.
September 29, 1998
This is really just a comment on your book The Blue Place. I
was wandering the library when I came across the new fiction section and started
to browse. Your jacket cover caught my eye so I took it home to read. I read
just about anything I can get my hands on, especially new fiction when I do get
a chance to get to the library! I am very impressed with your work and I'm
looking forward to reading more of your work. The book kept me so wrapped up
that I read it all in one sitting. Wonderful job, and keep up the good
work.
I have a question for those of you whose attention was attracted by the
jacket: what was it about it that piqued your interest? The colour? The model?
The pose? The lettering? The more information I have, the more I'll be able to
make suggestions to the publisher's art department to tailor the jacket to my
readership. I want to know what *you* like, what attracts *you* to a book.
I'm honestly not sure what attracts me. Bright colours certainly get my
attention, but they don't attract me. I find lower case lettering
intriguing--and liked the pink and turquoise and yellow of the title on this
one. Generally speaking, I like to see quotes on the jacket--find out who
thought what, and why. Then I look at the dedication, then I read the first
page.
September 25, 1998
Hi, I like your books very much. Up till now read
Ammonite, Slow river and now starting that
Blue....... Like to know, that short haired cover girl is there
bz chance or somebody known to you. Sorry for such stupid question but it is a
bet. Looking forward to your answer and for more books from you. Love
Raen
I would be interested to know just what, exactly, the terms of this bet are
<g>. The picture on the front has caused all kinds of speculations. Three
people so far have wanted to know if it's me (one of them really made
friends--he asked if it was me "when I was younger and thinner," tuh). It's not.
Several people wanted to know if I took the picture. I didn't. Others have asked
if I have the model's phone number or email address. I don't. I don't even know
her name (and if I did, what makes you think I'd share it? <g>). Lots of
people ask: Is it Aud? It's nothing like Aud. Aud is a few years older, better
looking, and much more poised. She also wears better clothes.
When I first saw the cover I laughed, I couldn't help it. It's essentially a
clothed crotch shot, with all elements designed to draw the eye to the peccant
part, and "Nicola" dangled above it salaciously. Just call me Nicola "Crotch"
Griffith....
The Blue Place is a love story/mystery/tragedy and more. I
did enjoy the book, more than your previous two (which I enjoyed as well, and
shared with friends). I liked the very subtle cover- it seemed to hint that this
book isn't going to fit in a traditional category. It was a pleasant surprise to
discover the mystery and love story aspect. Aud is one character I would like to
see again. Any chance? Is there a real "Barbie Doll" character somewhere?
Anyway, thanks. (I'll have to check out Bending the Landscape.)
Do check out the science fiction volume of Bending the
Landscape. I think it's quite a special book. There are writers in
there you will never have heard of--and some you might. I did my best to make it
an interesting combination of dark and light, intellect and emotion, fun and
serious.
Aud will indeed be back--I'm just not sure when. I'm running into a few
problems writing the second book, trying to find that balance between character
study and action adventure. Most of the danger Aud faces in this volume will, I
think, be psychological and emotional, not physical. But there will be at least
once scene where she takes someone apart with her bare hands. Deliciously messy
<g>.
Somewhere there is a woman, whose name I forget, who is having her body
surgically altered to make a point about society's attitudes to women and their
physical appearance. I'm not sure if she's being turned in Barbie, but it
wouldn't surprise me. I've never seen her, or pictures of her, but I have spent
a while trying imagine what it might be like to be her. It's not really a place
I'd like to go again.
Hi! I am currently in the middle of reading The Blue
Place and wanted to say that I am slightly in love with Aud and most
definitely in love with the woman on the cover! I was pleased to read that Aud
is going to appear in at least 2 more novels so that I can lust over her
butchness... not very often do I find characters that I feel this way about.
Also, I was very upset to read a negative review of the book listed in Books In
Print (I work at a local Borders Books and Music). How do you feel about
negative reviews? Do you ignore them or do they bring you down?
Also, one last question, what the hell is koldt bord?
Koldt bord is "cold board," or a buffet of cold food laid on the sideboard:
smoked salmon, salads, sliced meats etc.
I haven't seen the Books in Print review but if it's negative, I can probably
live without it. Bad reviews used to really upset me--make me angry for days.
These days I'm coming to see them as inevitable. This is particularly true of
The Blue Place: the reviews have been either ecstatic or vile.
It seems to be a book that evokes deep emotional responses. Those who dislike it
really hate it. They hurl insults at it--and me--accusations ranging from purple
prose to caricatured characters to unrealistic plotting. I've been called
unintelligent and immoral. These critics get really steamed up. It doesn't
ruffle my feathers anymore; some people just don't like what I write; some don't
understand what I'm trying to do. Their privilege.
What upsets me is when reporters or feature writers interview me, and lie,
say they *love* the book, then turn around and pan it and me, using my quotes
(usually very badly misquoted, and sometimes made up from whole cloth) to
reinforce their point of view. It's happened. Dishonesty that really angers
me...but then I smile to myself and think, "Oh-ho, well, I'll just have to put
you in my next book where'll you meet up with Aud and have a nice chat
<g>."
Hi again, Nicola. I'm the geologist who wrote previously
about The Blue Place. I finished reading Slow
River, and, on whole, I liked it. Predictably, I was most interested in
the water treatment and bioremediation aspects. Actually, I have an uncle who
used to work at a city treatment plant, and I used to go watch him on the job
when I was young. I also found your vision of the potential public health
hazards of patenting genetic engineering interesting. I was less interested in
some of the interpersonal relationships, but I liked the interaction between
Magyar and Lore and Paolo and Lore. The only exception I took (and it was in
retrospect) was the ease Paolo had working with the rake in the tank. I am an AK
amp, and moving in a current is difficult. I spend some of my time in caves, and
I was once knocked off my feet by a fast cave stream. The current literally
picked up my fake foot under the water so that when I went to step on it, it
wasn't there. So I went swimming. I'll assume that by Paolo's time, "smart"
prosthetics are widely available.
All in all, I enjoyed it, and I'll take a look at Ammonite.
I mentioned in the first post that I had read a Benford novel,
Timescape, I think. If I remember correctly, that dealt with
some (future) environmental issues, too.
Thanks for the reply.
I imagined Paolo's prosthetics as being more or less indistinguishable from
the "real thing," that as well as them feeling like real limbs to others, they
fed him some kind of sensory information, the way living arms and legs do:
pressure, temperature, and so on, and that he could develop a feedback system
with them in the same way we do with our own hands and feet. Current and so on
wouldn't be a problem. The only difference is psychological: Paolo knows they
are not "real."
Let me know what you think of Ammonite.
Nicola,
A belated congratulations for the Nebula won for
Slow River. Recently browsing in my local bookstore, I noticed
the award advertised on the latest printing of the novel; mine must have been
from a previous printing. Generally a hard SF fan and an environmental scientist
for a consultant group, I was originally attracted to the bioremediation aspects
in the book. It's not often that I can find the actual science the topic;
usually the environment is just another part of the world built by an author
(although I sincerely hope that market demands will never be sufficient to
create a dynasty like the van de Oests). The science was on the mark and the
speculation very believable and plausible. And yet the science was secondary to
a moving story of discovery, strength, and resurrection within life's
untidiness. Rarely have I found this level of compassion and thought in a
science fiction.
Getting to the question: I haven't read your latest project (I read and
enjoyed Ammonite), but I hear its a departure from the SF
genre. I was wondering if you are leaving science fiction permanently or are
slipstreaming as the creative winds take you. I hope the latter, for your
storytelling is truly unique in science fiction; your characters real, knowable,
touchable. Although a relative newcomer, the genre would be lessened if you
depart.
