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D.R. Ranshaw

D.R. RANSHAW

Genre Wars

8/29/2016

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Genre.
 
Like many words (and other things) we take for granted, it’s kind of funny looking when you stop to actually examine it, isn’t it? Mr Webster says it’s French (which I already knew), coming from the Latin genus, which means kind, as in type (which I also knew). But what it all boils down to is that we humans have a weirdly obsessive need to categorize virtually everything, whether it’s moving or not. We want --- hell, need --- to be able to stick a label on it and neatly stow it away in its proper compartment. Otherwise, the reasoning seems to go, the darkly malign forces of higgledy-piggledy would reign supreme, and we can’t have that.
 
But sometimes, this proclivity tends to generate strange, almost nonsensical results. For example...
 
On my most recent foray to the local bookstore --- a trip always fraught with two separate and very real perils, which I can detail later, if you’d like --- I picked up the final installment in author Jack Whyte’s very fine historical fiction trilogy on Scottish heroes William Wallace and Robert the Bruce. Whyte has written other really excellent works (a series called a Dream of Eagles, dealing with the Arthurian legend, and a trilogy on the Knights Templar), both of which I thoroughly enjoyed and can highly recommend. But my purpose with this post is not really to extol his books, but rather to muse on a comment he makes in his author’s note at the beginning of his latest tale.
 
By his own admission, Whyte’s works fall under a broad classification the publishing industry calls “historical fiction” --- but as he correctly notes, North American bookstores refuse to recognize it as a genre. Historical fiction therefore tends to get lumped into one of two sections in the bookstore: either Fantasy and Science Fiction or Literature, which as a giant, generic catchall has to be one of the most unhelpful categories bookstores have ever devised. Whyte notes that he gets thrown into the Fantasy and Science Fiction (F&SF) section because his first series was Arthurian, even though he went out of his way not to include what we would think of as common Arthurian ‘fantasy’ elements... the magical sword delivered by a goddess, the wizard able to perform all sorts of magic, etc. etc. (Rather ironic, really.)
               
Mr. Whyte thoughtfully provides a definition for historical fiction, saying “the best of it is a transcription of thoroughly researched records of genuine historical events embellished, emphasized, and made more appreciable to modern readers with one single element of historical commentary that is taboo among academic and classical historians. That element is speculation.” (Except he doesn’t mean speculation as in speculative fiction, which seems to be gaining traction as another term for F&SF.) So, for example, a historian might write about the reign of the Roman emperor Claudius, discussing people, places, dates and events. A writer of historical fiction --- such as Robert Graves --- would take those events and craft among the characters conversations and personal dealings, interactions we have no knowledge of, and wind up with two really great novels (I, Claudius and Claudius the God) that are faithful to the historical record while doing a great deal of speculation. In some ways, it’s not unlike a term used in the model railroading community, where something similar is referred to as “prototype freelancing” --- and could also be applied to the writing of fantasy, my own personal interest. But that’s a discussion to be had another day... which we’ll have.
 
In the meantime, perhaps a takeaway from all this is that we should avoid trying to pigeon-hole everything into broad stereotypical categories... and be prepared to look at things in different ways. That’s what C.S. Lewis was referring to when he said, “That is one of the functions of art: to present what the narrow and desperately practical perspectives of real life exclude.”
 
Or put another way... what was that Apple slogan awhile back? “Think different”? Good idea.
 
(Although, as an English teacher, I have to say I deplore the word crime involved. Pfft.)
 
 
P.S. What’s that, you say? The Perils of the Bookstore? Ah, yes. I did promise to elucidate, didn’t I? Thanks for reminding me. The first Peril is the Obvious One: so many books, and I want to read them all. Well, almost all. Which means buying them. My wallet recoils in panic while the clerks leer knowingly as soon as I step over the store’s threshold. The second Peril is also rather an Obvious One --- to a writer, anyway --- and ‘tis a cause for profound depression: again, so many books, but... how are my own offerings ever going to get noticed ‘midst the tsunami of new (and old) material? Of such existential crises are a writer’s life made.
 
