tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-89241776874246208442024-03-13T05:00:55.287+00:00Nyki Blatchley, Fantasy AuthorNyki Blatchleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07707481035530963855noreply@blogger.comBlogger189125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8924177687424620844.post-58677486858694673432016-04-14T01:11:00.000+01:002016-04-14T01:11:56.816+01:00Worldmaking: The Secret Ingredient<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"><b>A fantasy world
can come in all shapes and sizes, and all kinds of eras. Sometimes it’s no more
than a few countries surrounded by vague space that could well be marked <i>Here Be Dragons </i>(though if that’s meant
literally, they’re probably part of the story). Sometimes it’s a continent
surrounded by an ocean of unknown extent, or even a couple of continents.
Sometimes it’s an entire world, whether that world is spherical, flat or
banana-shaped.<o:p></o:p></b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"><b>In the same
way, it could resemble a primitive civilisation, the classical world, the
mediaeval age (though far fewer worlds are mediaeval than is often claimed),
the Renaissance, the age of steam, or even a modern-style world. Or it could be
based on some phase of a non-Eurocentric culture, or perhaps it’s a
civilisation like nothing ever seen in our history.<o:p></o:p></b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"><b>Nevertheless,
there’s one element the great majority of fantasy worlds are lacking in: time.<o:p></o:p></b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"><b>Hang on, what?
Aren’t they usually rich with the history of millennia, and doesn’t that tend
to impact directly on the plot?<o:p></o:p></b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"><b>Yes, but
history isn’t the same as time. In most worlds, the history remains no more
than history — looked back on, but never visited. This doesn’t necessarily stop
them being wonderful creations. Classic worlds like LeGuin’s Earthsea and
Martin’s Westeros have rich histories to back up their rich presents, but if we
ever visit those past times at all (as we do in some of LeGuin’s short stories,
for instance) it’s strictly in the mode of Tales of the Old Days.<o:p></o:p></b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"><b>There are
certainly exceptions. Tolkien covers thousands of years, but the point here is
that his portrayal of Arda is a mythical past for our own world, from the supposed
point of view of a modern scholar translating texts from different eras. Howard
takes a similar approach, where Conan, Kull and other characters live at
different stages of his imaginary prehistorical history for our world.<o:p></o:p></b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"><b>It's rare* for entirely
secondary worlds to be presented with an intact fourth dimension, in which all
periods are equal and there’s no fixed concept of “the present”. <o:p></o:p></b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"><b>The Chronicles
of Narnia are perhaps an exception, showing the entire life of the Narnian
world from creation to doomsday, but that’s due to the nature of the portals.
It’s being seen from a perspective outside the history portrayed, just as
Tolkien’s Arda is seen. Donaldson’s Thomas Covenant books use a similar
approach.<o:p></o:p></b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"><b>In most
secondary worlds, though, the past is no more than the far-off hills in the
background of the picture, while the future is a non-existent place outside the
frame, unless it’s just a generation in the future when the account you’re
reading is being written (which therefore becomes more accurately “the
present”).<o:p></o:p></b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"><b>What I try to
achieve is an approach that’s not so much equivalent to a two-dimensional
picture as a virtual tour, where you can not only pan around but also go over
into the distance, turn 180 degrees and look at what previously lay behind you —
ie the future. <o:p></o:p></b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"><b>I write about
characters and events in “traditional” fantasy cultures, and then about
modern-style eras where the same people are the legendary heroes of old. I
write stories set in all stages of civilisation, which look back to those that
were the “present” last time, and foreshadow what will be the “present” next
time. I’ve covered everything from the neolithic to the computer age (and a
glimpse into a futuristic age long after) — and no point is the absolute
present. It’s all in flux.<o:p></o:p></b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"><b>The absence of
the present is perhaps the key point, and it’s more common in SF future
histories than in fantasy secondary worlds. Asimov treated all eras as equal,
from the early development of robots to the supremacy of the Foundation, while
the various iterations of Star Trek are each seen embedded in their own
present. And it’s perhaps significant that the Pern series lost its sense of
“the present” just at the point that it was becoming more openly future
history, rather than a secondary world.<o:p></o:p></b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"><b>Perhaps it’s
easier with future history, where we can see time stretching out ahead of us
without end. On the other hand, if a secondary world has no connection with our
own, why should it have a fixed present?<o:p></o:p></b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"><b>Of course, if
you’re just using the world for one story, whether told in a single book or a
long series, it makes sense to relate to the time that story’s taking place.
But a well-made world almost certainly has more than one story in it, and it
would be awesome to see more fantasy authors embracing the full implication of
that and writing in four dimensions, not just three.<o:p></o:p></b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"><b>Those hills
don’t have to stay in the background of the picture. You’re free to go and
explore them, as well as to break out from the frame into times to come.<o:p></o:p></b></span></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"><b>* I’m certainly not widely-read enough
in secondary-world fantasy to say with authority it doesn’t happen, and I fully
expect to be told about exceptions in the comments. I’d still maintain it’s
rare, though.</b><o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
Nyki Blatchleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07707481035530963855noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8924177687424620844.post-43613817532710315572016-02-29T23:56:00.000+00:002016-02-29T23:56:02.796+00:00Ice-Cold Published in the New Third Flatiron Anthology<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEfFqN6RO7MpT1mK5PYF9C2w3KGqMvqd4hZb24r6aoA1VULC4YkvZUu1_s6uB1ohCgREiV4fjR5NBR1koeUawIFvYmN7iJmoWESSI6qmoZci6wjasLOu_x9t-o3m3AirCbOCnmCmu6MCM/s1600/It+Has+Come+to+Our+Attention_cover.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEfFqN6RO7MpT1mK5PYF9C2w3KGqMvqd4hZb24r6aoA1VULC4YkvZUu1_s6uB1ohCgREiV4fjR5NBR1koeUawIFvYmN7iJmoWESSI6qmoZci6wjasLOu_x9t-o3m3AirCbOCnmCmu6MCM/s320/It+Has+Come+to+Our+Attention_cover.jpg" width="226" /></a></div>
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<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><b>It's Come to Our Attention</b></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Third Flatiron Anthology</b></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Edited by Juliana Rew</b></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Cover by Keely Rew</b></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;">"It's Come to Our Attention"
from Third Flatiron Anthologies is about things that could be happening
quietly, without a lot of fanfare, but which could still be extremely
significant or make a big difference.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;">Visit a landfill to hear some real trash
talk. Tag along with an alien agent here to save the earth from his hideout in
the insane asylum. Bust a conspiracy to change the climate via mind control.
Form an unhealthy attachment to your radio. Go down to the basement even though
we told you not to. Decide on the pros and cons of immortality. Tell a
librarian she would look really great without her glasses. Find out what's at
the bottom of the wishing well (besides coins). Indulge in a little illegal but
highly satisfying genetic tinkering. Acknowledge the debt we all owe to French
culture.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;">Fourteen international authors come
together to scratch below the surface to unearth a world of hidden gems.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;">As one of the fourteen international
authors, my contribution is Ice-Cold. Steve is sure that blizzards in June
aren't natural, but it's not till his undercover activist girlfriend Claire
uncovers a conspiracy that he discovers the enormity of what's going on. Or the
strangeness of the method the conspirators are using.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;">You can buy It's Come to Our Attention
as either an ebook for $3.19 or a trade paperback for $8.99 from <span style="color: windowtext; text-decoration: none; text-underline: none;"><a href="http://www.thirdflatiron.com/liveSite/pages/current-issue" target="_blank">the ThirdFlatiron site</a></span>. Alternatively, you can buy it for £2.20 or £6.23 from <span style="color: windowtext; text-decoration: none; text-underline: none;"><a href="http://www.amazon.co.uk/gp/product/0692648844?psc=1&redirect=true&ref_=oh_aui_detailpage_o00_s00" target="_blank">Amazon.co.uk</a></span>.</span></b></div>
</div>
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Nyki Blatchleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07707481035530963855noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8924177687424620844.post-59306702955378838702015-11-16T23:14:00.001+00:002015-11-16T23:14:32.402+00:00Heinlein's Rules of Writing - the Amendment<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTIdbG7dvbClhFLXH7BHapznrTVn4aFSscqZVvuZ-RyY1KoTlbu1qT-gWtsX_hmo_2QEG45ENzeBBKyXBia-bHzIgjuqr2AER_Ofs0UUg3R2jSEFWwT-Fn-iKsJdUw4K8TM9Sls7tJqo4/s1600/Heinlein-face.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTIdbG7dvbClhFLXH7BHapznrTVn4aFSscqZVvuZ-RyY1KoTlbu1qT-gWtsX_hmo_2QEG45ENzeBBKyXBia-bHzIgjuqr2AER_Ofs0UUg3R2jSEFWwT-Fn-iKsJdUw4K8TM9Sls7tJqo4/s320/Heinlein-face.jpg" width="233" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"><b>A recent
discussion on a writers' forum reminded me of Robert A. Heinlein's five rules
for writing. These were put forward in his 1947 essay <i>On the Writing of Speculative Fiction</i>, and are still fiercely
debated, some considering them the elixir of life, others a poisoned chalice.<o:p></o:p></b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"><b>Robert A.
Heinlein (1907-1988, left) is considered one of the three masters of "Golden
Age" SF, along with Isaac Asimov and Arthur C. Clarke. He wrote some of
the great works of the genre — but do his rules hold up sixty-eight years after
he wrote them?<o:p></o:p></b></span></div>
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<h3>
<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"><b>1. You must
write </b></span></h3>
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<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"><b>Well, this
seems the most obvious of the rules, though I'd possibly phrase it more like <i>If you don't write, you're not a writer</i>.
You choose what you do, of course, but a writer who doesn't write is an
oxymoron.<o:p></o:p></b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"><b>What this rule
ducks, though, is exactly what "writing" means. For a full-time
author like Heinlein, it might mean an eight-hour day in front of the
typewriter (or its modern equivalent), but most of us have to juggle many other
calls on our time: work, family, Facebook… No, scratch that last one, it's not
an excuse. Perhaps the rule should be <i>Use
whatever time you can possibly spare to write </i>— even if that only means
squeezing in ten minutes a day.<o:p></o:p></b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"><b>2. You must
finish what you write</b></span></h3>
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<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"><b>As with many of
these rules, my reaction to this is "yes and no". Its value is as a
counter to something I see with a lot of beginning authors, project-hopping. I
was guilty of this myself in my teens, rarely finishing a project before I lost
interest and went on to something else.<o:p></o:p></b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"><b>What it meant
was that I didn't get enough practice until a little later at writing something
complete, in particular learning how to end a story. It's certainly good
discipline to keep going with your current story and leave that shiny new
project on the back burner till you've finished.<o:p></o:p></b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"><b>That doesn't
mean, though, that every verbal doodle you put down has to be seen through.
Many of my stories come from a weekly exercise I take part in, writing for an
hour to a prompt. Many of my published works have started that way, included
the two stories I published with Musa, <i>The
Treason of Memory </i>and <i>The Lone and
Level Sands</i>, but equally I've put down many of these pieces as "fun
but no potential". If I felt I had to finish everything I started, I'd be
inhibited from taking part in these exercises and miss out on some great ideas.<o:p></o:p></b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"><b>Perhaps this
one should be <i>Finish any project you commit
to, unless you have very good reason to think it's not working.<o:p></o:p></i></b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"><b> </b></span></div>
<h3>
<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"><b>
3. You must refrain from rewriting, except to editorial order</b></span></h3>
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<b style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">This is perhaps
the most controversial of Heinlein's rules. Taken literally, it's perhaps the
worst advice since George Lucas was told everyone would love Jar Jar Binks.
It's very rare for a first draft to be fit to send to any agent or editor, and
even if you revise as you go (which I don't), chances are you'll still need to
revise again in the light of the finished product.</b></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"><b>Some people
(including, again, me as a teenager) believe that revision spoils the
originality and spontaneity of the initial concept. It's not true. Spontaneity,
like comedy ad-libbing, takes an enormous amount of work to get right, while
actual first drafts tend to be way off the mark.<o:p></o:p></b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"><b>Many people,
though, interpret this rule differently, as advising against constant fiddling.
That's far better advice. Getting hung up on making a story perfect is a recipe
for never finishing. No story is ever perfect, and I'm not even sure it should
be. If, like Oscar Wilde, your day's writing consists of inserting a comma in
the morning and removing it in the afternoon, it's a sign the story's good
enough to go out into the wide world.<o:p></o:p></b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"><b>Even so, the rule
isn't perfect. Not all rejections are accompanied by rewrite suggestions, or
any feedback at all, but occasionally time leads you to recognise one
particular aspect of the story that keeps getting it rejected. If you have really
good reason for believing a rewrite will fix that, go ahead. In any case, computers
have made revision infinitely easier than when I was first pounding a manual
typewriter — let alone when Heinlein was writing.<o:p></o:p></b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"><b>On a few
occasions, I've had a response to a submission that they can't accept the story
as it stands, but they'll reconsider it if I change X, Y or Z. Heinlein probably
wouldn't consider that an "editorial order", but perhaps he had
plenty of alternative markets lined up where he knew the editor. I assess
requests like that on merit. They've ranged from tightening up the opening
scene to changing the gender of the protagonist — it's perhaps not surprising
that I agreed to the first (and the story was accepted afterwards) and refused
the second, although not without considering.<o:p></o:p></b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"><b>So perhaps I'll
make that one <i>When you've got your story
good enough, leave it alone unless you have a concrete reason to change it.</i><o:p></o:p></b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"><b><br /></b></span></div>
<h3>
<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"><b>
4. You must put the work on the market</b></span></h3>
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<b style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">Ultimately, I
write to communicate. Of course I write largely what I'd want to read, but if the
stories were purely for myself, there'd be no point in actually writing them
down. If I want anyone to read my work, I need to get it published, whether
with a professional publisher or self-publishing.</b></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"><b>So yes, if you
finish a story, it's worth nothing unless you're trying to get it read. If
you're making a living from your writing, that has to mean "putting it on
the market", but few of us are in that league. In any case, there are more
options than in 1947, and a story can be published, self-published, or even
given away free in a calculated effort to generate interest.<o:p></o:p></b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"><b>So this one,
perhaps, could be <i>When you've finished a
story, do everything you can to get it read as widely as possible.<o:p></o:p></i></b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"><b><br /></b></span></div>
<h3>
<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"><b>
5. You must keep the work on the market until it is sold</b></span></h3>
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<b style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">This seems to
me an over-insistent rule that nevertheless contains a truth. It's very easy to
get discouraged if a story is continually rejected, but all a rejection is
saying — unless it's accompanied by feedback — is that particular editor can't
use it at that particular time. It doesn't necessarily mean the next editor
won't snap it up.</b></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"><b>We all know anecdotes
about how such-and-such a bestseller was rejected X number of times before
someone took a chance on it. I certainly haven't published a bestseller, or
anywhere close, but I did have one story that was accepted on the eighteenth
time of asking. And, having been rejected by a number of fairly small markets,
it was eventually published by a professional-rate magazine. It was simply a
good fit with them at that time.<o:p></o:p></b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"><b>On the other
hand, there comes a point where further submission seem merely cruel and
unusual punishment of a deceased equine. That's nothing to do with the number
of rejections a work has garnered. A story may be very specialist, for
instance, with only a few markets you can reasonably submit it to, and when
those are exhausted, there's nowhere else to go. Or the editor may give you
damning feedback which, after the permitted tantrum, you have to admit is
reasonable.<o:p></o:p></b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"><b>This leaves you
with three options. You can say sod them all and self-publish. You can decide
you'll probably never get a paid acceptance for that story, and stick it on
your blog for free. Or you can invoke the final sanction and mark it as
"retired" on your database.*<o:p></o:p></b></span></div>
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<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"><b>So we'll make
this rule <i>Don't give up trying to get a
story published unless you're absolutely certain you're wasting your time.</i><o:p></o:p></b></span></div>
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<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"><b>So where does
this leave us? I have no great hopes that the Blatchley Amendment to Heinlein's
Rules for Writing is going to replace the original, but here it is.<o:p></o:p></b></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"><b>1. Use whatever
time you can possibly spare to write.<o:p></o:p></b></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"><b>2. Finish any
project you commit to, unless you have very good reason to think it's not
working.<o:p></o:p></b></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"><b>3. When you've
got your story good enough, leave it alone unless you have a concrete reason to
change it.<o:p></o:p></b></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"><b>4. When you've
finished a story, do everything you can to get it read as widely as possible.<o:p></o:p></b></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"><b>5. Don't give
up trying to get a story published unless you're absolutely certain you're
wasting your time.<o:p></o:p></b></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i><span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"><b>* Or "semi-retired" in my
case. Never say never.</b></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i><span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"><b><br /></b></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><b>Image of Robert A. Heinlein: </b></span><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><b>"Heinlein-face". Licensed under CC BY-SA 3.0 via Commons - <a href="https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Heinlein-face.jpg#/media/File:Heinlein-face.jpg">https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Heinlein-face.jpg#/media/File:Heinlein-face.jpg</a></b></span></div>
Nyki Blatchleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07707481035530963855noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8924177687424620844.post-1039575250745049142015-11-01T00:43:00.000+00:002015-11-01T00:43:13.567+00:00Stardust by Neil Gaiman - The Book and the Film<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj13ql2Ls3ueUC4uyQ3kN1I9A_-CoGip8L-WlzO9V8SPdNS3IWDD-d6FVE_w-XiOwr2GJEwcy52OfCDVoUNC969blvlhUFMflS10FZEieNsq6eKVuQOEwyMrNM78ClyQvn72LD_n3Yfftk/s1600/Test007.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj13ql2Ls3ueUC4uyQ3kN1I9A_-CoGip8L-WlzO9V8SPdNS3IWDD-d6FVE_w-XiOwr2GJEwcy52OfCDVoUNC969blvlhUFMflS10FZEieNsq6eKVuQOEwyMrNM78ClyQvn72LD_n3Yfftk/s320/Test007.jpg" width="226" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;">I saw the film
of <i>Stardust </i>not long after it came
out in 2007, and loved it. A grown-up (but not especially "adult")
fairy story, it was exciting, magical, beautiful and funny. I was aware that it
was based on a book by Neil Gaiman, but for some reason it's taken me till now
to get around to reading it.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;">I often
approach film adaptation of books with some dread, although it's by no means
always justified, but it's a much rarer experience to do it backwards. I read
Iain Banks's <i>The Crow Road</i> after
seeing the TV serial (a well-adapted version). Much longer ago, as a young
child, I recall reading Dodie Smith's <i>The
One Hundred and One Dalmatians </i>after watching the Disney animated version
and being highly confused about the differences.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;">Whether it's
due to the order of exposure, or simply because it works, I found that the
considerable changes made for the film version of <i>Stardust </i>didn't bother me. I suspect it's the latter reason. Books
and films are very different media, and as long as changes have a good reason,
they're sometimes necessary<sup>1</sup>.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;">In any case, a
bit of variation somehow works better in this case than most. The story of <i>Stardust </i>has so much the feeling of an
old folk-tale that it's almost as if, rather than the film being based on the
book, both are retellings of an older story, and have chosen to interpret its core
events in slightly different ways.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgzaXeD62BnfWuPbmXfzEglP2afyfVWf5JS9eUjOE_SvqZBXj8ckWjEHCrvktxCKwQNgY8IxC6d4S-q3SemYYdK17_abQwDwTky5bERj-jQuW5BiC_dsxYUWPdln6m_f9qtjnK3bCyfq0/s1600/stardust_book.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgzaXeD62BnfWuPbmXfzEglP2afyfVWf5JS9eUjOE_SvqZBXj8ckWjEHCrvktxCKwQNgY8IxC6d4S-q3SemYYdK17_abQwDwTky5bERj-jQuW5BiC_dsxYUWPdln6m_f9qtjnK3bCyfq0/s320/stardust_book.jpg" width="208" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;">The story tells
how a young man, Tristran Thorn (Tristan in the film, but I'll refer to him
throughout by his original name, to avoid confusion) lives in an ordinary 19th
century English village that just happens to be a short stroll from the wall
that divides the mundane world from the world of Faerie<sup>2</sup>. Desperate
to win the love of the village beauty Victoria, he vows to bring her back a
star that's fallen far beyond the Wall.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;">Tristran isn't
an ordinary young man, since his mother belonged to the magical realm, and he
finds no shortage of friends there. However, when he reaches the place where
the star has fallen (by instantaneous travel using a "Babylon
candle"), he finds something he hasn't expected. Far from being a lifeless
lump of rock, this star proves to be a young woman called Yvaine.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;">Their return
journey to the Wall is marked by encounters with a unicorn and a flying ship,
among other things, but also by pursuit from a powerful witch and several ruthless
princes, each of whom wants the magic of the star for their own ends.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;">The book and
the film follow similar plots, but the film cuts out a good deal of the
travelling (Tristran and Yvaine's journey back to the Wall is reduced from months
to a week) and substitutes several more visual and dramatic sequences. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;">That's
perfectly reasonable. The book is very much about the journey, a relatively
calm affair (with a few notable exceptions) in which Tristran and Yvaine's
enemies essentially neutralise one another, and it works beautifully that way.
