My Real Children — Jo Walton

Cover of My Real Children


My Real Children
Jo Walton
320 pages
published in 2014

It’s 2015 and Patricia Cowan is “very confused”, according to the notes in her dossier, eighty-eight or eightynine years old and suffering from dementia. Maybe that’s why sometimes she remembers marrying Mark and giving birth to five children, with four still births in between and sometimes remembers not marrying him and raising a family with Bee, giving birth to two children with a third child not of her body. She remembers her childhood well enough, anything up to that faithful moment when Mark asked her to marry him, but afterwards her memories are doubled.

Since this is a science fiction novel, this doubling is of course not a symptom of her dementia, but instead her ability to recall the life she led in two alternate timelines, the Jonbar point being that faithful call Mark made to propose to her. What sets it apart from most other alternate history stories is that it’s neither concerned with the differences with our timeline, nor with the big political events, but rather with Patricia’s life in both histories. The resulting book reminds me of nothing so much of the sort of novel the Virago Modern Classics line specialised in reprinting: domestically orientated novels by 20th century women writers highlighting the struggles of everyday women.

After the introduction My Real Children starts with telling Patricia’s childhood and student years in Oxford, where she meets Mark. It ends when he calls her at her teaching job after he fails to get the first he needed to continue his studies and proposes to her. Patricia at this point is a naive and provincial young woman, who in the WWII Oxford kept herself to circles fitting to her background as the daughter of non-conformists, joining the Christian Union and not being much involved in the social life otherwise. Her romance and engagement with Mark are very much chaste and it’s therefore not surprising that she doesn’t realise Mark is gay, something I suspected from the start and which was confirmed after the timeline forked.

At first that forking seems relatively innocent, with only Patricia’s own situation changed, but the changes mount up over time. A bit disappointingly, the changes in the wider world were much more negative in the timeline in which Pat’s own situation was much better in comparison with Tricia’s timeline, which was much more utopian compared to Pat’s. I’d have rather seen both timelines to be the sort of muddling through timeline that we ourselves are living in, where things are a mixture of bad and good. Instead there’s one line in which the Cold War ends much earlier and much more pleasantly than in reality and one in which the Cuban Crisis goes hot and leads to a limited nuclear exchange, setting a precedent for more (limited) nuclear wars.

But this is a minor quibble. The focus after all is on Pat/Tricia, with alternating chapters telling the stories of their lives, a few years at a time, not always matching up. In both of her lives Pat/Tricia is queer and bi, though in one life she discovers this much earlier than in the other. There’s a quietly feminist tone to the book as the both of them struggle against the expectations cast on them because of their gender and later, sexuality. Because we know how Pat/Trica’s story end so to speak, reading it is a bittersweet sort of pleasure.

This is not as upbeat and triumphal as her previous novel, Among Others, but it’s the more impressive for it. Among Others was grounded in Jo Walton’s own life, a celebration of how science fiction and fandom can overturn your life for the better. My Real Children is written in a much more sober mood, more ‘realistic’ I’m almost tempted to say. Science fiction does not tend to produce many books like this, firmly fixed on the domestic, the everyday lives that go on among even in an sf setting. It’s what makes My Real Children unique.

My favourite books of 2014

As always I will do a post looking at the statistics of my reading habits this year in early January, over at Wis[s]e Words, but for now I’d like to lift out the books that stood out the most for me in 2014, in no particular order.

Cover of The Martian

The Martian was one of the books with a lot of buzz behind it this year. Originally self published in 2011, it was picked up by a mainstream publisher (Random House) and rereleased with some alterations. It’s, with one exeception, the most heartland science fiction novel I’ve read this year, set smack in the heart of the genre. There have been other novels about astronauts losts on Mars before, other Robisonades. but the ones I’ve read tended to be dull and badly written. The Martian is the first one that had the same excitement as Robinson Crusoe offered in finding clever solutions to how to survive a hostile climate, but without devolving into wish fullfilment like the latter part of Crusoe did. Weir also doesn’t fall into the trap of making his stranded astronaut a Heinleinesque superman able to save himself entirely true his own efforts; instead it does take the full resources of NASA to save him.