Sigh.
 


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Why Fantasy?

8/22/2016

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Why write fantasy?        
 
I get asked that from time by people who have read my Gryphon’s Heir, and the question always makes me smile. I usually answer by turning things around and asking two questions in return.
 
The first is both simple and complex: what makes them think I have any particular choice? Here’s a little truism, and like most truisms, it tends to be rather counter-cultural: the story is in control, not the writer. (Which leads to another question: apart from its inherent strangeness, why is this particular truism counter-cultural? Ah... because our society --- in fact, really, the entire nature of humanity, when you get down to it --- is obsessed with the idea of being in control. At all times. Which, actually, is laughable, because we’re not --- in control, that is.)
 
The story is in control? people ask, furrowing their brows in puzzlement. And I understand their perplexity, because it sounds nonsensical to non-writers... but makes absolute sense to writers. Here’s how it works: the story arrives in your mind, either as a kernel of an idea (as it did for me) or fully formed (I’ve never actually met a writer who can convincingly make this claim, but I keep looking). The idea is insistent; it wants developing --- right now --- and won’t take no for an answer. So like an insistent child, it wants to be written, and if you don’t oblige it and put pen to paper --- or fingers to keyboard --- well, it will make your life miserable. Now, you need to understand that, as a veteran parent, I do not endorse the idea of giving in to your flesh and blood child --- at least, not on a regular basis. (Do that at your very real peril... sort of like the old maps mariners drew several hundred years ago, the ones that said “Here be dragons” along the margins.) But your story “child”... well, that’s a different matter. It’s inside your head, but it’s really not happy staying there, for some reason; it wants to be set down on paper --- just like the Ring wanted to be found, Frodo. (Sorry. Obligatory Tolkien reference for the day.) Apologies if this is starting to sound vaguely creepy. Writers are not especially abnormal. Well, most of them. Most of the time. Sort of. I think.
 
Anyway, where were we? Yes, story. In control. Right. It might have been a good thing if I’d gotten an idea to write a story about a meek little creature who comes into possession of an extraordinary piece of jewellery that not only could make him invisible, but also packed a pretty powerful magical punch into its gold band. Oh, but wait: that idea went to an Oxford professor, not me (and don’t think I’m not sorry about that). Instead, during a particularly unhappy time in my life, I was “given” --- I don’t really know any other way to phrase it --- the image of a doorway appearing where no doorway had any business being, ready and able to take me away from my misery. And I had to find out about this doorway. So I did what I’ve done since... well, since I was able to write: I wrote. Wrote about that doorway and going through it. What would I find? I had no idea. And... as I wrote, “I” became “he,” who was the character I was telling the story through. And then he acquired a name: Rhissan, or Rhiss for short. And, like Professor T has so famously said, “the story grew in the telling.” The first book was put out there just over a year ago (You can read what Kirkus said about it under the Reviews section of this website), and the second is well underway, at about 100,000 words.
 
So that’s the first reason why I write fantasy. The second, as I said, is another fairly flippant question: why not write fantasy? Sure, I like a whole bunch of different genres beside fantasy, science fiction and historical fiction being probably the two at the top of the list --- and we can talk about historical fiction another time --- and should, because it’s deserving of musings all on its own. One of the things about fantasy is how freeing it is, because you’re not necessarily bound by most of the rules --- physical, societal, moral, spiritual, et al --- imposed on our own mortal world. Although it doesn’t mean you can run amok. Au contraire. The world you create has to be logically consistent within itself and its own universe framework, or you might as well be writing some absurdist piece where nothing is rational or makes sense... and that’s hard for most of us to relate to... outside of crazy things dreamt when we’re asleep. Crafting a world’s detail and logical consistency is hugely rewarding for me, in many ways far more so than just setting a story somewhere/somewhen in our own world (and that’s something we can talk about another time, too: crafting world details). Here in our world, it’s all laid out for us. There, in our own worlds, nearly anything is fair game. I think this is why, at a very early age (I was a precocious 12), Middle Earth held such enormous fascination for me. I wanted to create sweeping vistas from the wellsprings of my imagination, too.
 