A film, on the other hand, needs focus, action and spectacle, and this is
achieved by additions like a climactic action scene that has no parallel in the
book. It's also achieved through Robert De Niro.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;">The book
features a very brief sequence in which Tristran and Yvaine are rescued from
the cloud where they happen to have become stranded by a flying ship on a
lightning-gathering voyage. It's under the command of a fairly unremarkable
character called Captain Alberich, who gives them passage for a while. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;">In the film,
this has changed to a larger-than-life pirate vessel under the command of a
transvestite pirate captain (De Niro) called Captain Shakespeare. Their time on
board is now full of events, and the captain and crew end up playing a major
part in the story.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;">This may have
no sanction in the book, but it works spectacularly, with De Niro really hamming
it up (in the best possible sense of the phrase). Similarly, the big fight near
the end in the castle of the three witches, to save Yvaine from having her
heart cut out, is a fitting climax to the film.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;">In general
(apart from the flying ship) the various elements are explored more thoroughly
in the book than the film. The central plot, of Tristran and Yvaine's
relationship mutating from enmity to love, works in both, although it's perhaps
a little more hurried in the film. Still, having to pack it in more tightly
leads to some great one-liners from Yvaine, who's splendidly played by Claire
Danes. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;">The book
explores the village and explains its relationship with Faerie quite extensively,
whereas it's glossed over in the film. We also learn a lot more in the book
about the enemy princes, although the film versions still work well on their
own terms. Coming from a kingdom where succession conventionally goes to the
last prince standing, the seven brothers are down to three by the start of the
story, with two eliminated along the way, leaving only the most ruthless to
pursue Yvaine — though constantly accompanied by the ghosts of his dead
brothers.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;">The three
witches who seek the star's heart to restore their youth are more
straightforwardly presented in the film, without the tantalising hints at their
bizarre nature that we get in the book. Nevertheless, the chief of them
(unnamed in the book, Lamia in the film) is played with huge gusto by Michelle
Pfeiffer, both as stately beauty and old hag. The climactic scene, as Tristran
tries desperately to save Yvaine before the witches cut out her heart, is very effective,
even if it's a far cry from the witch's final, rather pathetic scene in the
book.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;">So which is
better, the book or the film? To be honest, I don't think I could answer that.
If the film had been more of a straight adaptation of the book, it probably
wouldn't live up to the original. As it is, what we have is a superb book and a
superb film, telling different versions of the same tale. And that, I think,
makes a perfect adaptation.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"> </span><i><sup><span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;">1</span></sup></i><i><span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"> That doesn't mean all
changes are forgivable, of course. See <a href="http://nyki-blatchley.blogspot.co.uk/2015/06/lets-just-make-up-our-own-story.html">my recent rant on the subject</a>.</span></i></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i><span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;">2 There's a very obvious parallel here
with Lord Dunsany's classic novel </span></i><span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;">The
King of Elfland's Daughter<i>, which is
probably not accidental. Gaiman is well versed in the classics of fantasy, and
the fact that he uses Dunsany's favourite phrase, "the fields we
know", to refer to the mundane world is a bit of a giveaway.<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<br />
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<br /></div>
Nyki Blatchleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07707481035530963855noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8924177687424620844.post-36822527777834140202015-09-29T21:16:00.000+01:002015-09-29T21:16:31.827+01:00Doctor Who - Review of the New Series Opener<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCryYftgoBoztpBE17WpvYE-JIl1-KawyPDouwrO9og-TEhW8sDdcamclpH_V9qzfSih3Owq-FDpklaqNCMPGugXjVL2NaRSrC63anuldv76Khxh3q5Q9x_ToA5Pgo0JVopPuOBRkNwig/s1600/The+Magician%2527s+Apprentice.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCryYftgoBoztpBE17WpvYE-JIl1-KawyPDouwrO9og-TEhW8sDdcamclpH_V9qzfSih3Owq-FDpklaqNCMPGugXjVL2NaRSrC63anuldv76Khxh3q5Q9x_ToA5Pgo0JVopPuOBRkNwig/s1600/The+Magician%2527s+Apprentice.jpg" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"><b>Doctor Who is
back on TV, with series 35 — or, as it's officially known, series 9<sup>1</sup>.
I've been a fan since the first episode, back in 1963. I still remember
settling down as a nine-year-old to watch the new show with the exceedingly
weird title sequence. It's changed almost beyond recognition in nearly 52 years
since then, yet managed at the same time to remain exactly the same. It's a
rare trick.<o:p></o:p></b></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"><b>The new series
(whatever you call it) started with a two-part story, so I thought I'd wait
till I'd seen both parts to give a reaction. But, before we start, let's get an
extremely subtle warning out of the way:<o:p></o:p></b></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; font-size: 22.0pt;"><b>HERE BE SPOILERS<o:p></o:p></b></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"><b>So, if you
haven't had a chance to watch it yet, bookmark this page and come back when you
have.<o:p></o:p></b></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"><b>Last year was
all about establishing Peter Capaldi as the Twelfth Doctor<sup>2</sup>, and,
while the standard of the stories was varied, from the excellent finale down
the highly questionable <i>Kill the Moon</i>,
Capaldi was extremely impressive in his simultaneously familiar and different
interpretation of the character.<o:p></o:p></b></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"><b>This year, he
starts as Doctor-in-residence and needs great stories to continue making his
mark. The first episode, <i>The Magician's
Apprentice</i><sup>3</sup>, started with a bang: a young boy caught in a
minefield in a long, dirty war is offered help by the Doctor, who's landed by
accident and has no idea which planet he's on. When the child gives his name,
the Doctor realises this is Davros, who'll go on to create the Daleks.<o:p></o:p></b></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"><b>Thus, before
the titles we're plunged straight into the story's main theme, a continuation
of a moral dialogue the Doctor's been having on and off since 1975. That year,
one of the all-time-great Doctor Who stories, <i>Genesis of the Daleks</i>, chronicled how the Doctor failed to prevent
Davros in his creation. Faced with the opportunity of destroying all the
embryonic Daleks, he hesitates and asks:<o:p></o:p></b></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .5in;">
<b><i><span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;">Listen, if someone who knew the future
pointed out a child to you and told you that that child would grow up totally
evil, to be a ruthless dictator who would destroy millions of lives, could you
then kill that child?</span></i><sup><span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;">4</span></sup><span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"><b>Now, with those
words come back to haunt him, the Doctor has three options for the child Davros:
save him, kill him, or leave him to his fate. It's not till the story's final
scene that we find out the choice he'll ultimately makes.<o:p></o:p></b></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"><b>The heart of
the story is a series of scenes between the Doctor and the adult Davros, last
seen in 2008, in which they continue their debate about the ethics of the
Daleks. Davros's position has always been that compassion is weakness and only
through strength and ruthlessness can the Daleks survive, while the Doctor continues
to argue the case for compassion. Taunted by Davros that "[Compassion]
will kill you in the end," he retorts, "I wouldn't die any other
way."<o:p></o:p></b></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"><b>Now, though,
Davros is dying and seems not only to be questioning his position but even
wanting the Doctor's approval. It's all a ruse, of course — this is Davros,
after all — and the Doctor seems caught in the snare of his compassion. But
this is the Doctor, too, and he's one step ahead.<o:p></o:p></b></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"><b>It's great to
see ethical debate at the heart of things, as it was in so many of the great
Doctor Who stories of the past, but this is anything but a talky story. Missy
is back (and yes, we do find out how she survived her death last year) forming
an unlikely alliance with Clara to find and help the Doctor. <o:p></o:p></b></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"><b>In her female
form, Missy seems better able to express her very contradictory feelings about
the Doctor — constantly trying to kill him, she insists, doesn't alter the fact
that he's her best friend and always has been. She talks constantly about
memories of their childhood (just as we also get a glimpse of Davros's
childhood) although she hints that not everything she tells Clara is true.
Certainly referring to when the Doctor was a little girl seems implausible, in
the light of last year's <i>Listen</i>.<o:p></o:p></b></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"><b>Of course,
Missy too has her own agenda, and in the end she almost succeeds in tricking
the Doctor into killing Clara. As in <i>Logopolis</i>,
any apparent alliance with the Master/Missy isn't going to last a moment longer
than s/he chooses.<o:p></o:p></b></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"><b>There's a lot
else packed into the story: planes stuck in the sky, UNIT headquarters, a space
bar containing many familiar aliens, a strange mediaeval scene with Doctor
playing an electric guitar (the one weak section of the story, in my opinion),
Dalek "sewers" containing not-quite-dead Daleks that the Doctor
brings to life (setting up my favourite line, when he tells the Supreme Dalek
"Your sewers are revolting") and Clara pretending to be a Dalek.<o:p></o:p></b></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"><b>This last is
interesting, since the first time we met Clara, in <i>Asylum of the Daleks</i>, she actually was a Dalek, so this brings her
full circle. The whole process of pretending to be a Dalek is radically
different from when Ian did it in <i>The
Daleks</i> or Rebec in <i>Planet of the
Daleks</i>, but that makes sense. The Daleks have been upgraded, redesigned and
re-bioengineered so often since then, both by Davros and the Emperor<sup>5</sup>,
that I wouldn't expect their mechanisms to be the same. <o:p></o:p></b></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"><b>Clara's
"training session" by Missy is fun and makes some intriguing
suggestions about the Daleks (their guns are fired by emotion, and shouting <i>exterminate </i>is their way of
"reloading) but what we learn from it also turns out to be crucial.<o:p></o:p></b></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"><b>Perhaps the
most arresting figure in the story, apart from Davros and Missy, is the
wonderfully sinister Colony Sarff, Davros's messenger and bodyguard, whom the
Doctor describes as "a nest of snakes in a dress". A scary-looking
figure in its assembled form, it can collapse into a mass of individual snakes,
each of which appear to have an equal part in the whole ("We are a
democracy," it explains at one point). It's regrettable that Colony Sarff
is destroyed at the end — but maybe there are more of its kind out there.<o:p></o:p></b></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"><b>The whole story
is a an old fan's delight, full of back-references. The ones relating to Davros
are the most important, but there are others. When Clara, Missy and Kate
Stewart of UNIT are trying to work out where/when the Doctor might be hiding,
they identify a whole series of historical locations where he's been. These
include San Martino (<i>The Masque of
Mandragora</i>), Troy (<i>The Myth Makers</i>),
"multiples for New York" (<i>The
Chase</i>, <i>Daleks in Manhattan/Evolution
of the Daleks</i>, <i>The Angels Take
Manhattan</i>) and "three possible versions of Atlantis" — presumably
those he visited in <i>The Underwater Menace
</i>and <i>The Time Monster</i>, together
with the Atlantis Azal claimed to have destroyed in <i>The Dæmons</i>.<o:p></o:p></b></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"><b>There's been
some criticism of recent Doctor Who that the Doctor has often taken second
place in the stories to whoever his companion was at the time. Personally, I
don't feel this has gone too far, and anyway it was by no means unknown in the
classic series for stories to focus more on the companions. This was especially
true in the early days, when we were seeing much more from Ian and Barbara's
perspective than from the Doctor's. Still, it's good to have a high-class story
where, although Clara has plenty to do, the focus is solidly on the Doctor. And
on ethics, which have always been at the heart of Doctor Who.<o:p></o:p></b></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"><b>I'm really
looking forward to the rest of series 35.<o:p></o:p></b></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><i><sup><span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;">1</span></sup></i><i><span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"> Series 9 of Doctor Who
was broadcast in 1972, starting with </span></i><span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;">Day
of the Daleks <i>and finishing with </i>The
Time Monster. <i>This is the 35th series
overall.<o:p></o:p></i></span></b></div>
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<b><i><sup><span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;">2</span></sup></i><i><span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"> Again, the numbering is
questionable. What about the War Doctor? What about the Tenth Doctor Mark 2?
For that matter, what about the Watcher, the Valyard, the Dream Lord…? Still,
convention is convention.<o:p></o:p></span></i></b></div>
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<b><i><sup><span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;">3</span></sup></i><i><span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"> Maybe it's just me being
slow, but I still haven't worked out the rationale for either title in the
two-parter. That doesn't spoil anything, though.<o:p></o:p></span></i></b></div>
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<b><i><sup><span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;">4</span></sup></i><i><span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"> This and several other
clips from past confrontations with Davros are played during the story.
Personally, I'd prefer them to be left implicit, but I recognise not all
viewers remember the classic stories as well as I do.<o:p></o:p></span></i></b></div>
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<b><i><sup><span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;">5</span></sup></i><i><span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"> Assuming they're
different, of course. The whole question of the identities of the various Dalek
Emperors, of whom Davros was at least one, is rather complex.<o:p></o:p></span></i></b></div>
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Nyki Blatchleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07707481035530963855noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8924177687424620844.post-74575289590248694352015-09-16T23:52:00.000+01:002015-09-16T23:52:09.694+01:00So What Is This Thing Called Point of View?<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><b>To the novice
entering into the esoteric world of writers discussing writing, few things are
more confusing than point of view. We tend to talk as if everyone knows what we
mean by point of view (known as POV to its friends) and throw around enigmatic terms
like "limited" and "omni".</b></span><br />
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"><b>At its
simplest, POV is about whether the main character of a story is referred to as
I, you or he/she (or conceivably it), using the grammatical concept of person.
Referring to the speaker is known as first person, referring to the person or
thing addressed is second person, and referring to anyone or anything else is
third person. In some languages, like Latin, this is built into the grammar,
and the persons have to be used in the correct order in the sentence.<sup>1</sup><o:p></o:p></b></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"><b>Most stories
are written in first or third, with second being kept mainly for experimental
work or choose-your-own-adventure books. It isn't easy to do well, though it
can be highly effective in the hands of a master, such as in Italo Calvino's
wonderful novel <i>If on a Winter's Night a
Traveller</i>.<o:p></o:p></b></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"><b>There's more to
POV, though, than which person it's in. It can, quite separately from this, be
limited or omniscient, deep or shallow, distant or immersive. And it's
important to remember that these aren't absolutes, but sliding scales where
specific stories (or even specific scenes in a story) are defined by positions
on numerous axes.<o:p></o:p></b></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"><b>It's also
important to bear in mind that none of these POVs is wrong. Some are
unfashionable and will be much harder sells to editors or agents (second person
is certainly one of these) and some are easier than others to get wrong. All
POVs, though, suit specific stories can be written well, and if so are
perfectly valid.<o:p></o:p></b></span></div>
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<h3>
<b><span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"><span style="color: yellow;">First Person</span></span></b></h3>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"><b>First person is
increasingly popular, especially in YA fiction, although it's never been
uncommon. There's a popular idea that a first-person story has to represent a
supposed memoir by the character, or that they're telling the tale to someone.
