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Why Read Dystopian Novels?
Written by P.J. Hoover
A world in which children are sent to battle to the death for our amusement. One in which the moon has been knocked from its orbit. And another in which scientists weed out inferior humans. Recent young adult literature is filled with grim scenarios of utter destruction. My newest book, Solstice, is a dystopian novel (with a huge mythological twist) set in future Austin, Texas during a time when global warming is destroying the earth. Daily temperatures are 115 degrees F or higher, and giant retractable domes have been built over the city to help protect those who live there. The global heating crisis is a slow, yet severely damaging, process; in this world, food and water shortages are the norm and government officials are constantly looking for an edge.
As the mother of two kids, I am constantly looking for reading material with content appropriate for their ages. It used to be easy in elementary school, but as they reach the upper grades, I struggle with the issue of how young is too young to read about certain topics or to read certain books. It’s one thing to write the books, but how do I feel about my own kids reading these dystopian tales?
Now I’ll be honest. I immediately put Solstice in the hands of my middle-schooler, and not just because I am the author. I adore dystopian novels, and I want to share that love with my kids. My bookshelves are lined with these types of novels, and my middle-schooler devours them just like I do.
Consider this. A world in which a power mad dictator kills millions. One in which child soldiers are sent to war. And another in which slavery is an acceptable norm. These things really happened. Humans really treated each other this way. The history of the earth is filled with dystopian times, and the stories from these eras are brutal and cruel. And though in concept, these stories are not very different from how so many dystopian novels portray the world, I am reluctant to introduce these horrors to my children.
It’s one thing to escape with a book and enter a fantastical world. Readers can immerse themselves in a world of peril, have great adventures, and be the hero. In Solstice, the reader can follow along as the main character, Piper, escapes to the Underworld in an attempt to save her best friend from death cause by the global heating crisis. They can feel Piper’s panic, fear, and uncertainty. And when the story concludes, readers can return to the safety of their own world and know that the story was make-believe.
It’s another thing to enter a story about the real world. At the end of the story, there is nowhere to return to. The world remains the same world in which the reader lives, except it has now been darkened.
Why do I feel okay about letting my kids read dystopian literature? Because facing reality is an inevitable part of growing up. It can’t be ignored. And in these stories, be they real or fictional, in times of darkness, there are people who are heroes who bring light. No matter how dark the situations may be, there is hope. And that’s what we see in dystopian young adult novels. There is always hope. And that’s why you want your kids to read them.
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From the Tor/Forge June 17th newsletter. Sign up to receive our newsletter via email.
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The Writer, Not the Song
Written by Alex Bledsoe
One of the real challenges in Wisp of a Thing, my second Tufa novel, was writing original song lyrics when I am, in fact, no sort of musician. As the joke goes, if rock and roll is three chords and the truth, then I know two chords and some gossip. But I’ve listened to, thought about, and hung around music and musicians all my life, so I’ve absorbed as much as a non-player probably can.
To me, songwriting is one of the great creative mysteries. I really don’t understand how it’s done, especially when it’s done so well by some people. Here’s an example I often use in writing classes: It takes three movies and nine-plus hours to tell the story of three generations of the Corleone family in the Godfather films. Steve Earle, writing about three generations of the Pettimores, does it in less than five minutes in his song, “Copperhead Road.”
The first Tufa novel, The Hum and the Shiver, was insular: it took place in the Tufa community, so the music was theirs, and almost all of it was traditional. I modified some lyrics to reflect the personalities of the characters, but for the most part it was about setting the atmosphere and establishing how important music and musical tradition were to these people. In Wisp of a Thing, though, the challenge was different. Two scenes hinge on original music created and performed by the characters, each in a different musical style. So as the writer, I had to come up with their lyrics.
Lyrics and poetry look a lot alike, but they’re really not. Both rely on meter and rhythm, but one exists on its own, and the other with music. But putting actual music in the novel simply wasn’t practical, since a) most people who read books can’t also read music, and b) I can’t read or write music, either. Some authors have managed to put together soundtracks for their books, but again, this isn’t an organic part of the reading process. So creating the feel of lyrics to actual melodies is a bit like capturing a regional accent: you have to do it by hints and careful word choice, not by blatantly recreating the sounds on paper.