It could probably be argued that The Blue Place is, in some
ways, science fictional. It's a big What If novel: what if there was a woman in
today's world who was not afraid of anyone, who was psychologically utterly
untouched by sexism and homophobia, for whom such things did not even exist? The
concerns of the novel, too, are similar to those of my science fiction works
Slow River and Ammonite: what makes a person
who they are, what makes them change, and then what happens?
Aud is filling all the nooks and crannies of my brain at the moment. I think
she will be in at least three books, which means the next two will not be SF
either--unless I get overwhelmed with an idea that can only be written as SF,
and idea so insistent that I put Aud aside for a while. Given Aud's presence, it
would have to be a *very* insistent idea....
No question, just thanks. I've read
Ammonite and Slow River a couple of times and
I still enjoy them. Just found The Blue Place and look forward
to reading it even is I'm not patrial to mystery. Again Thank you for the
enjoyable hours.
I love hearing that people re-read my novels. It's something I do with my
favourite books, always finding something new in them to think about. The better
the book, the more times it can be read before the flaws start popping up. (I've
read the entire Aubrey/Maturin series four or five times, and it's only now, on
my fifth read through--in anticipation of the new one that comes out at the end
of the month--that I'm beginning to see ways in which I might have done things
differently.)
When you've read The Blue Place, let me know what you
thought of it--how it compares to my science fiction, and whether or not you
think it's substantially different from my previous work. I don't think it is (I
think it's better, of course; writers always like to think their latest work is
their best <g>). There again, I don't think of it as a mystery, either,
just a novel about this woman, Aud Torvingen, and how she makes her way through
her world.
Dear Ms. Griffith,
I just finished The Blue Place, having read Slow
River a few months back. I have purchased Ammonite too
which I will read after I recover from the experience of Blue
Place.
I don't understand your ability to create such beauty and such pain and such
darkness. I am pretty devastated at the moment by the ending of The Blue
Place, though luckily I had a sneaking suspicion and peeked ahead
(something I never do). That made the exquisiteness of the relationship between
Aud and Julia both intensely sweet and completely unbearable at the same time.
But I am glad that I was prepared for it. Otherwise, it would have been too
much.
I look at your date of birth - you are a year younger than me. I just want to
know how you do it? What is the source of your gift? How do you just "make it
up"? How do you make it so real? Where does all the knowledge and wisdom come
from? I don't expect an answer to any of these questions but I just wanted to
let you know that I think your talent is not quite of this world. I think you
are an important person on this planet.
Thank you Ms. Griffith for your novels. Please don't kill me again with the
next one.
Just for you, a promise: Aud won't kill anyone nice in my new novel (not that
she did in the first one, either <g>). She'll probably hurt a few people,
though.
When I write, I try to make fiction that's like life, except a little more
intense. So instead of prettiness and irritation and frustration and pleasure
(which most of us experience just about every day) I paint beauty and pain and
darkness and joy. I think good writing comes less from wisdom than from a
willingness to go where more sensible people might fear to tread: How would it
*really* feel to kill someone? What would it *really* be like to fight to the
death? How would it *really* feel to risk everything you love because you have
to let someone make their own decisions? Sometimes it's hard and painful,
sometimes it's fun. It nearly always teaches me something.
Being called wise makes me a little uncomfortable. (This might have something
to do with the fact that I find being called wise quite flattering...which makes
me a wee bit suspicious of accepting the compliment--because I want it so much
<g>.) Wisdom, to me, is more a matter of seeing clearly than having vast
knowledge. Seeing clearly means paying attention; it means noticing little
things and big things--whether you *want* to see them or not. That is, it means
not only seeing clearly, but accepting what you see as being true on some level.
By this definition I'm wise sometimes, and dumb as a rock at others. Wisdom, to
me, also implies a certain detachment, even amusement. Once again, this is true
of me occasionally, but more often not. Ah, well.
No question, just a comment meant to be encouraging. I came
across Ammonite and Slow River in a local
bookstore some time ago, but didn't have the cash at the moment to buy them. I
was particularly intrigued by the cover blurb for Slow River.
Later, I found Ammonite at my local library. I enjoyed it a
lot, and it has stuck with me. In fact, it recurred to my mind within the past
week with no conscious trigger. I was thinking, "That was a really good book, I
wish I could have bought the other one, what was the name of that author? I hope
I can find it again."
Within days, my partner brought home a bunch of books from the library, among
them The Blue Place. She had no idea of the connection, had
picked it out more or less at random.
I looked at the cover and name recognition struck. I went to the URL on the
back cover. I found this site.
I've read up to page 41. Aud in the pool hall. Good writing. Keep it up. I
have more money now. I'm going to buy all of your books.
When someone picks out the book without knowing any of my previous work, it
means the book cover is doing its job, or at least part of its job. The one
thing this cover is good at, I think, is attracting those who have actually
noticed it. What's it's not good at is getting people to notice it in the first
place; the dark colours and small type make it fade into the background a bit
too much. So I'm absolutely delighted that your partner picked out The
Blue Place--even though it was at the library.
I love libraries. I wish local and national governments (here and in the UK)
would pay them a bit more attention, give them a little more money. Branches
seem to be getting smaller and smaller, open fewer and fewer hours. For example,
my local library has less square footage than my house--and I have a very, very
small house ("Bijou, darling" I can hear a real estate agent saying, "bijou!").
Peope say, "Well, you can order anything you like," but my response is that you
have to know something is there before you can order it. It's hard to find new
authors if their books aren't on the shelves. I really miss being able to just
sit on the floor and browse. After all, that's how I came up with the idea for
The Blue Place in the first place. I was bored, at the library
(the branch near where we used to live, in Atlanta, not in Seattle), just
running my fingers along a line of books, when something about Norwegian
architecture caught my eye. I checked it out. The next week I was back, hungry
for anything about Norway. I got a book of Norwegian history. That's where I
came across the name Aud the Deepminded, a ninth century figure. And I thought,
"Oh, oh," and I was off, wondering what kind of person would have a name like
that.... The creative mind needs a certain freedom to wander.
Sometimes I wonder what it's like to be a child today, in this country:
everything is scheduled. There's no free time and no safe space to just wander
around, to lie on the hot, dry grass and watch the clouds scoot across the sky,
to let your imagination roam. I think I was very, very lucky to grow up when I
did in England. I ran around like a wild goat until I was teenager, hardly ever
watched television (I've watched more TV in the last three years than in the
rest of my life put together--though that might be more to do with the fact
that, as one of the tail-end baby boomers, I'm now part of the huge demographic
that's being catered for; my taste is finally mainstream...and isn't *that*
scary!), read all kinds of good, bad and indifferent books.
One of these days, some graduate psychology student should do a survey in an
attempt to correlate free time as a child with creativity as an adult. The
results might be interesting.
But, anyway, many thanks for your comments. It *was* encouraging. I love to
hear that people are reading my books at the library. I love to hear that
they're going to go out and buy them, too <g>.
No questions, just praise for The Blue
Place. Since I was looking for it in SF, I would have totally missed it
if it weren't for my partner who reads mystery/suspense. This will probably be
the only book (ever) that we will both read. Excellent!
I'm pleased to be able to bring two people closer together <g>. I have
a question for you: if you enjoy The Blue Place will you then
go on to read any other mystery/suspense novels? If your partner enjoys it, will
s/he be tempted to take a peek at Slow River or
Ammonite? I'm just very curious about others' reading habits,
and tendencies toward sticking to one genre category or another. Do let me know
if and when you have the time.
Just a comment. As a geologist, I enjoyed your description
of the glaciated landscape in Norway. The book was very good, and I'm happy to
read that that's not the last we'll see of Aud. Like another reader who posted,
I plan to read Slow River. I haven't read much science fiction
(Blood Music, The Adolescence of P1, and a
Benford novel I can't recall the title of), but I will try what I consider
scientific science fiction.
I look forward to your next book.
I was thirteen when my geography teacher explained to my class how glaciers
formed and how they then transformed the landscape. I've kept the information in
my head for twenty-five years. It was a real relief to finally get it down on
paper <g>.