This is certainly an option, but by no means the only one.<o:p></o:p></b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"><b>First person
narratives can range from immersive to distant. In the former case, the
character is essentially passing on the experiences as they're happening, and
will only write about what they're experiencing or thinking at the time.<sup>2</sup>
It's becoming quite common now to reinforce that with present tense, though
past tense narrative is familiar enough not to feel wrong in such a context — I
think of past tense in this situation as events being processed a second or two
after they've happened.<o:p></o:p></b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"><b>At the other
extreme, the character can be looking back on past events, whether writing,
telling or just remembering it. This sacrifices the immediacy of the immersive
approach, but it allows the narrator to reflect on their actions and introduce
elements of the story or setting they couldn't have known at the time.<o:p></o:p></b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"><b>There are
positions in between these extremes, and it's also not essential to write an
entire story from the same position. In <i>At
An Uncertain Hour</i>, for instance, I used the technique of switching between
action the main character is immersed in as it happens and memories of his past
life, written in a more distant style. I'm by no means the only author who's
written like this — check out Iain Banks for a master of the technique.<o:p></o:p></b></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<h3>
<b><span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"><span style="color: yellow;">Third Person</span></span></b></h3>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"><b>Third person,
where every character is referred to as he, she or it, is perhaps the most
natural style of storytelling, but it comes in three broad forms: objective,
omniscient and limited.<o:p></o:p></b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"><b>Limited third
is perhaps the most popular POV today, although its popularity is maybe exaggerated
somewhat by authors and editors. This is where, in any given scene, everything
is filtered through one specific person's perceptions and inner thoughts. The
greatest sin, if (but only if) you're writing in limited third, is
head-hopping, where the POV changes from one paragraph to the next, or even
within the same paragraph. Even this can be done effectively, but only if it's
deliberately calculated for a specific effect, rather than to make life easier
for the author.<o:p></o:p></b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"><b>The POV may be
limited, but that can be handled in a number of ways. It can be deep and
immersive, to a point where it's almost indistinguishable from immersive first
person, or the "camera" can move out to show us details that aren't
being directly noticed by the character. At its shallowest, for instance, you
might describe the character's appearance as if from outside — without
resorting to the dreaded mirror scene.<o:p></o:p></b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"><b>That level more
or less merges into omniscient, which is where the POV is the author (or at
least an authorial presence) who can show us whatever is necessary to tell the
story, including the thoughts of multiple characters, general facts about the
setting, and pithy comments about life, the universe and everything. It's
distinct from head-hopping, though, because the revelations made by an
omniscient narrator are made from outside rather than inside, reminding us that
this isn't the character telling us what they're thinking, but the narrator
knowing it.<o:p></o:p></b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"><b>The most
extreme omniscient approach is the storyteller style, where the author is a
direct presence addressing the reader. This is particularly common in a
traditional style of children's story, where the author might interrupt the
narrative to say something like "I expect you're wondering how he's going
to escape from this. Well…"<o:p></o:p></b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"><b>Occasionally, the
omniscient POV can also be a character within the story, usually playing a
minor role, who either for specific reasons or just as a device has access to
all the necessary information about the story and its setting. This character
can be presented as either first or third person.<o:p></o:p></b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"><b>Objective is
superficially a little like omniscient, since the POV is the author, but where
omniscient is an active POV, objective is passive. Here, we're only told what
can be seen and heard, not what any character makes of it or what they're
thinking. Not much fiction is written this way nowadays, partly because it's
incredibly difficult to write it effectively (I know, I've tried) but the
mediaeval Icelandic sagas<sup>3</sup> handled it brilliantly, using it to give
a kind of dead-pan insight into the behaviour of the characters by inference,
not by revelation.<o:p></o:p></b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"><b>This doesn't
mean that a writer has to choose one of these precise positions and stick with
it fanatically. Many writers who use limited third, for instance, will vary the
depth from scene to scene, depending on what's needed at the time. Others
operate right on the edge between shallow limited third and omniscient,
sometime straying to one side of the border, sometimes to the other — the Harry
Potter books are an example of this. The key, as with so much in writing, is
always to know precisely what you're doing and why. It's possible to make your
variations seem natural, rather than careless.<o:p></o:p></b></span></div>
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<h3>
<b><span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"><span style="color: yellow;">Who Should Be Your POV?</span></span></b></h3>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"><b>Some stories
can be told exclusively through one pair of eyes. This is the default for first
person, and many limited third stories also don't need more than a single POV,
if the story is about that person. Other stories aren't about any specific
individual and need a wide range of viewpoints to show the reader everything
that feeds into the edifice the author's constructing.<o:p></o:p></b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"><b>George R.R.
Martin is one of the best-known authors using a POV cast of thousands, but many
stories require three or four POVs to cover everything. These POVs (usually in
limited third person, though multiple first person novels are found<sup>4</sup>,
and even switching between first and third for different POVs) will change
either at the beginning of a new chapter, or else at the beginning of a
discrete scene within a chapter. The technique is completely different from
head-hopping.<o:p></o:p></b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"><b>A common piece
of advice in choosing which character stands as your POV for a scene, a
chapter, an entire novel, is that it should be the person most involved in what
happens. That's often good advice, but not always. Sometimes, the person most
genuinely involved in a scene, in the true sense, may be standing back and
watching events unfold. Someone else may take centre-stage, but this is the
person whose motives and assumptions are being challenged by what happens,
which will affect their role in the rest of the story.<o:p></o:p></b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"><b>An extreme case
is when the story is most effectively told by an observer, giving us a separate
mind to filter the action through. The best-known examples of this are Dr
Watson in the Sherlock Holmes stories and Nick Carraway in <i>The Great Gatsby</i>. Though not at all uninvolved, Watson stands a
little back and provides us with the eyes to watch the enigma that is Holmes,
while Carraway allows Fitzgerald to avoid having to reveal too much about
Gatsby.<o:p></o:p></b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"><b>In the end, the
choice of POV — the character, the pronoun used, the limit or omniscience, the
immersion or the distance — is all about how to tell the story best, and that
will be different every time. As it should be. The point of being a writer
isn't to endlessly tell the same story.<o:p></o:p></b></span></div>
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<b><i><sup><span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;">1</span></sup></i><i><span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"> This caused some problem
for Henry VIII's minister Cardinal Wolsey, who grammatically but
undiplomatically referred in his Latin letters to "ego et rex" (I and
the king). This gave ammunition to those who accused him of arrogance.<o:p></o:p></span></i></b></div>
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<b><i><sup><span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;">2</span></sup></i><i><span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"> In fact, there's a little
wiggle-room here, since applying that too literally results in the extreme
immersive first person style known as stream-of-consciousness — a valid approach,
but one that isn't suitable for the majority of first person stories. As long
as what you write is more or less in the moment, readers will normally ignore
any slight discrepancy.<o:p></o:p></span></i></b></div>
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<b><i><sup><span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;">3</span></sup></i><i><span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"> No, the sagas weren't
oral tales told round the fire of a mead-hall. They were actually sophisticated
literary works, produced by and for a surprisingly literate society.<o:p></o:p></span></i></b></div>
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<i><sup><span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"><b>4</b></span></sup></i><i><span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"><b> Disclosure: I'm writing
one myself at the moment, and finding the process fascinating.</b><o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
Nyki Blatchleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07707481035530963855noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8924177687424620844.post-36689320226063220462015-08-25T00:59:00.002+01:002015-08-25T00:59:52.473+01:00The Castle of Otranto by Horace Walpole<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzLs3Z3eYzi9ssvY6WYrHlQdfhAoPabVULxsPRUK_3J8yJF80niquXrwc0krBklD3HcDZo9CXs2eKTkRfw227GMnvbKQSVnsdVUrXNtp6UNDeGjYTCWN87VhIPhbuUpZeB1Y7V3iV32wQ/s1600/Horace_Walpole.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzLs3Z3eYzi9ssvY6WYrHlQdfhAoPabVULxsPRUK_3J8yJF80niquXrwc0krBklD3HcDZo9CXs2eKTkRfw227GMnvbKQSVnsdVUrXNtp6UNDeGjYTCWN87VhIPhbuUpZeB1Y7V3iV32wQ/s320/Horace_Walpole.jpg" width="253" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"><b>In 1765, a book
was published called <i>The Castle of
Otranto</i>. The title page proclaimed the text as translated by "William
Marshal, Gent. from the Original Italian of Onuphrio Muralto, Canon of the
Church of St. Nicholas at Otranto." The preface discussed various issues,
such as dating the original (the style of the Italian suggested the
Renaissance, the subject-matter clearly belonged to the period of the Crusades)
and the author's habit of interrupting the high doings of the main characters
with the commonplace absurdities of the servants.<o:p></o:p></b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"><b>The book was a
great success, prompting a second edition in which the writer and politician
Horace Walpole (left), son of Britain's first prime minister<sup>1</sup>, admitted to
being the author of the work. In a new preface, he apologised to the reader for
the deception, claiming that "As diffidence of his own abilities, and the
novelty of the attempt, were his sole inducements to assume that disguise, he
flatters himself that he shall appear excusable."<o:p></o:p></b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"><b>In fact,
Walpole was far from being the only author of the period to foist such a
deception on the public, literary follies being almost as common as
architectural ones in the later 18th century. The most famous is the poet
Thomas Chatterton, who committed suicide in 1770 at the age of seventeen<sup>2</sup>,
having published "translations" of an imaginary 15th century poet
called Thomas Rowley. There was also James Macpherson, who similarly claimed to
have translated the works of an ancient Scottish bard called Ossian. It's
generally accepted that Macpherson used genuine fragments of ancient Highland
poetry, but most of Ossian's poem were his own works.<o:p></o:p></b></span></div>
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<b><i><span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;">The Castle of Otranto </span></i><span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;">was immensely popular and kicked off the
tradition of gothic fiction, which Walpole implicitly defined in his second
preface as a combination of the supernatural elements found in mediaeval
romance with the realism of modern novelists such as Fielding and Richardson.
At first, the genre consisted of lurid novels by authors such as Matthew Lewis
and Ann Ratcliffe<sup>3</sup>, but it strongly influenced the Romantic poets,
especially Coleridge and Keats, and found a more sophisticated voice in authors
like Mary Shelley, Edgar Allan Poe and, to some extent, the Brontës.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"><b>Quite early on,
the genre began splitting. Lewis's bestseller, <i>The Monk</i>, and many others of its kind, featured magic, ghosts and
other unearthly elements, whereas authors like Ratcliffe, played down the
supernatural in favour of the over-the-top love stories the genre also
featured. In time, one strand came down through Poe, Stoker and many others as
the horror and paranormal tradition, while Ratcliffe's fainting heroines and
mysterious heroes evolved into romantic fiction<sup>4</sup>. Both traditions
are alive and well today.<o:p></o:p></b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"><b>A little while
ago, I picked up a Penguin Classics volume called <i>Three Gothic Novels</i>, featuring Shelley's <i>Frankenstein</i>, Beckford's <i>Vathek</i>
and <i>The Castle of Otranto</i>. I'd read
and loved the other two many years ago, but I'd never read <i>Otranto</i>, so I recently decided to remedy that.<o:p></o:p></b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"><b>It's described
as the first gothic novel, but it's really no more than a novella, about a
hundred pages in the standard-sized paperback. Still, it takes a while to get
through. Those hundred pages consist of mammoth paragraphs (I counted one at
seven pages), many of them consisting of back-and-forth dialogue without breaks.
And, to make matters worse, Walpole uses absolutely no punctuation to indicate
either the start or finish of speech (not even the French-style dashes), making
it sometimes very difficult to work out who's supposed to be saying what.<o:p></o:p></b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"><b>The story is a
bizarre one, which Walpole claimed came to him in a dream. Manfred, Prince of
Otranto, has a son and daughter, but his son is killed on his wedding day by a
gigantic helmet falling from the skies. Cheated of his chance for an heir
through the male line, Manfred decides to divorce his saintly wife Hippolita
and marry his would-be daughter-in-law Isabella.<o:p></o:p></b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"><b>Appalled,
Isabella flees to the nearby abbey run by Father Jerome, and is helped on her
way by a young man called Theodore, who just happens to be Jerome's long-lost
son. Then, as strange happenings intensify, a strange knight turns up, silent
and anonymous in his armour, and the tale proceeds towards its tragic
conclusion.<o:p></o:p></b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"><b>This is a story
full of portents, hauntings and miracles, generational curses and staggering
coincidences, noble heroes, swooning heroines and dastardly villains — not to
mention the endlessly prattling servants. It also has not a little absurdity —
the giant helmet falling on Manfred's heir wouldn't have been out of place in <i>Monty Python and the Holy Grail</i>. It
certainly isn't especially frightening to the reader.<o:p></o:p></b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"><b>It's been
suggested that Walpole was well aware of the absurdities in the story, and that
he didn't actually take his work very seriously. Certainly, he didn't seem to
have anticipated the birth of an immensely successful literary genre that
spread not only throughout the English-speaking world, but all across Europe,
and whose literary heirs have ranged from Charlotte Brontë to the Marquis de
Sade, and in the 20th century H.P. Lovecraft to Barbara Cartland.<o:p></o:p></b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"><b>Ultimately, I
wouldn't rate <i>The Castle of Otranto </i>as
a great work, certainly not in the same league as <i>Vathek</i>, let alone <i>Frankenstein</i>.
Perhaps, like many trail-blazers, it suffers from the fact that the novelty
alone was enough in its day. From a modern perspective, the plot comes over as
incredibly clichéd, and it progresses largely by coincidences and
non-sequiturs. Though the shortcomings in the writing may be partly put down to
the conventions of the time, the two masterpieces that share the volume read
much more easily and naturally.<o:p></o:p></b></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"><b>Nevertheless,
I'm glad I've read it, and I'd suggest it would be worth anyone's while to try
it. It isn't very long, and you'll be witnessing the exact point at which the
modern horror tradition and the modern romantic tradition both had their birth.<o:p></o:p></b></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><i><sup><span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;">1</span></sup></i><i><span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"> Robert Walpole never
actually held the title of prime minister, which didn't become an official
government position till the end of the 19th century, but he originated the
concept of one minister dominating the government, in place of the reigning
monarch actively heading it. Walpole held the posts of First Lord of the
Treasury, Chancellor of the Exchequer and Leader of the House of Commons, with
his allies in other key roles. "Prime Minister" was a description
applied sarcastically by his enemies.<o:p></o:p></span></i></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><i><sup><span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;">2</span></sup></i><i><span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"> Or not. There appears to
be some evidence that, far from deliberately taking poison, he accidentally
ODed on prescription medicine.<o:p></o:p></span></i></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><i><sup><span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;">3</span></sup></i><i><span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"> Jane Austin had a
love-hate relationship with these authors. She read them voraciously, but also
mercilessly parodied the genre in </span></i><span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;">Northanger
Abbey<i>.<o:p></o:p></i></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><i><sup><span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;">4</span></sup></i><i><span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"> The original meaning of
"romantic" was resembling the mediaeval romances, so called simply
because they were written in the "romance languages" (ie those
derived from Latin). The word was almost interchangeable with
"gothic", but the two terms became applied to the two diverging
branches of the genre and are now poles apart.<o:p></o:p></span></i></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><b>The images of Horace Walpole, painted by Joshua Reynolds in 1756, and an illustration from a 1794 German edition of The Castle of Otranto are both in the public domain.</b></span></div>
Nyki Blatchleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07707481035530963855noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8924177687424620844.post-70783391014642524372015-08-21T22:31:00.000+01:002015-08-21T22:31:27.758+01:00Reblog: On Dothraki and House Elves: Developing Fantasy Cultures, from Dan Koboldt<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;">My attention was drawn today to an
excellent guest blog on Dan Koboldt's site, written by sociologist Hannah Emery,
explaining why cultures don't just sit still so that fantasy writers can
present each culture as a single, unchanging entity.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;">This is a message I've been trying to
get over to fantasy writers for many years in blogs like <a href="http://nyki-blatchley.blogspot.co.uk/2011/08/messy-worlds-rule-ok.html">Messy
Worlds Rule OK</a>, only expressed with eloquence and a great deal of
expertise. I'd encourage everyone interested in fantasy cultures (or real-world
ones, for that matter) to read the article, and then to explore this excellent
blog further.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;">The only point I'd add to it, as I've
pointed out in a comment, is that another crucial driving-force of cultural
development is always going to be trade, which seems to be a fundamental human
instinct.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"><a href="http://dankoboldt.com/developing-fantasy-cultures/">You can read Hannah's
article here</a>.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"><br /></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"><br /></span></b></div>
Nyki Blatchleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07707481035530963855noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8924177687424620844.post-68875960864652723652015-08-10T01:49:00.000+01:002015-08-10T01:49:26.879+01:00Which World Is Your Story Set In?<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"><b>People
who don't like fantasy often base their objections on the claim that they prefer
to read books or watch films set in the real world. For these people, the
dichotomy is obvious. Fantasy is set in an invented secondary world, which
obviously makes it trivial and irrelevant, whereas good fiction (that is, whatever
they happen to like) is set in the real world, which automatically makes it
superior and relevant.<o:p></o:p></b></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"><b>Leaving
aside the fact that many of the books, films and TV shows ostensibly set in the
"real world" are neither superior nor particularly relevant (the
James Bond stories are nominally real-world stories, for heaven's sake), this
attitude shows a fundamental lack of understanding about the nature of fiction
— not to mention the nature of reality.<o:p></o:p></b></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"><b>My
contention is that every story ever written is actually set in an invented
secondary world, and fantasy (as well as some SF) is the label given to those that
are upfront about it. It doesn't matter how uncompromisingly gritty a slice of social
realism a story might be, it's set in a fictional reality, not an objective
reality.<o:p></o:p></b></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"><b>Consider
two authors both writing stories about a maverick cop who rides roughshod over
the rules and procedures. In one, he might be the hero who nails the bad guys
that would get away if he played by the book. In the other, he might end up
destroying innocent lives the rules were there to protect.<o:p></o:p></b></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"><b>This
isn't just a matter of attitude. Depending on their views or agendas (often,
but not always, the same thing), each author will create realities in which
their take on the story is objectively true. The first will quite genuinely be
a world in which bleeding-heart liberals are letting the crooks get away to
prey on their victims. The second will just as genuinely be in a world where
the rule of law is the only thing separating the good guys from the bad.<o:p></o:p></b></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"><b>Of
course, a reader who entirely agrees with one or the other point of view will
interpret that fictional reality as objectively true, but another will see the
opposite as being true. The point is that the difference isn't between the
attitudes of the characters within the story, but lies in the author's primary
worldbuilding. This is analogous to the way Tolkien writes about a world in
which morality has the force of a law of nature and can affect the outcome of
events just as surely gravity or the weather. The differences can be a lot more
subtle, though.<o:p></o:p></b></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"><b>Soap
operas* are generally presented as ultra-realistic slice-of-life drama, but
actually they tend to take place in an odd half-reality. Besides obvious
anomalies like location (<i>EastEnders</i>,
for instance, is set in a rearranged version of London) there are usually odd
social habits that are unlike anything you'd actually find, simply to
facilitate the dramatic necessities. There isn't necessarily anything wrong
with this, but it's not the real world.<o:p></o:p></b></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"><b>Most
of all, perhaps, the fictional reality of a story will be determined by
selecting what to put in and what to leave out. The complete reality of our
society contains everything from cosy village life to inner-city gang warfare,
but the reality in which a story takes place rarely includes all this. The
author will select what's relevant to go into the story, and the rest won't
exist.<o:p></o:p></b></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"><b>This
kind of selection, like the two ways our maverick cop can go, largely reflects
the author's views and/or agenda. The fictional reality of a story isn't the
world as it objectively is, but the world as the author wants it to be — not
necessarily wants as a good thing, but wants in order to make a point. It's set
in a custom-made world, just as a fantasy story is, but masquerading as the
real world.<o:p></o:p></b></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"><b>Does
any of this matter? I think it does. Fantasy is often accused of portraying
unreality, but it doesn't pretend otherwise, concentrating instead on using
that unreality to shine a light on the world around us.<o:p></o:p></b></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"><b>The
more the fictional reality looks like our own world, though, the harder it is
to make that distinction. I recall an argument I had once with a work colleague
— I can't remember the exact topic, but I think it may have been about the precise
effects of particular illegal drugs. What I do remember, though, is that the
killer argument presented by this otherwise intelligent person was "Of
course it's like that. Didn't you see <i>EastEnders</i>
last week?" To which I gently explained that it had been that way in <i>EastEnders </i>because that was how some
author had written it, not because it was necessarily true.<o:p></o:p></b></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"><b>Fictional
reality isn't restricted to fiction. Each of us sees the world in a slightly
different way from anyone else, selecting what we admit and what we don't, explaining
events according to our own assumptions and interpretations of reality. Most of
the conflicts in the world are due to the fact that we do this unconsciously
and assume our own fictional reality, whether individual or broadly shared, is
objectively true.<o:p></o:p></b></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"><b>If
we could learn to understand how fiction works, critique it not in absolute
terms but in terms of its unique fictional reality — its own secondary world —
maybe we'd be better at understanding our own and others' unique inner worlds.<o:p></o:p></b></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"><b>And
what place better to learn how to do that than fantasy?<o:p></o:p></b></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i><span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"><b>* The term soap opera is
used with different meanings in different parts of the world. I'm using it in
the usual UK sense of a continuous series (ie no breaks or seasons) about some kind
of community that takes place in real time, so that, for instance, the
characters are preparing for Christmas or anticipating the Cup Final at the
same time the viewers are.<o:p></o:p></b></span></i></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
Nyki Blatchleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07707481035530963855noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8924177687424620844.post-24876811839183264462015-07-20T01:13:00.001+01:002015-07-20T01:13:50.612+01:00Indo-European Languages and the Aryan Fallacy<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYywR2jWUMvQB6YaIWkcUyLqlmAwbeVaWoxC22PnC7XcYQvw6e9dJs_kIK9sN29tEjs7cxnw2wLRcQ_VQHtF8c2ChE_4a6PfiguOmIAkSyHRVH77-HBRn7JP3rTLp39CvmiT5Fz3hftuo/s1600/Tolkien.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYywR2jWUMvQB6YaIWkcUyLqlmAwbeVaWoxC22PnC7XcYQvw6e9dJs_kIK9sN29tEjs7cxnw2wLRcQ_VQHtF8c2ChE_4a6PfiguOmIAkSyHRVH77-HBRn7JP3rTLp39CvmiT5Fz3hftuo/s400/Tolkien.jpg" width="264" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"><strong>In
1938, J.R.R. Tolkien (left) received a letter from a German publisher who proposed to
publish a translation of <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">The Hobbit</i>.