Cover of Ter Ziele

In August I went to my first Worldcon, in London, which left me buzzing with excitement and a renewed interest in science fiction and fantasy fandom. It also spurred me on to get back into reading Dutch language fantastika, so I started off following various Dutch SFF people on Twitter, as you do. It was thanks to this that I got to know about Esther Scherpenisse’s Ter Ziele, a chapbook collection of two short novellas. The first story in particular hit me, dealing as it does with death, grief and letting go. It’s no surprise it won the main Dutch prize for science fiction/fantasy, the Paul Harlandprijs. I hope Esther Scherpenisse will write and publish more before long.

Cover of Ancillary Sword

Ann leckie’s Ancillary Justice was one of the best if not the best science fiction novels I’d read last year, so my expectations for the sequel, Ancillary Sword were high. Leckie didn’t disappoint me. Paradoxically it both took place on a smaller stage than the previous novel and concerned itself with bigger matters. Most of Ancillary Justice revolved around Breq’s struggle to come to grips with her own identity and her quest for vengeance, her inner turmoil, but Ancillary Sword has those struggles if not entirely resolved, so much so that she’s in full control here. And whereas the focus of the original novel, thanks to its novel use of pronouns, was mainly on gender, here it is on the impact of colonialism, something science fiction as a genre direly needs to come to grips with. Too often after all it views things from the perspective of empire, rather than its victims; Leckie firmly reverses this.

Cover of Otherbound

Corinne Duyvis is another Dutch SFF writer, but one who writes in English. Otherbound is her début novel, a young adult fantasy. What sets it apart from the hundreds of other young adult fantasies are several things. First, there’s the ingenious concept of the protagonist, Nolan, being forced to live somebody else’s life, see through a stranger’s eyes, every time he closes his. Second, Duyvis makes this into a disability more than a superpower. If every time you blink you see through somebody else’s eyes, it’s bound to distract you from the real world. And that has consequences. It’s not the only way Otherbound deals with disability; all three main characters are bound together by their disabilities, their lives interwoven because of it. Third, she has also seriously thought about the consent issues of being able to share someone’s life so intimately. And she manages to do all this and write a gripping adventure story too.

Cover of The Mirror Empire

I read Hurley’s first novel, Gods War, last year and that had been a good if flawed novel. The Mirror Empire is a cut above it. Hurley’s first venture into fantasy, it’s one of the novels, with Otherbound and Ancillary Sword that immediately made it on my Hugo shortlist for next year. In some ways it is a traditional epic fantasy, complete with a Big Bad that needs to be defeated, but what makes it special is its worldbuilding. The world of The Mirror Empire is one of the more fully realised, interesting and novel I’ve read in a long time and she manages it without “the great clomping foot of nerdism” stomping down on the story. Hurley supported The Mirror Empire with a promotional blog tour which is also worth reading to learn more about the background to which it was written and which explains some of her choices.

Cover of The Steerswoman
The Steerswoman series I knew about from other fans raving about it since the mid-nineties at the very least, but I never encountered the books in the wild, until James Nicoll linked to Rosemary Kirstein’s post offering the ebooks for sale. So inbetween walking from one panel to another at Loncon3, I bought the entire series. I was glad I did. What at a first glance looks like fantasy and starts out feeling like a standard if well written fantasy quest story, morphs gradually into the hardest science fiction series I’ve ever written. Because what you have here is a woman finding out the truth about the world she lives in through deduction and induction, through doing thought experiments and practical confirmation of them, without ever cheating, without being fed clues by better informed characters, without using magical technology or jumping to conclusions she shouldn’t be able to make. It’s a brilliant series too little known because for various reasons it took Kirstein over three decades to write the first four books of it and it’s still not finished. But don’t let that stop you: each book stands on its own and each is better than the last.

Cover of Dhalgren

Question: what are the two places man will never reach? Answer: the heart of the sun and page 100 of Dhalgren. An old joke, but one that indicates Dhalgren‘s reputation as a difficult book. Which didn’t stop it from being one of science fiction’s first runaway bestsellers. Personally I didn’t find it that difficult to read, just long, because I just let myself flow along Delany’s narrative. If you go looking for a proper, standard sf, story, you won’t find it here. But it is about cities and independence and queerness and the gloriousness of our bodies, ourselves and all sorts of weird seventies shit. This is one of those books that are hard to review or recap, require some investment of time and effort to get the most out of it, but do reward you if you do so. Delany is such a good writer that I wouldn’t mind reading his interpretation of the Manhattan phonebook, as long as he keeps off the booger sex.