I'm glad you're going to read Slow River. I'm intensely
curious as to how you (and a previous poster) will enjoy it. This will be the
first time any of my readers have first read my non-sf work and then attempted
the sf. I'm dying to know what kind of differences you see between the two kinds
of book or whether--as I suspect--there won't really be much difference, at
least not in essential terms. I hope you'll let me know.
You are not alone in not being able to find City Books. It
is on First Hill in Seattle believe it or not. The businesses here mostly serve
the hospitals in the neighborhood so have little influence outside of that
sphere. Not many neighborhood customers .....
I will definitely let you know what I think of your SF ... just got
Ammonite in and plan to read this week ... I am looking forward
to it.
Thanks for your response and I look forward to reading more about Aud. One
thing though ... I was not angry at all at the ending ... all too often writers
place their main characters in such dangerous situations on a daily basis and no
one gets hurts. Not believable. So I prefer to experience the full range when
reading ... I don't need to be protected.
Thanks again!
Thanks for the clarification about the ending. I've had many responses on the
subject which range from: "I'll never read anything by you again!" to "I admire
your courage..." That last one is usually accompanied by a doubtful shake of the
head.
I imagine that when such readers finally get hold of the second Aud book,
they'll be even more annoyed <g>. I can hear the complaints already: "How
can you *do* that to her?!"
I just finished devouring The Blue Place.
Looks like this is a departure from your usual genre. I just loved the book.
Reminiscent of many of my favorite authors, including Walter Mosley, without
being derivative in any way shape or form.
Will we be seeing more of Aud? She is a wonderfully, complex character with
many stories to tell I should think.
Though I have not read SF for several years now I do plan on going back and
reading your SF work based on the high quality of writing found in The
Blue Place.
Thanks for writing such a wonderful book that was thrilling to read and will
be a joy to sell.
Cindy Russell
Owner, City Books
Thanks for your comments. The fact that The Blue Place has
led you to seek out some science fiction after a long absence delights me. There
are so few really good books of any genre that I don't think readers can afford
to ignore any genres. I'll read almost anything--as long as it is well written.
By that, of course, I mean not only good sentence and narrative grammer,
believable dialogue and so on, but not full of unexamined cliches. I've just
written an essay about all this ("Living Fiction and Storybook Lives") which
will be published in the Australian magazine Altair very soon, and
which I hope to put up on this webpage in the not too distant future.
I'd love to hear what you think of Slow River and
Ammonite when you've read them. They are quite different from
The Blue Place , and from each other. Until recently I thought
that would be my writing pattern but Aud has snared me. I'll be writing two or
three (or maybe even four) novels about her--though not necessarily all in a
row; I might alternate with other work. Aud fascinates me. I want to see where
she goes and how she ends up. The Blue Place is simply the
beginning, the book in which she learnt to change; I want to see where that
change takes her.
I wonder how it will sell, though. It doesn't exactly follow a happy or easy
path; some readers may be furious with the way it turns out.
Forgive my ignorance: where is City Books? I tried to do a web search and got
a publisher by that name, then list after list of independent booksellers in
various parts of the country.
I just finished The Blue Place. I loved it.
Thanks for writing it.
If Aud was a guy, I think she'd be a real archetype: all full of competence
when she's dealing with hard stuff in the world, all overcome with repression
and avoidance when she's dealing with hard stuff inside herself. Could Aud
continue to be so hard and violent in the world if she developed a inner
competence to match her outer competence? Or would her outer competence have to
change, too? What would a matching inner competence be like? What do you
think?
I was just doing an interview today for The Stranger and the
woman I was talking to asked me about Aud's character and what I thought of her:
what I thought of her as a person. I said: "Well, if Aud were a man, she would
be a bit of a cliche: the strong, silent type who does what has to be done, who
always wins, but who never questions herself." She has spent her whole adult
life in this mode: essentially frozen in place, emotionally and developmentally.
Then she learns she can change--but this happens right at the end of The
Blue Place.
Could Aud continue to be so hard and violent in the world is she developed an
inner competence to match her outer competence? I don't know. That's one of the
reasons why I'm writing the second book (working title Red
Raw). She's going to try continue with her change; I don't know where
it's going to take her. I don't know if she'll be brave enough to keep changing,
or what might become of her if she fails in that attempt. I'm finding the
writing exciting, unsettling and more than a little difficult. It's a challenge
but--like Aud--I have no idea whether I will succeed or fail, or what either of
those will mean. I should know in about a year.
I have enjoyed all your books and "Yaguara", I wondered if
you have written any new short fiction and if you are planning to write more in
the future? or are you concentrating your work to longer fiction? Also, is there
a collection of your short fiction published or in the works? thanks,
I have one novella that has never been published. Frankly, I'm not sure if it
ever will be. I wrote it for Century but almost as soon as I sold
it to them, I began to have second thoughts. It's an okay piece of work, but far
from perfect...only I don't know what, exactly, is wrong with it. So I'm going
to sit on it until I figure it out.
I have an idea for a short story, which may or may not get written this
summer for a French Canadia publication, but generally speaking the ideas I have
these days are all novel-sized. I think this is just the way my brain works. I'm
not a natural short story writer; I find it hard to artificially curtail the
character, environment etc. in stories, hard to focus everything down to a
single point; I like to ramble, drop bits of extraneous information into the
text.
Having said that, I am in the middle of a project with Kelley Eskridge (my
partner) and L. Timmel Duchamp, called Women And Other Aliens.
This is a book which will consist of four of my short stories/novellas, four of
Kelley's, and then several essays by Timmi, sparked (but not necessarily about)
our fiction. Added to that will be three-way conversations about sex and gender,
politics and history, art and autobiography, and many other things. It's going
to take a while to put together (we all have other things on our plates, and
this is long term project) but we're all very excited about it.
Meanwhile, the second volume of Bending The Landscape,
science fiction, will be published in August by Overlook. This is a fabulous
book, with stories by newcomers, and award-winners from both the science fiction
field and mainstream literature. I can't wait to see what readers make of it.
I am a graduate student and just finished reading
Slow River. I've been studying ecofeminism lately, and I was
wondering if you were writing this book from an ecofeminist point of view. I
know no author writes explicitly from only one point of view, but many parts of
the book seem to hint at ecofeminist theories (especially the bioremediation
plant and Lore's kidnapping). Also, I haven't read much science fiction, but I
really enjoyed Slow River. A few aspects of the plot bothered
me though. The character of Lore, I believe, is too intelligent not to have
picked up on the fact that it was chronologically impossible for her father to
have abused her, not to mention that Cherry Magyar figured it out so soon. Also,
the ending seemed a little rushed to me. The slow build up to the climax was
controlled brilliantly, but I felt that you abandoned me during the denoument.
Lore's meeting with her father, her realization that she must find a permanent
identity, and her decision to "settle in" with Cherry Magyar happened within the
very last pages of the novel. One last question: are you considering a sequel to
Slow River? Thank you for your time.
I'm a feminist, and I believe we should look after our environment. I am not
talking about altruism here. To be honest, I'm not convinced there is such at
thing as altruism; most urges to "do good," when examined carefully, are about
selfishness. We take care of and/or please our loved ones because it makes us
feel good. We recycle and fight to pass laws slowing down pollution because it
is in our best interests to do so. Our environment is what supports us, after
all. So in that sense then, yes, I suppose Slow River is
written from an ecofeminist point of view. In a more formal sense--that is,
whether or not it is based upon a reading of ecofeminist theory--then, no, it's
not.
Now, about the plot. I've said elsewhere that I don't think it's possible for
a writer to say, "This is what the book really says" because we can know what we
intend to say, we can know why we do something a particular way, but the
ultimate interpretation is the reader's. It is your book as much as mine. While
I think your interpretations of Lore's character and the ending are perfectly
valid, I'll take this opportunity to explain why I structured both as I did.