According to the laws under the Nazi government, they requested him to confirm
that he was "of Aryan origin".<o:p></o:p></strong></span><br />
<strong>
</strong><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-pagination: none;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"><strong>Tolkien
was livid. He made his opinion clear in a related letter to his British
publisher, where he said, "I have many Jewish friends, and should regret
giving any colour to the notion that I subscribed to the wholly pernicious and
unscientific race-doctrine."<sup>1</sup><o:p></o:p></strong></span></div>
<strong>
</strong><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-pagination: none;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"><strong>In
his reply to the German publisher, he feigns innocence at first. "I regret
that I am not clear as to what you intend by <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">arisch</i>. I am not of <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Aryan </i>extraction:
that is Indo-iranian; as far as I am aware none of my ancestors spoke
Hindustani, Persian, Gypsy, or any related dialects."<sup>2</sup><o:p></o:p></strong></span></div>
<strong>
</strong><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-pagination: none;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"><strong>Tolkien
had no truck at all with the Aryan Fallacy, but many of his contemporaries
embraced it enthusiastically, including several other fantasy writers active at
a similar time — very notably Robert E. Howard. So how did it come about?<o:p></o:p></strong></span></div>
<strong>
</strong><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-pagination: none;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"><strong>The
word <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Aryan </i>correctly refers to a
group of nomadic tribes that moved into northern India about three thousand
years ago. It's also used for the linguistic family descended from Sanskrit,
deriving ultimately from the language(s) spoken by these tribes. Lastly, and
with extreme caution, it can be applied to the people who speak these modern
languages (most of the languages of Pakistan, Bangladesh, Nepal, northern and
central India, and the majority language of Sri Lanka). As long as it's understood
that this in no way represents a racial identity. <o:p></o:p></strong></span></div>
<strong>
</strong><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiF_RlVFI9HaHFUKuf17pyGVFYZ6TM8imS649-RjOoukmZDb5T_DreoTDpFjJxINrrow1ZyhsvUwHSKC64uR0P3QX0vk_SrCxOBmUv-M3uMtMNdrEEUh5WhxGRhFJAdfVWVABqqSSqAu5s/s1600/Dancers+of+the+Shuvani+Romani+Kumpania.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><strong><img border="0" height="211" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiF_RlVFI9HaHFUKuf17pyGVFYZ6TM8imS649-RjOoukmZDb5T_DreoTDpFjJxINrrow1ZyhsvUwHSKC64uR0P3QX0vk_SrCxOBmUv-M3uMtMNdrEEUh5WhxGRhFJAdfVWVABqqSSqAu5s/s320/Dancers+of+the+Shuvani+Romani+Kumpania.jpg" width="320" /></strong></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-pagination: none;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"><strong>The
family, as Tolkien indicated, also includes Romani ("Gypsy"), its
original speakers having migrated from north-west India. Ironically, in
Hitler's time (i.e. before the mass migrations from the sub-continent after
World War Two) the only substantial ethnic group in Europe who could
legitimately call themselves Aryan were the Romani — who were persecuted by the
Nazis.<o:p></o:p></strong></span></div>
<strong>
</strong><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-pagination: none;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"><strong>The
most obviously related group of languages is the Iranian family, together forming
the Indo-Iranian group (<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Iran </i>clearly
derives from the same root as <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Aryan</i>).
Today, the Iranian group covers most languages of Iran and Afghanistan,
together with Kurdish, but in earlier historical periods Iranian-speaking
nomads lived on the steppes north of the Black and Caspian Seas: Scythians,
Sarmatians, Alans etc.<o:p></o:p></strong></span></div>
<strong>
</strong><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-pagination: none;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"><strong>In
the late 18th century, linguists began to recognise a clear relationship
between the earliest forms of Sanskrit, Greek and Latin, and postulated that
they might all have derived from a common source. With this leverage to build
on, the Germanic, Celtic, Slavonic and other language groups were added to the
growing super-family, nowadays known as Indo-European. An extinct family of
Indo-European languages, Tocharian, was even spoken in north-west China during
the Han era.<o:p></o:p></strong></span></div>
<strong>
</strong><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-pagination: none;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"><strong>In
the 19th century, it was proposed that the whole family should be called Aryan,
in the erroneous belief that this was the earliest name of a people speaking an
Indo-European language and therefore the most likely to be the original. Though
mistaken, this was originally innocuous, but a tide of racial supremacism
gradually saw the label become more and more equated with the "German Race".
Max Müller, one of its originators, was later scathing about colleagues who
confused linguistic and racial characteristics, suggesting that "Aryan
race, Aryan blood, Aryan eyes and hair" were as absurd as "a dolichocephalic
dictionary or a brachycephalic grammar".<sup>3</sup><o:p></o:p></strong></span></div>
<strong>
</strong><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-pagination: none;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"><strong>The
tide was against him, though, and the concept of the Aryan Master Race became
more and more widespread, eventually finding its lunatic home in the warped
mind of Adolf Hitler. In fact, there have been suggestions that the
characteristic differences between the Germanic languages (including English)
and all other Indo-European languages may have been the result of an unrelated
people abandoning their own language and taking up a broken form of
Indo-European. In which case, the Germans have even less right to the name
Aryan than most other Indo-European speakers.<o:p></o:p></strong></span></div>
<strong>
</strong><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtptjwbwMgUu-JEDipUJZxXCEZoMruCMXaScBt8r8xNiK0nDlHZjOGB_krcbCwo6qzfkzzOcNP5O8qdJf9xH4Exe5nLMUqIYOF1PM9_AmUJTDLBd_Wk3iCWMdzhiKtJ2Xaj0rBiApApwg/s1600/IE_expansion.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><strong><img border="0" height="195" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtptjwbwMgUu-JEDipUJZxXCEZoMruCMXaScBt8r8xNiK0nDlHZjOGB_krcbCwo6qzfkzzOcNP5O8qdJf9xH4Exe5nLMUqIYOF1PM9_AmUJTDLBd_Wk3iCWMdzhiKtJ2Xaj0rBiApApwg/s320/IE_expansion.png" width="320" /></strong></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-pagination: none;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"><strong>The
clear pattern of divergence among the languages through various periods has
always suggested that it should be possible to trace them all back to a time
when a single language, from which they are all descended, was spoken by a
community in a relatively small area. The favourite explanation nowadays is the
steppes of south-eastern Europe somewhere between 4500 and 2500 BC, but other
propositions have ranged from the eccentric (such as the North Pole) to the
more plausible (such as Anatolia or the north-western European plains). The image to the left shows one proposed model of expansion from the homeland.<o:p></o:p></strong></span></div>
<strong>
</strong><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-pagination: none;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"><strong>It
shouldn't be assumed, though, that these original Indo-Europeans represented a
race, or even a "people" as we'd understand it. Archaeological
evidence suggests that the communities who probably spoke Indo-European were
actually made up of several distinct groups — a people who'd come down from the
north, another who'd come up from the Mediterranean, and possibly others from
Central Asia or the Caucasus — who can all be seen from their remains to have
been very different physical types.<o:p></o:p></strong></span></div>
<strong>
</strong><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-pagination: none;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"><strong>Nor
are they likely to have had much in common, including a political or tribal
structure, except the language which allowed ideas and customs to spread. They
constituted a culture area, but no more.<o:p></o:p></strong></span></div>
<strong>
</strong><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-pagination: none;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"><strong>In
terms of the later spread of Indo-European, too, we can't assume any racial
connection. It's not unusual for peoples to adopt the language of either the
dominant or the "cool" culture, and this often means communities
speaking a language aren't racially connected with the those who spoke the
language's distant ancestor. If we didn't accept this, we'd have a hard time trying
to explain how an English-speaking African American could have derived from the
language's source in north-western Europe.<o:p></o:p></strong></span></div>
<strong>
</strong><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEib_N4KkzLz702Y1G9xrk23xQCqSs77IaOVQvaowmHVXLPAkByyP-99jVSw25hArhSjNw1ygr6nH3GjfC8Yi2_IJtjKvJpm6GoQTVT8kcLTIxUf37MHtz4YiDHFVhlZUcgY7kJM3G9-aAM/s1600/Language+tree.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><strong><img border="0" height="208" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEib_N4KkzLz702Y1G9xrk23xQCqSs77IaOVQvaowmHVXLPAkByyP-99jVSw25hArhSjNw1ygr6nH3GjfC8Yi2_IJtjKvJpm6GoQTVT8kcLTIxUf37MHtz4YiDHFVhlZUcgY7kJM3G9-aAM/s320/Language+tree.png" width="320" /></strong></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"><strong>The
subsequent evolution of the languages is likewise anything but straightforward.
Linguists use the family tree model, (eg Latin is the "parent" of
French, Spanish, Italian etc) and this is useful, and a gorgeously artistic interpretation of which by Minna Sundberg is shown right. But the influence of other,
often unrelated languages is important too. This can be down to extensive
borrowing of vocabulary for social or political reasons, such as how English,
fundamentally a Western Germanic language, has a vocabulary heavily derived
from Latin.<sup>4</sup> It can also be explained, though, by the wave theory of
language change.<o:p></o:p></strong></span></div>
<strong>
</strong><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"><strong>The
wave theory is a model which suggests that specific changes, whether a
sound-change such as a final <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">t</i>
changing to <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">s </i>or a grammatical change
such as the development of grammatical gender, spreads from an epicentre and
affects both related and unrelated languages. The next major change will have a
different epicentre, and/or the speakers will have moved, so it won't be the
same set of languages affected.<o:p></o:p></strong></span></div>
<strong>
</strong><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"><strong>Ultimately,
this will create a patchwork, in which it can be difficult to reconcile a
language's position on its family tree with apparent similarities to more
distantly related (or unrelated) ones. It's inconvenient, but we're talking
about human behaviour. What do you expect?<o:p></o:p></strong></span></div>
<strong>
</strong><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"><strong>So
where did the original Indo-European language come from? If it was being spoken
a mere five or six thousand years ago, it obviously can't have sprung from
nowhere. The reason it's recognised as the "original" is that it
marks the latest point that all Indo-European languages can be traced back to,
but its history must have gone back a long way up an unknown family tree.<o:p></o:p></strong></span></div>
<strong>
</strong><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"><strong>Various
propositions have been made as to what Indo-European might ultimately be
related to, the most widespread being a super-family known as Nostratic. At its
most ambitious, this hypothesis includes Uralic, Altaic, Kartvelian,
Afroasiatic, Elamo-Dravidian and Eskimo-Aleut, along with a few others, though
some more cautious proponents restrict it to the first three plus Indo-European.<sup>5</sup><o:p></o:p></strong></span></div>
<strong>
</strong><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"><strong>There's
very little evidence for hypotheses such as this, and what has been put forward
is strongly disputed. The problem is that it becomes progressively harder to be
sure of connections between languages the further back the proposed connection
is. It's probable that some, at least, of these connections are correct, but nothing's
likely to ever go beyond speculation.<o:p></o:p></strong></span></div>
<strong>
</strong><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"><strong>To
speculate, though, how far might this process actually go? Recent evidence
suggests an origin for language considerably further back than was believed
even a decade or two ago, certainly when our ancestors were living in a fairly
small area of Africa.<sup>6</sup> Maybe the invention of human language really
was a single event, and we're all speaking variants of the same language.<o:p></o:p></strong></span></div>
<strong>
</strong><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"><strong>The
Aryan Fallacy should have died in the bunker with the Führer, but unfortunately
bigots aren't famous for their intellectual rigour, and there are still white
supremacist morons who use it as a keystone for their disgusting creeds.<o:p></o:p></strong></span></div>
<strong>
</strong><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"><strong>So
take a leaf out of Tolkien's book. Next time a white supremacist proudly claims
to be Aryan, point out that they're actually claiming to be Indian. Or even
Iranian. You won't change their views, but see how they like it.<o:p></o:p></strong></span></div>
<strong>
</strong><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"><o:p><strong> </strong></o:p></span></div>
<strong>
</strong><br />
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<strong><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><sup><span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;">1</span></sup></i><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;">
The Letters of J.R.R. Tolkien, ed. Humphrey Carpenter, 1981, p.37<o:p></o:p></span></i></strong></div>
<strong>
</strong><br />
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<strong><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><sup><span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;">2</span></sup></i><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;">
Ibid. p.37<o:p></o:p></span></i></strong></div>
<strong>
</strong><br />
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<strong><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><sup><span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;">3</span></sup></i><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;">
Quoted in In Search of the Indo-Europeans, J.P. Mallory, 1989, p.269<o:p></o:p></span></i></strong></div>
<strong>
</strong><br />
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<strong><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><sup><span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;">4</span></sup></i><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;">
That the roots of English are Germanic can be illustrated by taking a passage
of average English and identifying where each word came from. It's likely that
more would be Latin-derived than Germanic-derived; but if you were to redo the
exercise counting each word each time it's used, you'd find the count
overwhelmingly Germanic. This is because the most common, infrastructure words
(</span></i><span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;">the<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">, </i>and<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">,
</i>to<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">, </i>for<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"> and the like) are direct descendants of the words that came over with
the Anglo-Saxons.<o:p></o:p></i></span></strong></div>
<strong>
</strong><br />
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<strong><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><sup><span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;">5</span></sup></i><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;">
Uralic includes languages like Finnish and Hungarian; Altaic includes the
Turkic languages, Mongolian, probably Korean and possibly Japanese; Kartvelian
is a small group whose main member is Georgian; Afroasiatic is a huge group,
ranging from Hebrew and Arabic to Hausa, the main language of northern Nigeria,
and taking in ancient Egyptian along the way; Dravidian was the main language
group in India before the coming of the Aryans, and is still dominant in the
south; Eskimo-Aleut — yes, I know Eskimo is non gratis, but there's actually no
other word for the whole linguistic group, the Inuit actually being just the
largest ethnic group.<o:p></o:p></span></i></strong></div>
<strong>
</strong><br />
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<strong><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><sup><span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;">6</span></sup></i><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;">
Remains have indicated that Neanderthals shared the same deformity of the
larynx that allows us to manipulate complex sounds, suggesting that the
mutation took place at least 150,000 years ago. On the "use it or lose
it" principle of evolution, it's difficult to interpret this any way other
than our ancestors already using language from that point.</span></i></strong></div>
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<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"><strong></strong></span></i> </div>
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<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"><strong>Images reproduced under Creative Commons licence:</strong></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-pagination: none;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"><strong></strong></span> </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-pagination: none;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"><strong>Tolkien: </strong><a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/proyectolkien/" target="_blank"><strong>Proyectolkien</strong></a></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-pagination: none;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"><strong>Dancers of the Shuvani Romani Kumpania: </strong><a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/bareego/" target="_blank"><strong>James Niland</strong></a></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-pagination: none;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"><strong>Indo-European expansion according to the Kurgan hypothesis: </strong><a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/File:IE_expansion.png" target="_blank"><strong>Dbachmann</strong></a></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-pagination: none;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"><strong>Minna Sundberg Language Tree: </strong><a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/amphalon/" target="_blank"><strong>Tom Wigley</strong></a></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"><strong></strong></span> </div>
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<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"><strong></strong></span> </div>
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<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"><strong></strong></span> </div>
Nyki Blatchleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07707481035530963855noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8924177687424620844.post-50300208236889861322015-06-28T00:24:00.000+01:002015-06-28T00:24:31.210+01:00Let's Just Make Up Our Own Story<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0Eg_MrPtjQoAdpMm3U2o11CytXcxFMb6inEMePE0jccnuoAUmI3SbnM_4POm8bN8JwE9Hc5oH1Hxnd02SwSo3dSW27cUXSHaZUBDZL1vE9nLmoAb5pf0SqejT6nSPZFLxBdBV4d5I7Ck/s1600/Mowgli.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0Eg_MrPtjQoAdpMm3U2o11CytXcxFMb6inEMePE0jccnuoAUmI3SbnM_4POm8bN8JwE9Hc5oH1Hxnd02SwSo3dSW27cUXSHaZUBDZL1vE9nLmoAb5pf0SqejT6nSPZFLxBdBV4d5I7Ck/s320/Mowgli.jpg" width="237" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"><strong>I was, I think,
eleven when the Disney cartoon of <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">The
Jungle Book </i>came out. Kipling's original book was among my favourite
reading at the time, and when I saw what Disney had done to it, I was outraged
in the way only a child can be — starting with the mispronunciation of Mowgli
("first syllable to rhyme with cow," Kipling had specified) and
carrying on into the total reinvention of the characters and tone.<o:p></o:p></strong></span><br />
<strong>
</strong><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"><strong>At a maturer
age, of course, I can accept it's probably an extremely good film, if you don't
compare it with the original story, but in a way that makes it worse. Generations
of kids have now grown up believing that is <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">The
Jungle Book</i>, and I can imagine them dismissing Kipling's version as
"not the proper story."<o:p></o:p></strong></span></div>
<strong>
</strong><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"><strong>Disney have done
the same to others of my childhood treasures (notably Winnie the Pooh), but of
course they're far from the only ones. I've seen film "versions" of
books that have almost nothing in common with their sources except for a few
names. It makes me wonder why film and TV companies bother to pay for
the rights when all they're going to do is write their own stories.<o:p></o:p></strong></span></div>
<strong>
</strong><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"><strong>The particular
case that prompted this blog was the BBC's recent two-part adaptation of <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Stonemouth</i>, one of the last novels by
Iain Banks, one of my favourite authors. Now, this can't have been an easy book
to adapt: a very immersive first-person narrative that wanders between present
events and memories of the past as the thoughts ramble through the mind of the
narrator, Stewart. <o:p></o:p></strong></span></div>
<strong>
</strong><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"><strong>In fact, they handled
that aspect quite well, although the flashbacks were sometimes too heavily cut
to make sense. The problem was that the plot and characters were radically
changed. The first part wasn't too bad, although the funeral that prompted Stewart
to return home for was for a different person, and the friend who funeral he
was now attending was made a far more pleasant person than in the book.<o:p></o:p></strong></span></div>
<strong>
</strong><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"><strong>It was in the
second part that really blew it. The book involves a typically Banksian uncovering
of various mysteries, ending in an explosive scene that's all the more
effective for being unlike the rest of the book. Instead, among numerous other
changes, the adaptor inserted an entirely superfluous action scene, along with
the bewildering revelation that a relatively minor character had actually been
behind everything, in place of the more complex and believable outcome in the book.<o:p></o:p></strong></span></div>
<strong>
</strong><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"><strong>Now, I
understand that it isn't always possible to adapt a novel literally for the
screen. They're different media, and sometimes it's necessary to find different
solutions for the narrative. But there's a world between changes to account for
the medium and arbitrary differences because someone thinks they know better than the author.<o:p></o:p></strong></span></div>
<strong>
</strong><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"><strong>Peter Jackson's
very variable Tolkien films offer both kinds of example. In <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">The Two Towers</i>, the scene where Faramir
finds out about the Ring is done completely differently in the novel and the
film. The problem here is that the scene Tolkien wrote consisted of three
characters sitting around talking for a long time. That can work in a book, of
course, and Tolkien did a great job of building up the tension, but a film
needs visual tension as well as dialogue. I'm not sure that Jackson's solution would
have been what I'd have chosen, but it made sense.<o:p></o:p></strong></span></div>
<strong>
</strong><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"><strong>Contrast with
that his totally irrelevant introduction of Tauriel in the films of <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">The Hobbit </i>and her absurd romantic
subplot with Kili. I can certainly see that the lack of female characters might
have needed to be addressed, but honestly, couldn't they do better than "Female
character? Love interest, obviously"?<o:p></o:p></strong></span></div>
<strong>
</strong><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"><strong>Perhaps the
most traumatic experience I've had since <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">The
Jungle Book </i>was <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Troy</i>. Again, this
may well be a good film taken in isolation, but the problem is it's not in isolation.