Put another way, you could call writing fantasy “prototype freelancing.” That’s not my term; I’ve borrowed it from another hobby of mine, model railroading, where one author uses it to describe situations where, instead of modeling a real railroad, you come up with your own. You’re modeling real life, but on your own terms. I like idea that a great deal, at least when writing a story.
 
Ultimately, anyone who writes does so because it’s like author James Branch Cabell once had one of his characters say: “I am pregnant with words! And I must have lexicological parturition, or I die!”
 
A tad on the melodramatic side, maybe... but essentially true.

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A Significant Life

8/15/2016

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BIFF: Pop! I’m a dime a dozen, and so are you!
WILLY (turning on him now in an uncontrolled outburst): I am not a dime a dozen! I am Willy Loman, and you are Biff Loman!
(Biff starts for Willy, but is blocked by Hap. In his fury, Biff seems on the verge of attacking his father.)
BIFF: I am not a leader of men, Willy, and neither are you. You were never anything but a hard-working drummer who landed in the ash can like all the rest of them!
                -Arthur Miller, Death of a Salesman
 
Ouch.
 
This searing excerpt between a son and his father is from the climactic scene of Arthur Miller’s great play Death of a Salesman. Now, stop rolling your eyes. Yes, you studied this play when you were in high school. I did too, back when Pontius was a Pilate. And yes, I teach it in my high school classes. Because, like so much other great literature, it’s timeless. It is a phenomenal piece of writing, because it has so much to say to us about us...
 
Willy Loman is Everyman, (Low Man, get it?) not some high-falutin’ prince. And he has a character flaw…
several, actually… an inability to be honest with himself, with his wife or with his sons; an inability to communicate at a fundamental level; encroaching senility… is it brought on by stress and burnout, or by dementia? Willie is not bringing home any salary, and commission is not making it… he’s borrowing money every week from his friend… to add to the sense of urgency, we all know Willie has been having suicidal ideation. Willie still maintains he’ll be fine… and the boys will make it big; his wife is in denial about his suicidal thoughts. There is murder, exile and alienation of enemies and allies... not in the literal sense of the words, no… but there is the murder and alienation of the relationships between Willie and Linda, Charley, Howard, Biff, Hap…
 
Willie becomes isolated as he enters a dissociative state where he moves to fugues of fantasy, reliving episodes from the past and communing with his brother. Biff is eventually determined to have it out with Willie and confront the entire family with the truth of their situation/family dynamic… all in vain, alas… Biff tries to get Willie to recognize the tragic flaws in their family… but Willie doesn’t get it (“he likes me!”) and it is, indeed, too late. Willie believes that committing suicide will be the salvation of his sons, and proof that he was a great man, with all the buyers from across his region attending his funeral.
 
Willie has the opportunity to cut out all the @#$% going on in the family dynamic and heal the rifts… there is one brief, shining moment of opportunity in the middle of the crisis at the climax of the play… but he doesn’t carpe diem; instead, he kills himself. Interestingly, even his hallucination (Ben) warns that many, including his own family, will see his suicide as either a cowardly or inexplicable act. 
 
There is restoration of order at the end of the play. Well, sort of… in the same way that any family beset by tragedy attempts to come to terms with it (although the Loman family does distinguish itself in its dysfunctionality, so whether they can really come to terms with their tragedy is open to debate).  Biff is determined to plot a new course for himself, Hap has plans that may or may not prove unrealistic, given his past, and Linda is just… uncomprehending of it all.
 
So… what are some of the issues raised in this thought provoking piece? 
 
First, the value and necessity of open, honest communication in relationships, and the terrible consequences that can ensue if such communication is not pursued… not just physical consequences (such as *death*) either
 
Second, why do many of us spend a good portion of our lives in denial over many issues (some large, some small)?
 