Cover of Lagoon

I also read Nnedi Okorafor’s Who Fears Death this year, but Lagoon was the better book, another Hugo candidate for me. Written out of frustration with the South African sf movie District 9, this is her version of an alien invasion, set in Lagos, Nigeria. That setting already sets it apart from the ordinary run of invasion stories, usually set in the States or sometimes Europe. But there’s also Okorafor’s unapologetic use of Nigerian English rather than “standard” English. For somebody like me not used to it, this made it slightly more difficult to read at times, but no more so than when some fantasy writer has put made up Elfish words in his fantasy. Then there’s the genre breaking Okorafor cheerfully commits here as well, as one chapter frex is told from the perspective of a spider trying to cross a tarmac road, a self aware and evil tarmac road looking for new victims to devour…

Cover of Zero Sum Game

Zero Sum Game is S L Huang’s début novel, a fast paced technothriller, which I only discovered because of her post about last year’s SFWA controversies. That got me reading her blog, curious for her novel, so I bought it when it came out. What I most liked about the book was its heroine, Cas Russell, a math savant who can e.g. calculate the paths of a stream of bullets shot out by a semi-automatic in realtime quickly enough to dodge them all. If you think too much about this power it gets ridiculous, but Huang moves the action quickly enough to not give you the chance to do so. Cas is also, as becomes clear quickly, somewhat of a damaged individual, somebody with no sense of morality but not a sociopath, who has to rely on other people’s sense of what’s right and wrong, which doesn’t always end up well. Currently I’m reading the sequel, Half Life, coming out soon. Expect a review in early January.

Cover of Ascension

Jacqueline Koyanagi’s Ascension was a book I completely discovered by accident, on the sales rack of my favourite Amsterdam bookstore. What pulled me to it was the woman on the cover, as black women don’t often feature on sf covers, not even when they are the protagonist. And it turned out this was the protagonist, a lesbian, disabled woman of colour working as a starship engineer in a dead end job in the middle of a depression caused by a new technology that makes starships almost obsolete. This is a book about sibling rivalry, love, both romantically and otherwise and the difficulties of living true to your own life when you’re poor and almost powerless. It’s also about making choices and having the courage to stand behind them. It’s a brilliant novel, one that should’ve been a contender for the Hugo and Nebula Awards together with Ancillary Justice, but which sadly didn’t get the buzz that book got.

Cover of The Blue Place

Finally, I need to mention two of the books I found the hardest to read this year, Nicola Griffith’s The Blue Place and Stay, the first two novels in a crime thriller trilogy. What made it hard for me was that these books revolved around a death, a death I saw coming throughout The Blue Place and hoping Griffith would find a way to avoid it, while Stay deals with the fallout with that murder. The grief and sorrow in the latter were so real that I had to set it aside the first time I read it, in August, because it reminded me too much of my own loss, the death of my wife three years ago. But if it was hgard for me to read, it was harder for Nicola Griffith to write, twelve years after her little sister died, with her older sister dying through it. It’s no wonder it caught grief and sorrow so well.

Other books I could mention here as well: Sarah Tolmie’s The Stone Boatmen, for me another Hugo candidate. Jo Walton’s What Makes This Book so Great, an enthusiastic anthology of book reviews. Fly by Wire, William Langewiesche’s great explenation of just why captain Sullenberger could put down his Airbus 320 down safely on the Hudson after being hit by a goose. A Stranger in Olondria by Sofia Samatar and Three Parts Dead by Max Gladstone, both read for the John Campbell Award, both very good in their own way fantasy stories. Tobias Buckell’s Hurricane Fever a great near future technothriller romp. Seanan McGuire’s Velveteen vs the Junior Super Patriots/The Multiverse: maniac superhero fanfic that hits all the feels. Aliette de Bodard’s On a Red Station Drifting: family orientated flawed but interesting space opera. N. K. Jemisin’s Dreamblood duology: Egyptian inspired, but not derivative fantasy. Richard Penn’s The Dark Colony: a near future, non cheating hard science fiction police procedural set in the Solar System. Oh, and of course there’s all the Norton I read this year, none of which disappointed.