People who have been traumatised rarely analyse their trauma rationally. Lore
had suffered a terrible thing, something she couldn't even name, never mind
think about clearly, when she was just seven years old. She walled the event
away, then buried it deep, too afraid to look at it. If she ever stumbled onto
the memory, it felt like a confused dream of a monster. It is only as she breaks
free of Spanner that she begins to be able to turn and look at this stuff she
has hidden away, only with Magyar that she can talk about it and begin to put it
into some kind of order. She didn't know who it was because she really didn't
want to know. Magyar, not being personally involved, could see it clearly laid
out; to her it was obvious. At least, that's what I intended.
Several readers have told me they thought the ending was rushed. This means
that for them, and you, what I intended didn't work. Sigh. However, I've re-read
the ending and, for me, it does exactly what I had hoped: it expels Lore, and
the reader, from the warm comfort of the known and therefore safe; it throws her
abruptly, unprepared, into the cold outside world--the way a newborn arrives. I
wanted to convey my belief that the ending is another beginning, that Lore is
being reborn, that her new life is going to be just as strange and complicated
(although in different ways and for different reasons) as her previous
experiences. She has to begin again. This is never a comfortable experience. I'm
sorry it didn't quite work for you.
No, I am not contemplating a sequel to Slow River. My vision
of Lore stopped just as she started renegotiating her place in the world instead
of hiding. I don't think I'll ever be tempted to think about how she proceeds
from here. If I do, though, I might just have to write it down < g > .
Now I have read just about every word of your interviews and
essays, ask Nicola and the rest included in your Web page. I just realized I had
been mispronouncing your name in my mind for over a year. Thanks for that
correction. I am glad you are a public figure and have had all the interviews
and have written these essays and novels and stories and have a way to be heard
(read) because your words are wonderfully important to read. I have a "the words
of Nicola Griffith" house in my head. Somehow I have sensed an essence of you
and what you hope for from your serious fans which is not spoken in your words
so much but created by them as a whole. Yes, Nicola, "the personal is
political". I believe this vehemenently and from little else have I gotten as
much hope in the near future of sexual orientation equality as I have from your
words. The assumption of lesbianism of the main characters in your novels is
something I have only seen in one other place (Elizabeth Lynn's trilogy, and I
read those books after I read yours). I am so tired of the assumption of
heterosexuality that even when I know I want people to know I'm gay I may not
tell them because I'm playing a game to see how long they don't catch the clues.
Actually if they do catch them I tell them quickly. There are so many other
things I want to comment on here but I guess I should come up with a question.
And that question would be something about writing as activism. Communication in
general by a very complex and talented writer as activisim. You're right about
the categorization of fiction as GLBT or not being kind of ridiculous. My
favourite lesbian fiction authors (or straight authors that have gay and/or
lesbian love relationships included in their books like Charles DeLint and
Laurie King) are not in the GLBT fiction categories at B&N or Borders or
even anywhere in the smaller GLBT or womens bookstores. Definitely you included.
You are my favourite though you have some stiff competition with DeLint and King
and Paretsky and LeGuin, because you do the very best job of creating the
essence of your own soul with your words.
My question is: are you conscious of your books and essays having the
capacity to inspire (i.e. affect the personal political goals of the individual)
particularly in the area of gay rights and women's empowerment? Certainly you
must be, what I am really asking is how much of this outcome counts as your
inspiration to write. You seem so much to me as an activist that uses not only
your words but your life itself in your impact, and the interaction of these two
vectors unleashes a lot of energy indeed. Thank you for having those books out
there (and your Locus interview) when I really needed them and for all the
effort to get your words on the web.
Yes, I am conscious of my words--fiction and non-fiction--having the capacity
to inspire. I don't assume they do, though. I would like to think that my work,
by turns, irritates and enlightens, reassures and unsettles, teaches and
entertains. Having said that, this consciousness of the potential effects of my
work on the reader is not my primary inspiration.
I write because I have something to say, and I'm foolish enough to hope that
people might enjoy listening. I love to explain what I think of the world to
others, to hear what their world is like, to compare and contrast. It's only
through communication that we come to know each other. Writing things down is
certainly a large part of the reason I have come to understand myself a
little.
One thing I have learned about myself is that I enjoy having theories--well,
hypotheses, I suppose, seeing as I can't really test them properly. Give me a
bunch of facts that appear related and I'll do my best to come up with a theory
to explain it all. It's a game I play, always trying to figure out how the
world--people, plants, political or climate systems--work. My favourite theories
are the ones in which several other theories interconnect. One of the ways in
which I use fiction is as a test ground for these theories.
This may all sound rather cold blooded, but to me it's very important,
because the theories I test, revise and test most often are the ones about
myself, the ones that try to answer the question, "What made me who I am?" (The
fact that I alter little snippets of the theory of Who I Am doesn't make this
any easier, but it does provide endless material....) An inevitablecorollary is,
of course, "What makes other people do what they do?" I tend to oscillate
between the two. For example, Ammonite was more about women as
a class--what are we like, really, when we strip away all the nonsense that has
been built up in constant comparisons between women and men--than any one
individual, though the novel is intensely concerned with Thenike and Marghe,
Aoife and Leifin, Danner and Hiam, about what makes them do what they do, how
they feel, how they forgive and are forgiven, and why. Slow River
on the other hand was largely concerned with something that has nagged
at me for a long, long time: How come I spent many years living without a job,
without resources, reviled by many segments of the population, and managed to
find my way to this place, when others in the same situation never found their
way out? It was also about the role of money in the world, and responsibility,
and the nature of self, and ecology, and hope. I found that the answer to my
question was that the question itself was not valid. People are never in the
same situation. Superficially we may appear to be, but we all came to it from
different places. We respond to it differently. Some of us have a greater belief
in ourselves--and therefore more hope about our place in the world--because
that's what we were taught. Learning this changed the way I saw the world.
While I was writing the book, I understood that one day someone might read it
and it could change their vision of the world, too, but that's not what I set
out to achieve. For example, the sexual economy (see L. Timmel Duchamp's
comments on this elsewhere) of Slow River began unconsciously.
It was when I found myself erasing paragraphs or sentences or chapters because
they felt all wrong that I sat down and figured out what it was I was doing. It
was an obvious parallel road to my conscious destination; we are our whole
selves: our opinions, our families, our sexuality, our hair colour, our meals,
our bodies, our minds; the way we are treated has a great deal to do with how we
see ourselves.
The novel I have just finished, The Blue Place, what-if's a
fear of mine, "What would happen if I stopped changing and growing, if I froze
in place?" It also what-if's an occasional daydream, "What would the world be
like if I was always, utterly and supremely confident I could come out on top of
any situation?" The main character, Aud, isn't much like me (I'm real, after
all, and all real people have some fears), but I get to explore the
possibilities through her. That exploration inevitably poses the more general
question, "What would the world be like if women were less frightened?" It will
be a few months before I'm ready to talk about the lessons I learnt from this
one.
So that's why I write. At least it's the most important reason for me this
month, but perhaps that's because the novel I'm about to start is all about
grief, insanity, and the importance--and misery--of leaving yourself open to
learning experiences.
I just sent you the question about Carla Tomaso. Have you
read "The House of Real Love"? I had not read anything of yours when I sent that
question but I just went out and bought Slow River and
Ammonite and am almost through Ammonite. I'm
sorry to report, it seems like just another in a long line of escapist SF, with
no understanding or forgiveness of society or people in general. It's as though
you've lived your life in a shell of surface interaction and never gone any
deeper. Or perhaps you see deeper but you can't or choose not to say what you
see. I cannot say Tomaso writes beautifully; but she writes with an
understanding and forgiveness that I can only compare to Jorge Amado in "Dona
Flor and her Two Husbands". She serves out joy and despair in pure, heaping,
crystalline portions, and I love that. Ann Landers said in her column once that
she thought forgiveness was what we all stood most in need of, and I think she
was right about that. But you don't seem to c! onnect with that world - Toni
Morrison and Jane Austen are another two who see far and (occasionally) write
poignantly, and it seems a shame that you don't go there. Any comment you would
have on any of this would be welcome, of course.