My friend Tony Dagnall, an English musician (see a video of his 80s band), gave me what turned out to be the crucial hint about how to approach this. He suggested writing new lyrics to an existing tune, but never telling anyone what the tune actually was. That way, the words would have the proper rhythm, but the reader could make up his or her own melody.
Well, it worked like a charm. Or at least I guess it did, because unfortunately I always hear the music to the original songs when I read those passages. And it makes me wish I could write music as well, but I suspect that at my age, the time it would take to learn to do it, and then get good at it, is a little beyond me. Still, if the lyrics in the novel capture some of the magic that music holds for me, then I’ve done my job.
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From the Tor/Forge June 17th newsletter. Sign up to receive our newsletter via email.
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Postultimate Postulations
Written by Ofir Touché Gafla
As a child, and then as a teenager, I used to go to the movies a lot. Cinema, just like literature, has always captured my imagination and played all sorts of tricks on it. I was the terror of the ushers, owing to a strange habit I had developed over the years. Whenever a film ended, and those two daunting words—THE END—would actually spell it out for all to see, something in me rebelled against it. “What do you mean, ‘The End’?” I asked sotto voce. What happens next?
The lights came on, people started shuffling out, and I, the kid who refused to budge, stared dumbfounded at the long list of credits that accompanied the declaration of finality. No way, I thought to myself, unable to fathom the acquiescence of my fellow moviegoers, who left me in the theater while I waited for the next scene. The post-mortem scene, if you like. The usher would clear his throat, probably thinking the pest ogling the credits must have a boom-man for a father or somesuch, and I, in turn, would come up with a conspiracy theory having to do with a secret connection between the usher, the director and the projectionist, that diabolical trio who deprived me, time and time again, of the most interesting scene in the film.
Back then I couldn’t put into words the common knowledge that an end is nothing but a manipulation, and ever since I have fallen prey to a bizarre hobby, which is imagining (or actually) writing the postultimate page, chapter or scene, the page that will eternally remain a secret in the world of the end.
Once I realized that there’s no such thing as an end, but rather “The end, so to speak,” I started exploring the idea, waxing and waning philosophically on its more profound meanings, thoughts which inevitably fueled my novel, The World of The End.
I think there are two kinds of people: People who long for an ending and people who do their best to avoid it. The first say “enough is enough” upon reflecting on their lives, the second quote Peggy Lee’s song, “Is that all there is?” Both crave a sense of relief. The funny thing is the way people define “an end.” When two lovers who have faced innumerable obstacles finally (another problematic word) walk hand in hand toward the sunset, many readers/viewers sigh contentedly. Others reach for a paper-bag and try not to throw up.
Not me. I say, kitsch or no kitsch, this is not the half of it. Who’s to say that five years later Lover X doesn’t kill Lover Y, or that the sunset is but a symbol of the divorce looming in the offing? And what if those two lovers prove me wrong, and live a happy life up until their very last moments? What then? What if, a minute after they died blissfully in each other’s arms, they found out their familiar life had been nothing but an introduction to the real thing? What if the only thing that really ends is the very notion of the end? And what if THE END is just what I have always taken it for, that is to say, the end of something, but not of everything?
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From the Tor/Forge June 17th newsletter. Sign up to receive our newsletter via email.
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The Children Who Inspired Battle School
Written by Aaron Johnston
Those of us who grew up reading Ender’s Game have always been enamored with the idea of Battle School. What’s that you say? A school for brilliant kids who fly around in zero-G playing laser tag all day? Sign me up. (And please ignore the fact that I’m neither brilliant nor especially coordinated.)
I was so in love with Battle School, in fact, that I would imagine Hyrum Graff showing up at my parents’ house and saying, “Mr. and Mrs. Johnston, we’re taking little Aaron with us.” And my mother would dab at her eyes with a tissue, and my dad would take a knee in front of me and put a hand on my shoulder and say, “Knock ‘em dead, squirt. Make us proud.”
But of course this is fantasy. Not only because I’m not Battle School material, but also because Battle School could never exist in the world we live in. Our government would never allow such a thing. Parents would riot in the streets. None of us would let the military take away our children.
