August 2009

World in the Satin Bag

Rejections Are Good For You

Anyone with brains knows that if you intend to be a legitimately published writer, you’re going to get rejected not just once, but multiple times. It’s extremely rare for a writer to avoid rejection by publishers. But rejection isn’t such a bad thing. I’m not sure where anti-rejection discussions come from, but it seems to me that if you’re going to complain about rejections, you’re in the wrong business. It’s part of the writing life, whether you’re an amateur who has yet to be published, or a professional with two hundred novels under your belt. Everyone gets rejected and having the right attitude about them can lessen their effects and teach you a few things in the process, such as: –Having Thick SkinWhether it’s a rejection or someone telling you that you suck, thick skin is important to have. And it doesn’t come easily. Even I have the occasional issue with taking criticism, but ultimately getting better at taking good or bad criticism in the form of a rejection, critique, or review will make you a better writer in the long run. –Your Common Mistakes (or Mistakes You Didn’t Know About)Sometimes a rejection will come with a note from the editor. These are important. Why? Because sometimes those notes contain information you might need to make your writing better. Not all notes matter, though. Some will hint at an editor’s personal preference in fiction, and some will simply tell you that you made a few mistakes on the front page (I received a note on a rejection from Analog that pointed me to some formatting errors). And don’t forget that getting a rejection means you tried. How many wannabe writers out there never get that far? My guess is that most people who want to write, or say they do, never actually submit anything. What’s the saying? It’s better to have loved and lost than to have never loved at all? The same thing is true of writing and rejections. You’ll never get anywhere without trying. So, to all those folks out there talking about why rejection sucks, think again. A rejection is certainly not ideal, but it’s better than nothing.

World in the Satin Bag

Movie Review: Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince

The Harry Potter film franchise has had a rocky existence. Some of the movies have been fantastic, and some of them not so much. The latest installment, Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince, is an example of a well-crafted adaptation gone wrong. The sixth movie brings us back to Hogwarts, where extra security measures have been put in place to deal with potential attacks on the school by Voldemort, now fully recognized as “back.” Dumbledore, however, has plans for Harry, and implores the chosen one to help him convince a former professor, one Horace Slughorn, to divulge the information the two of them need to weaken Voldemort. And as Harry works with Dumbledore to press Slughorn for information, teenage life at Hogwarts starts to get a bit…steamy. One thing that has always stood out in the Harry Potter films is how each director/screenwriter attempts to show how the characters have matured not just in how they act on the screen, but in how the films themselves are designed. These films are quickly becoming “not for kids” movies, growing up with the characters and the viewing audience as the books did all those years ago. The sixth movie is well aware that it is no longer dealing with children characters, but practical adults with emotional and physical desires comparable to everyone else—just because they’re wizards doesn’t mean they don’t have teenage issues. And so the relationships between the characters grows more complex, more emotionally mature, and more powerful, leaving us with high hopes for the duology to come.But the movie is not without flaws. Unfortunately the sixth film suffers not from being poor as a film, per se, but at being an adaptation. Generally speaking the adaptations for the Harry Potter movies have been imperfect, yet good enough. But here there is a serious flaw: the ending no longer makes sense. For those who have read the books, you’ll understand. There is supposed to be a fight scene at the end of the book that is discussed briefly by Rowling. This scene establishes the basis for the presence of several of the enemy characters, but in the movie, they’ve cut this entire scene, which would not be a problem if they had also cut out everything to do with Draco Malfoy and the heavy hitters of Voldemort’s regime (which would also be impossible, because then the seventh book could never be made into a movie). But those figures are present, and Draco has significantly more screen time than in previous installments. The result is that the final moments of the movie make no sense. What exactly is the purpose of these other characters being present at the end? They quite literally do nothing to further the plot and their complete lack of involvement in the film means that Malfoy’s entire subplot is meaningless. Why they cut that battle scene is beyond me, because it is integral to the continuity of the series. Maybe they ran out of money to do it, or perhaps they needed to cut five minutes of film, and decided taking out the fight scene and not five minutes of Malfoy’s subplot would be best. Whatever the reason, the decision to leave the battle out drew unnecessary attention to a plot hole that now can never be filled. What can be said for the emotional maturity of the film franchise and the characters/actors truly falls apart when considering those last few minutes of the movie. What should have been the most impacting ending of the entire series has now become a weak example of wasted space. But beyond this severe flaw, the film is well-crafted. Brilliant visuals and surprisingly powerful acting show that there is a lot to look forward to in the final two-part installment to come. We can only hope that the writers do the last book justice, because any skimping on the final battle between Harry and Voldemort will likely result in a lot of disappointed fans. For now, we have six movies, of varying degrees of quality, and a lot of anxious fans. Directing: 3/5Cast: 4/5Writing: 2.5/5Visuals: 4.5/5Adaptation: 1/5Overall: 3/5Value: $6.00