This is supposedly a retelling of one of the world's greatest stories, and IT'S
WRONG FROM BEGINNING TO END. This might not worry some people, but it should be
a concern that, as with <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">The Jungle Book</i>,
large numbers of people are being completely misled about the 3000-year-old story
of the Trojan War.<o:p></o:p></strong></span></div>
<strong>
</strong><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"><strong>Why do adaptors
insist on doing this? In the case of <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Troy</i>,
it would have made more sense to change a bit more, give the characters and
places different names, and put it out as an original story. It's even more
mystifying when they have to pay for the rights, as with the American TV
"remake" of <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">The Prisoner </i>a
few years back, which had only a handful of cosmetic similarities to the
original series. Why not save money and call it something else, since it's a
completely different story?<o:p></o:p></strong></span></div>
<strong>
</strong><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"><strong>This isn't a
new problem. It's been going on for as long as there've been films, and there's
no prospect of it ending any time soon. And, as I said, stories do have to be
tweaked to fit a different medium — but tweaking isn't the same as wholesale
butchery.<o:p></o:p></strong></span></div>
<strong>
</strong><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"><strong>Instead of
obsessing with buying up the rights to an original, why not just pay the
scriptwriters to make up their own story? That's what they do, after all.</strong></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"><strong></strong></span> </div>
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<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"><strong></strong></span> </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"><strong><em>The illustration of Mowgli from</em> The Jungle Book <em>by Rudyard Kipling is by <a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/odisea2008/sets/72157648075493559" target="_blank">Cesar Ojeda</a>, and reproduced under Creative Commons.</em></strong></span></div>
<strong>
</strong><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"><o:p><strong> </strong></o:p></span></div>
Nyki Blatchleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07707481035530963855noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8924177687424620844.post-78473796225000550392015-06-09T20:49:00.000+01:002015-06-09T20:49:20.668+01:00"This Is Getting Too Silly," He Expostulated Belligerently
<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"><strong>Get a bunch of
fiction writers together and there's a couple of things you can be sure they'll
eventually start arguing about. One's point of view and the multitudinous ways
it can be well used and badly used. The other is the proper way to tag
dialogue.<o:p></o:p></strong></span><br />
<strong>
</strong><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"><strong>At their most
basic, tags are the devices used to show the reader who's speaking, and sometimes
also how they're speaking and in what context. The most basic tags are <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">he said</i>,<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"> she said</i>,<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"> said Ug the
Barbarian </i>etc*, but it gets a lot more complicated than that.<o:p></o:p></strong></span></div>
<strong>
</strong><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"><strong>For one thing,
there are vast quantities of verbs in the English language that mean a
particular type of saying, and at one time it was common — certainly more
common than now — to use these to the full. Characters would expostulate,
opine, or even ejaculate their words.<o:p></o:p></strong></span></div>
<strong>
</strong><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"><strong>Generally
speaking, this has gone out of fashion. A term has even been coined for it:
"said bookisms". In fact, in some quarters you may even be told never
to use any verb but <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">said, </i>but that
seems to me to be a rule followed off the edge of a cliff.<o:p></o:p></strong></span></div>
<strong>
</strong><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"><strong>The argument is
that using colourful verbs in tags distracts the reader from what's actually
being said, and the manner of speech should be clear from the context. There's
certainly a lot in that, but there are other verbs that give a quiet,
matter-of-fact account of the speaking, just hinting that the speech isn't
entirely neutral — <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">asked</i>,<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"> replied</i>,<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"> murmured</i>,<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"> shouted </i>etc.
Each of these can be used without getting in the way of the dialogue itself.<o:p></o:p></strong></span></div>
<strong>
</strong><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"><strong>But what about
the more elaborate words? Well, it partly depends on the tone you're shooting
for. In general, "said bookisms" work better in comic writing
(Douglas Adams is an excellent example) but even a more serious writer might
want to cultivate an exuberant style that would suit this approach.<o:p></o:p></strong></span></div>
<strong>
</strong><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"><strong>As with
anything in writing, though, it's important to know exactly what you're doing
and why. If you don't have any particular axe to grind, my recommendation is to
start with <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">said </i>as your default
(perhaps with <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">asked </i>and <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">replied </i>as fairly obvious in their
places) and identify the specific places where a more elaborate verb would
work. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">"You'll never get through this
gate," thundered Ug </i>has a genuine purpose — <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">said </i>just wouldn't cut it there.<o:p></o:p></strong></span></div>
<strong>
</strong><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"><strong>One particularly
controversial group of words are those that don’t represent believable speech.
I can just about accept <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">laughed </i>or <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">wailed</i> if the person is laughing or
wailing a very short phrase. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">"Stop
that," laughed Ug </i>is believable as a phrase caught up in an explosion
of barbarian laughter. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">"That's
absolutely the funniest thing I've ever heard in my life," laughed Ug </i>isn't
— and not only because no self-respecting barbarian would use the word <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">absolutely</i>.<o:p></o:p></strong></span></div>
<strong>
</strong><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"><strong>On the other
hand, there are words that don't in any way represent speech — unless you're
writing about a species whose language is based on facial expressions — like <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">smiled </i>or <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">winked</i>. I'd definitely advise against these. Instead of <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">"I'm pleased to meet you," he
smiled</i>, what's wrong with <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">"I'm pleased
to meet you," he said, smiling</i>? Far more accurate.<o:p></o:p></strong></span></div>
<strong>
</strong><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"><strong>The other big
controversy is the use of adverbs in dialogue tags. Now adverbs tend to have a bad
press that's largely unfair, but it's undeniable that a big part of this is because
of their overuse in tags. That's not because they're adverbs, though: it's
because their use is often a symptom of lazy writing.<o:p></o:p></strong></span></div>
<strong>
</strong><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"><strong>Sometimes the
problem is that the adverb is vague and could be expressed in a much clearer
way. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">"Stop doing that," she
said angrily </i>isn't wrong, but it's not very evocative and "verb
adverb" in tags can easily become a very repetitive pattern. Much better
would be <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">"Stop doing that," she
snapped, scowling.</i> A specific case where I would reach for a slightly more
elaborate verb.<o:p></o:p></strong></span></div>
<strong>
</strong><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"><strong>Equally, the
adverb may be redundant — in tags like <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">she
whispered quietly, he asked questioningly, she snapped angrily</i>, the adverb
merely repeats what the verb has already told us.<o:p></o:p></strong></span></div>
<strong>
</strong><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"><strong>Adverbs aren't
always wrong, though. Sometimes an adverb is all that needs to be said. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">"Is that really true?" she asked
quietly </i>is both clear and evocative.<o:p></o:p></strong></span></div>
<strong>
</strong><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"><strong>So should we
just tag dialogue with an endless string of <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">he
said, she said</i>? Not at all. There are plenty of other ways of tagging
dialogue, including not tagging it at all. In an ongoing back-and-forth,
especially between just two characters, it's obvious enough who's saying what,
and it can be given without any tagging at all. As long as you keep track. I've
read at least one published book where the author appeared to have lost count
in a scene like that.<o:p></o:p></strong></span></div>
<strong>
</strong><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"><strong>Or you can use
an action tag, instead of a dialogue tag. An alternative to the sentence above,
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">"Stop doing that," she snapped,
scowling</i>, might be <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">She scowled.
"Stop doing that."</i><o:p></o:p></strong></span></div>
<strong>
</strong><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"><strong>The best
approach, perhaps, is to understand the full range of options and use whichever
is the right one for the moment, as well as for the bigger picture. Vary the
type of dialogue tags, action tags or no tag you use from paragraph to
paragraph, and also use tags and interruptions to help the dynamics of the
speech**.<o:p></o:p></strong></span></div>
<strong>
</strong><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"><strong>Or develop you
own non-standard, utterly idiosyncratic approach to dialogue tagging. But, if
you're doing that, make sure you do it very, very well indeed.<o:p></o:p></strong></span></div>
<strong>
</strong><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"><o:p><strong></strong></o:p></span> </div>
<strong>
</strong><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<strong><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;">* When using a pronoun, it has to be </span></i><span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;">she said<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">, unless you're trying to sound archaic with </i>said she<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">. If it's a name or other noun, both </i>said
Ug <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">and </i>Ug said <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">are equally correct — it's entirely a matter of taste and how the
sentence flows best. If someone tries to tell you (as they occasionally do)
that one or the other is wrong, they're talking through an orifice other than
their mouth.<o:p></o:p></i></span></strong></div>
<strong>
</strong><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"><strong>** One mistake beginners often make is
always to put the tag at the end, even of a very long paragraph. This can
confuse readers, if they need to identify who's speaking; it's redundant, since
by that point the speaker and the way of speaking should have been established;
and it makes the flow of the writing clunky. In general, tags should come early
and, if possible, punctuate the dialogue.<o:p></o:p></strong></span></i></div>
Nyki Blatchleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07707481035530963855noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8924177687424620844.post-59360734293341942972015-05-18T23:52:00.000+01:002015-05-18T23:52:02.602+01:00Five Things "Everybody Knows" About the Greeks<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4Lk27Ttl0rV8qw6CMddUpcRlSXBP5RX6UkxWWlrM1yH-uxf5lMXge2HZC67adKkPsIsrkrJ4-8mwq393O46g56RZ8KevQN6MoXoBxQWSnnTLornAxn1jBMavtuT7OmEUKRg6XJ6ydu2U/s1600/Plato_Aristotle.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4Lk27Ttl0rV8qw6CMddUpcRlSXBP5RX6UkxWWlrM1yH-uxf5lMXge2HZC67adKkPsIsrkrJ4-8mwq393O46g56RZ8KevQN6MoXoBxQWSnnTLornAxn1jBMavtuT7OmEUKRg6XJ6ydu2U/s320/Plato_Aristotle.jpg" width="244" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"><strong>One
thing's for certain — any historical fact that "everybody knows"
probably stands little more than a 50/50 chance of being true. This applies to
any period, but classical Greek culture has more than its fair share of popular
fallacies. Here are five of the most common.<o:p></o:p></strong></span><br />
<strong>
</strong><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-pagination: none;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"><strong>1. The Greeks were a calm,
logical people, whose central tenet was "Nothing in excess".<o:p></o:p></strong></span></i></div>
<strong>
</strong><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-pagination: none;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"><strong>Well,
yes, that saying occupied a special place in Greek culture. And yes, the Greeks
did create philosophy and logic — at least as far as the west is concerned.*
But that doesn't mean it was their nature. After all, why place so much
importance on a rule that comes naturally to you?<o:p></o:p></strong></span></div>
<strong>
</strong><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-pagination: none;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"><strong>The
Greeks could be logical, rational and measured seekers after balance and
proportion. They could also be turbulent, violent, jealous, contentious
drunkards. Yes, Greek culture involved a <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">lot
</i>of drunkenness. Perhaps, if you're academically inclined, you've attended a
symposium. Well, a symposium wasn't originally a staid, intellectual exercise,
but a party designed for hard drinking and (hopefully) sex at the end. Alcohol
played a big part in Greek life: getting drunk was a sacred rite, and they
described it as "the lesser madness that prevents the greater."<o:p></o:p></strong></span></div>
<strong>
</strong><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-pagination: none;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"><strong>They
were hot-blooded and quarrelsome, and extremely competitive, whether it was
athletes at Olympia or cities contending to give a more splendid gift to the
gods than anyone else. The Greeks took everything to excess — including
philosophy and logic.<o:p></o:p></strong></span></div>
<strong>
</strong><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbb4N_csmnRy6kbHdGgv_D8FbiQiqc1kuPwe21YXkyMO15HMTXK92PKA3uQ9nQBywUE-RuGpxn4rravlaD3Idkilb4YktvOhTgjSV4MH9CnTZx1lxPyD83An6E2ErHP271ZwBVyE0v-LQ/s1600/Antikythera.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="285" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbb4N_csmnRy6kbHdGgv_D8FbiQiqc1kuPwe21YXkyMO15HMTXK92PKA3uQ9nQBywUE-RuGpxn4rravlaD3Idkilb4YktvOhTgjSV4MH9CnTZx1lxPyD83An6E2ErHP271ZwBVyE0v-LQ/s320/Antikythera.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-pagination: none;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"><strong>2. The Greeks were too
otherworldly to develop technology — they were only interested in pure thought.<o:p></o:p></strong></span></i></div>
<strong>
</strong><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-pagination: none;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"><strong>One
of the facts often advanced to support this is that the Greeks (specifically
Hero of Alexandria in the 1st century AD) invented a working steam engine, but
apparently didn't see any use for it. In fact, the reason Hero's steam engine
remained nothing more than a curiosity wasn't any lack of practicality, but the
simple fact that the Greeks didn't possess the metallurgy to create a heavy-duty
version that wouldn't explode.**<o:p></o:p></strong></span></div>
<strong>
</strong><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-pagination: none;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"><strong>The
Greeks certainly made use of their inventions where they could, though often in
a haphazard way. Archimedes is best known for jumping out of his bath naked
after thinking up the principle that's named after him, but this wasn't an
exercise in pure theoretical physics. It was actually his solution to the
problem of proving to his king whether or not an object was pure gold or a
fake. In fact, Archimedes's biggest breakthrough was actually an irrigation
machine that was still in use into the 20th century.<o:p></o:p></strong></span></div>
<strong>
</strong><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-pagination: none;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"><strong>Perhaps
the most remarkable known piece of Greek technology is the </strong></span><a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Antikythera_mechanism"><span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"><span style="color: #0563c1;"><strong>Antikythera device</strong></span></span></a><span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"><strong> (a fragment pictured above), a simple analogue computer created
sometime around the 2nd century BC. Though fairly small (but small is good in
computing) it was perhaps comparable to Babbage's difference engine — but the
Greeks actually made and used their computer.<o:p></o:p></strong></span></div>
<strong>
</strong><br />
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-pagination: none;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"><strong>3. Greek buildings and
sculptures were all gleaming white marble.<o:p></o:p></strong></span></i></div>
<strong>
</strong><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-pagination: none;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"><strong>Of
course they were, we've all seen them — in pictures, if not in life. And
statues from the Renaissance to the Victorian era have paid homage to the
iconic look.<o:p></o:p></strong></span></div>
<strong>
</strong><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-pagination: none;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"><strong>In
fact, the image is simply an accident of antiquity. By the time the great
classical sculptures and temples were being rediscovered in the Renaissance,
many of them were two thousand years old, and had been either weathered or
buried in the earth. Both processes have a tendency to erode the paint from
marble.<o:p></o:p></strong></span></div>
<strong>
</strong><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-pagination: none;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"><strong>The
classical Greeks would have found the idea of leaving marble bare very strange
indeed. Buildings were painted in bright, eye-catching colours — reds, blues,
golds — while marble statues were actually painted to look lifelike. It might
seem odd to us, but remember none of these things were intended to look ancient,
as the more recent equivalents were. They were contemporary and functional, and
the Greeks wanted buildings they could use, and statues that actually looked
like people.<o:p></o:p></strong></span></div>
<strong>
</strong><br />
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-pagination: none;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"><strong>4. All Greek women were
invisible nobodies.<o:p></o:p></strong></span></i></div>
<strong>
</strong><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-pagination: none;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"><strong>What's
certain is that Greek culture as a whole wouldn't win any prizes for empowering
women. However, the demeaning of women was by no means consistent throughout
Greece or throughout the ancient period. It's known, for instance, that women
could win fame as poets — notably Sappho (right), Erinna and Corinna, though there were
others — and ironically it's been later scholars who've challenged whether some
of their works "could have been written by women". The Greeks never
doubted it.<o:p></o:p></strong></span></div>
<strong>
</strong><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-pagination: none;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"><strong>In
many cities, notably Athens, respectable women were indeed sequestered,
although the limited evidence available suggests that a married woman was far
from powerless within her home. Unrespectable women, on the other hand, were
far more visible. A successful <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">hetaira </i>(courtesan)
could become very much a part of high society, and some, such as Aspasia,
mistress of the great Athenian leader Pericles, were extremely influential.<o:p></o:p></strong></span></div>
<strong>
</strong><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-pagination: none;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"><strong>Not
all women were left uneducated, either, especially by the time of the 4th
century BC. It's recorded that Plato's Academy included at least two female
students, and this wasn't by any means unique. As Greek culture developed into its later period, women could be politically powerful or highly regarded academically, such as Hypatia of Alexandria.</strong></span></div>
<strong>
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-pagination: none;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"><strong>5. The Greeks considered
everyone else as "barbarians".<o:p></o:p></strong></span></i></div>
<strong>
</strong><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-pagination: none;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"><strong>Strictly
speaking, this is completely true — for the simple reason that <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">barbaros</i>, the word's origin,<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"> </i>was nothing more than the Greek word
for a foreigner. It did involve a degree of condescension — the word allegedly
derived from the perception that foreign speech sounded like
"bar-bar-bar"*** — but it wasn't necessarily a term of abuse. Some
"barbarians", such as the Persian king Cyrus the Great, were
routinely held up by the Greeks as models of virtue.<o:p></o:p></strong></span></div>
<strong>
</strong><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-pagination: none;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"><strong>The
Greeks definitely considered their culture the best in the world, but it would
be wrong to think of them as racist in the modern sense. Greece was a cultural
entity, rather than either a geographical or racial one. The definition of a
Greek was someone who spoke Greek, worshipped the Olympian gods and lived in a
city-state. It wasn't irrelevant where your ancestors had come from, but it
wasn't all important either.<o:p></o:p></strong></span></div>
<strong>
