The Bone Hunter
Isaac Asimov – The Edge of Tomorrow
Jean M. Auel – The Clan of the Cave Bear
Stephen Barnes – The Cestus Deception
Richard Bowes – From the Files of the Time Rangers
Ray Bradbury – The Stories of Ray Bradbury (Alfred A. Knopf, ed.)
John Burdett – Bangkok 8
Ian Caldwell, Dustin Thomason – The Rule of Four
Jaqueline Carey – Kushiel’s Dart; Kushiel’s Chosen; Kushiel’s Avatar
Jonathan Carroll – Bones of the Moon
James Clavell – Shogun
A.C. Crispin – V
John Crowley – Little Big
Clive Cussler with Paul Kemprocs – Polar Split; Lost City
Charles de Lint – Moonlight and Vines; Tapping the Dream Tree; Trader; Into the Green; Somewhere to be Flying; Spirit Walk; Jack of Kinrowan
Philip K. Dick – The Minority Report and other stories
Gardner Dozois, George R.R. Martin, Daniel Abraham – Shadow Twin
Lord Dunsany – The King of Elfland’s Daughter
Umberto Eco – The Island of the Day Before; Foucault’s Pendulum

Harlan Ellison (ed.) – Again, Dangerous Visions

C.S. Friedman – This Alien Shore
Kinky Friedman – Guide to Texas Etiquette; Meanwhile Back at the Ranch
Carl Hiaasen – Basket Case; Double Whammy
Anne Harris – Inventing Memory
M. John Harrison – Viriconium
Robert Heinlein – A Stranger in a Strange Land
Howard Hendrix – The Labyrinth Key
Robin Hobb – Fool’s Fate; Fool’s Errand; Golden Fool
Alexander Irvine – A Scattering of Jade
Graham Joyce – Partial Eclipse and Other Stories
Guy Gavriel Kay – The Fionavar Tapestry
Stephen King – From a Buick 8; Dolores Claiborne; Desperation; Rose Madder
Ursula Le Guin – The Left Hand of Darkness; Rocannon’s World; Planet of Exile; City of Illusions, The Word for World is Forest
Kelly Link – Magic for Beginners
Morgan Llywelyn – The Elementals
Gregory Maguire – Mirror, Mirror
Gabriel García Márquez – One Hundred Years Solitude
George R.R. Martin – Fevre Dream
Ian McDonald – Tendeléo’s Story
David Mitchell – The Cloud Atlas
Michael Moorcock – Mother London
Christopher Moore – A Dirty Job
Mervyn Peake – The Gormenghast Novels
Ricardo Pinto – The Standing Dead
Terry Pratchett – Wyrd Sisters; Sourcery; Pyramids; Thief of Time; Reaper Man
Tom Robbins – Even Cowgirls Get The Blues
Kim Stanley Robinson – Green Mars; Blue Mars
James Rollins – Sandstorm
James Roscow – 800 Miles to Valdez
David Sedaris – Me Talk Pretty One Day
Dan Simmons – Fires of Eden; Hyperion; The Fall of Hyperion

Neil Stephenson – The Diamond Age
Jules Verne – Journey to the Center of the Earth
Randy Wayne White – North of Havana
Tad Williams – Stone of Farewell; To the Green Angel Tower; Otherland
Simon Winchester – Krakatoa; The Map that Changed the World
Paul Witcover – Tumbling After
Gene Wolfe – The Urth of the New Sun; Litany of the Long Sun
Tom Wolfe – I am Charlotte Simmons
John C. Wright – Orphans of Chaos
Timothy Zahn – Survivor’s Quest

I Hope No One I Actually Know is Reading

The whole blogging process is at once interesting, fun, liberating, uninhibiting, self conscious, embarrassing, a waste of precious time, a good distraction, informative, and loads of other descriptors that I could come up with. But what does all this say about what I really think of SF, or fear that others think?

As I gain more popularity and visibility, I’ve struggled with some internal thoughts – what happens if someone I actually know is reading (not of my ‘internet friends’ or frints as I think of them), or shudder-the-thought of my wife or other family member visiting. Is this another example of hiding the cover of the book I’m reading, or leaving the jacket behind? Am I that embarrassed that I’m a blogger, and not just a blogger, but a one who blogs about SF books?

What about you guys out there in the blogosphere? I doubt many of you who are ‘doing your job’ struggle much with this, but how about those like me who do this as more of a hobby? Do your friends and family know of your blogging. Are frints distinguished from real-life friends? Am I just dating myself as someone who missed the cyber-train by a few years?

I know that I crave the anonymity of it all – I don’t want real world people to know this side of my personality. So, I’ll keep going as I do, in the dark corners of home and office, anonymously blogging away about my precious genre books.