A Few Words About Nicola Griffith

When Nicola Griffith was nine years old, she wondered how bows and arrows worked. She had probably read a book about them; she has always read books about history and people and how they shape each other. So she made a bow out of a tree branch and string. She found a stick of bamboo and whittled it to a point with a pencil sharpener.

But how to test it? Nothing easier. Her little sister, who idolized her, was always willing to help with Nicola's mysterious and interesting projects. "Stand there," Nicola said, "and hold out your hand."

Helena did, and Nicola shot the arrow spang through Helena's left palm.


Jump forward about twenty years. Nicola is at a science fiction convention in England, where all of the Grand Old Men of (British) sf are gathered for drink and discussion, with the emphasis on drinks. Anyone who has seen the Brit table at an sf banquet will understand.

At the time she attended this convention, Nicola was still a fledgling sf writer, wet behind the wings, with one story published. She waited in the audience of one of the day's main events, a panel with several of the GOM's. There was some unexplained delay, which seemed to be resolved when the moderator announced that GOM "A" would not be participating on the panel after all. Enter, precipitously, Mrs. "A", who protested vocally that her husband had been ruinously maligned and set upon. She was escorted from the hall. Nothing was explained. The moderator said with some relief that now that everything was settled, perhaps the panel could begin. Quite right, quite right, mumbled the audience. Except for Nicola, who stood in front of all those strangers, a Fledgling Writer in the company of the big hawks, and said something to the effect of Excuse me, but this disturbing thing did happen, and I would like to know what it means.


These are the things that people should know about Nicola Griffith:

She wants to know how.
She wants to know why.
She wants to know what it means.

People should also know that she has written and sold two novels: Ammonite, and Slow River (due out in August.) Ammonite won the Tiptree Award in 1994, as well as the Lambda Literary Award; it was nominated for the Arthur C. Clarke Award and qualified for the Nebula Preliminary Ballot. It was the first sf paperback original reviewed by the New York Times sf book reviewer. There's a guy out in Hollywood who is hot as a peeled chili for the book, and knows someone who knows someone whose cousin just helped set up a Famous Actor's production company. There are three people I know of who say that the book has changed something about their lives.

This is all pretty cool, but what does it mean?

Context is always a tricky issue. A writer's work means a zillion different things to each reader, and ten times that to the writer; Ammonite is no different. One of the things the book means to Nicola is that a paperback original with a crappy cover and no publicity can go out into the world and find a home, with people who will watch it dance and feed it chicken scraps and pat it on the head and send it off to dance for other people, who will give it the Tiptree Award.

But before there was the cover and reviews and the awards, there was another context. This is the context in which Nicola visited her first immigration lawyer, who said , "Are you famous?"

"No," she said, "but I can write."

"Sorry," he said. "Go home. Don't waste your time. You will never be able to stay in this country."

Nicola did not go home. She went to a second lawyer, who said, "Can you get a book contract?"

"Yes, I can," Nicola said. And so she did. She by god wrote Ammonite and sold it to HarperCollins and Ballantine/Del Rey. She got a visa to stay here for three years, in spite of having to educate her lawyer about publishing from the ground up, and having to constantly correct him from referring to her short stories as "articles."

The third lawyer (who is really a goddess in human form) said, "Can you get famous with this book?"

"Yes, I can," Nicola said, and so she did, at least a little. She publicized and networked and did readings and sent out her own press kits when Ballantine ignored her, and she went to conventions and did her own reviews of other people's work, and won grants. She got letters of support form the Governor of Georgia and Allen Ginsberg and many many people in the sf community. She did not know any of these people; she simply made it happen. She made new case law in the US.

Ammonite is about a woman who does what others say she cannot; show fights and changes and survives, and is made richer.

Here's some news: Slow River is about six times better than Ammonite.

So here are some other things you should know about Nicola Griffith:

She does what she must.

She can make six impossible things happen before breakfast, if she decides that that's the right time for them to come into being. If not, you'll just have to wait until lunch.

I hope that you get to meet Nicola and spend time with her during the convention. If you do, tell her about yourself. Tell her your how; tell her your why, tell her what it means. And tell her about the time you didn't give up. And she'll tell you.

This piece was written in 1995 by Kelley Eskridge. It appeared in the Wiscon 19 program book that year, when Nicola was the conference Special Guest.

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