SF/F Commentary

Self-Published Books vs. Literary Awards: In Response to Linda Nagata

I’m a little late to the party, but Linda Nagata kindly rebutted my original post on the logistical issues of literary awards as a rationale for the rejection of self-published books from the consideration lists.  Here, I’d like to respond to some of her arguments. First, I’ll say that I don’t disagree with most of what Nagata has to say.  As an author who has traveled in both publishing camps, she of course understands the issue on a different level, and thus has valid points to make about the value of literary awards to SPed authors, etc.  My main point of contention surrounds this quote: The way I see it, there are two main purposes to a literary award: (1) to bring attention to specific books and authors, and by so doing (2) to shape the genre. Whether (1) & (2) come to pass or not, neither purpose is harmed or diminished by consideration of a self-published work. This may be an issue of wording, but I don’t consider these two components as the purposes of literary awards.  While the “shaping the genre” is certainly an effect of an award, to some extent, it is also a somewhat ambitious concept to apply to an extremely focused practice, particularly since “shaping,” as I see it, is organic rather than artificial.  We shape the genre by our reading choices and what we talk about as a community, not by recognizing works as “good” by a set of disparate, cross-purpose standards — as all awards invariably are.  Awards certainly cross over with the trend-setters and shaping works, but I find it hard to imagine the genre shaped purposefully by awards as opposed to by side effect.  This is particularly true of populist awards, which certainly suggest some potential for shaping, but which themselves are fickle, shifting, and disparate in form.  What the public likes one year will not match what they like the next, and in the long course of time, what they liked in 1987 may have been forgotten in 2007.  Curated awards suffer from a separate issue, which I’d simply call the limits of critical focus.  (This is a somewhat truncated explanation, so I hope the reader will forgive me here.) The first of Nagata’s points is, of course, related.  For me, awards are not there to bring attention to works, but rather to recognize works that fit within a certain paradigm based on that paradigm’s criteria.  This is where the wording comes in, as I see something different between “recognizing” and “bring attention to.”  The first denotes the idea that this work deserves attention because it meets certain criteria, while the second seems to have a more directed shaping effect — i.e., here’s a work you should talk about.  Recognition, however, is about achievement.  In curated awards, it’s an acknowledgement that your work successfully fulfilled the award’s criteria, and is thus noteworthy.  In populist awards, it’s the public’s acknowledgement of the same, but with less stringent and often impossibly variable standards. I suspect Nagata and I don’t actually disagree here, though.  Basically, I see the literary award as contingent upon its established criteria, however nebulous, and the process of applying that criteria necessarily specifies texts and author.  For example, the Nebulas only recognize science fiction and fantasy works from authors who are members of the SFWA; from there, the awards themselves only recognize what that small community determines is “the best,” which itself isn’t a hard set criteria we can accurately describe, since it is entirely subjective.  As such, narrowing by publication method is just another set of arbitrary criteria. The other thing I should mention here concerns the idea that the awards we have in our community are naturally open to SPed works.  While it is true that most (or all) of the awards are open to SPed works based on its given criteria for selection, there are few examples of such works appearing on lists from authors who themselves have not at one point, especially recently, had their work published traditionally.  This distinction may seem trivial, but I think it is important to recognize how our community applies validity to a given work.  In many respects, our community still does not look highly upon authors who have been published primarily on their own; it is far more forgiving when that author has a traditional publishing career either before or after the publication of an SPed work.  That’s something we’ll see change in the future — possibly when SFWA raises its pro payment rate for magazines to $0.25/word (ha) — but probably not after some form of mass culling or shift within self-publishing. On that last sentence, I’d like to expand something I’d said before on the nature of the SPed world.  Nagata doesn’t address at length my contention about the quality of SPed works (not that she needed to, mind), but she does say the following:  “[That SPed works are more commonly bad in comparison to TPed works] is still a common assumption, so credibility is extremely important for a writer who chooses to publish her own work.”  I concur that recognition via an award is certainly good for any author, particularly since, as Nagata discusses briefly in her post, awards can have a measurable impact on one’s career.  However, Nagata’s track record is one that is fairly unique in the SP world.  In comparison to the sea of SPers, most of them are not also traditionally published and award winners.  Nagata, as it turns out, has won awards in the past — the Locus for best first novel[2] (The Bohr Maker) and the Nebula for best novella (Goddesses)(woot) — and she has most certainly had a decent career as a traditionally published writer of short and long fiction, though of late she has been primarily of the other stripe.  I don’t bring this up to discount her argument, nor to poke mean fingers at her career or anything (a considerably one, actually), but rather to point out