In your haste to share your opinions, you make the classic, erroneous
assumption that unthinking readers make over and over, the assumption that one
can know which parts of a writer's work reflect her life. Perhaps you might have
profited from beginning with Slow River in the back of which is
the following Author's Note:
There is a disturbing tendency among readers--particularly
critics--to assume that any woman who writes about abuse, no matter how
peripherally, must be speaking from her own experiences. This is, in Joanna
Russ's terms, a denial of the writer's imagination.
Should anyone be tempted to assume otherwise, let me be explicit:
Slow River is fiction, not autobiography. I made it
up.
Supposing we state, for the sake of argument, that you are right, that
Ammonite has "no understanding or forgiveness of society or
people in general," then you would still be making a grave mistake in assuming
that this attitude was unconscious (that I had "lived my life in a shell of
surface interaction and never gone any deeper") as opposed to adeliberate,
artistic tactic. I don't think you are right, though. Yes, some of the
characters are unforgiving, some don't understand, but some are and some do, and
that is the whole point of the novel: that the women of this time and place are
utterly human, that is, they are all quite, quite different, with individual
responses to their world. If you are looking for some simplistic rubbish about
all women being nice and kind and loving and forgiving, you're looking in the
wrong place. However, you're also looking in the wrong place if you're after
nihilist fiction peopled with bitter, self-mocking characters who care about
nothing and no one, not even themselves.
I picked up Slow River for reading during a
plane trip, and am now almost through Ammonite. One thing that
struck me about both protagonists is a certain mood, an emotional flavor to
their characters, like despair. This mood varies from utter depression to mild
satisfaction, but never seems to reach joy or true happiness.
I know that subjective impressions of literature are unique to the reader,
but I felt that the predominant tone of these two novels was really different
from the mood set by an episode of Xena, for instance. If I am not just
completely missing the point here, I was wondering if the (mostly) dark mood of
your protagonists is a deliberate choice; and if so, are you ever going to write
about a character who is secure, happy, and deals with issues without going
through psychotic episodes. Perhaps not as complex a character (emotionally) but
one with a focus on interaction rather than introspection.
Upon re-reading this it sounds pretty sophomoric and argumentative, but I
have enjoyed your work tremendously and recommend you to all of my friends. FYI,
Slow River I picked up at a Powell's at Portland airport, and
Ammonite at a Border's Books. Thank you.
There are moments in both Slow River and
Ammonite of deep and brilliant joythough more a feeling of
understanding and being than of doing. The doing part is what I think of as fun.
Fun is what permeates shows like Xena: Warrior Princess. To
have fun, I think ones life has to be on an essentially even keel:you have a
home, a family (whether chosen or biological), some kind of stable income, you
know who you are, you are in no danger. In other words, nothing of great
significance is changing; you are in equilibrium.
People in equilibrium make good secondary characters, but dont interest me
enough to be the main focus of one of my books. This is because theyre not
learning anything that will change them. Most of my work is about deep change,
in circumstance, character and attitude. We only change when were out of
balance. As a writer, I follow the Chinese proverb that says people are vessels
hollowed out by sorrow in order to be filled with joy. Theres no room for joy in
an unhollowed vessel.
I've been thinking about all this in the context of The Blue
Place, which will be out in July, and Red Raw which Im
about to start writing. The main character is a woman called Aud (a Norwegian
name pronounced to rhyme with loud), who is wholly self-sufficient, utterly
capable, quite content with her life. She has everything she needs. Or she
thinks she does. Part of the appeal to me as a writer is that this character is
satisfied. I have to walk a very interesting line trying to reconcile this with
the fact that she must grow and change. And then of course I have to deal with
her change, and her resentment of it, while at the same time keeping much of the
Aud I originally envisaged. Interesting stuf fat least to me.
And thank you for the information on where and when you bought my books. Its
always good to know whats selling where.
how's it going? From the synopses (plural of synopsis?) on
these pages i'm disappointed that i haven't come across you novels yet (after i
write this i'm going to go put an order in at the local bookstore). Actually i
stumbled onto your page by accident--i was searching the net for info on Eleanor
Arnason (i had just finished Ring of Swords) and your essay
"The New Aliens of Science Fiction" was listed in the query. The title
interested me, so i read it, and by the end i was turning around the idea of
using it as a springboard into a masters thesis on the study of the evolution of
the aliens of science fiction in recent history (this is a little premature in
that i still have two more years left here at virginia tech before i even earn
my bachelors in english). Anyway, i'm sure this is boring you so i'll get to my
questions...Are there any specific books which i could beging reading that would
help me get an understanding of the basic evolution of the alien and are there
any other studies out there that could help me back up some of my ideas?
Also (this is kind of a stupid fluttering-eyed-fan type question, but i'll
ask it anyway), when did your interest in writing begin and when did you first
start? I'm asking this because until now (i'm 21) i've only had interests in
reading science fiction, but in the past few months i've started thinking that i
might want to try my hand at writing (i've signed up for a class in creative
writing, not much, but it's a start). Well, thanks for listening to me ramble on
(sorry again for that banality of that last question). I'm so looking forward to
reading Slow River ...oh ya, one last question, what is
Thaw going to be about (i saw the name somewhere on your page
and the name just kinda struck me)? Thanks again.
I would love to see someone write a thesis on the evolution of the alien. If
and when you decide to do it, I will be happy to help in any way I can.
Two books that might be helpful to begin with are A New Species:
Gender And Science In Science Fiction, by Robin Roberts (Univ. Illinois
Press, 1993) and Marleen Barr's Lost In Space: Probing Feminist Science
Fiction And Beyond (Univ. North Carolina Press, 1993). I particularly
enjoyed the Roberts; Barr spends too much time riding her particular hobby
horse, "feminist fabulation," but fails, in my opinion, to make a case. But both
are most definitely worth a look. Then, of course, there is Donna Haraway's work
from the late '80s, Primate Visions (I *think* the publisher is
Routledge, but don't take my word for it).
When did my interest in writing first begin? When I was eight or nine. I
wrote a series of stories about this tortured Norse warrior, with the Horse and
Sword (both with names, of course, and lineages) and Battle Standard; ravens and
angst abounded; glory was just over the horizon...etc. etc. They weren't really
stories, though, because they didn't really have plots and they were never
resolved. Then I embarked on my first novel when I was eleven (I had won a BBC
poetry competition a few months earlier). It was a strange fantasy about a young
girl who finds this magical planchette and is whisked away to another world.
Very heavily influenced by Alan Garner et al. I only got about fifty pages in
before I gave up. I can't remember why I gave up, but I suspect it was, again,
lack of plotting that led to terminal boredom with the whole project. After
that, I just wrote my English assignments (variations on "A Day in the Life of a
Penny" and so on) when told, and that was that.
At English schools, pupils have to specialize very early on. I was thirteen
when I decided I would rather be a scientist than an artist. Anyone, I reasoned,
could write but only smart people could be scientists. (Funny the delusions we
have when we're young.) I didn't write anything else until I fell in love and
started writing poetry. The only poems from those times that survived are one or
two that were recycled as song lyrics for the band I fronted in the early 80s. I
was twenty-two when I started to write again (I'm pretty sure I've written about
this in earlier Ask Nicola replies--search the archives to save me repeating
myself). I was twenty-six when one of my stories won a short fiction competition
in the UK, twenty-seven when I made my first professional sale ("Mirrors and
Burnstone," to Interzone), twenty-seven when I went to Clarion.
