Pulling 180

Nonfiction writers imagine.  Fiction writers invent.  These are fundamentally different acts, performed to different ends. 

Unlike a fiction reader whose only task is to imagine, a nonfiction reader is asked to behave more deeply: to imagine, and also to believe.  Fiction doesn't require its readers to believe; in fact, it offers its readers the great freedom of experience without belief - something real life can't do.  Fiction gives us a rhetorical question: "What if this happened?"  (The best) nonfiction gives us a statement, something more complex: "This may have happened."

Free Lunch

For years now, I've been a fan of Cheeseburger Brown stories.  Like many others, I jumped right from the Vader Blog into the surreal Simon of Space and have been hooked on his stories ever since.  If you're a fan of Sci-fi and have a few spare moments to kill online, I'd recommend jaunting on over to his Free Stories section.  Dive right in - start anywhere, it doesn't matter.  Many of the stories are loosely connected to one another, so once you've started you'll find yourself pulled into other narratives as well.  It's a wonderful motley mess of Sci-fi goodliness. 

And although I don't read his blog as often as I should, I loved this short tale about his Time Traveling Son.

The Exception

It occurred to me after reading what I last wrote.  Although, Sci-fi writers quietly eschew the impossible task of creating the truly alien (while pretending to do otherwise) the one glaring exception is H.P. Lovecraft.  Instead of politely ignoring the problem, he reveled in it.  He took the impossibility of it, built a gilded frame around it, and shined his spotlights into the abyss.  (Of course, for Lovecraft, it wasn't so much the impossibility of creating the truly alien that he found vexing, but rather the impossibility of being able to cope with it.)

Imprint

Despite its implied pledge, Sci-fi is always more concerned with distorting the familiar than presenting the alien.  How could it be otherwise?  It fills itself with overly (yet necessarily) anthropomorphic aliens, impossible/implausible (and occasionally visionary) technologies, and entire planets that resemble one tiny fragment of our own multifarious Earth. No matter where they take us, writers can only deliver recognizable elements - mixed-up and blended through the kaleidoscope of their craft.

Many would fault Sci-fi for this limitation, for not being able to deliver the very object of its focus, but this too misses its mark.  At its core, Sci-fi is always about facing the consequences of (inevitable) change.  (At least all Sci-fi worth reading is.)  At its best, Sci-fi somehow illuminates those unpredictable, dreadfully wondrous contingencies within our impending, impossible future.

Usurper of the Sun

Perhaps my favorite sub-genre of Sci-fi is contact stories. Tragically, these stories inevitably fail to deliver satisfying resolutions.  The art is always in the build-up - the suspense surrounding an unknown alien intelligence.  Anticipation ever heightening towards the unveiling of something universally epic and transformational.  It's the narrative equivalent of painting yourself into a corner.  Once you've hooked an audience with the promise of revealing the 'great mysterious other' - no description, no matter how artful - can possibly manage to fulfill expectations.  It's failure by design.    

It's no wonder there are relatively few great contact stories.  Carl Sagan did the seminal Contact,  Arthur C. Clarke - Rendezvous with Rama (which was actually earlier.)  Both and had the good sense to make their aliens  disappear, at least partially managing to maintain some of the mystery (and in Clarke's case, prompting sequels.)  Yet even these award-winning novels conclude with the inescapable aftertaste of disappointment.  We always want more.

I appreciate these flawed constructs.  Most Sci-fi simply invents its artificial elements and tosses them in.  Introduced as exposition, we readily accept them and move on.  It's so much more powerful when a writer confronts the magnitude (and impossibility) of describing the truly alien.  Willing to - fearlessly or foolishly - push the narrative forward, all the while inwardly aware that what lies beyond the great wall of the unknown can never be adequately described, they try anyways.

So it's with a special reverence when I announce Usurper of the Sun, by Housuke Nojiri, is a great contact novel.  Its premise: an alien intelligence (or unknown force of nature) is building a ring around the sun, indiscriminately threatening Earth.  It presents an alien intelligence so different that any communication with it (or understanding of it) is very likely impossible.  Set in the very near future, told from the point of view of a Japanese scientist over a lifetime, it at times carries the weight and feel of an important historical autobiography, the chronicle of an obsessive quest to communicate with something  incommunicable.  In the end, the novel does make the fatal mistake of showing us the builders - effectively destroying any sense of plausible realism and landing us squarely within the realm of lighthearted Sci-fi.  *Sigh*  But such is the fate of contact stories.  And Usurper of the Sun remains among my favorites.