Film Reviews

Movie Review Rant : Catching Fire (2013)

As I write this sentence, Catching Fire (2013), the sequel to The Hunger Games (2012), is encroaching upon the $700mil box office mark.  It’s a huge film, and there are a lot of things to love about it. Before I get to my rant/review, here are a couple quick notes: I hadn’t read the book when I saw the movie, so the reactions below will jump back and forth between placing the film in relation to the book and treating the film on its own terms. There are spoilers. Nothing is in any sort of order here.  Like my post on Riddick (2013), I’ll cover everything I feel like talking about as they come to me. I’ve discussed some of these things in the Shoot the WISB episode on Catching Fire over at The Skiffy and Fanty Show. The World and POV Shifts In the first film, there were a handful of cuts away from the central action to the characters involved behind the scenes:  the gamekeepers, the president, Haymitch, the folks at home, etc.  These served to give us a sense of the world in which these games are a centerpiece.  The problem with The Hunger Games was its inability to rationalize the system of oppression that made the games possible.  There were certainly attempts, but in the end you either had to accept the status quo or give up any possibility of immersion. Catching Fire does a decent job rectifying this problem.  For one, it centralizes President Snow as the actual and real villain.  In the first film, the Capitol and the other players in the game were all potential villains, but here, Snow is never anything but.  From his first interactions with Katniss to the cut scenes showing him planning her torture and eventual defeat, Snow is the adversary the film has always needed:  he’s the face of all that is wrong with the Capitol.  For me, Snow provided the rationalization for the world that I needed.  His interest in oppression is partly about power, but it is also about his own myths about what revolution entails, such that preserving those myths and power structures becomes more important than considering the implications of one’s actions.  Snow, as such, continues to exert his authority — a largely dictatorial and malignant one — to preserve the system and to make sure nobody has the means or the will to challenge it.  The Hunger Games are simply a means to an end:  they’re a reminder of the past and a reminder of the power Snow/the Capitol wields. A lot of the scenes that best express Snow’s justifications for his brutality are in his interactions with his granddaughter, who appears to become entranced by the symbolic rebellion of Katniss.  Presumably, she doesn’t understand what is happening in Panem, but the threat is there for Snow nonetheless:  if his own family can be turned against him, his ability to maintain order will be permanently compromised.  It’s a nice touch, as it would be too easy just to make Snow a vile, disgusting bag of skin, as he appears to be in the books.  Here, there are little hints of humanity in play, and so he becomes even more horrifying as a villain the more we realize how human he really is. Likewise, the POV shifts are generally a good thing.  They give us an impression of the world, its logic, etc.  They also show us things we otherwise don’t get to see in the book, which helps the film avoid the problem of having no viable method to display Katniss’ internal struggles.  The problem with these shifts, however, is in their unnecessary ability to trick us as viewers, which I’ll get into in the next section. WANTED:  Clues That Logically Lead to X There are two main issues with the structure of the film.  The second of these I’ll discuss in the section below on endings; the first I’ll cover here. One of the new central characters is gamekeeper Plutarch Heavensbee (Philip Seymour Hoffman).  At the end of Catching Fire, it is revealed to us that he, Haymitch, and several of the tributes have been conspiring to extricate Katniss from the games so she can remain the symbol for the upcoming revolution.  But unlike the book, which leaves a great number of clues as to Plutarch’s true allegiances, the film simply discards most of those clues for a shocking reveal.  This works in the book for one reason:  we’re in Katniss’ head the whole time.  But the book gives us plenty of clues.  It makes it clear that there’s something fishy going on, even if Katniss hasn’t quite figured it out yet.  The shock in the book, as such, is measured by revelation:  so that’s what all those clues are about. In the film, most of those clues are gone.  For all intents and purposes, we’re supposed to believe Plutarch is just like everyone else in the Capitol, albeit perhaps more macabre than the average flashy Capitol-ite.  But almost every scene involving Plutarch doesn’t give us the impression that he’s actually one of the good guys, as he spends most of his time trying to convince President Snow that X method is the best way to destroy Katniss as person and revolutionary image.  His ideas are, in retrospect, not terribly good, but they are, in the moment, convincing in their brutality.  The shocking reveal, however, doesn’t have the benefit of proper foreshadowing or retrospective revelation, despite a good chunk of the film taking place outside of Katniss’ perspective.  And without that benefit, Plutarch’s apparent heroism is incomprehensible as a consequence of the plot, and, thus, neutered.  Were we supposed to hate Plutarch in the end as Katniss does, or find something redeemable in him? Thankfully, this issue doesn’t affect the allied tributes.  There are enough moments where Finnick and Johanna hint that something else is going on, giving Katniss and the audience a moment to consider what that something might be.  If only the

