The Female Man — Joanna Russ

Cover of The Female Man


The Female Man
Joanna Russ
214 pages
published in 1975

The Female Man is the third book in my list of works by female sf authors I’ve set myself as a challenge to read this year. Of the books on the list it is the most explicitely feminist one, a cri de coeur of “second wave feminism”, a science fictional equivalent of The Feminine Mystique. Written in 1970 but only published five years later it was somewhat controversial, science fiction never having been the most enlightened genre in the first place. Reading it some thirtyfive years later it’s tempting to view it as just a historical artifact, its anger safely muted as “we know better now” and accept the equality of men and women matter of factly, its message spent as sexism is no longer an issue, with history having moved on from the bad old days in which The Female Man was written.

Bollocks of course, but seductive bollocks. The reality is that for all the progress made since The Female Man was published, its anger is not quite obsolete yet, or we wouldn’t have had the current debate about the lack of female science fiction writers in the first place. What’s more, The Female Man ill fits in this anodyne, whiggish view of history anyway. Russ is much more angry than that. She’s utterly scathing in her view of men in this novel, reducing them to one dimensional bit players: thick, macho assholes her much more intelligent heroines have to cope with. You might think this “hysterical”, “shrill”, “a not very appealing aggressiveness” but Russ is ahead of you and has included this criticism in her novel already, on page 141: “we would gladly have listened to her (they said) if only she had spoken like a lady. But they are liars and the truth is not in them.” Russ was too smart not to understand that no matter how non-threatening and “rational” The Female Man might have been written, (male) critics would still call it emotional and not worth engaging. But Russ uses her anger as a weapon and tempers it with humour and some of the angriest, bitterest scenes are also grimly witty.

The Female Man is about four women, or four versions of what could be the same woman. There’s Janet Evanston Berlin, from the all-female world of Whileaway, ten centuries in the future but not our future, who is sent on a crosstime reconnaissance of other Earths. There’s Jeaninne Dadier, a librarian in a WPA library in New York in 1969, on an Earth in which WWII never happened and the Great Depression kept grinding on, lost between her own desire grab the brass ring of marriage and children and her own knowledge/fear that this won’t make her happy either. There’s Johanna, also from 1969 but more like our own and not coincidently sharing a name with her author. And finally there’s Alice Reasoner aka Jael, from an Earth in which men and women live completely separated from each other, in a state of Cold War. It’s Jael who had brought the other three together, to recruit them and their world for the war between the sexes.

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For a Link I Tarry

SF, fantasy and horror fans get to grips with the reality of Japan crisis
“Now it’s the turn of the science fiction, fantasy and horror communities to give something back following the devastating earthquake and tsunami that has left the country dealing with the possibility of nuclear disaster.”

Genre for Japan
The online auction for science fiction, fantasy and horror fans to help Japan.

John Scalzi reacts to the news that Diana Wynne Jones has died
“News is coming across the Twitter that writer Diana Wynne Jones passed away in the night; I imagine it will be confirmed by official sources soon enough. I have no connection to Jones other than as a reader, but I think that’s enough to celebrate her life and mourn her passing. My favorite book of hers was one called Dogsbody, in which the personage of the star Sirius, accused of murder, is sent to Earth, where he has to live in the body of a dog, and in that form discover the truth about his situation.”

M. John Harrison: On both yr houses
“If science fiction and “literary fiction” so clearly share the social, structural & economic qualities of a genre or marketing category–a clear & obvious commodification–is it any wonder that both so often represent the very worst of what writing has to offer ? The effect of “literary fiction” on literature has been as destructive as the effect of the sf & fantasy genres on the fiction of the imagination. It has reduced surface to a kind of Farrow & Ball blandness, experiment to some clever jokes & humanity to charm. It’s the fictional equivalent of John Lewis.”

Red Dawn as “a deeply left-wing, pro-Sandinista” movie
“Conclusion: the scenario of Red Dawn is far too ridiculous for it to be a credible warning, therefore it is an allegory; the egregious and unnecessary presence of Nicaraguan troops makes it clear that this is an allegory about Latin America and the US in particular; the message of the allegory is clearly anti-imperialist; therefore Red Dawn is an anti-imperialist, pro-Sandinista document.”

Great Expectations, by Dickens Charles
“Great Expectations is a novel which has been historically acclaimed as a portrait of the Victorian society of Eng-land, and of the social mobility that was taking place during this time of upheaval. Named for the autocratic monarch of the country at that time, this period was marked by a gradual liberalisation of the native warlords (who began taking on a more political than military role) and of the gender-segregated and caste-based society. The author of the novel, Dickens Charles (Man or Male-person, a common Eng-land name), was one of the most representative writers of Eng-land.”