And yet when we read Ender’s Game, we accept the idea of Battle School without a second thought. That’s just how the world is now, we tell ourselves. Terrible things happened in the past, and now parents give up their children. We hate doing it, but what choice do we have?
When Orson Scott Card and I set out to write the story of the first two Formic wars, we knew we had to connect these two realities. The events of the first two invasions had to take us from a world like ours, where Battle School could never exist, to a world very different from ours, where Battle School must exist.
That’s a dramatic shift in public opinion and military theory. And Scott and I knew that such a shift could never occur unless two things happened first. One, Earth must face a threat so powerful and so overwhelming that the military is forced to consider new and unconventional methodologies. The strategies and tactics of the past no longer apply. We’re fighting a new enemy, with tech far superior to ours. If we don’t reinvent ourselves militarily, if we don’t consider every resource at our disposal, we are all going to die. The Formics will win.
Two, the military must believe without a shadow of doubt that children are the answer. It’s not enough for the military to see great potential in children, or for them to believe that children can be as smart as adults. No, the military must believe that children can be better than adults. Children can be more strategically minded, more apt to take risks, more willing to break convention, more able to adapt to new tactics and threats. The generals of the world must see children as our last great hope.
That’s why the story of the First Formic War includes brilliant, Enderlike children. The military must witness with their own eyes what gifted children can do. They have to see it happen. Otherwise the military would never in a million years believe it possible.
In Earth Unaware, we met seventeen-year-old Victor Delgado, an ingenious mechanic who risks his life to warn Earth. We also met his cousin, fourteen-year-old Edimar, who discovered the Formics’ approach.
In Earth Afire, we meet Bingwen, the most Enderlike child yet — a dirt-poor, eight-year-old farm boy from a tiny rice village in southeast China. Through his association with Bingwen, Mazer Rackham comes to realize what children truly have to offer. And the rest, as we say, is history. Or in our case, the future.
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From the Tor/Forge June 3rd newsletter. Sign up to receive our newsletter via email.
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More from the June 3rd Tor/Forge newsletter:
The Week in Review
Welcome to the week in review! Every Friday, we comb through the links and images we found and shared this week, and pull the very best for this post. Consider it concentrated genre goodness from all around the web.
- The trailer for Ender’s Game is here!
- In addition to the trailer, check out an interview with star Asa Butterfield as he talks about his space camp regimen.
- Help send David Brin to Mars!
- The Los Angeles Times blog Jacket Copy dug into their archives and found a great video featuring Harlan Ellison, Isaac Asimov, and Studs Terkel in conversation.
- I would pay money to see a full movie version of this: Star Wars Episode VII: Return of the Junior Jedi.
- The nominees for the 2012 Shirley Jackson Awards have been announced! Congratulations in particular to Tor’s own Brian Evenson and his novel Immobility.
The Tor/Forge newsletter went out this week! Check out these fascinating articles from our authors:
- Four Songs for Stealing Planets by Dan Krokos
- Changing the World by Susan Palwick
- Genre Identity Crisis by Paul Cornell
And, just to make Friday that much sweeter, here’s a list of sweepstakes and sales we have going on!
- The Ultimate Urban Fantasy Sweepstakes (Ends 5/31)
- Goodreads First Reads: Sandstorm by Alan L. Lee (Ends 5/13)
- Waiting on Wednesday: Solstice by P. J. Hoover (Ends 5/14)
- Goodreads First Reads: Requiem by Ken Scholes (Ends 5/15)
- Goodreads First Reads: The Navigator by Michael Pocalyko (Ends 5/22)
- Goodreads First Reads: The Rithmatist by Brandon Sanderson (Ends 5/22)
- Goodreads First Reads: Sea Change by S. M. Wheeler (Ends 5/29)
- Goodreads First Reads: Solstice by P.J. Hoover (Ends 5/29)
- Goodreads Giveaway: The Way of Kings by Brandon Sanderson (Ends 5/29)
- eBook Sale: The Hum and the Shiver, by Alex Bledsoe, is on sale for $2.99 (Ends 6/7)
- eBook Sale: Lamentation, by Ken Scholes, is on sale for $2.99 (Ends 6/14)
- eBook Sale: Building Harlequin’s Moon, by Larry Niven and Brenda Cooper, is on sale for $2.99 (Ends 6/21)
Genre Identity Crisis
Written by Paul Cornell
What makes a genre? How do you work out where the dividing line between genres lies? This is one of my favourite subjects. I suspect you may have thought about it a little too. This question became personal for me when I started to write an urban fantasy novel, London Falling. I knew that, broadly, the clue to what makes a book urban fantasy is in the name: it’s in a city and it’s impossible. But beyond that, it’s probably modern in setting, and the fantasy element will probably be unknown to the majority of the population. Urban fantasy grew out of, and to a large extent took the place of, horror, many urban fantasy novels being horror novels which could have “protagonist will probably survive” on a cover sticker. But there were several issues about where in the genre London Falling lay, and how comfortable it was there.