SF/F Commentary

A (Possibly Evolving) List of Great Novels by African Writers — for @jmmcdermott

I’ve been commanded by Lord McDermott to put together a list of great novels by African writers so he’d have some stuff to read.  And that’s exactly what I’ve done. I’ve intentionally chucked out the books everyone has likely read, such as Things Fall Apart by Chinua Achebe (I know for a fact that Mr. McDermott has read this one, so that’s an easy task). In no particular order, here are the novels (a very VERY short list): Arrow of God by Chinua Achebe Ambiguous Adventure by Cheikh Hamidou Kane Devil on the Cross OR The River Between by Ngugi wa Thiong’o (Matagari is also excellent) The Famished Road OR Songs of Enchantment by Ben Okri Waiting for the Barbarians OR The Lives of Animals OR Disgrace OR Foe by J.M. Coetzee July’s People by Nadine Gordimer Nervous Conditions by Tsitsi Dangarembga Purple Hibiscus OR Half of a Yellow Sun by Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie In the Fog of the Seasons’ End by Alex La Guma Houseboy by Ferdinand Oyono The Dark Child by Camara Laye One Day I Will Write About This Place by Binyavanga Wainaina (a memoir, not a novel, but oh well) Bound to Violence by Yambo Ouologuem ————————————– Note:  I have enormous gaps in my reading knowledge of African writers.  You’ll notice that there are no writers from places like Egypt, for example, or some of the interior nations.  Anyone who would like to suggest novels by writers from these missing countries is encouraged to do so in the comments below!

SF/F Commentary

Top 10 Blog Posts for December 2013

Happy New Year! Here’s the list: 10.  Why I Stopped Paying Attention to Feedburner Subscriber Numbers 9.  The Diversity Pledge:  Crunching My Numbers for 2013 8.  Draft Post Bingo:  What should I finish?  You Decide! 7.  Draft Post Bingo Winners:  What I’ll Be Finishing Next 6.  Crowdfunding Links of the Week:  Kaleidoscope (a Diverse YA Antho) & War Stories (a MilSF Antho) 5.  Star Trek:  a Worf TV Show? (Some Thoughts) 4.  Diversity is Not a Selfie (or, Amazing Stories + Felicity Savage = Here We Go Again) 3.  Top 10 Science Fiction and Fantasy Anime Movies 2.  Movie Review:  Riddick (2013)(or, I’m Going to Mega Rant Now) 1.  The Vigilante in American Mythology (Brief Thoughts) #monthofjoy Wee!

SF/F Commentary

The Diversity Pledge: Crunching My Numbers for 2013

I think this is the first time I’ve seriously looked at my reading numbers.  And now I’m going to share them with the world. The list only includes novels, collections, and narrative non-fiction.  I have not factored in multiple books by the same author. Here’s the author list: Gareth L. Powell Myke Cole Christopher Barzak Nir Yaniv Brian McClellan Paul Cornell Michael R. Underwood Michael J. Martinez Nick Mamatas Wes Chu Doug Lain Richard Phillips Mike Resnick James Anthony Froude Stephen N. Cobham Michel Maxwell Philip C.L.R. James Edgar Mittelholzer Roger Mais George Lamming V.S. Naipaul Kim Stanley Robinson John Scalzi Saladin Ahmed Brandon Sanderson Jay Lake Max Gladstone Chuck Wendig Karen Lord Merle Hodge Caryl Phillips Dionne Brand Erna Brodber Mary Seacole Evie Manieri Linda Nagata Nalo Hopkinson Rhiannon Held Lauren Beukes Yoon Ha Lee Ruth Frances Long Emma Newman Cassandra Rose Clarke Ann Leckie Cherie Priest Jean Rhys Beryl Gilroy Suzanne Collins Mira Grant Lois McMaster Bujold Nancy Kress Aliette de Bodard Zen Cho Mur Lafferty Stina Leicht Here are the percentages w/ commentary: Gender Male (50.9%) Female (49.1%) I’m actually surprised with this.  While I make an effort to maintain gender parity for The Skiffy and Fanty Show, that same effort does not apply to my academic work.  There, I’m concerned with a tradition of literature, which is historically male-centric.  But apparently even my PhD project is fairly equal in terms of gender. In any case, I’m happy.  I wanted to get close to 50/50, and so I have.  A+ Diversity White (61.82%) Non-White (38.18%) I’m uncomfortable with this category for two reasons:  1) I don’t like the idea that there are two groups (white and non-white); 2) I don’t know how to get around that without making completely idiotic assumptions about other people’s race.  But this is the only way I have to measure racial diversity, and so I have to use it.  If anyone has a better idea, please don’t hesitate to leave a comment. I also wanted to include a note about LGBT authors here, but I realized that I’d have to go digging around to figure who is who.  And, well, it’s really none of my business.  It wasn’t something I intentionally selected for this year, though I certainly would like to read more works by LGBT authors. In any case, I’m not dissatisfied with these numbers.  They’re not as bad as they could be, and they could certainly be better, but considering that I didn’t actually try, I’m genuinely pleased that nearly 40% of my reading came from people of color. U.S./U.K. (65.46%) Elsewhere (34.54%)(includes expatriates) This doesn’t surprise me at all.  Since my field of research is Caribbean literature, a good chunk of what I read this year would have to be from elsewhere on the planet.  In 2014, that number is going to look very different indeed thanks to the World SF Tour. If I had more time, I’d break these numbers down by region (the Caribbean, continental Europe, etc.).  For now, I’ll settle for the above. ———————————————- And that’s that.  How about you?  Leave your numbers below!

