Tagromance

Silent Clarion: Chapter Four

I’ve removed the original text of this post because Silent Clarion is now a serial coming soon from Curiosity Quills Press. I apologize for any inconvenience.

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Happy Birthday, Catherine

Happy birthday, Catherine. You’re thirty-seven years old today, and I regret not being home to help make your day special. Ten years ago I might have said “screw it” and taken a personal day to fuss over you, but I can’t do that with my current job. Instead, I’m sitting with you at a cafe and writing this while you read an article on your tablet, and I’ll put it on my blog for the whole world to see.

It isn’t quite as romantic as ripping a star from the sky and giving it to you to wear as jewelry, but I hope it will do.

I never thought, when I first interacted with you online fourteen years ago, that I’d joke about falling in love with you, or that the jokes would prove serious. I never thought we’d court each other for four years across ten thousand miles. I never thought you’d greet me with a kiss when we first met in person, or that after a week with you I’d have to force myself to refrain from looking back lest I try in vain to remain at your side without a visa or a job. I never thought I’d marry you, or that we’d make our marriage last a decade.

Regardless, here we are. The life we made isn’t everything either of us wanted, but we can fix that. I’ve got the basics sorted on my end. I still love you. I still enjoy your company. I still value your opinion of my work. I still crave your touch. I still melt beneath your kiss. I still feel safe in your embrace.

I am still yours, if you’ll have me. If you’ve grown tired of me, I’ll kiss you goodbye and thank you for the memories. I should thank you for the memories anyway.

I wouldn’t be the man I am today without you. You humanized me to a great extent, as Haydée did for Edmond Dantes — only without the creepy aspects of that particular relationship. You humanized my characters, and made Starbreaker better than it might have been without your help.

I love you, Catherine, and you’ve only improved with age. I don’t know if my regard has clouded my vision, but when I look at you I don’t only see you as you are today, but as you were when you first kissed me, and on our wedding night, and whenever we’ve retreated from the world to indulge in each other.

Me and Catherine Gatt back in the day.

Me and Catherine Gatt back in the day.

I love you, even when it’s hard to love you. You know how I like a good challenge. Happy birthday, Catherine.

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Silent Clarion: Chapter Two

I’ve removed the original text of this post because Silent Clarion is now a serial coming soon from Curiosity Quills Press. I apologize for any inconvenience.

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Jessa Russo: Divide (and Ever)

Jessa Russo asked me to help her promote her new novel Divide, which comes out tomorrow, and I suggested dragging my review for her debut Ever out of the archives. It’s something of an anomaly among her reviews, since I decided to wax pretentious and treat its protagonist as an unreliable narrator.

Jessa Russo - Ever

Jessa Russo – Ever

I should mention from the outset that I tend to avoid reading YA (young adult) fiction. I didn’t like being a teenager, so reading about them isn’t exactly appealing. I tend not to read romance, either, for reasons I can’t even pretend are reasonable.

First, the plot: seventeen year old Eleanor Van Ruysdael (whose nickname, Ever, is derived from her initials) has a dead boyfriend named Frankie, who died in a car crash which she survived. She isn’t over him yet, but it might be difficult to get over a teen crush who insists on haunting you.

What begins as a tale of unrequited love becomes a love triangle when twenty-two-year-old Toby and his father move into the house where Frankie and his family once lived. Though Ever tells us she’s stuck on Frankie on numerous occasions, she is instantly smitten with Toby — to the relief of her friend Jess. After some courtship between Ever and Toby, the arrival of Toby’s ex Ariadne further complicates matters.

Ariadne’s arrival kicks Ever into high gear by introducing an interpersonal conflict halfway through the novel. Ever can’t stand Ariadne, but the feeling isn’t mutual because Ariadne doesn’t regard Ever as an equal worthy of her enmity.