World in the Satin Bag

An Aside: Anime, Space Operas, and Space Westerns

I was watching the first few episodes of Gundam Wing the other day and I started to think about how prevalent space operas and space westerns are in Japanese animation. I can name half a dozen Anime shows that fit into the space opera or space western categories: Gundam Wing, Crest of the Stars/Banner of the Stars I and II, Outlaw Star, Cowboy Bebop, all the various Gundam series, Robotech, and many more. I am not, by any means, an expert in Japanese animation. I find the film genre impossible to keep up with, and so have only watched a small portion of what must be the most prolific of genres, even compared to America’s animation industry. But that hasn’t prevented me from making this observation. It’s too obvious, and it’s a curious reality. What exactly is so awe inspiring about space, giant robots, interstellar battles, and cowboys in space to the Japanese? Since the Anime market is not geared towards Americans, I find the Japanese fascination with these things rather strange. But I am not an expert on Japanese culture either, and have only a passing obsession with samurai history. My best attempt to quantify all this is to look at issues of time. Japan is a relatively new (post)industrial nation. An observation of science fiction in newly industrializing nations seems to point to a cycle of literature themes, with minor deviations to inject local cultural elements. Most industrialized or industrializing nations go through a face of space opera obsession, in the more “traditional” sense. India, for example, is experiencing similar thematic phases as early 1900s America. There are additional deviations in these phases, however, since it is impossible for science fiction to remain uninfluenced by what has come before it. But this is all a guess, and not, in any way, based on statistical data or absolutes. And since I can’t possibly answer this question on my own, I’m throwing it out to all of you. Why exactly are space opera and space western themes so common in Japanese animation? Are there cultural factors that create these thematic elements?

World in the Satin Bag

Traditional SF vs. Literary SF: Which is better?

Larry of OF Blog of the Fallen recently wrote a retort to the Crotchedy Old Fan’s blog post about why traditional science fiction is better than the “literary” vein. I’ve not read the Crotchedy Old Fan’s post, and briefly scanned Larry’s, but having seen the question, I have to wonder: can such a determination actually be made? I’ve always assumed that science fiction is a genre of many faces, spanning from the humorous to the serious, complex to the simplistic, adventuresome to socially aware. While such things may not be unique to the genre, they are powerful features that make this genre worthy of study on the academic level. But I’m not talking about academics here; I’m talking about whether traditional science fiction is better than its “literary” cousin. Before I can properly discuss this subject, I think it’s important to define the terms I’m working with. I don’t know if the Crotchedy Old Fan gave any proper definition for what he meant by “traditional” or “literary,” but it seems ridiculous to attempt any discussion on this subject without having a firm grasp on what we’re actually talking about. I consider “traditional” science fiction to be those works of fiction that intentionally evoke awe or comprise the fiction styles of such authors as Poul Anderson and Robert A. Heinlein on the classics end, and Tobias S. Buckell and John Scalzi on the more recent end. “Literary” science fiction is more difficult to define, and it is a genre that, regardless of any arguments to the contrary, overlaps with the “traditional” vein. “Literary” SF deals directly and obviously with social or technological issues, with less focus on the adventurous side of SF and more focus on characters and emotional issues. There are probably other features worth considering, but for now, I’ll get to the point. Any attempt to say “this kind of SF is better than that kind” is, to be honest, arbitrary at best. We can argue until we are blue in the face, but in the end it will always come down to personal preference. Some people like the traditional stuff, and others prefer the “literary” goodies. That’s the way it is and the way it always will be. Neither is necessarily better than the other; both contain good and bad books, great and lesser writers. And one cannot forget the overlap, because so much of what is considered “traditional” by many SF purists also cross into the “literary” world. SF has made its home in every style of literature we know precisely because literature itself constantly changes. Years ago people would have laughed at the idea of a science fiction class; now, they are becoming more and more common. The pulps are being treated with the same focus and care as Charles Dickens, thus inserting such works into the world of the “literary,” wherever that may be. Strangely, this is how literature in academia works. There is always a fight, a push to keep the current hated literature out, to keep it shoved into a dark corner with all the other “trash” and “garbage” of the day. Strange how as centuries pass, things change. You’d be surprised to find out exactly how literature has adjusted over the years, and we’re now seeing that change in academic circles in regards to SF. My point is, I think, that even the term “literary” is a pointless term. As much as I might want to define it, it’s meaningless when put against the backdrop of literature. Literature’s persistence to change makes any sort of logical determination of quality impossible. And if the term “literary” is pointless, so too is “traditional.” Neither is necessarily better than the other, because both change with time. Traditional SF doesn’t technically exist, because I doubt even those of us who claim to like it have any idea what it actually is. My definition will likely be contested by some and accepted by others. The same is true of “literary” SF, because, no matter how hard we want to argue for a category that can be defined as “literary,” it will never become true. And that means asking which one is better is also a stupid thing to do. Neither can be better. Personal preference rules the day, and always will. Besides, SF has had a hard enough time trying to argue its way out of the place the Academics placed it in all those years ago. Acknowledging that we all simply have different tastes (traditional and literary) might save the time already being wasted on arguing over the subjects of purity and superiority in a genre that has and always will be a vast spectrum of styles and ideas. But don’t take my word for it. My opinion is not, by any means, the only one worth considering. Let’s hear what you have to say about this subject.

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