Third, the demonization of adequacy. Is Willie rich… famous… important?  Not necessarily by the standards of a very jaded and materialistic society… but it could be argued that he is rich by other, more important standards… he has a loving wife, two sons who were full of potential… a roof over his head… food in his belly… and so on.
 
Fourth, materialism and a hard look at our society… does materialism lead to happiness? And hard on the heels of that last point, the shocking (and seemingly contradictory) statistics relating to mental illness and depression in our very affluent society… WHY are so many people so unhappy in a society that is the wealthiest, most affluent society in the history of the planet?
 
Ultimately, it all raises the question: by what standards does one live a life of great significance? And like all great writers, Miller doesn’t lead us by the nose: he simply presents the issues and lets us draw our own conclusions.
 
We can (as I do on occasion) give the last words to C.S. Lewis. Although he wasn’t discussing Miller’s play when he said it, Lewis made a comment that is hugely applicable, both to Willy Loman... and to us:
 
“If you look for truth, you may find comfort in the end; if you look for comfort, you will get neither comfort nor truth, only soft soap and wishful thinking to begin with, and in the end, despair.”

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(Bad)FF?

8/8/2016

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                “And here you will stay, Gandalf the Grey, and rest from journeys. For I am Saruman the Wise, Saruman the Ring-maker, Saruman of Many Colours!"
                I looked then and saw that his robes, which had seemed white, were not so, but were woven of all colours, and if he moved they shimmered and changed hue so that the eye was bewildered.
                “I liked white better,” I said.
                “White!” he sneered. “It serves as a beginning. White cloth may be dyed. The white page can be overwritten; and the white light can be broken.”
                “In which case it is no longer white,” said I. “And he that breaks a thing to find out what it is has left the path of wisdom.”
                “You need not speak to me as to one of the fools that you take for friends,” said he. “I have not brought you hither to be instructed by you, but to give you a choice.”
                -J.R.R. Tolkien, The Fellowship of the Ring
 
                Would you talk this way to a dear friend? Me neither. In fact, dear or no, this exchange --- part of a larger conversation --- is not how one friend addresses another at all. Which got me to thinking...
                I’ve been on something of a friendship kick lately... discussing it here, that is. A couple of posts ago, I was inspired (by an Xbox game, of all things) to muse on the concept of friendship, and then last post, I examined great literary friendships. So... today, in the enduring spirit of contrariness... I thought I’d look at toxic literary friendships.
                What does toxic friendship look like? Well... it’s unhealthy, abusive or codependent, possibly physically, more often spiritually/emotionally. Hmm. It’s weird when you put it down on paper. Leaves one scratching one’s head, doesn’t it? Why would anyone put up with crap like that from someone who theoretically cares about them? And yet we see it all the time, regrettably... in both the real and literary worlds.
                It took only a moment to bring to mind a plethora of toxic literary friendships, but I limited myself to five. (I could have written several posts about all the toxic friendships in the Twilight canon alone, but... nobody has the time or endurance for that, I think.) So, as I said last post, without further ado... the envelope, please (I list the toxic character in each relationship first):
 
Saruman and Gandalf in The Lord of the Rings – you can’t help but get the feeling that, even before he decided to throw in his lot with Sauron, Saruman was a little too holier-than-thou and disparaging with Gandalf. Friends don’t treat friends like they’re idiots, which Gandalf in any case is not. And Saruman is deliberately deceiving, using honeyed blandishments of the truly dishonest and insincere: “And listen, Gandalf, my old friend and helper... I said we, for we it may be, if you will join with me.” Nope. It won’t.
 
Toad and Mole/Ratty/Badger/Everyone in The Wind in the Willows – I looked in my go-to exemplar of children’s lit, Winnie the Pooh, but there just aren’t any toxic relationships in there. Not really. So plan B was Kenneth Grahame’s classic, another children’s lit story I really like. Toad isn’t evil... but he’s a classic narcissist, terribly immature, only thinking of himself. And like most narcissists, he inflicts his problems and immaturities on everyone around him, including his long-suffering friends.
 