1: How scary is it?
A few reviewers have expressed surprise that the book goes for full-on scares, and a sense of dread and unease. I think in a lot of urban fantasy, the protagonists are on top of the situation and are threatened to the extent that they would be in, say, a spy thriller. Which is to say possibly quite terribly threatened, but usually without a feeling of nightmare, that a terrible fate might actually be their destiny, without that giddy final moment of loss of self that marks the end a lot of King, Poe, and Lovecraft. London Falling is about a group of modern day undercover police in London who accidentally gain the ability to see the magic and the monsters. It takes them just about the whole book to adapt to their situation, and I hope that the reader worries about whether all of them will get there. My fellow UF author Ben Aaronovitch called it, “a survival novel,” and I think that’s right. For one of the team in particular, the broken genius intelligence analyst Lisa Ross, the thing that rears up at them is personal, and that connection makes it feel rather more like a horror novel, I think.
2: How funny is it?
Speaking of Ben Aaronovitch, we were both rather worried to realise, via our Facebook updates, that we working on what looked like, at that point, the same novel. Ben having been in the past a very slow writer, I was confident I’d get to market first, but he ended up getting three of his published by the time my first one came out. He’s been immensely kind and helpful, and thankfully Rivers of London (US title: Midnight Riot) took a rather sunnier and sweeter view of urban fantasy than London Falling. So with some clear blue water between us, we can both safely inhabit what an Amazon subgenre list might call Urban Fantasy/London/Metropolitan Police/Former Doctor Who writers.
3: How much sex is there?
I realised when appearing with some fellow UF authors on a panel (at the CONvergence convention in Minnesota) that the audience expectation was there would be a fair amount of sex in an urban fantasy novel. I realised that with some horror, because there’s none in London Falling. (They’re police officers. They’re a bit busy.) This is not the case in the sequel, which gets thoroughly steamy. But it’s interesting to note that, for a lot of the audience, the nation of Urban Fantasy shares a border with Paranormal Romance (“protagonist will probably survive and get laid”).
4: Are other genres mixed in there?
In some ways the book is Science Fiction. That is to say, I think there’s actually a detailed rational basis to the magic the team starts to uncover in London. It’s “the paramilitary wing of feng shui,” the idea that the city records everything that’s happened, that terrible things get “remembered” and power can be drawn from the manipulation of currents that flow according to the shapes of buildings, landscape and minds. You might well say “that’s all made up too,” but what I mean to say, and I think this is one of the dividing lines between fantasy and SF, is that our heroes, being police, can’t bring themselves to settle with the idea of dealing with archetypes. When confronted by a ghost bus, they start to take apart the idea, to wonder aloud how a motor vehicle can have “failed to go on to the great depot in the sky” but instead roams the earth. Fantasy is content that there are ghosts, SF wonders what ghosts are, broadly speaking, and you’ll be naming a dozen exceptions. But all that is just to say that London Falling is within shouting distance of classic “problem solving” SF simply because it’s about police.
There’s also the business of this being a police procedural, informed by my undercover police and intelligence analyst sources. I really wanted to hammer home the feeling that this is how it would really happen, that the police should use tactics and approaches against the supernatural that feel real because they are real. And I’m very pleased to have discovered that the Metropolitan Police is full of Doctor Who fans who were delighted to help.