What Makes this Book So Great — Jo Walton

Cover of What Makes this Book So Great


What Makes this Book So Great
Jo Walton
446 pages
published in 2014

What Makes this Book So Great is that it’s written by Jo Walton, who has a real talent for making you both reconsider books you know well or long for books you’ve never heard of before. I’ve known Jo for almost twenty years now, from when we both independently discovered internet, usenet and rec.arts.sf.written, where it didn’t take long for her to become one of the most interesting posters there. It was no great surprise that she became a professional writer, or that Tor would ask her to do the same thing she did on usenet on their website, the end result of which is this book. You could call it the non-fiction counterpart of Jo’s Hugo and Nebula award winning Among Others

What this is than is a collection of some 130 columns written for tor.com in 2008-2010, mostly discussing a single book, sometimes going into more general topics about reading books. As Jo makes clear from the start, she isn’t a critic and she’s not reviewing these books, she’s just writing about the books she’s reading and why she likes them. Because she’s been reading for a long time, because she’s a writer herself, because she’s been thinking and talking about books, about science fiction in the ways only an intelligent lifelong reader can, these columns are interesting whether or not you’ve read the books in question.

Now Jo Walton is one of the persons who’ve done a lot in shaping my own reading over the past twenty years and a lot of the novels she’s talking about here we used to discuss on usenet way back when. Reading this felt a lot like going back to those days and at times I wanted this to be an usenet discussion rather than a book just to say “yes, but” or “have you thought of”.

To be honest, because she did so much to shape my reading, because so many of the books she likes are also favourites of mine, it’s hard to be very objective about this book. Whether or not you’ll like it depends on how much you like Jo’s voice and enthusiasms. If you’ve read Among Others you’ll already know that she grew up reading science fiction in the seventies and that while she does read outside of the science fiction and fantasy genres, those are her home turf.

Her tastes, as seen in the columns collected here, run to the more literary part of the genre, rather than the hardcore Heinlein/Campbellian tradition. Heinlein, Asimov and Clarke do appear, but writers like Samuel Delany, Octavia Butler, Tanith Lee, Ursula LeGuin or Jack Womack get as much if not more attention. Jo also spends much time looking over less well known writers, both writing inside and outside the genre, to bring to the attention interesting books otherwise overlooked. It’s interesting to see which writers she pays the most attention to, which seem to be mostly those writers rec.arts.sf.written was in love with in the nineties: both Steve Brust’s Draegeran novels and Lois McMaster Bujold’s Vorkosigan saga get long series of reviews, as do the Alliance/Union novels of C. J. Cherryh. Other rasfw darlings like Vernor Vinge, Iain M. Banks and John Barnes also make multiple appearances.

The picture of Jo Walton you get is that of an intelligent, demanding reader who wants both intellectual stimulance as well as a good story. She doesn’t have much truck with experimental writing, or so it seems, as most of the book talked about are fairly mainstream in their construction, but doesn’t go for much pulp either, the occasional indulgence like Jerry Pournelle’s Janissaries nonewithstanding.

I’d read a lot of these columns when they first appeared on tor.com a few years ago, but rereading them was no punishment. What Makes this Book So Great made me want to reread those books I already knew about and seek out those that were new to me, which I find is the ultimate sign of a book like this: to make you curious about the books discussed.

The King’s Name — Jo Walton

Cover of The King's Name


The King’s Name
Jo Walton
320 pages
published in 2001

The first I knew about the civil war was when my sister Aurien poisoned me.