</strong><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-pagination: none; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Wingdings; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;"><strong>tttt<o:p></o:p></strong></span></div>
<strong>
</strong><br />
<div align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-pagination: none; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Wingdings; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;"><strong></strong></span> </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-pagination: none;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"><strong>There
are many other misconceptions about the Greeks, both from those who ignore
their failings and from those who ignore their virtues, not to mention those
who've simply learnt their history from Hollywood. They were a turbulent,
contradictory people, who created great beauty and committed atrocities. They
certainly don't offer a model of how we should live, but perhaps what they do
offer is a model of how we can search for a way to live. Even if — as the
Greeks did more often than not — we end up getting it wrong.<o:p></o:p></strong></span></div>
<strong>
</strong><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-pagination: none;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"><strong></strong></span> </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-pagination: none;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"><strong>* Globally, the Greeks and
the Chinese were about neck and neck. Of course, there are many cultures that
might well have developed sophisticated philosophy, but didn't leave records we
can read to confirm it.<o:p></o:p></strong></span></i></div>
<strong>
</strong><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-pagination: none;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"><strong>** Other inventions by
Hero include a vending machine and a programmable self-driving cart.<o:p></o:p></strong></span></i></div>
<strong>
</strong><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-pagination: none;">
<strong><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;">*** There's a widespread
myth that it's actually a Roman word derived from the Latin </span></i><span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;">barbus<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">, meaning beard. The Romans adopted the word from Greek, and were far
more responsible for giving it its current meaning. The Greeks used it long
before, and a) the Greek word for beard is completely unrelated, and b) many
Greek men wore beards and (quite rightly) considered them refined and
dignified.<o:p></o:p></i></span></strong></div>
Nyki Blatchleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07707481035530963855noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8924177687424620844.post-59451160421330105912015-05-06T22:35:00.000+01:002015-05-06T22:35:12.361+01:00Pronunciation of Names<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXjm4M8pHF7iadRYSH53_kHkiZYPo8G_EsRazejoboR_3d5MRod_uueeaOYq9_ohIokGpyIV5BvI7q9WQZ8GdEj5GPXqL4r2gIWvr9z4CkBCuAvFCYesW7yqBvnWGFF455KBpwgpLn-MM/s1600/At+An+Uncertain+Hour_Kindle.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXjm4M8pHF7iadRYSH53_kHkiZYPo8G_EsRazejoboR_3d5MRod_uueeaOYq9_ohIokGpyIV5BvI7q9WQZ8GdEj5GPXqL4r2gIWvr9z4CkBCuAvFCYesW7yqBvnWGFF455KBpwgpLn-MM/s1600/At+An+Uncertain+Hour_Kindle.jpg" height="320" width="200" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"><strong>In the note at
the end of his 1935 epic fantasy novel <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Mistress
of Mistresses</i>, E. R. Eddison suggests: "Proper names the reader will
no doubt pronounce as he chooses. But perhaps, to please me…" Give or take
the odd gender-specific pronoun, I'd say the same about the names I use in my
stories. It's really not a big deal if you don't pronounce them as I do, but if
you're anything like me, you might be interested in how they're
"supposed" to sound.<o:p></o:p></strong></span><br />
<strong>
</strong><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"><strong>No, I'm not
going to give a complete list of every name I've included in a story — that
would be a very long article indeed — but I'll try to give an idea of what I
understand by the letters I type. The first thing to bear in mind is — forget
all about English. Well, unless I'm actually using English-style names, of course.
English pronunciation is among the most idiosyncratic in the world, and in
general it's better to think in terms of Greek or Latin for my letter values.<o:p></o:p></strong></span></div>
<strong>
</strong><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"><strong>The second
thing is that there are no silent letters. None. Not a single one, unless you
count the <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">h </i>in combinations like <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">th </i>and <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">sh</i>. If a name ends in <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">e</i>,
that <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">e </i>should be sounded, rather than
modifying a previous vowel. Double letters are pronounced double. And, if a
name starts with two consonants that don't go together in English, no wussing
out (as we usually do with Greek-derived words, for instance). It's not rocket
science. Little children all over the world have no problem learning to
pronounce words that start with <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">ks</i>,<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"> tl</i>,<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">
nd </i>or <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">mb</i>.<o:p></o:p></strong></span></div>
<strong>
</strong><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"><strong>The stress on a
name is harder to generalise about. My names come from many different
(theoretical) languages with different (theoretical) rules on stress. If in
doubt, though, I tend to default to having the stress on the second-last if the
last is a strong syllable (eg Renon = RE-non) or the third-last if the
following syllables are weak (eg Caurien = COW-ree-en).<o:p></o:p></strong></span></div>
<strong>
</strong><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<strong><span style="font-family: Symbol; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">·<span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font: 7pt/normal "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span>a — either as in <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">cat </i>or
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">calm</i>, never as in <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">cake</i>.<o:p></o:p></span></strong></div>
<strong>
<span style="font-family: Symbol; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">·<span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font: 7pt/normal "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span>ai — as in <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">aisle</i>.<o:p></o:p></span></strong><br />
<strong>
<span style="font-family: Symbol; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">·<span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font: 7pt/normal "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span>au — as pronounced in German, like the vowel in <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">cow</i>.<o:p></o:p></span></strong><br />
<strong>
<span style="font-family: Symbol; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">·<span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font: 7pt/normal "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span>b — as in <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">big</i>.<o:p></o:p></span></strong><br />
<strong>
<span style="font-family: Symbol; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">·<span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font: 7pt/normal "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span>bh — halfway between <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">b </i>and
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">v</i>. If that's too hard, pronounce it
as <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">v</i>.<o:p></o:p></span></strong><br />
<strong>
<span style="font-family: Symbol; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">·<span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font: 7pt/normal "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span>c — always as in <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">cat</i>,
never as in <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">ceiling</i> (whatever follows
it). *<o:p></o:p></span></strong><br />
<strong>
<span style="font-family: Symbol; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">·<span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font: 7pt/normal "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span>ch — usually as in <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">loch</i>
(in a proper Scottish accent). However, I'm a bit inconsistent with this, and
occasionally at the start of a name it's as in <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">church </i>(eg Chenda from <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">At An
Uncertain Hour</i>).<o:p></o:p></span></strong><br />
<strong>
<span style="font-family: Symbol; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">·<span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font: 7pt/normal "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span>d — as in <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">dog</i>.<o:p></o:p></span></strong><br />
<strong>
<span style="font-family: Symbol; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">·<span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font: 7pt/normal "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span>dh — like the <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">th </i>in <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">this</i>, as opposed to in <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">think</i>.<o:p></o:p></span></strong><br />
<strong>
<span style="font-family: Symbol; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">·<span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font: 7pt/normal "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span>e — as in <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">get</i>, never
as in <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">cede</i>.<o:p></o:p></span></strong><br />
<strong>
<span style="font-family: Symbol; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">·<span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font: 7pt/normal "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span>ei — like the vowel in <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">day</i>.<o:p></o:p></span></strong><br />
<strong>
<span style="font-family: Symbol; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">·<span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font: 7pt/normal "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span>eu — difficult to describe to everyone, as it's a sound
Americans generally refuse to pronounce. As in French <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">tu</i>, or the way I'd pronounce <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">few
</i>(fyoo) — not as in <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">moon</i>.<o:p></o:p></span></strong><br />
<strong>
<span style="font-family: Symbol; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">·<span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font: 7pt/normal "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span>f — as in <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">fish</i>,
never as in <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">of</i>.<o:p></o:p></span></strong><br />
<strong>
<span style="font-family: Symbol; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">·<span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font: 7pt/normal "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span>g — as in <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">get</i>,
never as in <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">gin</i>.<o:p></o:p></span></strong><br />
<strong>
<span style="font-family: Symbol; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">·<span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font: 7pt/normal "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span>gh — sounds a bit like gargling.<o:p></o:p></span></strong><br />
<strong>
<span style="font-family: Symbol; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">·<span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font: 7pt/normal "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span>h — always pronounced, wherever it occurs, unless it's part
of <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">th</i>, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">sh </i>etc.<o:p></o:p></span></strong><br />
<strong>
<span style="font-family: Symbol; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">·<span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font: 7pt/normal "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span>i — either as in <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">pin </i>or
like the vowel in <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">been</i>, never as in <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">fine</i>.<o:p></o:p></span></strong><br />
<strong>
<span style="font-family: Symbol; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">·<span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font: 7pt/normal "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span>j — as in <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">jam</i>.<o:p></o:p></span></strong><br />
<strong>
<span style="font-family: Symbol; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">·<span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font: 7pt/normal "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span>jh — like the middle consonant of <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">treasure</i>. This is pronounced exactly the same as <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">zh</i> — just an indulgence for variation.<o:p></o:p></span></strong><br />
<strong>
<span style="font-family: Symbol; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">·<span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font: 7pt/normal "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span>k — as in <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">kit</i>. *<o:p></o:p></span></strong><br />
<strong>
<span style="font-family: Symbol; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">·<span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font: 7pt/normal "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span>kh — same as the hard <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">ch</i>.<o:p></o:p></span></strong><br />
<strong>
<span style="font-family: Symbol; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">·<span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font: 7pt/normal "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span>l — as in <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">lid</i>.<o:p></o:p></span></strong><br />
<strong>
<span style="font-family: Symbol; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">·<span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font: 7pt/normal "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span>lh — like the Welsh <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">ll</i>.
You can all pronounce that, can't you?<o:p></o:p></span></strong><br />
<strong>
<span style="font-family: Symbol; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">·<span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font: 7pt/normal "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span>m — as in <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">meet</i>.<o:p></o:p></span></strong><br />
<strong>
<span style="font-family: Symbol; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">·<span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font: 7pt/normal "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span>n — as in <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">new</i>.<o:p></o:p></span></strong><br />
<strong>
<span style="font-family: Symbol; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">·<span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font: 7pt/normal "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span>ng — always without sounding the <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">g</i>. For my pronunciation, as in <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">sing
</i>rather than <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">finger</i>, but not
everyone differentiates these.<o:p></o:p></span></strong><br />
<strong>
<span style="font-family: Symbol; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">·<span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font: 7pt/normal "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span>o — either as in <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">cop </i>or
as in <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">cope</i>.<o:p></o:p></span></strong><br />
<strong>
<span style="font-family: Symbol; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">·<span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font: 7pt/normal "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span>oi — as in <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">boil</i>.<o:p></o:p></span></strong><br />
<strong>
<span style="font-family: Symbol; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">·<span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font: 7pt/normal "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span>ou — like the vowel in <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">moon</i>.<o:p></o:p></span></strong><br />
<strong>
<span style="font-family: Symbol; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">·<span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font: 7pt/normal "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span>p — as in <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">put</i>.<o:p></o:p></span></strong><br />
<strong>
<span style="font-family: Symbol; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">·<span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font: 7pt/normal "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span>ph — as in <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">philosopher </i>(both
times).<o:p></o:p></span></strong><br />
<strong>
<span style="font-family: Symbol; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">·<span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font: 7pt/normal "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span>q — similar to <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">gh</i>.<o:p></o:p></span></strong><br />
<strong>
<span style="font-family: Symbol; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">·<span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font: 7pt/normal "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span>qu — as in <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">quiet</i>.<o:p></o:p></span></strong><br />
<strong>
<span style="font-family: Symbol; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">·<span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font: 7pt/normal "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span>r — this is a difficult one. Different languages/accents
pronounce <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">r </i>as anything from grating
at the back of the throat to trilling, and it would depend on the character
which is correct. I pronounce it from the front of the mouth but without a
trill, but whatever's natural to you is OK. When it follows a vowel, it's
sounded as well as modifying the vowel (<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">ar</i>
as in <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">car</i>, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">er </i>as in <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Ernest</i>, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">ir </i>as in <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">fear</i>, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">or </i>as in <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">form</i>, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">ur </i>as in <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">cure</i>).<o:p></o:p></span></strong><br />
<strong>
<span style="font-family: Symbol; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">·<span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font: 7pt/normal "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span>rh — a more emphatic version of <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">r </i>(sorry, difficult to describe it).<o:p></o:p></span></strong><br />
<strong>
<span style="font-family: Symbol; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">·<span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font: 7pt/normal "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span>s — as in <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">sing</i>,
never as in <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">rose</i>.<o:p></o:p></span></strong><br />
<strong>
<span style="font-family: Symbol; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">·<span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font: 7pt/normal "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span>sh — as in <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">shout</i>.<o:p></o:p></span></strong><br />
<strong>
<span style="font-family: Symbol; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">·<span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font: 7pt/normal "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span>t — as in <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">take </i>(there
are several different ways of pronouncing <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">t
</i>as well — and <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">d </i>for that matter —
use the one most natural to you).<o:p></o:p></span></strong><br />
<strong>
<span style="font-family: Symbol; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">·<span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font: 7pt/normal "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span>th — as in <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">think </i>(see
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">dh).</i><o:p></o:p></span></strong><br />
<strong>
<span style="font-family: Symbol; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">·<span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font: 7pt/normal "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span>u — as in <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">dispute</i>,
never as in <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">dumb</i>.<o:p></o:p></span></strong><br />
<strong>
<span style="font-family: Symbol; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">·<span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font: 7pt/normal "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span>v — as in <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">vague</i>.<o:p></o:p></span></strong><br />
<strong>
<span style="font-family: Symbol; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">·<span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font: 7pt/normal "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span>w — as in <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">warrior</i>.<o:p></o:p></span></strong><br />
<strong>
<span style="font-family: Symbol; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">·<span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font: 7pt/normal "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span>x — as in <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">axe</i>.