SF/F Commentary

Self-Published Books vs. Literary Awards: A Logistical Problem?

Back in August, The Guardian posted a column by Liz Bury entitled “Why is self-publishing still scorned by literary awards?”  The article doesn’t exactly make an argument about the apparent snubbing of SPed books in the literary awards circuit, but Bury does essentially imply in the body of the article that the inability of these awards to address the widespread consumption of SPed books will not work on their favor.  I’m not sure that’s true either, to be honest.  These same literary awards are just as relevant as they were before SPing became normal (lots of relevance or no relevance whatsoever — depends on your view). I, however, have a different perspective on this problem.  As a podcaster (The Skiffy and Fanty Show) and blogger, I get a lot of requests for reviews, interviews, guest posts, and so on.  On the blog, I’m a little more lenient when it comes to everything but reviews.  But the podcast is an entirely different matter.  Throughout the year, we have maybe 25-26 slots for proper interviews, and perhaps another 25-26 slots for discussion episodes.  With the addition of a steady blog for the podcast, that jumps the number from 50ish slots to about 100.  One hundred slots for tens of thousands of SF/F authors. Understandably, we’re extremely selective on the show.  We have to be.  There aren’t enough slots for everyone, so we have to think hard about who we want to interview, what we want to talk about on the show, and so on and so forth.  Inevitably, that means we tend to avoid self-published books; for me, it’s for the same reason as always:  how exactly are we to wade through the drivel to find those good SPed books? This is a similar problem, I imagine, for the literary awards circuit.  Granted, there may be a bigger agenda in place there, but they must be aware of the impossibly large field of published works out there, and so they make the decision, like us at The Skiffy and Fanty Show, to cut that field down to a more stable pool.  There’s crap in traditional publishing, too, but my experience has always been that it’s much easier to find good things in traditional publishing, whereas the inverse is still true in the self-publishing world. There’s also another question here:  cost.  On the podcast, it costs us nothing (mostly) to interview or host authors of any sort.  Even when there are costs, they are astronomically low and infrequent (a couple bucks here or there).  But the literary award circuit has to hire judges, whom they sometimes (or usually) pay.  Even if they’re not paying those judges, the request for their time is high, since they have to read dozens of books or short stories, etc.  If you open the field further, you can imagine how much time (or money) would be lost just on going through the onslaught of TPed and SPed books sent their way. Let’s also assume that there might be a way to get around that by narrowing the field with various new criteria.  In the end, those criteria will be flawed and, in some cases, controversial.  They’re not going to base things on sales, since popularity is never an indicator of quality anyway.  Personally, I can’t imagine any valid criteria that would weed out the trash from the legitimately quality books.  In the end, it just makes more sense to cut the field in half.  In a game of numbers, the easiest criteria is the one that makes the job a lot easier. But there’s also one more question I have:  why would SPed authors want to win these awards anyway?  The field is large enough that they could easily create equally valid awards just for SPed books.  And if they did that, it might make the task of including SPed books easier, since you could use those other awards as a mandatory criterion for the selection process:  if your book was nominated for X award, it is eligible for Y award.  It may not be the best criteria, but it’s a start. In any case, the point is this:  it’s a numbers game.  It’s a logistical problem.  There are just too many damned books out there just in the traditional publishing world alone.  Expecting these awards to toss out their arbitrary standards to include another massive pool of literature seems counter-productive to me.  You won’t end up with a better awards system, but an overburdened one.  And you may end up doing more damage than would happen if one were to leave it alone. That’s my two cents.  What about you?

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