As for signing up for creative writing classes, I don't think they'll do any
harm, but the only way to really learn to write is to write. Workshops and
classes merely speed up the process, but *you* are the one who has to do the
work.
The most important step in a writer's life, in my opinion, is finding what it
is that you want to write about. Fiction is no good unless it's *about*
something; unless it is true; unless it means something. To find what you want
to write about, you must first find out who you are, you must turn and face
yourself, discover what makes your engine run. As far as I'm concerned, you can
write stunning prose, but until you've found the source of your energy, the
wellspring, your fiction will be meaningless. Writers don't live unexamined
lives. By all means, learn the tools now, if you like, but don't worry about
your work being good until you begin to feel that driving pressure inside, until
there's something you just *have* to say, or burn yourself out trying. It takes
some people longer than others.
Thaw aka Penny In My Mouth aka
Under Ice (I'll decide soon) is the novel I've just finished.
It's a mainstream work, that's half Thriller and half Novel. It's set in Atlanta
and Norway, and the narrator is a thirty-one year-old woman called Aud Torvingen
who is culturally, ah, legion. If you get in her way, she'll kill you. It's full
of murder, ice, survival, heat, violence and realizations. I'm not sure how else
to describe it. It will be out June 1998 from Avon.
Why did she choose the character & name "Hiam"? Not a very
common name! My interest obvious.
The reason for your interest is not obvious. I can *guess* that it's because
your name is also Hiam...but as Dave sends comments to me anonymously, I can't
be sure that this is the case.
When I first saw Sara Hiam in my mind's eye, I saw dark gold hair and soft
brown eyes and the name "Hiam" just...appeared. I have no idea where from.
Perhaps I once knew someone of that name, years ago. Maybe I'd chanced across it
while leafing through the phone book for someone else's name. So the name and
its origins are a bit of mystery to me. The character, too. She appeared
full-blown: I knew she was exactly the kind of person Marghe (and, later,
Danner) needed as a foil.
When I write, I use all of my brain, even the unconscious/subconscious bits
we don't usually have access to. I feed this part of my brain (which I call
Lilith) all kinds of interesting facts and figures, tell it my problem, then go
to sleep, confident she'll come up with the solution. About two thirds of the
time, she does. In this case, the solution was "Sara Hiam." Lilith was also the
one who came up with the ammonite imagery. This might sound whimsical, but I
believe most good artists create this way. It's so clear to me when I read work
by someone who writes wholly consciously: there are no deep, terrifying
connections, no subtle subtext, no images that sing eerily through one's dreams.
The plot trots obediently from a to b to c, the characters faithfully plod along
their little character arc, and the resolution is reached satisfying: satifying,
that is, to the intellectual part of our brains, but not the right hand brain,
not the crocodile brain, not those primitive centres that yearn.
So I don't really know where Hiam came from. And I'm not sure I want to.
I really enjoyed Slow River. My english class
has been reading it as part of our class assignments. I am constructing a report
on the ecology associated with the book and I was wondering if you did any
research on the workings of a sewage treatment plant for your book or was your
information purely fictional. The methods used for the treat- ment seem logical
so again I was hopeing you could tell me of a few good references to address
this issue. Thanks in advance.
I researched both the appalling pollution in various parts of the world and
the means to remediate it. However, I got most of my information from trade
periodicals (1993-1994) rather than books, so you would need to enlist the help
of a good librarian to track things down.
The two main journals I used were Garbage and Pollution
Engineering. Neither of these described a plant like Hedon Road: I made
it up. However, they *did* describe (a) a tiny bioremediation pilot project in
Rhode Island that used the algae and duckweed and moss and fish as I described
it in the book, and (b) various interesting industrial equipment, such as the
self-contained breathing gear and hand held detectors. (Actually, I got most of
my information about equipment from a catalogue produced by the New Pig
Company--though they call it a 'Pigalog' rather than catalogue.) They also
speculated to a certain extent upon the action of various aerobic and anaerobic
bacteria, as well as that of fungi and other micro-organisms. Any mistakes of
chemistry, though, are my own.
Possibly the best place to read about pollution is the magazine of the
Natural Resources Defense Council (I'm afraid all my reference notes have long
since returned to dust--or, as I do recyle [how would I dare do anything
else?!]--become part of your newspaper, so I can't give the name of this
publication). All the terrible things about the Kirghiz desert are true. If
anything, I understated the case. There are many places like that in the world
unfortunately.
I put quite a lot of thought into my bioremediation schemes. According to my
admittedly limited knowledge, they might be theoretically possible. Practically,
of course, I haven't a clue. I'm pretty sure that all kinds of problems would
spring from the scale of the operation. It's one thing to play with ten thousand
gallons, a few pounds of duckweed and a few dozen fish; it's quite another to
talk about several million gallons a day.
Good luck with your report.
Since Slow River was nominated for a Nebula
there's been some chat on the net about the book. Someone said the happy ending
was too pat. I thought it ended a bit too soon--I wanted to know more about
Lore's return home. One guy said his professor who taught the book a couple of
years ago figured it was a melodrama--but I thought that was dumb. It's
cyberpunk, right?
Let's start with the ending. I've had several people suggest to me that it
ended too soon, that they wanted to know more. The ending is abrupt, because it
is meant to mirror the structure of the book: a sudden change, a rebirth. Lore
is being thrown into yet another new phase of her life. I chose not to use a
smooth transition. I didn't want "closure" because for Lore there is none. And
it's not a happy-ever-after ending. Lore is alone (well, she has Cherry, but
it's only the tentative new beginnings of a relationship, and who know where it
will end up); she can no longer live as Sal Bird; and although she is free to
resume her original identity as Frances Lorien van de Oest she *cannot* resume
her old life because it's not there to go back to. She herself is utterly
changed (she remember the attempted abuse; she was kidnapped; she's been a
prostitute; she thinks she might have killed someone). Her family is shattered:
Katerine, her mother, is exiled from the family (she should be in jail); Stella
is dead; Greta is crazy; Tok doesn't want anything to do with the company; and
Oster is having to face up to his inadequacies. Her world has changed.
So, in my opinion, the ending is not pat. It's not happy. It did not come too
soon: Lore's reintegration is another story, one I had no particular interest in
writing.
As for the melodrama. Hmmn. On first reading, it might seem to be an insult.
In current usage--according to the OED--a melodrama is a "dramatic piece
characterized by sensational incident and violent appeals to the emotions, but
with a happy ending." Well, as I've discussed, I don't think it has a happy
ending. It does have some sensational incident (what novel doesn't?) but I tend
to think this is offset by the unglamorous setting--a water reclamation plant.
So why did the professor label the novel a melodrama (a form first identified in
Victorian times)? Probably for the same reasons critics have compared it toworks
by Victor Hugo, Dickens, and Dreiser: the infrastructure of the city in which
the novel is largely set is Victorian. The sewage systems and civic buildings of
most industrial English (and American) cities were built in the nineteenth
century [see my essay, Layered Cities, for more
on this]. The city centres were laid out, ports built, and public transport born
in those years. They are integral to the life of the city, and yet they are
collapsing. SlowRiver looks at possible twenty-first century
solution to some of these physical infrastructure problems in much the same way
that Dickens and Dreiser et al looked at twentieth century solutions to social
problems. There are similar concerns with class and money and power, with hope
and hopelessness, with family, and with those who fall from one layer to
another.
I suppose you *could* call Slow River a melodrama, if you
also call Wagnerian Opera melodrama.
So, is Slow River cyberpunk? I don't know. It deals with
information theory, crime, the underclass, and there is at least one big
multinational corporation--but there is in any conemporary mainstream novel. In
the end, though, the book is not about huanity's relationship to technology, but
about responsibility, and about hope--two things that most cyberpunk novels
avoid.
Are You planning to do a sequel to Ammonite
(great book).