I do hope you enjoy the book. If you know of my work in Doctor Who, I think you’ll find this has the same tone of voice: emotional; driven and hopefully exciting. I like being an urban fantasy author. I like the way the genre lets one talk about the modern world and the real horrors therein. But I also like that it lies at a major hub with flights to many other genres.
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From the Tor/Forge May newsletter. Sign up to receive our newsletter via email.
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Changing the World
Written by Susan Palwick
I tell this story a lot; if you know me, you’ve probably heard it. But a lot of you don’t know me, and even if you do, the tale bears repeating.
In 1973 I was twelve, a gangly kid who got beaten up in school every day and loved Star Trek. My best friend, only slightly less of an outcast than I was, loved Star Trek too. We saw an ad for a Star Trek convention, and decided to go.
If you’ve seen GalaxyQuest, you know what that convention looked like.
One of the speakers was Nichelle Nichols, who played Lt. Uhura. This lovely woman looked out at an audience of several hundred nerdgeekfen, and smiled, and said, “People make fun of you because you love Star Trek. They think Star Trek is only about bad acting and cheesy special effects. But you’re the people who know that Star Trek is about more than bad acting and cheesy special effects. You’re the people who know that Star Trek is about love and truth and peace and justice. And that’s why it’s your job to change the world.”
I cried. My best friend cried. I’m pretty sure most of my fellow nerdgeekfen cried. That speech made me want to be a writer; it made my friend want to be a scientist.
Did we change the world? If we did, would we know? I have no idea. I don’t feel like I’ve changed the world, but I do know that the stories I’ve loved in my life—Star Trek and The Lord of the Rings and The Last Unicorn and The Last Coin—have helped me get through very hard times: not just being beaten up by bullies in junior high, but illness and bereavement and despair. They’ve done this not by helping me escape the real world, but by reminding me that it’s beautiful, worth fixing even or especially when it’s broken. They remind me that abstract nouns like love and truth and peace and justice can, with work, become real and tangible, and that people who know this have a responsibility to do something about it.
This is a point that critics who dismiss science fiction and fantasy have a hard time understanding. How can science fiction and fantasy speak to the real world when they aren’t real themselves?
Four years ago, Tor asked me to write a mainstream novel. I wrote Mending the Moon, about a group of people trying to understand the world after a senseless murder. Several of the characters follow a fictional comic book called Comrade Cosmos. Cosmos, a more-or-less ordinary guy, helps communities rebuild after their worlds have been ripped apart. His nemesis, the Emperor of Entropy, counsels fatalism. Nothing you can do, buddy. Everybody’s going to die. Everything’s going to decay. Stop fighting it. Relax and have a donut.
Comrade Cosmos, on the other hand, advocates action. For this instant, right now, you can make things better. You can restore order. You can change the world, even if you can’t fix everything in it that’s broken, even if what you fix won’t last forever. Here’s a hammer; here’s a can of paint.
Kirkus Reviews liked the realistic sections of the novel, but was completely bewildered by Comrade Cosmos. Their verdict was that the book will only appeal to people who go to Comic-Con.
Oh, Kirkus. You say that like it’s a bad thing.
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From the Tor/Forge May newsletter. Sign up to receive our newsletter via email.
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Four Songs for Stealing Planets
Written by Dan Krokos
I’m lucky enough to have my dream job. But even though I make up stories for a living, I still seek inspiration outside of books. Music gets me inspired more than anything. I like everything (except for some things). My favorite band is TOOL, but I will rock out to Rihanna. I’d prefer some NIN, but you know what? That Katy Perry song “Who Am I Living For?” is pretty good. It’s actually really good. Don’t look at me like that.
Whenever I sit down to write or revise The Planet Thieves or its sequel, The Black Stars, there’s a core list of songs that keeps me going. When I don’t see what I’m supposed to write next, I’ll throw on one of these songs and they help me sink back into Mason Stark’s world.
Leaving Earth – Clint Mansell
I’m a gamer. My favorite series of all time is Mass Effect. It’s one of the greatest SF stories ever told, and also happens to be an enormous inspiration for The Planet Thieves. This music plays after the first level of the final game. Earth is being invaded; there’s destruction everywhere from machines as tall as skyscrapers. Watch the sequence of Commander Shepard leaving Earth. If you don’t get chills, check your pulse.