Housuke Nojiri is the author of several Sci-fi novels.  Usurper of the Sun won the Seiun Award for best Japanese Sci-fi novel of 2002.  Nojiri possibly deserves to rank among the pantheon of great Sci-fi writers, but most distressingly only Usurper has been translated into English.  Another of his older novels, Rocket Girls, is slated to be published in English soon.  I'm already in line.

The Child Thief

I was familiar with the artwork of Brom long before I realized he was writing books.  I recently picked up a hardcover copy of The Child Thief on a whim, unsure of how well an established artist might fare in the tangential medium of writing.  His artwork is great, but I was skeptical that anyone who publishes his works under a monosyllabic moniker could possibly offer more substance than ego.  At least the book has numerous stunning illustrations - that was what tipped my curiosity over the edge.

Suffice to say I am very glad I did purchase the book. Its wonderful prose immediately drew me in.  Brom paints as effectively with words on a page as he does with oils on a canvas.  Either way his true talent is revealed in his imagery.

The story itself is a dark retelling of Peter Pan - the devilish imp who kidnaps children and manipulates them into waging an insane and bloody war against his enemies.  Not at all the playful tale of prolonged childhood desires, no Tinkerbell, no fairy-dust, The Child Thief is more in the vein of Lord of the Flies than any Disnified image you might hold of Peter Pan and his 'lost boys.'  Brom admits when he read the original J.M. Barrie story he was struck by the savage side of Peter (only occasionally hinted at), and sought to explore what such a powerful, feral child might really be like.

The Good:  Drawing heavily from Welsh mythology, Brom creates a memorable world populated by strange and authentic characters.  I especially loved the bad guys.  The Captain was both a horror - and thoroughly human.  His actions completely reasonable according to his circumstances.  The war and bloodshed between his crew and Peter's made especially tragic because of its inevitability and its pointlessness.  Much of the conflict was framed as antipathy between the Holy Church and the older Pagan traditions, allowing Brom to highlight the hypocrisy and senseless evil of unyielding dogmatic beliefs  - on both sides.

The Bad:  Although it was an enjoyable read, I was sorely disappointed by Brom's inconsistent utilization of myth and magic.  At first it seemed 'magic' held significant symbolic meanings, perhaps even offering the reader a glimpse at some deeper human truth (as is often the case in great myths.)  From chapter to chapter however, the power and use of certain magics would inexplicably change.  The end result was to strip these events of any deeper significance, 'magic' becoming no more than a bluntly wielded plot device.  Any hint at underlying significance apparently little more than the vestigial traces of the original myths Brom cribbed from - misunderstood, unappreciated, and ignored.  I have no problem whatsoever with taking directly from (and even changing) existing myths, but it seemed the real tragedy was to write so well, draw in all the right elements, and yet remain blind to the story's full potential.

Overall I would recommend the book to anyone interested.  It was always intriguing, at times unexpected, but never quite fulfilling. I myself enjoy an entertaining distraction - and The Child Thief is - but if you're not already impressed with the premise and cover art (or are squeamish about explicit violence), you could probably pass it by.  It delivers in full on it's promise, but only just.  What you see is what you get.

Link to the Past

Despite spending over a year overseas, I'm finally back home and blogging again.  After being away so long it seemed as easy to start over with a new blog rather than revive the old, but this blog is really just a continuation of the old.  So in the interest of continuity I'm linking back.

I even spent a bit perusing the old blog and was happy to rediscover a few gems I'd forgotten.  I've never taken my blogging too seriously, but it strikes me that there is modest value in writing these posts.  I'm at least flexing my writing muscles in a different way and I'm leaving behind markers in time.  Perhaps their only real relevance is to me - but that's still something.

Here's a few I'd forgotten but appreciated re-visting: World's Shortest Intelligence Test and Great Sci-Fi Writers.  And of course I'll never forget Abducted by Aliens.