I am not planning a sequel to Ammonite. Many people have
told me it reads as though I set it up for one, but that's not the case. I set
up the ending of Ammonite as a springboard for my and readers'
imaginations; I wanted to throw us all off into the wild blue yonder and let us
come up with whatever we fancied.
I remember the first award Ammonite won. I sat at the dinner
table with Kelley, two friends, a bunch of people I didn't know, and the Vice
President and publisher of Del Rey books. He said, "So, when are you going to
write us a sequel?" I said, "Oh, I'm not." He said, "I don't think you heard me
properly. I said *when* are you going to write us a sequel..." "I didn't
mishear," I said as politely as I could. "I will not do you a sequel." He looked
at me for a moment, choosing his words. "Your contract says we have the option
on your next book. I want a sequel." "Well, you can't have one." "Then we won't
buy your next book." "Then I suppose I'll just have to sell it to someone else."
"What's it about?" "Oh, sewage and stuff like that." "No one will buy it. Your
career will be in ruins. But if you wrote us a sequel to an award-winning book,
we'd buy it from you for a good chunk of change." "Gosh," I said, "it's such a
pity I'm not writing one. But I'm not." This man talked at me for an hour. He
just wouldn't hear what I said: I did not--and still do not--have the slightest
intention of writing a sequel to Ammonite. It's a novel, not a
series. There may of course come a time when I suddenly get invaded by an idea
for another story I want to tell about that world, about someone who lives there
or died there, but until that happens (which might be never), until I *have* to
write that story or explode, there will be no Ammonite: The
Return. Sorry.
No question, just a couple words. I read
Ammonite after reading a rather sketchy review. I found it well
written and enjoyable. I may be a bit simple, but that's the best thing about a
book really, a good read. I had recently grown tired of Sherri Tepper constantly
going on about how the world would be better if women had been the dominant sex
for recorded history. I found that finding narrow. Humans are humans. It might
be different, but better? I found Ammonite deeply intriguing
because I do not know your world. I just read about your time in Manchester in
the material above here on the web page. I am glad you survived, or your writing
would not be available now. Back to your first novel. Altough I may be very off
the mark, I was a bit surprised to find (after reading Tepper) that a world of
nothing but women could be just as hard and cruel as the "damn male world." I
have just read Slow River, and like it even more. You are a
fabulous writer, and I look forward to continuing to buy your books as they
become available. I guess I do have one question though: Why does your publisher
feel the need to 'hype' you as a lesbian writer instead of letting your work
stand on its own merits? I didn't even know what the Lambda award was until the
end of Ammonite, but then I found it annoying on Slow
River's cover. Maybe I'm wrong, perhaps its just hype for an award you
have proudly acquired. If that is the case, then I'm way off the mark. I hope
you earn a Nebula or Hugo, you are certainly of sufficient caliber.
IMHO.
While I've visited Manchester a couple of times, I've never lived there. The
city I lived in (the city in which much of the Slow River
action occurs) was Hull--which is still in the north of England, but on the east
coast.
I have read two Sherri Tepper books, The Awakening (which I
found muddled and irritating) and Grass, which read to me like
a sort of Dickensian (class issues, the Lady Bountiful philanthropist etc. etc.)
bodice ripper, with the aliens doing the ripping. A matter of taste, I suppose.
Given that I've only read two of her books, I'm obviously not an expert.
However, from your comments, numerous reviews, and other written and oral
critiques of her work, I've come to the conclusion that her philosophy and
politics differ from mine. I do not believe women are either superior or
inferior with regard to men, or vice versa. Sometimes I don't even think we're
that different. (Sometimes, of course, I do.)
When a book wins an award, several things happen. The first and most obvious
is that publishers plaster the fact all over the cover of the book when it comes
out in paperback: it makes that book stand out on the shelves; more people are
likely to pick it up; more might then buy it; publisher makes more money--and so
does the author. When the author makes more money, she has more clout; she gets
a tiny bit more freedom to write what she wants, because more people are willing
to risk their hard-earned money on something a bit, well, odd if they know she
can deliver the goods. (How many people might not have bought Slow
River--a novel about sewage and child abuse--if it hadn't had the award
stuff announced prominently on the cover?) When the author has won awards, sells
more books, and has enough clout to write interesting things, then reviewers and
critics pay more attention; they give her more publicity; she sells more books.
When she sells more books, the publishers pay more for her next advance against
royalties; as the publishers have risked more money, they support the book more
strongly because it's a bigger investment; the author sells even more books. And
so on and so forth. Winning awards is what has kept Ammonite in
print--it didn't sell that well at first because it was a first book by an
unknown and it had a terrible cover. I, for one, love to win awards.
I don't mind being called a "lesbian writer." I don't mind being called a
"science fiction writer." I don't mind being called a "women's writer," or
"modernist writer" or a writer of "good reads" or "noirish thrillers." I'm all
of the above, sometimes. What I dislike is anyone using a label to belittle my
work, to cordon it off, chip away at it, dismiss it. So, no, I don't like being
thought of as "only a lesbian writer" or "only a writer of noir fiction" or
"only a science fiction writer" because that, to be blunt, is bullshit. It's
like the difference between someone saying, "You are a woman," and "You are
*only* a woman." The first is obviously true, the second likely to make me burst
out laughing and wonder how the speaker escaped his or her room on that locked
ward--or to break his or, sigh, her legs. All depends what kind of day I've
had....
Perhaps not a question -- I enjoyed
Ammonite enough to purchase the hardcover Slow
River. I wasn't prepared for how fine a work it was. Now I wander
bookstores, looking for more works by you. I guess us fan-types are demanding --
but 1998 is a long wait :-)
I don't know why Slow River affected me so very differently
than Ammonite; perhaps that I'm a sucker for charcter development. I also
enjoyed the 'technical' material on bioremediation; I thought it was
well-crafted.
Is there a question lurking here? Infomation on the process of writing
Slow River. What other authors were you reading while you
conceved it? Did the plot/style evolve substantially while writing? (in
particular, the decision to use a non-linear style is striking; was that there
from the beginning?)
Ummm . . . I read a lot, across a wide variety of literature, technical
material. Ma'am, you are one fine writer.
Now . . . the Great Lesbian Novel? Dare One Hope?
Information on the process of writing Slow River? I can tell
you it was the hardest thing I've ever written, from the standpoint of both
emotional involvement and technique. The conception of the book came in
spurts--a kind of insectoid/larval step process rather than the mammalian growth
curve. Those spurts occurred over several years. The first came when I left home
at eighteen and moved to a city and a socioeconomic milieu utterly alien to my
previous life. The next came when I was in my mid-twenties, and realized I
didn't want to live the life I was leading, not anymore. The third came when I
travelled to the US for the first time when I was twenty-seven, and realized
that who one was depended a great deal on others' response to the cues one
gives. The fourth spurt was when I was writing Ammonite. When I
get halfway through a novel, I start wishing I was writing something, anything,
else. (The grass is always greener....) So I wondered what novel I would do
next, and all three previous ideas came together, click, in my head.
Slow River was born. Almost. Once I'd finished with
Ammonite, I turned my attention to SR. There was something
missing. That's when Kelley, my partner, started working at an eviromental
engineering company, bringing home for my delectation and delight such magazine
as "Garbage" and "Pollution Engineering." I came across all this wonderful
tehcnical info on pollution control, and the idea of bioremediation. My
imagination ran riot. Now I had all the pieces. Putting it together was another
matter.