Always. Even at the start of a word.<o:p></o:p></span></strong><br />
<strong>
<span style="font-family: Symbol; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">·<span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font: 7pt/normal "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span>y — as a vowel, like the indeterminate vowel represented by <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">ə</i>. If it starts a word, followed by a
vowel, as in <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">yellow</i>.<o:p></o:p></span></strong><br />
<strong>
<span style="font-family: Symbol; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">·<span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font: 7pt/normal "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span>z — as in <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">zoo</i>.<o:p></o:p></span></strong><br />
<strong>
<span style="font-family: Symbol; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">·<span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font: 7pt/normal "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span>zh — the same as <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">jh</i>.<o:p></o:p></span></strong><br />
<strong>
<span style="font-family: Symbol; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">·<span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font: 7pt/normal "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span>apostrophe — no, whatever you've been told, the
apostrophe isn't just a decoration. When a non-grammatical apostrophe appears
in my names, it represents the glottal stop, which can perhaps be best
described as a cross between a gulp and a hesitation. It's not a standard sound
in English (although it appears in some accents) but in many languages it's as
much a letter as A or B. A good place to hear the glottal stop used is the TV
show <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Stargate SG1</i>, where several
alien names, including the character Teal'c, have one in them when pronounced
correctly.<o:p></o:p></span></strong><br />
<strong>
</strong><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"><strong>* The keen-eyed
among you may have noticed that <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">c </i>and
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">k </i>are identical. In fact, I
arbitrarily use them to represent respectively the unaspirated and aspirated
versions of the sounds. In many languages, aspiration is a vital distinction
between sounds, but in English the two forms are used interchangeably. If you
try pronouncing the words <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">car </i>and <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">scar</i> naturally (not easy when you're
thinking about it) you'll probably find that the <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">c </i>in <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">car </i>is accompanied
by a puff of air, whereas the <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">c </i>in <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">scar</i> isn't. That puff is aspiration. So <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">c </i>should be pronounced without
aspiration and <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">k </i>with.<o:p></o:p></strong></span></div>
<strong>
</strong><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"><strong>Or, if that's
too complicated, just pronounce them both the same. Like Eddison said, as you choose.<o:p></o:p></strong></span></div>
Nyki Blatchleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07707481035530963855noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8924177687424620844.post-85394571706816113652015-04-22T23:58:00.000+01:002015-04-22T23:58:01.096+01:00An Overview of the Dying Earth<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3Rk34ixmrRIr8oEQdURQTRhuwRgeL05pdNrvDeKKwHJo0CnUBlnnPShrvR8PyIUUxEEU4jBqoQZXpRb5IUEg_t9pHDoNw9kKWNnWfGeU5wD0ahFPHhlOjPsKoepR8GfsgrBkiX_rpfpg/s1600/The+Dying+Earth.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3Rk34ixmrRIr8oEQdURQTRhuwRgeL05pdNrvDeKKwHJo0CnUBlnnPShrvR8PyIUUxEEU4jBqoQZXpRb5IUEg_t9pHDoNw9kKWNnWfGeU5wD0ahFPHhlOjPsKoepR8GfsgrBkiX_rpfpg/s1600/The+Dying+Earth.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3Rk34ixmrRIr8oEQdURQTRhuwRgeL05pdNrvDeKKwHJo0CnUBlnnPShrvR8PyIUUxEEU4jBqoQZXpRb5IUEg_t9pHDoNw9kKWNnWfGeU5wD0ahFPHhlOjPsKoepR8GfsgrBkiX_rpfpg/s1600/The+Dying+Earth.jpg" height="320" width="228" /></a><br />
<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"><strong>When I was
fifteen, more years ago than I like to think, I read <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Lord of the Rings </i>and was lost for all time to fantasy. Of course,
I went looking for more books like it, but it wasn't so easy back then. Most
bookshops didn't have a fantasy section (not even combined with SF) and the
internet and Amazon were a few decades away.<o:p></o:p></strong></span><br />
<strong>
</strong><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"><strong>I did start
finding books, though, and one of the first (and the most valuable in my
search) was a Lin Carter anthology called <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">The
Young Magicians</i>. This covered fantasy from roughly the first half of the
20th century, and it introduced me to classic authors ranging from Dunsany to
Howard.<o:p></o:p></strong></span></div>
<strong>
</strong><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"><strong>One of my
favourite stories in the book, though, was <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Turjan
of Miir </i>by Jack Vance, a story I gathered was from a 1950 collection called
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">The Dying Earth</i>. I fairly soon
tracked down, read and loved this book, then discovered a sequel, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">The Eyes of the Overworld </i>(1966), which
I also devoured.<o:p></o:p></strong></span></div>
<strong>
</strong><br />
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"><strong>For a long
time, I thought that was that until, several years ago, I found a copy of a
third book, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Cugel's Saga </i>(1983). More
recently, I discovered there was a fourth volume, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Rhialto the Marvellous</i> (1984). In fact, in searching for this I
picked up an omnibus edition of all four books, which I bought in spite of
already having three of them.<o:p></o:p></strong></span></div>
<strong>
</strong><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"><strong>So, besides
reading <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Rhialto</i>, I've also revisited
the rest of them, and I felt it would be a good time for an overview of this genre-defining
series.<o:p></o:p></strong></span></div>
<strong>
</strong><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"><strong>Jack Vance
wasn't the first author to write in what's commonly referred to as the Dying
Earth genre. Various 19th century authors touched on the topic (including
Byron, in a poem called <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Darkness</i>),
but the most famous example comes in the later chapters of <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">The Time Machine </i>by H. G. Wells. After his encounter with the Eloi
and Morlocks, the Time Traveller carries on to the distant future, watching
terrestrial life gradually dying out as the sun grows red and dim.<o:p></o:p></strong></span></div>
<strong>
</strong><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"><strong>Two 20th
century authors were important precursors of Vance. William Hope Hodgson's <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">The Night Land </i>(1912) is set on Earth
after the sun has gone out, and the surface outside humanity's Last Redoubt is
the habitat of monsters. Clark Ashton Smith's series of short stories set on
the last continent, Zothique, were written in the 1930s and featured, like
Vance's setting, a remote future where science has faded and been replaced by
magic.<o:p></o:p></strong></span></div>
<strong>
</strong><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"><strong>Vance was
certainly influenced by Smith, but his tales have been so influential that he's
regarded as the lynchpin of the Dying Earth genre. Gene Wolfe's <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">The Book of the New Sun </i>(1980-83),
perhaps the best-known later example of the genre, was strongly influenced by
Vance.<o:p></o:p></strong></span></div>
<strong>
</strong><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"><strong>Jack Vance was
born John Holbrook Vance in 1916 in California. He wrote a huge quantity of
fiction, mostly SF and fantasy, but also a number of mystery novels under
various pseudonyms. His first published story was in 1945, but he'd already
written the stories that were to make up <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">The
Dying Earth</i>, which was to be his first publication in book form. In spite
of his huge output, Vance didn't become a full-time writer till the 1970s. He
continued writing, in spite of being blind since the 1980s, and died in 2013 at
the age of 96.<o:p></o:p></strong></span></div>
<strong>
</strong><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"><strong>Vance's Dying
Earth stories are set in the immeasurably distant future, at a time when the
sun has grown red and sluggish and is expected to wink out of existence at any
moment. The time is described as the 21st Aeon (although Vance isn't entirely
consistent about this). We're never told how long an aeon is, but it appears to
be long enough for an ocean to turn into dry land. This seems long enough; but,
at one point, a period in the past is described as "the Nineteenth Aeon of
the Fifty-second Cycle," suggesting that the aeons can be counted in
hundreds, at least.<o:p></o:p></strong></span></div>
<strong>
</strong><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"><strong>By this period,
the planet's last continents are sparsely inhabited by humans, and other
creatures which are somewhat like humans, as well as some intelligent creatures
that are utterly alien. Here and there, records survive of Earth's long, long history:<o:p></o:p></strong></span></div>
<strong>
</strong><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"><strong>We have seen old Thorsingol, and the
Sherrit Empire before it, and Golwan Andra before that and the Forty Kades even
before. We have seen the warlike green-men, and the knowledgeable Pharials and
the Clambs who departed Earth for the stars, as did the Merioneth before them
and the Gray Sorcerers still earlier. We have seen oceans rise and fall, the
mountains crust up, peak and melt in the beat of rain; we have looked on the
sun when it glowed hot and full and yellow…<o:p></o:p></strong></span></i></div>
<strong>
</strong><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhN-4x_XLT6qTmNN71oBZOyFJ4Ir3ayxpRC6XlrstM4MJnnH9RowCBMcOK-6zf7kIfsWITIWRUNNrnTlvHLOKh6KgZQawVWKc1qEHgn07tqtDlgabIrM9EHH3_RoZDfeIo_5UVSF5KoE0g/s1600/Rhialto+the+Marvellous.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhN-4x_XLT6qTmNN71oBZOyFJ4Ir3ayxpRC6XlrstM4MJnnH9RowCBMcOK-6zf7kIfsWITIWRUNNrnTlvHLOKh6KgZQawVWKc1qEHgn07tqtDlgabIrM9EHH3_RoZDfeIo_5UVSF5KoE0g/s1600/Rhialto+the+Marvellous.jpg" height="320" width="193" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"><strong>And that's only
scratching the surface.<o:p></o:p></strong></span></div>
<strong>
</strong><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"><strong>Most of the
stories focus on two countries called Ascolais and Almery, although Vance
doesn't make it entirely clear in what sense these are countries, since there
appears to be no rulers or unity. All the central characters come from these
two lands but often venture further afield, to the Land of the Falling Wall, the
island of Lausicaa, the Shanglestone Strand, and many other places.<o:p></o:p></strong></span></div>
<strong>
</strong><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"><strong>The surviving
humans are largely marking time till the sun goes out, and a sense of ennui
lies over the Dying Earth. Science is long forgotten, and even the magic that's
replaced it is in its dotage. Although there are immensely powerful sorcerers —
some have even created their own worlds to rule — they no longer understand how
to create new magic, only to learn more of the spells the ancient wizards
discovered.<o:p></o:p></strong></span></div>
<strong>
</strong><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"><strong>The original
book comprises six stories, each focusing on a different central character,
although several of them wander into each other's tales. We read of feuding
sorcerers, adventurers, rogues, the creation of artificial life and, finally,
the one person who seems to have no place in the Dying Earth because he's been
born with an insatiable thirst for knowledge.<o:p></o:p></strong></span></div>
<strong>
</strong><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"><strong>The second and
third books are both novels — more or less — focusing on a single main
character, the thief, swindler and adventurer Cugel the Clever. In reality,
they're barely novels. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">The Eyes of the
Overworld </i>is really a sequential series of stories, which was how it was
first published. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Cugel's Saga</i>, which
takes up the story at the exact point where its predecessor finishes, is
extremely episodic, but hangs together a little better as a novel.<o:p></o:p></strong></span></div>
<strong>
</strong><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"><strong>As Cugel moves
from one land and one situation to another, the books have huge casts of
characters, but he dominates them. He bears more than a passing resemblance to
Jurgen, the most famous creation of the great American fantasy writer James
Branch Cabell, who was a clear influence on these stories. Cugel's soubriquet
recalls Jurgen's repeated claim that he's "a monstrous clever
fellow", and both revel in using their wits to make fools of enemies and
to entice ladies into intimacy. Cugel, though, is a somewhat darker character
and, while engaging, has a more unpleasantly ruthless streak than Jurgen.<o:p></o:p></strong></span></div>
<strong>
</strong><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"><strong>The final book,
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Rhialto the Marvellous</i>, consists of
three longer stories focusing on a group of magicians, including the title
character, a vain, conceited wizard who's constantly making enemies of his
colleagues. These stories range further afield, involving time travel — one
takes place largely in the 16th Aeon — and a journey through space.<o:p></o:p></strong></span></div>
<strong>
</strong><br />
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"><strong>Vance's style
succeeds in being at the same time lush and easy to read, in a way that's
reminiscent of Cabell. Like Cabell, too, both his writing and story content are
a heady mixture of romantic adventure, sophisticated irony and low comedy. He's
certainly no minimalist, often taking time to give an entertaining description
of a very minor character. Yet none of this seems to detract from pushing the
plot onwards. It's all part of the story.<o:p></o:p></strong></span></div>
<strong>
</strong><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"><strong>The Dying Earth
stories aren't perfect, and perhaps their most obvious flaw to a modern reader
is their gender imbalance. It's not that there's a dearth of females; it's not
even that many of them aren't good characters in their own right. The problem
is that, overall, they don't show much variety, being mainly either nubile
maidens, formidable matrons or perilous witches. Magic appears to be almost
entirely a male preserve, and the few female magicians shown are always dangerous,
if not downright evil.<o:p></o:p></strong></span></div>
<strong>
</strong><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"><strong>It might be
assumed that this is merely the norm of Vance's generation, if it weren't that
the book with the strongest female characters is the first. It's the only one
where anything is shown from a female point of view, and features two of Vance's
most memorable characters: the twin sisters (in the sense of having been
artificially grown from the same pattern) T'sais and T'sain. T'sain shows
herself courageous, resourceful and loyal, while T'sais heroically battles the
flaw in her making to earn the right to happiness.<o:p></o:p></strong></span></div>
<strong>
</strong><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"><strong>Other females in
this book, such as Elai and Shierl, are more secondary characters but far from
being cyphers. It seems, though, that Vance came to focus more and more on his
male characters as he grew older.<o:p></o:p></strong></span></div>
<strong>
</strong><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"><strong>Nevertheless,
the Dying Earth series overall has few faults, and it's been incredibly
influential in various ways. Most obviously, it's inspired a great many more
recent authors, both those setting stories in the last days of Earth and those who
just took on board the feel of the stories. George R. R. Martin, for instance,
is a great admirer of Vance and the Dying Earth.<o:p></o:p></strong></span></div>
<strong>
</strong><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"><strong>More
specifically, though, it was Vance's magical system that was used as the basis
for the system in D&D. The spells Vance's magicians use — with delightfully
exotic names, like the Excellent Prismatic Spray and the Spell of Forlorn
Encystment — are not only incredibly complex, but also almost alive, and a
magician must commit them to memory each time he expects to need them. So
complex are they, though, that only a few can survive in the memory at any one
time, and they're gone once they've been used. A powerful sorcerer might manage
to have three or four at a time.<o:p></o:p></strong></span></div>
<strong>
</strong><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"><strong>Jack Vance is
gone now, and I've read everything he wrote about the Dying Earth. But not
everything that's been written. A number of other authors, with his blessing,
wrote stories set in this universe, and some of them are out there. In
particular, I recently discovered that an anthology called <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Songs of the Dying Earth </i>was published in 2009, in which many
eminent SF and fantasy authors contributed stories set on the Dying Earth.
Needless to say, it's on my to-buy list.<o:p></o:p></strong></span></div>
<strong>
</strong><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"><strong>And maybe
Vance's estate will allow these tributes and continuations to continue. The
Dying Earth should never be allowed to die.</strong></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"><strong></strong></span> </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"><strong></strong></span> </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"><strong><em>Note: All books illustrated are available are available from Amazon and good bookshops, and are essentials for the shelves of any fantasy reader.<o:p></o:p></em></strong></span></div>
</div>
Nyki Blatchleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07707481035530963855noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8924177687424620844.post-11250154540005560852015-04-09T00:01:00.000+01:002015-04-09T00:01:14.280+01:00The History of the Alphabet<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEho6rg05_cGvcz45nCXPBBogzP_ZjFu7gEVmUiRqMkuNMKa5rzi8UA-nMPfOuZH66oCqXyeBcP1Szyzn4VuEkMW0LOjDrVR8n0STl_2NmdPPdDCOYCEzSx2JkrJPnvBLKFTNKqqkYFuUDM/s1600/alphabet.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEho6rg05_cGvcz45nCXPBBogzP_ZjFu7gEVmUiRqMkuNMKa5rzi8UA-nMPfOuZH66oCqXyeBcP1Szyzn4VuEkMW0LOjDrVR8n0STl_2NmdPPdDCOYCEzSx2JkrJPnvBLKFTNKqqkYFuUDM/s1600/alphabet.jpg" height="266" width="320" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"><strong>When
people are asked about the greatest design achievements of all time, they might
mention anything from the Periodic Table to the Tube Map. Those are certainly
great examples, but no-one ever seems to bring up perhaps the greatest design
in human history: the alphabet. Yet the alphabet is behind everything our
civilisation has achieved in writing, from the works of Shakespeare to the last
text you sent. Any of us who are writers rely entirely on the alphabet.<o:p></o:p></strong></span><br />
<strong>
</strong><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-pagination: none;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"><strong>There
was writing long before the alphabet, and there are still important writing
systems around the world that have no connection to it. Widespread systems
range from the ideographic Chinese characters to the semi-alphabetic Devanagari
in India and beyond <sup>1</sup>, as well as more localised systems, such as
Sequoia's wonderful Cherokee script. Nevertheless, Latin script is by many
orders of magnitude the most common system in the world, while two of the next
four most common (Arabic and Cyrillic) are also descended from the original
alphabet. <o:p></o:p></strong></span></div>
<strong>
</strong><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-pagination: none;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"><strong>The
earliest writing systems were probably ideographic, as Chinese characters still
are. This means that the symbols indicate a concept, rather than a spoken word,
a technique we use occasionally in the West. For example, "2" means exactly the same in every
language, regardless of whether it's pronounced <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">two</i>, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">dos</i>, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">zwei</i> etc.<o:p></o:p></strong></span></div>
<strong>
</strong><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-pagination: none;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"><strong>Chinese
proves that ideographic writing can produce everything from great literature to
great record-keeping, but its drawbacks can be illustrated by the history of
printing. The Chinese didn't take to movable type, as the Europeans did, even
though they had printing long before Europe. It wasn't that they hadn't come up
with the idea of movable type, but it was impractical for the simple reason
that printers would have needed to have been surrounded by thousands of
different characters.<o:p></o:p></strong></span></div>
<strong>
</strong><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-pagination: none;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"><strong>Many
early writing systems, on the other hand, used syllabic scripts. This means,
for instance, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">ba, be, bi, bo, bu </i>and <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">by </i>would each be represented by a
separate symbol, and words word be written simply with two or three of these. It
was more straightforward than ideograms, but still required a hundred or more
symbols to be learnt before you could read or write it.<o:p></o:p></strong></span></div>
<strong>
</strong><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-pagination: none;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"><strong>No-one
knows exactly who came up with the alphabet <sup>2</sup>, nor exactly when, but
it seems to have been invented by the Semitic <sup>3</sup> peoples of late Bronze-Age
Canaan — roughly what's now Israel, Palestine and Lebanon. One hypothesis suggests
that it was begun by a Semitic tribe in Egypt, simplifying the hieroglyphic
system. Inevitably, this has prompted speculation that Moses was responsible,
but that's a pretty long shot. Even if the breakthrough did happen in Egypt, there
were many Semitic tribes living there during the relevant period.<o:p></o:p></strong></span></div>
<strong>
</strong><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"><strong>Whatever
its exact origins, the invention transformed writing in Canaan and beyond. The
decision to reduce the symbols so that only those for each consonant were used had
the advantage that there were now only a couple of dozen to learn, making
reading and writing easier for non-specialists to master.<o:p></o:p></strong></span></div>
<strong>
</strong><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-pagination: none;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"><strong>It
came at a price, though. The Canaanite alphabet, whose closest modern
descendent is the Hebrew system, didn't have any way of indicating which vowels
to include in the words. If English were written this way, it would be impossible
to tell whether <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">bd </i>meant <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">bad, bed </i>or <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">bud </i>— or, for that matter, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">bide
</i>or <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">abode</i>. All reading would be
like the final round of <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Only Connect</i>.