On the differences and relative merits of Pratchett and Adams
“It follows from all of the above that Adams was never a world-builder; I think he felt that the world we had was an absurd and rather shoddy mess which didn’t bear too much investigating, and any other worlds we visited would almost certainly be no better.”

Damien G. Walter asks: can fantasy ever tell the truth? A: Yes.
An interview with John Norman, Pornographer of Gor.
The latest issue of Stone Telling, “a new poetry quarterly that seeks to publish literary speculative poems with a strong emotional core”.

Ashes of Victory & War of Honor — David Weber

Cover of Ashes of Victory


Ashes of Victory & War of Honor
David Weber
Kindle editions
published in 2000 and 2002

Bear with me because this is relevant. This January, about a year or so after everybody else, I finally broke down and got myself a smart phone on a not too onerous subscription plan. The phone I got was a HTC Wildfire, a dear little thing with some annoyances, but nothing major and because it was an Android phone, it had a version of Amazon’s Kindle available for it. Earlier this month I got this, then was looking around for some free books to put on it. Got the usual set of the Classics from Project Gutenberg of course, but I also wanted something more modern, something light and preferably science fiction, something I could read on the tram without having to pay too much attention to it.

Enter David Weber and his Honor Harrington series. Back in the nineties I devoured those books, but even then I knew they were not by any measure good books: wish fulfillment war porn with a severe case of hero worship and occasional dodgy politics and more than occasional dodgy science. Even on a sentence and paragraph level Weber is often just not very good: awkward dialogue, oodles of infodumps just as the spacewars heat up and in general too much verbiage with stock phrases repeated over and over again. Yet for all that I kept reading. I was going to just read a bit of Ashes of Victory just to test Kindle on my phone, yet here I am having read both that and War of Honor. Weber must be doing something right.

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Monday Night Linkage

I was going to post this yesterday, but real life interfered:

An evening with China Miéville.
Paul Wiseall interviews China on his first clear science fiction book. I’d argue that most of his novels from Perdido Street Station have been science fiction, but that’s a matter of taste as much as anything.

Paul Kincaid: Learning to Read Adam Roberts & Rich Puchalsky: On Learning to Read Adam Roberts
How do you solve a problem like Adam Roberts, a writer every book of which I’ve read I’ve disagreed with and/or disliked? Whom, despite this, I still keep coming back to every few years or so. Bad writers you can dismiss, writers that you dislike you can dismiss, even writers you like and enjoy you can often set aside more easily than a writer that irritates you, like a piece of sand in an oyster. With Roberts, I find that his view of what science fiction should be is different enough from mine to be challenging, while at the same time I often can’t believe either his characters or the situations they find themselves in. Paul Kincaid has a similar problem and his post is an attempt to deal with it, to which Rich Puchalsky has replied.

Martin Lewis reviews Arslan.
A review which does not make me want to read this any more than Abigail Nussbaum’s review did. Arslan is a novel that starts with a horrific rape scene in which a teenage boy and girl are raped by Arslan the warlord, which in itself is enough to squick me out, but what both reviews also made clear is that the setup of the novel is far from realistic. Arslan is a warlord out of a fictional country in the former USSR, who by way of nuclear blackmail becomes ruler of the world, only to end up micromanaging a small town in flyover country USA. It’s an absurd setup that Arslan‘s author needs to tell the story she wants to tell. I can deal with novels that rely on either of these two authorical tricks, but novels that use both need to be very good to end on my to read pile and so far nothing I’ve read makes me think Arslan falls in that category.

The History of Science Fiction as depicted in one crazily detailed artwork by Ward Shelley.
Too gorgeous to nitpick.

Absorption — John Meaney

Cover of Absorption


Absorption
John Meaney
407 pages
published in 2010

Absorption is the first volume in John Meaney’s new Ragnarok trilogy. It seems to be set in the same future as most of his novels, from his first book To Hold Infinity onwards, have been set. You don’t need to have read those to understand this book, but if you have you’ll know roughly what to expect and will get certain references quicker than a new reader would. In general however it is enough to know that John Meaney is of the same generation of British writers like Richard Morgan, Alastair Reynolds and Neal Asher and writes the same sort of widescreen “hard space opera”, though a bit more cyberpunky.

But Absorption is more than just another space opera novel. You could in fact say that this is not science fiction at all, but fantasy dressed up as space opera. Because while one of the three main storylines is set in Meaney’s standard future of Mu-space pilots with jet black eyes and the computer upgraded Luculenti upperclasses of Fulgor around 2603 AD, the two other storylines are set in 777 AD and 1926 AD and both feature things that look a lot like magic… And with flashes of an even father future in which the main characters of all three storylines meet, as well as hints of magic in the main future storyline as well, who knows what’s really going on?

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