When I first start writing something, I don't read anyone else at all. It's
too distracting. First of all, I become incredibly picky. I find fault with
*everything* I look at. I can ruin a perfectly good novel or story I've been
anticipating for a long time. I just don't do it. Now and again I'll try to read
an old favourite, like Lord Of The Rings, or a Mary Renault
novel, or the Narnia Chronicles, or something, but that sometimes leads to the
relevant author's style popping up in the middle of one of my sentences. I
usually end of reading non-fiction. When I first started in on Slow
River, I had no clear idea of the structure beyond the fact that I knew
I wanted some kind of layered effect, the past bleeding into the present and
back again. I struggled away, trying to hold the whole thing in my head, using
flashbacks and flashforwards and, oh, every trick I could think of. It just
wasn't working. Then I remembered a book I'd read a year or two earlier,
Brazzaville Beach, by William Boyd, and "Aha!" I thought, "oh,
yes!" because he had used a marvellous method to split the narration of his
protagonist. He had only split it into two, both in past tense, one first and
one third person, so I had to take it further, using first and third and past
and present, and I used it differently, too, building in the literary equivalent
of those firefighter's poles (the brass ones they slide down on) for the reader
to slip from one layer to another and see the connections. I'm not sure I could
have written SR without having read Brazzaville Beach.
Plots, for me, evolve to take the character where I want her to go. They
serve the book, they don't drive the book. The essentials of Slow
River are Lore and Spanner, their differences, temporary (and
superficial) similarities, the paths they take, and why. Everything else is
secondary. So, yes, the plot *did* change substantially as I went along.
Actually, the plot appeared, unrolling itself just one step ahead of the
characters. It was scary stuff for me. Thrilling, though, too. And when I'd
finished, I honestly didn't know if I had a hundred thousand words of rubbish,
or something special. I had no idea if readers would be able to *see* what I had
been trying to do. The response has been varied. One reviewer (from the New York
Times, if I recall correctly) didn't even see the structure, just a jumble of
flashbacks. Others have said, "Gee, why did you have all that technobabble in
it?" Others think there's too much sex. Some (very smart, discrimating readers,
tee hee) believe it's the best thing that's been printed since Caxton's day. I'm
just glad I don't have to write it again. It was *hard*.
Mind you, the book I'm writing now is hard, too, because I've never written a
whole book in first person, I've never written a non-SF novel, I've never
written a novel set here and now (USA, late twentieth century). The contraints
for a mainstream novel are quite, quite different. The fact that I'm also trying
to imbue it with the kind of buzz I get from reading and writing SF is not
making it any easier. The narrator is (of course!) a dyke, but I don't think
it's the Great Lesbian Novel. Lots of boys in this one. But, oh, I'm having fun
with it! I can't *wait* for this one to be published. Unfortunately, if it is
out before 1998, it won't be much before then. Sorry for the wait.
I do have a novella coming out some time in the next couple of months in the
fiction magazine Century, issue 5, which can be found along with
things like Story magazine in the racks at Borders and Barnes &
Noble etc. I've also co-edited a collection of l/b/g/t fantasy stories,
Bending The Landscape: Fantasy, which will be out as a
hardcover in March next year. I'm working as fast as I can!
I have been a fan since I stumbled into "Yaguara" in
Asimov's, and am curious to know if you read a story by Alexander Jablokow in
the Dec 95 Asimov's called "Fragments of a Painted Eggshell"--it's not you
writing under another name, is it? Thanks for the hours of pleasure your books
have given me, and please write faster.
I am not Alexander Jablokow--but if I had to be mistaken for someone else, I
could do a lot worse. I just hope that if he's reading this he feels the same
way. ("Someone thought I was Nicola Griffith? Urgh!")
I haven't actually read "Fragments of a Painted Eggshell," but now I think
I'll hunt it up and take a look. I want to see if I can spot what it was that
made you think it's mine. (Any one out there got a copy they're willing to lend
me?) I've read one of Jablokow's novels, CARVE THE SKY, which I enjoyed--but I
didn't see any points of similarity with my work. (Then again, I probably
wouldn't. One's work is like one's face: one likes to think of it as unique.)
I find it very interesting, though, that you feel the writing of a man and
that of a woman are similar enough to have been written by the same person. I
don't believe in "women's writing" and "men's writing" _per se_. There is no
difference in sentence length, metaphor construction, vocabulary etc., except as
and when the subject matter demands. And that's where much of the differences
lie--in the subject matter. Women and men often--not always, mind--find
different aspects of the same things interesting. What is "Fragments of a
Painted Eggshell" about?
As for writing faster, I'm doing my best: I'm about a third of the way
through my new novel, PENNY IN MY MOUTH and hope to have it finished by the end
of January. At least that's my contractual deadline....
Do you feel your work matured greatly between Ammonite and
Slow river? Reading both of those books recently, it seems to me that the
writing is stronger in Slow River, and that the characters are stronger too.
Yes, I've matured as a writer. (There are some, of course, who would disagree
and say AMMONITE's a better book. It's certainly a *different* book.) AMMONITE
is a novel and not polemic, but while I was writing it I was very conscious of
the tradition of sex-battle texts from which sprang the women-only words of the
seventies and eighties in British and American SF. In response to those texts,
AMMONITE was, on some level, an answer to that perennial subtextual question:
Are women human? SLOW RIVER, on the other hand, is a purely personal exploration
of some of the things that bother and/or intrigue me: Who are you when you have
nothing left but your inner resources? When a deeply cherished belief about
yourself is shown to be not true, what is there to replace it? How far are we
prepared to step outside our moral boundaries, and what happens if we step
outside too far or too often? I was writing for myself, and writers can be their
own toughest critics. I tested everything, every step of the way.
Ammonite was my first book. I lavished upon it all the
gorgeous images and sentences that came to me out of sheer joy. With
Slow River, I was much more concerned with making the writing
serve a purpose: instead of vivid imagery in the text, I have tried to use the
scenes themselves as metaphors. It's a harder task--and it looks a lot less
flashy (which is, I think, why some people think Ammonite is
better writing)--but it's ultimately more satisfying. Somebody once said [and I
can't remember who--if anyone reading this knows, please tell me] that writing
is a feather, but it should be a feather in the arrow that sinks the point home,
not a feather in the author's jaunty cap, or words to that effect. That's what I
tried to do with my second book.
As for the characters, yes, I think the people in Slow River
are deeper, more real and more mature. This is partly because I think I've grown
as a writer, but also because I've grown as a person. I think I see things more
clearly--or at least differently. The person who wrote Slow
River is not quite the same person who Ammonite. The
person who is currently writing Penny In My Mouth is different
again. I wonder what you'll think of *that* book....
So how are you supposed to pronounce all those celtic
names--and why did you make them unpronouncable in the first place?
One part at a time. I wouldn't dream of telling you how to pronounce
something. I can tell you how *I* pronounce the names, but you paid for the
book, you're the one doing the reading--say them any way you like. I pronounce
"Echraidhe" as Eck-RAVE, "Aoife" as EE-fee, "Uaithne" as WAITH-nee and so on.
Standard Celtic pronounciation. Second part: I didn't set out to make them
unpronouncable. I had originally intended to make the tribeswomen Mongolian (as
you can probably tell from things like: yurt, fermented mares milk, herding
lifestyle, clothes etc.). When I was writing Ammonite, though,
I couldn't think of any Mongolian names, so I stuck in celtic ones as place
holders until I could go off and do some research, but once I'd finished the
book, I found myself unable to change the names--the characters had claimed
them. Oh, well.
While we're on the subject of names, one person wanted to know whether the
name Lorien (Lore, from Slow River) was lifted from Tolkien.
The answer is that I don't know. I've read LoTR several times, so I suppose it
could have been--but it wasn't a conscious steal. I've also been asked "Is there
any chance Vine and Ash in the book [Ammonite] are named after
Melissa Vines and Amanda Hill?" The answer is no. Vine got her name from
something that happened in her past, when she got the scars on her back...but
that's another story.
Generally speaking, there is no significance in the names I use. I just pick
something from a phone book, or make it up. I had one English Professor ask me
earnestly if the Kurst (a rather sinister ship in Ammonite) was
a reference to Conrad's Heart Of Darkness. I felt a bit mean
disappointing him.