Iago and Othello in Othello – “I hate the Moor.” When Iago says that, early in the play, it’s because he suspects Othello is having an affair with Iago’s wife. Iago doesn’t know whether it’s true, but even the possibility is enough to kindle his rage and determination to bring Othello down. Really, dude? You’re prepared to act destructively and murderously on mere suspicion, without bothering to ascertain the facts? Well... yeah. As do all too many people. Yikes. Here’s a suggestion: avoid the Iago types in your lives, folks. You’ll find fewer knife blades protruding from between your shoulders. Literally and figuratively.
 
Malfoy and Crabbe/Goyle in the Harry Potter books – We all know Malfoy is a grade A jerk... although Rowling does attempt to generate some sympathy for him in the later books. But while Crabbe and Goyle, his Slytherin partners in crime, are nominally friends, he really doesn’t treat them respectfully. To him, they’re naught more than tools to be treated with a dollop of contempt every time they say or do something he regards as stupid. Some try defending this by saying Crabbe and Goyle are just malign morons, too dull to know they’re being used... which may be true, but still doesn’t justify treating them with such odious behaviour. Would Malfoy ever grow out of his nastiness? Hmm. Debatable. Eventually, some jerks do realize they’re jerks... but that takes real spiritual growth. It’s much easier for them just to stay spiritually stunted jerks, blaming everyone around them for all life’s misfortunes.
 
Abigail Williams and John Proctor in The Crucible – okay, they’re simultaneously less and more than friends: Abby begins as an employee in the Proctor household before having an affair with John. But she’s one of these people (notice I don’t say ‘women,’ because there are plenty of men who act this way, too) you really want to be wary about entering into any kind of relationship with. Why? Because Abby is prepared to bring down anyone or everyone in a bid to get what she wants... which is John. But although he’s older and theoretically wiser, the poor chump doesn’t stand a chance when pitted against Abby, the maniacal harpy. And when she gets an unexpected taste of power in her very patriarchal, misogynistic society... look out. Her borderline psychopathic behaviours are terrifying.
 
So... there’s today’s quotient of “friends” who are really completely undeserving of the title. They’re self-serving and self-aggrandizing, shallow and deceitful, sometimes downright evil, mostly altogether pitiful excuses for humans (or toads). Quite the rogue’s gallery.
 
Let’s end by saying that, at least in the literary world, such people are necessary because they generate the conflict and the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune necessary to move stories along.
 
But in the real world... well, we just want to know: why can’t we all get along?

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BFF 2

8/1/2016

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“Piglet sidled up to Pooh from behind.
"Pooh!" he whispered.
"Yes, Piglet?"
"Nothing," said Piglet, taking Pooh's paw. "I just wanted to be sure of you.”
―
A.A. Milne, The House at Pooh Corner
 
In my last post, I mused about the concept of friendship... and shortly thereafter, was asked by several friends to provide a few favourite examples of literary friendships, especially as I also said that, contrary to what too many uninspired writers seem to think nowadays, it’s absolutely possible for two males, two females, or a male and a female to have deep friendships with no physical/sexual element involved. (Oh, for goodness’ sake, people, come on: life isn’t all about sex, despite what our hyper-sexualized society, egged on by a greedy entertainment industry oft bereft of real creativity, would like us to think.) Anyway, I went with the first five literary platonic friendships (same and opposite sex) that popped into my head. So without further ado... the envelope, please:
 