I’ve never heard something so sad and full of hope at the same time. When I listen to this, I can’t help but slip into that mindset, no matter what I was feeling before. At the end of this sequence, I sat in front of my computer, completely stunned. The game had barely started.
Radioactive – Imagine Dragons
This song is special because I don’t like anything else by this band. When I listen to it, I see a movie trailer in my head consisting of the most exciting parts of my book. If I listen to it a few times in a row, I might add something to that trailer, which I can either discard or keep if it fits into the story.
Lyrics usually don’t matter so much, but these really resonate with me regarding Mason Stark’s path.
Primavera – Ludovico Einaudi
This song is here because it’s timely. I was listening to it just yesterday on a crowded subway, plotting the final moments of The Black Stars with the notes app on my phone.
I am grateful to this song for allowing me to crack something that had been troubling me for a year. This is one I can put on and just let my mind wander. It makes me see new things, and it’s one of the few songs that doesn’t just supply images, but the emotions attached to those images.
I first heard this song while watching a seven minute fan-made trailer for the TV show Fringe, one of my all-time programs. I immediately added the song to my library, and it has never let me down.
Lateralus – TOOL
I have said this before: “Lateralus” is my favorite song of all time, it doesn’t matter what I’m writing. This video is pretty cool. It explains why TOOL is the best band in the world and it shows the lyrics to the song. Just listen to it. It’s almost ten minutes long, so if you want to, you can start at the 5:00 minute mark. This is widely regarded as TOOL’s most important/emotional/complex song. Fans of TOOL have been waiting for a new album since 2006. Take pity on us. Enjoy.
HONORABLE MENTIONS:
Journey to the Line – Hanz Zimmer
Injection – Hanz Zimmer
What If We Could? – Trent Reznor and Atticus Ross
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From the Tor/Forge May newsletter. Sign up to receive our newsletter via email.
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More from the May Tor/Forge newsletter:
Summer Grab Bag Sweepstakes
Tor.com
- Malazan Re-read of the Fallen: Toll the Hounds, Chapter Fifteen (Part Two)
- No, Man of Steel’s Superman is Not Your Superman. And That’s Okay.
- The Bone Season (Excerpt)
- Pour a New Trailer for The LEGO Movie Out of the Bucket!
- Ten Characters I Love (But Don’t Expect To See) in World War Z
- Last Day to get an Ebook of Building Harlequin’s Moon for $2.99!
- Burning Girls
- Morning Roundup Bestows a Flower on Sir Guinea Pig
- The Best British Fantasy and Iain Banks’ Final Novel
- Penguin Books Announces The Dark Crystal Author Contest!
Heroes and Heartbreakers
- First Look: Megan Frampton’s Baring It All (June 24, 2013)
- Stacia Kane’s Wrong Ways Down Cover and Excerpt!
- July 2013 Romance New Releases Shopping List
- World War Hero: Who Would it Be?
- Summer Lovin’: Summer TV Premieres, June 2013, Part 3
- Meet Maya Banks and Team H&H in NYC Tomorrow!
- June 2013 Bloggers’s Recommendations: Psy-Changelings, Avengers, Wedding Photographers, and More!
- Holding Out Through the Hiatus: Speculation on Lost Girl Season 4
- First Look: Rebecca Zanetti’s Twisted (June 20, 2013)
- Sean Bean Meets His Waterloo in Sharpe’s Waterloo
Criminal Element
- Fresh Meat: Lethal Treasure by Jane Cleland
- Welcome to the Dollhouse of Horrors
- A Quick Hit and Run from CrimeFest 2013
- Longmire Episode 2.04: “The Road to Hell”
- Fresh Meat: Death of a Dyer by Eleanor Kuhns
- Buckles the Clown is Here for the Laughs...Kind Of
- Inspector Lewis: “Down Among the Fearful,” Episode 06.01
- Fresh Meat: The Summer of Dead Toys by Antonio Hill
- Fresh Meat: Crime of Privilege by Walter Walker
- Killer Stiletto Heels Cost $100k (in Bail)