I won’t comment further on the plot, lest I spoil the ending. Instead, I will shift my attention to the mechanisms driving the story. In particular, I wish to consider Ms. Russo’s choice of viewpoint. Ever is told exclusively through the viewpoint of its protagonist. We only know what she tells us. We have no choice but to believe Frankie is real, because Ever tells us other people can see him. When Ever learns that Toby and Ariadne are “soul collectors”, we can only take her words at face value, but Ever doesn’t tell us what exactly soul collectors are, or how they do what they do, because she herself doesn’t know. We remain ignorant of Toby’s motives and those of Ariadne, because we’re limited to Ever’s viewpoint.

A cursory glance at the reviews on Goodreads suggests that this limited perspective frustrates a great many readers to the point where they end up despising the novel. I consider it Ever’s chief virtue. While I might praise Ever’s verisimilitude by virtue of its characters, who are annoying enough to remind me of the teenagers with whom I used to do time in high school, the real value of this novel lies in its unreliable narrator.

An unreliable narrator, according to Wikipedia, is “a narrator, whether in literature, film, or theatre, whose credibility has been seriously compromised” (emphasis mine). Ever’s youth and inexperience alone might compromise her as a narrator, but it’s her psychological issues which push her over the top. Her unresolved grief and survivors’ guilt are both obvious from the first page of the first chapter. Furthermore, because we have to take her word for the fact that others can see Frankie, the ghost himself might be a figment of Ever’s imagination — or a delusion. Even the events culminating in Ever`s cliffhanger ending might only be a fantasy, but it’s a fantasy we must accept at face value, because we only know what Ever tells us.

I don’t know if Jessa Russo intended for Ever to be an unreliable narrator. I could be overthinking a novel which is nothing more than solidly written young adult paranormal romance. Or, Jessa Russo might have infused her material with unexpected literary sophistication through her choice of viewpoint and the care with which she feeds the reader information.

Pick whichever interpretation you think is most flattering.

ruleDon’t forget! Divide comes out tomorrow.

 

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Some Guys Aren’t Man Enough for Romance in SF

I know that some guys likes their SF hard and manly. No fantasy elements, no romantic elements, and Asimov forbid you include anything which might appeal to women. One gentleman in particular, Paul Cook, seems particularly annoyed with Lois McMaster Bujold, who dares to write military SF in which she depicts functioning marriages between adult characters.

I mean, how dare Ms. Bujold write SF that appeals to readers who aren’t poorly socialized male techies? Doesn’t she realize she isn’t writing real SF, which to Paul Cook means hard, manly SF?

Paul Cook can kiss my ass. He isn’t my target demographic. Manly SF fans like him — who venerate the holy trinity of Heinlein, Asimov, and Clarke and denigrate any work outside the trinity’s tradition — are too small a group to merit my full attention, or the full attention of any writer who takes SF seriously.

SF isn’t just for men. A woman wrote one of the first SF novels. Does Mary Shelley ring any bells? How about Frankenstein; or, The Modern Prometheus. It’s a classic novel of AI turning against its creator — not that the son of a bitch didn’t have it coming.

But I guess Shelley is too romantic (or too Romantic) for Paul Cook. I bet he hasn’t read the likes of Leigh Brackett, Catherine L. Moore, Andre Norton, C. J. Cherryh, Octavia Butler, Ursula K. Le Guin, C. S. Friedman, Ann Aguirre, Lynda Williams (oh, how Paul Cook would hate the Okal Rel Saga), Charity Bradford, Julie Czerneda, Joanna Russ or Catherine Asaro.

To be honest, I haven’t read Catherine Asaro either, but I mean to remedy that.

Paul Cook doesn’t get to dictate what SF is, or what SF should be. He’s just one person. I see nothing wrong with romance in SF. I see nothing wrong with depicting relationships in SF. I see nothing wrong with including in SF all the elements Paul Cook thinks are “only appealing to women”.

You see, I’m a poorly socialized male techie myself, and I still manage to enjoy the elements Cook decries in SF. Unlike him, I don’t insist that the only real SF is SF written in the traditions of Heinlein, Asimov, and Clarke by manly men about manly men with lots of infodumping about mathematics and physics. The genre has moved on. The world has moved on.

Paul Cook needs to catch up, or be left behind.

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