Book Review Up: Turnskin by Nicole Kimberling
And I have written yet another book review. For those interested in fantasy novels with an LGBT focus, Turnskin is definitely for you. Check out my review here.
And I have written yet another book review. For those interested in fantasy novels with an LGBT focus, Turnskin is definitely for you. Check out my review here.
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?
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.
Dave B. recently asked this question: How separate should we consider an adaptation from its source material? Before broaching this topic, I think fronting this discussion with a brief sidestep into issues of purity is in order. What matters most in regards to adaptations? The quality of the film as a film, rather than as an adaptation? Or the accuracy of the adaptation itself? If what you care about most is whether the film itself is good, then separation of the source material is absolute, because it does not matter to you. But if you want accuracy in the adaptation, with reasonable exceptions, then the film and the original source are intimately connected, and any discussion otherwise is pointless. Personally, I sit in the middle. I think that one cannot be wholly accurate to the source, even with reasonable exceptions to plot devices, etc., and that one must maintain only what is necessary to keep the movie accurate to the source material without sacrificing the quality of the film itself. The Harry Potter films, for example, are a mixed bag. One and two are relatively accurate in their adaptations and, in my opinion, superior to anything that followed. Three was rushed, four was decent, five also was pretty good, and six missed important pieces of the story, leaving the movie itself a collection of great and horrible, particularly because the ending ceased to make any sense. But how do we treat the movies? Do we hold them in the same category as the original source material? Are the books and movies collective entities, or separate? Let’s toss aside medium, here, because obviously we cannot possibly say that a book and a movie are remotely the same without getting into ridiculous arguments over reader/viewer reception (the theory, perhaps), and all that jazz. We can also throw away instances in which the viewer or reader has only experience one medium, instead of both, because such an argument would seem rather unfair under these circumstances. While I do think that viewers who are familiar with the source material need to be open to change in film adaptations, I also recognize that there must necessarily be some separation. One cannot possibly see the movie and know what the book is about, in its entirety, without actually having read the book; the same is true, to a certain extent, when delving into the concerns of film adaptations, since we cannot possibly know what has been changed for continuity purposes without having actually seen the film. With that in mind, I would argue that both mediums (whatever the two may be) should have some degree of separation in order to maintain an illusory line that dictates how they are received: as source and as adaptation. That separation is important because it also establishes a protective shield around the adaptation from unfair criticism (the purist literary crowd who finds any deviation from the source to be on par with blasphemy). Films are, for obvious and less obvious reasons, entirely different mediums from comics, books, etc. Not only are the ways we receive films different from everything else, but the methods for creating films are also drastically different from other artistic mediums–again, for obvious and less obvious reasons. We cannot possibly expect a movie to maintain the same “feel” as the book, because what is conveyed on screen can only cover a small portion of what may be present within the written medium–and, of course, there are limits to what film is capable of doing, even today. Hence why a separation is needed. As with any adaptation, however, there are certain lines that you can’t cross. Bad adaptations are justly criticized for failing to maintain necessary features such as plot and character. You can’t have an adventure story and turn it into a romance if such a genre was never part of the original piece. I think what I’m saying is that you should always treat the film as a separate entity so long as it does not drastically deviate from the source material. If the novel is about a talking hamster named Charles who rescues a princess and the film folks change it to be a film about a young boy name Herb who collects stamps, then the separation ceases to exist, and one must make necessary comparisons. Hopefully all that made sense! What do you think about this topic? And if you’re Dave B., perhaps you had something else in mind when you asked the question? Feel free to leave a comment everyone! ————————————————- If you have a question about science fiction, fantasy, writing, or anything related you’d like answered here, whether silly or serious, feel free to send it via email to arconna[at]yahoo[dot]com, tweet it via Twitter to @shaunduke, or leave it in the comments here. Questions are always welcome! If you liked this post, consider stumbling, digging, or linking to it!
There will be no word limit on this prompt. Why? Because it’s completely unnecessary. But this will be a fun prompt nonetheless. Your job is to do the following: Write a short story crossing your favorite genre of fiction with a genre that most represents your favorite genre’s exact opposite. Determining the opposite is entirely up to you, and you could almost argue for any combination. Go with your gut feeling. Does adventure fiction seem like the polar opposite of romance to you? Then go with that! Either way, you have to try something new, and that’s the point of this prompt! So have at it and feel free to let me know in the comments if you plan on joining in.
I am abusing Shaun’s hospitality now, but while he is winding his way across country I am playing here on his blog. Mwahaha haha ahaha umm, ok sorry, *cough* getting carried away. There are three major bookstores in Leicester (UK). In the city centre there are two Waterstone’s, the big one near work and the small one in the main mall. We also have a Borders near our huge out-of-city shopping park (individual stores arranged around the car parks). The Borders used to be an electronics warehouse, so it’s a strange place and I love it. I don’t get there much since we moved. Anyway, I love urban fantasy but I struggle to find what I am looking for. Waterstone’s, I think, have a pretty good idea that Urban Fantasy exists and throw it in the SFF or Horror sections, depending on whether is says Vampires in big letters or something. The stuff they have in their paranormal romance section I would generally say ok to being there. All in all, it varies between stores, but it’s usually in the same area as the rest of the fantasy so no biggie. I went to Borders recently and was excited because they sometimes stock books Waterstone’s doesn’t get. So off I dashed to the SFF / Horror section. It has become pitifully small for a start; I was appalled at the general lack of a section in the enourmous warehouse, but then I noticed something. Not a single Chris McGrath cover amongst the lot. Eep. Ok I looked again, more carefully. Nope not one single urban fantasy title. A suspicion started to settle itself in my mind and I slightly, sheepishly dragged my heels towards the romance section (yeah, British, easily embarrased, generally go the ebook route for my romance). Uh huh. The paranormal romance section was as big as the whole SFF area and sure enough there was all my urban fantasy. Now I know UF has a kind of kick ass chicks getting involved with supernatural types thing going on, but seriously, I think they misunderstood where Justin Gustainis was coming from calling his book Black Magic Woman–guys he means it in the “using the body parts of small children to do evil” way, not the “she cast a spell over my heart” way. Maybe I need to suck it up and learn to live with it, but it really bugs me that Urban Fantasy is seen as romance. Romance has it’s place and it’s genre and is it’s own thing; UF is something else and although there may be an audience overlap, UF also has an overlap with Horror and SFF. Twilight isn’t in paranormal romance; it’s in YA Fiction (it should be in the shredder, but that’s a different rant). I can’t help feeling that Borders are losing it, because really if I want kick ass girls smooching vamps I don’t think I’d be too pleased when I actually cracked open my shiny new Rob Thurman novel and found out the hot guys on the cover weren’t the love interest, they were the whole story. So what are your misfiling peeves? Are you riled up that sci fi bestsellers (Cloud Atlas?) deny their roots and sit in the fiction shelves while Robert Holdstock languishes on the SF shelf or that the Nadia Stafford books were next to the Otherworld series because they are all Kelley Armstrong with no consideration to genre?