As opening sentences go, the one that opens The King’s Name is great, starting off the sequel to Jo Walton’s The King’s Peace with a bang. It’s been five years after the end of the previous book, the peace that Sulien and her lord king Urdo had fought for so hard has held all these years, but there have been some rumblings amongst the kings and rulers of the countries of Tir Tanagiri about the high king’s rule. But for Sulien there was no real indication for danger until her sister poisoned her. Luckily one of her companions was quick enough to recognise it as poison and not a sudden drunkness and manages to get her back to her own lands, which is the only reason she survived. And then she comes home and her own steward tries it too. Something more is going on than just a grudge her sister may have held against her. Clearly she needs to warn Urdo and rejoin him to fight for the peace again…

With The King’s Name Jo Walton’s histoire à clef becomes more explicitely Arthurian, with Urdo as king Arthur, his wife Elenn as Guinever and Sulien as a distaff Lancelot, with the traditional love affair not between the queen and Sulien/Lancelot, but implied between Urdo/Arthur and Sulien. It’s long been supposed that the night Sulien spent with Urdo in his command tent early in her career was one of passion rather than exhaustion, with Sulien’s son Darien as the result. The civil war, started through the manipulations of the Modred equivalent Morthu, is of course also an Arthurian theme, the war that ends the Golden Age, kills the hero-king and restarts history. Not quite what happens here and don’t think that if you know the Arthurian template you know what Jo Walton is doing here.

The Arthurian legends for a start are explicitely Christian legends and while religion plays an important role in this story, Sulien, our protagonist/narrotor herself is emphatically not a follower of the White God, as the Christ equivalent in this history is called. Sulien respects all the gods, but believes in the old gods of her own lands, having been raised in the Vincean traditions of worship. Urdo too, while a follower of the White God and having been raised by his monks, respects and venerates the other gods equally. He has to, as the high king of the entirety of Tir Tanagiri it’s his duty to consult all the gods that inhabit the land and keep their believers free to worship.

Many other followers of the White God are less tolerant and would have liked to have Urdo or one of the White God’s saints to force the other gods out of the island altogether, as has happened in other places. This intolerance is a large part of what seems to drive the rebels against Urdo, though again it’s been manipulated by Morthu. Part of the King’s Peace is tolerance of all gods and Morthu wants to pull it down like he wants all other aspects of the peace.

But this is not a simple story of evil Christians versus noble pagans. The White God is an attractive god to worship as Walton shows, most of his followers genuinely puzzled by the idea that someone would not want to worship him. As Sulien makes clear in her introduction and conclusion to her story, the White God has won, has become the most worshipped god in the land, with the worship of other gods slowly dying out.

Which brings me to the main theme of the story. This is not a story about glory and finding fame in battle, this is a story about loss and melancholy, about having lived a long, fullfilled life but looking back at when you were still young and your friends were still alive. That bittersweet sense of melancholy is present all through the book, even more so than in the first one. This is not a book a young person could’ve written.

As a novel The King’s Name is better structured, more of a proper story than The King’s Peace, which suffered from having its plot fulfilled about twothirds of the way through the book. I found it to be moving, a real tearjerker in places.

The King’s Peace — Jo Walton

Cover of The King's Peace


The King’s Peace
Jo Walton
416 pages
published in 2000

When I put together the list of science fiction and fantasy books I’d planned to read for my Year of Reading Women project last year, I’d knew I’d want something familiar and enjoyable to close out the year, as a reward. Looking over my bookshelves the choice was easily made: I hadn’t read The King’s Peace since it had first come out in 2000 so it was high time I reread it. Back then I had come to it cold, without any preconceptions other than Jo Walton’s reputation as one of the best posters on the rec.arts.sf newsgroups. Rereading it now, having read more of her novels and also knowing somewhat more about the setting she used or at least the historical inspirations for it, have changed The King’s Peace for me, in a positive sense.

To start with the setting, you could call The King’s Peace an Arthurian romance set in a fantasy Britain, but that’s not quite right. I prefer to call it a histoire à clef, where Walton has taken post-Roman Britain at the time of the Saxon invasions and changed it. So the Roman Empire here is called the Vincan Empire, the Saxony raiders are Jarns, Britain is called Tir Tanagiri and instead of a King Arthur there’s king Urdo whose Lancelot, Sulien ap Gwien is the first person narrator of the story. When I first got to grips with the story more than a decade ago this all seemed needlessly complicated and I wondered why she hadn’t just written a straight Arthurian story. But I think it makes sense.

Had Walton set The King’s Peace in anything recognisable as actually existing history, she would’ve had to deal with all the expectations that would’ve brought with it: she would’ve had to get both the history and the Arthurian mythology right. By creating her own version of Britain Walton could take the broad strokes of British post-Roman history and put her own interpretation on them, with the same for the Arthur legend, while still rooting her story in the “reality” of both history and legend, something she wouldn’t have had if she had set it in a completely made up fantasy world.