Frodo and Sam in The Lord of the Rings – (one of my friends has suggested I should have, instead of a swear jar, a Tolkien jar that I can drop a dollar into every time I mention Tolkien. To which I say, thanks very much, friend --- and You Know Who You Are --- but... can’t help it. Professor T was an enormous literary influence on me --- and, apparently, one or two others. When I need a literary example of something --- good or bad, because not even the Master is without fault --- I know I can go to the Middle Earth well, and it’s never going to run dry.) (I’m digressing again, aren’t I?) Right. Frodo and Sam. How many of your friends would willingly accompany you on what can most charitably be described as a suicide run? Yet Sam does it without a qualm... and maintains (mostly) unflagging optimism throughout. (We don’t hear Mr. Frodo, this sucks like a vacuum cleaner and I wanna go home from him.) He sincerely wants only the very best for his friend. They start off the story on slightly uneven social terms --- Sam is Frodo’s gardener and often refers to him as ‘Mister Frodo’ --- but that’s long since set aside by the time they’re crawling up the flank of an active volcano at the story’s climax. (Active volcanoes tend to be great levellers of social status.)
 
Harry and Hermione in the Harry Potter series – a small caveat here, because this is a relationship between two teenagers, so there’s the added complication that it’s awash in hormones (I recall once hearing a psychologist describing adolescence as a time of ‘transitory psychosis’ and as a career teacher, can testify the statement is very true). It’s also not a relationship of intellectual equals --- not that every relationship must be, of course, or is. And I think we all wanted them to end up together (there have been rumblings even Jo did, too), but... the relationship between Harry and Hermione works, on the whole, very well. (I was going to add “as much as any adolescent relationship works,” but really, you know... that’s an unfair dig at teenagers, isn’t it? After all, there are way too many adult relationships out there --- real and literary --- characterized by truly infantile behaviours. And we don’t have the hormone excuse that teenagers do. Plus our prefrontal lobes are, theoretically, mature.)
 
Anne and Diana in Anne of Green Gables – My CanLit example. Anne (with an ‘e’) Shirley, the irrepressible, at-times-over-the-top red haired orphan, and her best friend Diana Barry. Great example of two friends who can --- and mostly do --- share everything together. I think it’s a bit of a stereotype that female/female friends tend to share more and deeper things with each other than male/male friends do, but we must glumly also acknowledge that stereotypes arise in the first place because they occur among us humans so often, so we’ll go with it. But it is a stereotype that really needs knocking down. Which I’m working on in my own books.
 
Pooh and Piglet in Winnie the Pooh – Although they’re both nominally male, this is a great example of a relationship where gender is truly irrelevant --- even Walt Disney, that paragon of family virtue, only ever bothered to give Pooh a shirt. (Yeah, I know...  I was baffled by that, too.) But Pooh and Piglet’s platonic love for each other shines forth so clearly, even the most cynical adult cannot but help be moved by it. And young children, of course, get it completely, because for them, it’s so obvious, it’s like trying to teach a fish about water. And even in the midst of their truly muddled thinking (or lack thereof), Pooh and Piglet frequently manage to illuminate our lives with some pretty profound thoughts.
 
Hamlet and Horatio in Hamlet – I include this mainly to show that, contrary to most students’ beliefs, even Will could write extremely effectively about friendship. I show my classes the 1996 Kenneth Branagh film version after we’ve read the play together, and anyone who isn’t moved by Nicholas Farrell’s brilliant performance as Horatio must possess a heart of stone. Particularly during the play’s denouement, when Horatio, utterly devastated by Hamlet’s immediately impending death (scratched by a poisoned blade during a duel, dontcha know), stands more than ready to kill himself --- but is, fortunately, stopped by Hamlet (You’ve gotta live to tell my story accurately!”). Devotion at its finest. Well done, Will.
 
There are, of course, many, many other possible literary friendships I could have mentioned, and I’d be interested to hear what your favourites would be. In the meantime, though, we’ll leave the last words to Pooh, because he encapsulates friendship really well with these words:
 
“Pooh, promise you won’t forget about me, ever. Not even when I’m a hundred.”
Pooh thought for a little.
“How old shall I be then?”
“Ninety-nine.”
Pooh nodded.
“I promise,” he said.
 

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    Author of The Annals of Arrinor series.  Lover of great literature, fine wine, and chocolate. Not necessarily in that order.

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