What you also need to understand going into The King’s Peace is that Jo Walton genuinely believes that the Roman abandonment of Britain in the late fourth/early fifth century CE was a tragedy, that in her version of this history the barbarians are at the gate and civilisation in Britain/Tir Tanagiri is slowly being extinguished by hordes of invaders. This attitude is reflected in her protagonist/narrator Sulien, who was brought up in the Vincan way by her mother Veniva, for whom the Vincan Empire still is civilisation. It’s hard not to see some of Walton’s own opinions being reflected there. Yet The King’s Peace as a story is not a tragedy, not about the disappearance of civilisation under a long dark night of barbarism, but about finding news ways of re-establishing civilisation, of making peace both for the civilised and the barbarian.

The story starts when Sulien is attacked, raped and left for dead under her brother’s corpse by Jarnish raiders who have also plundered her family’s land. She then is sent out on a conveniently escaped warhorse to the new king her family and its ruler have only recently sworn allegiance to, but she runs straight into another Jarnish raid, one fought by strange armoured soldiers on horseback, whom she immediately joins in attacking the Jarnsmen. That’s how she meets Urdo, a king with much bigger plans than just being yet another ruler of a small kingdom unable to beat off the Jarnsmen on its own.

Urdo wants to build peace over all of Tir Tanagiri for everybody who lives in the land and is willing to abide by his peace, including Jarnsmen. But to do this, he first needs to make war, which is why he has build up his alas, regiments of armigers, mounted warriors armed with lances and swords, fighting as disciplined heavy cavalry, almost unstoppable when properly used. Sulien becomes one of his armigers, impressed by Urdo and his dream. In his quest Urdo is also supported by the priests of the White God, a new god in the islands, this world’s equivalent of Jesus, who was stoned rather than crucified and whose priests are about as intolerant as Christian priests in real life were of other gods, if much less nasty about it. Sulien herself is a proper pagan, willing to respect all gods and praying to her old, familiar gods of her family, practising practical magic in their names.

Magic, though much much less flashy than in most fantasy, is real in Tir Tanagiri, playing a role in everyday lives as well as warfare. We first see it in action when Sulien is forced to heal the leg of her rapist, while in one of the big battles Urdo uses his privileges as king of the land to contact the gods for help when he and his troops are surrounded by the enemy. The only ones not given much to using magic are the White God’s followers, either unable or unwilling to do so, though there are incidents in which it’s clear the White God can assist his believers if needed.

The King’s Peace is told through the memory of Sulien, reflecting back on the events of her youth after a long life and is somewhat choppy in its narrative. She tells both the story of how the King’s Peace was achieved, but also her own personal story, from her rape to her rise as one of Urdo’s most trusted lieutenants, his Lancelot, but fortunately without the love triangle. Though that doesn’t stop her comrades gossiping about her and Urdo…

I was a bit annoyed with the rape at first, largely because it’s such an overused conciet to give a heroine her motivation, as if women cannot become heroes unless they have a nice juicy trauma in their past. Luckily, this was not how Sulien’s rape was used. It is an important plot point, both for Sulien’s personal life as she meets her rapist again, as well in the wider scheme of things; it has consequences for her, not the least of which is that she feels she could never have sex or be married, but it’s not an overwhelming melodramatic trauma that keeps driving her. She becomes an armiger because she believes in Urdo’s dream, not because she wanted revenge on the people that hurt her. Sulien is also relentlessly practical, something what reminded me of the narrator/protagonist of Walton’s latest novel, Among Others.

As anybody who has actually been reading my booklog over the past few years knows, I’ve been reading a lot about the fall of the Roman Empire and the transformation of Late antiquity into the Early Middle Ages and about whether the Roman world really fell or was just transformed and how that would’ve looked like to the people living through it. The King’s Peace may be set in a disguised, fantasy version of this part of history, but I think it got it as well as anybody could’ve gotten it. The world changes, but change does not have to be bad and although what was lost could not be recaptured, what was built in its stead is good in its own right. A very complex, bittersweet and mature attitude for a fantasy novel to take.