<sup>4<o:p></o:p></sup></strong></span></div>
<strong>
</strong><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-pagination: none;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"><strong>Still,
the plusses must have outweighed the minuses, because the alphabet not only
thrived but spread, most importantly in two directions. For one thing, it eventually
formed the basis of the Arabic script, which is now one of the most widespread
writing systems in the world. Arabic script developed out of the system used by
the Nabataeans, a northern Arabian culture that flourished in what's now Jordan
and the surrounding areas — their most important centre was Petra, the
"rose-red city, half as old as time". The Nabataeans borrowed the
alphabet from Syria, where it had spread from Canaan, and passed it on to the
Arabian Peninsula.<o:p></o:p></strong></span></div>
<strong>
</strong><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-pagination: none;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"><strong>More
relevantly to the English-speaking world, the alphabet also spread west. The
seafaring Canaanites from ports like Tyre and Sidon were known as Phoenicians —
from the Greek word for <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">purple</i>,
because their speciality was the insanely expensive purple dye everyone wanted
— and they settled and traded all over the Mediterranean and beyond.<o:p></o:p></strong></span></div>
<strong>
</strong><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-pagination: none;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"><strong>Somewhere
around 800 BC, the Greeks encountered the Phoenician alphabet. The original
Greek syllabic script (Linear B) had been lost in the dark age that followed
the fall of the Palaces, and the Greeks took up this new idea with enthusiasm.
However, aware of its shortcomings, they came up with the crucial idea of
turning some of the letters they didn't need into vowels.<o:p></o:p></strong></span></div>
<strong>
</strong><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-pagination: none;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"><strong>The
original Greek alphabet wasn't quite the one used today. Over the next couple
of centuries, they dropped a few letters and added others. One of the
best-known Greek letters, omega, was a late addition, which is why it comes
last. Before that process started, though, the great Italian civilisation of
the Etruscans adopted the primitive Greek alphabet, and through them it came to
a small city-state called Rome.<o:p></o:p></strong></span></div>
<strong>
</strong><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-pagination: none;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"><strong>The
Roman alphabet preserved letters lost in later Greek, such as F and Q, but it
had its own problems. The Etruscans hadn't needed a G (originally the third
letter, as in the Greek gamma) and took to pronouncing it the same as K,
creating the modern C/K duplication. The Romans, however, did need a G and so converted
the seventh letter, properly the Z, into their G.<o:p></o:p></strong></span></div>
<strong>
</strong><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-pagination: none;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"><strong>The
Roman alphabet expanded as they added letters needed to write foreign words.
The Z was reinstated, but put at the end, and the Emperor Claudius (of
"I" fame) invented the letter Y — which, by the way, is really a
vowel occasionally pronounced as a consonant, not the other way round, whatever
your teachers might have told you.<o:p></o:p></strong></span></div>
<strong>
</strong><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-pagination: none;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"><strong>As
the Roman Empire spread, so did both the Greek and Roman versions of the
alphabet, Greek spawning various other forms, such as the Armenian and possibly
Georgian scripts. When it was necessary to translate the Bible for the newly
converted Slavs, Saints Cyril and Methodius (allegedly) came up with a new
alphabet, which combined Greek letters with other symbols for Slavic sounds the
Greek alphabet didn't cover. There's been considerable scholarly debate over
whether these were derived from one or more other writing system, or whether
they were invented. Whichever is true, varieties of the Cyrillic alphabet are
now used throughout much of eastern Europe and a good deal of Asia, including most
of the languages from the former Soviet Union.<o:p></o:p></strong></span></div>
<strong>
</strong><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-pagination: none;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"><strong>Many
of the letters have been written in several different ways even by the same
people, and different forms were passed on as the alphabet spread. Both the
Greek and Cyrillic versions include a number of "false friends", such
as perhaps the most famous Cyrillic acronym, CCCP. This is the Russian name for
the old USSR, but in fact C is the Cyrillic letter for S (derived from a form
sometimes used in early Greek) and P is the R in both alphabets. CCCP should
actually be pronounced SSSR.<o:p></o:p></strong></span></div>
<strong>
</strong><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-pagination: none;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"><strong>Meanwhile,
the Roman alphabet spread throughout western and central Europe, though like
Cyrillic it was adapted to the needs of different languages. Old and Middle
English, for instance, had four letters that we don't use now, including the þ,
representing <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">th</i>. This was later often
written lazily as <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">y </i>— hence all those
"Ye Olde Tea Shoppes".<o:p></o:p></strong></span></div>
<strong>
</strong><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-pagination: none;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"><strong>On
the other hand, there were modern letters missing. Until the 17th century, I/J
and U/V were each considered no more than different ways of writing the same
letter. <sup>5</sup> The Romans had pronounced the consonant form of U/V like
our W, but this gradually changed, both in Church Latin and the vernacular
languages, to V as in Victor, so the W was invented to replace it.<o:p></o:p></strong></span></div>
<strong>
</strong><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-pagination: none;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"><strong>By
the 18th century, the 26-letter alphabet we know now was in place, although
some languages (in Scandinavia, for instance) still use extra letters, and
different descendants of the original Semitic alphabet are used all over the
world. It may change again, of course, if it needs to. Just like all those
other design classics — including the Periodic Table and the Tube Map — it has adaptability
built in to accommodate change. One thing is certain, though — there's some
long-dead Canaanite who deserves to be picking up a hell of a lot of awards.<o:p></o:p></strong></span></div>
<strong>
</strong><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-pagination: none;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"><o:p><strong> </strong></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-pagination: none;">
<strong><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><sup><span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;">1</span></sup></i><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;">
One theory suggests that Devanagari is ultimately descended from the Semitic alphabet,
while another insists that it's indigenous to India. The jury's out.<o:p></o:p></span></i></strong></div>
<strong>
</strong><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-pagination: none;">
<strong><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><sup><span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;">2</span></sup></i><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;">
Technically, scholars of writing systems classify the Semitic system as an
abjad, rather than an alphabet, since it doesn't use vowels. However, as we'll
see, there's a direct lineal descent to the alphabet we use today.<o:p></o:p></span></i></strong></div>
<strong>
</strong><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-pagination: none;">
<strong><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><sup><span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;">3 </span></sup></i><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;">Semitic
is usually used today as synonymous with Jewish, but it actually refers to a
group of languages (and, to a lesser extent, the peoples who've spoken them)
which includes Hebrew, Aramaic, Assyrian, Babylonian, Arabic, the main
languages of Ethiopia, and even Maltese.<o:p></o:p></span></i></strong></div>
<strong>
</strong><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-pagination: none;">
<strong><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><sup><span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;">4</span></sup></i><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;">
For anyone not familiar with this fine quiz show, the final round involves two
teams racing to be the first to recognise phrases from the consonants only.<o:p></o:p></span></i></strong></div>
<strong>
</strong><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-pagination: none;">
<strong><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><sup><span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;">5</span></sup></i><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;">
Which makes a nonsense of the "Name of God" scene in </span></i><span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;">Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">I and J were the same letter in Latin, as
they would have been when the trap in the film was first set.</i></span></strong></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-pagination: none;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"><em><strong></strong></em></span> </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-pagination: none;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"><strong>Image courtesy of <span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;"><a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/mag3737/4169007173/in/set-72157627573355746" target="_blank">Tom Magllery</a>, Creative Commons licence</span></strong></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-pagination: none;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;"><strong></strong></span></span> </div>
Nyki Blatchleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07707481035530963855noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8924177687424620844.post-28097892207022711942015-04-04T01:22:00.000+01:002015-04-04T01:22:30.356+01:00We Were Badass Too, Back in the Day<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"><strong>Grimdark is
definitely flavour of the month (or the decade) in fantasy. Wherever you look,
fantasy worlds are populated by characters who range from cynical jerks to
psychopaths — and those are the good guys. In the words of a section-header
quote from Joe Abercrombie's <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">The Blade
Itself</i>, it's "a battle not between good and bad, but between bad and
worse".<o:p></o:p></strong></span><br />
<strong>
</strong><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"><strong>I've read and
enjoyed both Abercrombie and Peter V. Brett, and I intend to read more Grimdark,
but I do have a couple of quibbles with their attitude. For one thing, I don't
see that having everyone a cynical bastard who cares nothing for others is any
more "realistic" (as they claim) than having noble, virtuous heroes.
For me, realism is a broad range of characters, including some at least trying
to do the right thing.<o:p></o:p></strong></span></div>
<strong>
</strong><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"><strong>For another,
like most "new waves", they seem to be under the impression that
no-one's done this before, and every work of fantasy before Martin introduced his
"knights who say fuck a lot" uniformly offered us the variety of
knights decked out in shining armour.<o:p></o:p></strong></span></div>
<strong>
</strong><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"><strong>While I'm not
saying there was necessarily anything quite as bleak as <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Prince of Thorns</i>, or "sympathetic" characters working as
torturers like Glokta, it certainly wasn't all honour and virtue. Below,
I've picked out a few dark heroes or rogue heroes from classic fantasy.<o:p></o:p></strong></span></div>
<strong>
</strong><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjR3DcuoOn64zdw-IB0jX_sJu7OKF1EbDIx1-PSOdur0YtegtpkDzDzJr6Q-IFF7JYfO34TmtJCNIjwQoGhlXxEw4gR-G9Y4BXSSp9abbsv86aseaOSDYa9Dpz8jlgHQPb2N_jmFYYDSe4/s1600/Vathek.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjR3DcuoOn64zdw-IB0jX_sJu7OKF1EbDIx1-PSOdur0YtegtpkDzDzJr6Q-IFF7JYfO34TmtJCNIjwQoGhlXxEw4gR-G9Y4BXSSp9abbsv86aseaOSDYa9Dpz8jlgHQPb2N_jmFYYDSe4/s1600/Vathek.jpg" height="200" width="140" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"><strong><span style="font-size: large;">Vathek</span> —
Arguably* the first fantasy novel in the modern sense was <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Vathek </i>by William Beckford (1786), in which case the genre starts
with a hero as dark as midnight. Set in an Arabian Nights version of the classical
Islamic Empire, it tells the tale of the Caliph Vathek (very loosely based on
the historical Al-Wathiq, 842-847, grandson of Harun al-Rashid) who practices
black magic and sacrifices children to a demon in order to gain immense
supernatural powers. He eventually gets what's coming to him, but not before
he's corrupted a naïve young girl into sharing his quest and his punishment.</strong></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"><strong><o:p></o:p></strong></span> </div>
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<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"><strong><span style="font-size: large;">Jurgen</span> — The
eponymous hero of James Branch Cabell's best-known novel (1919) isn't
particularly dark, but he's something of a rogue, living on his wits and
abandoning without regret his succession of female conquests when he gets tired
of them. Ostensibly on a quest to find and recover his kidnapped wife —
kidnapped, he thinks, by the Devil, although it turns out not to be quite that
simple — he makes little effort to advance his quest, preferring instead to
have fun with a succession of beautiful women. Jurgen has a very inflated idea
of his own cleverness and frequently demonstrates it by outwitting his
opponents — though this tactic doesn't always succeed, and once results in him
being consigned to Hell. Even here, though, he outwitted "Grandfather
Satan" and finds a way out.<o:p></o:p></strong></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"><strong><span style="font-size: large;">Fafhrd &
the Gray Mouser</span> — One of the three key series of classic sword & sorcery
(written by the man who coined the phrase) began in 1939 when Fritz Leiber's
story <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Two Sought Adventure </i>(later
retitled <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">The Jewels in the Forest</i>)
introduced the giant barbarian Fafhrd and the diminutive, sophisticated thief
and swordsman the Gray Mouser. Like Jurgen, they're rogues more than dark
heroes, but are willing to sell their swords to anyone who pays well enough.
Though they're usually on the better side of any conflict, they're not
generally motivated by altruism. Leiber continued working on the series, on and
off, until 1988, four years before his death. Fafhrd and the Mouser grow
noticeably older in the course of the stories, though their characters don't
greatly change.<o:p></o:p></strong></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"><strong><span style="font-size: large;">Skafloc</span> —
"The other" fantasy novel about elves published in 1954 was <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">The Broken Sword </i>by Poul Anderson, a
bloodthirsty saga combining the Viking age and Norse mythology. Skafloc is a
mortal taken as a changeling by the Elf-King and raised as an elven warrior.
Anderson's elves, though beautiful and magical, are a far cry from their noble namesakes
of Middle Earth. They're no-holds-barred warriors with no conscience whatsoever,
and Skafloc, in his personal feud against the trolls, arguably commits more atrocities
than his foes with his demonic Black Sword that must drink blood before it's
sheathed. He also has an affair with his sister and makes her pregnant —
though, in his defence, neither is aware of who the other is.<o:p></o:p></strong></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"><strong><span style="font-size: large;">Túrin Turambar</span>
— Hang on, Tolkien appearing in a list of dark heroes? Well, Túrin, from the <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Silmarillion</i>, is certainly his darkest,
and actually has striking similarities with Skafloc. There's no possibility of either
influencing the other — Tolkien wrote his first version of Túrin's story in
1917, but nothing was published till 1977 — but they were drawing on the same
ancient influences, particularly the Finnish <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Kalevala</i> and the Norse <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Volsunga
Saga</i>. Like Skafloc, Túrin is a grim warrior with a Black Sword that has a
mind of its own, especially when it comes to drinking the blood of his friends,
as well as having an unwitting affair with his sister. Túrin perhaps has a
little more sense of morality than Skafloc, but he's not always particular
about who he kills. The fullest version of Túrin's story, illustrated here, was <em>The Children of H</em></strong><strong><em>úrin</em> (2007). </strong></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"><strong><span style="font-size: large;">Elric</span> —
Completing a trio of Black Sword wielders, Michael Moorcock's Elric stories are
another of the essential S&S series (the third being, of course, Conan).
Moorcock's acknowledged his indebtedness to <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">The
Broken Sword </i>in creating his tortured albino prince and the demon sword
Stormbringer. Aside from physical colouring, Elric's about as dark as they get.
A vassal of Arioch, a lord of Hell, his first action in print (1961) was to
betray his people by leading enemies to sack his home city — and then make his
escape, leaving his allies to perish. Stormbringer, in common with other Black
Swords, likes nothing better than to drink the blood of those its user loves,
and Elric, though against his will, ends up slaughtering pretty much everyone
close to him.<o:p></o:p></strong></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"><strong><span style="font-size: large;">Cugel</span> — Many of
the protagonists in Jack Vance's <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Dying
Earth </i>series — even the nice ones — display dubious morality, and that's
certainly true of the most ubiquitous of them. Thief and swindler Cugel the
Clever is the hero of both <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">The Eyes of
the Overworld </i>(1966) and <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Cugel's Saga
</i>(1983), and one of the tricksiest. Vance is said to have been strongly
influenced by Cabell, and there's a distinct similarity between Cugel and
Jurgen — even Cugel's favourite epithet reflects Jurgen's repeated assertion
that he's "a monstrous clever fellow". Like Jurgen, many of Cugel's
deceits are to seduce women, but with much darker overtones — in one or two
cases, his conquests are closer to "seduction with a capital R".
Similarly, he ruins lives for his own advantage, and once actually kills an
innocent creature merely for playing a childish prank. Cugel is fascinating,
but definitely not a nice person.<o:p></o:p></strong></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"><strong><span style="font-size: large;">Kane</span> — Possibly
the least-known of the dark heroes listed here, Karl Edward Wagner's Kane
(original publications 1973-1985) is perhaps one of the most intriguing (and,
on a personal note, an important influence on my character the Traveller,
though partly by contrast). Literally meant as the biblical Cain, wandering through
prediluvian civilisations, Kane is an immortal swordsman and sorcerer who's
sometimes the hero of his stories and sometimes the villain. Weary of his
undying existence, he has little time to spare for conventional morality and
kills without conscience. He's not entirely immune to pity, but tends to fight
destruction with destruction. On one occasion, disgusted with a terrible siege causing
untold suffering, he ends the war and brings a kind of peace by opening the
gates of the city he's supposed to be defending and allows it to finish in a
bloodbath.<o:p></o:p></strong></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"><strong>These are just
a few examples of the more obvious dark heroes from classic fantasy, but others
come in all shades of grey. The thief as hero goes back as far as Lord Dunsany
(and a lot further if you include traditional legend); E. R. Eddison's
characters, on both sides, are schemers who'd make Machiavelli proud; and
classic S&S was full of heroes, including Conan, who were mainly out for
what they could get, even if they ended up protecting the world from evil. Even
the genuine heroes often needed their armour polished before it was shining,
like Simon Tregarth, hero of Andre Norton's <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Witch
World</i>, a disgraced soldier who finds his salvation in a new world.<o:p></o:p></strong></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"><strong>And yes, I
admit that I do love the occasional Aragorn in among all this. Humanity is a complex
mixture of every shade from heroic to despicable, and it all deserves to come
out to play in fantasy. Eventually, I suspect, the pendulum will swing away
from Grimdark to a more middle ground. In the meantime, excellent though many
of its works are, they're really just riffing rather heavily on a theme that's
as old as fantasy.<o:p></o:p></strong></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"><o:p><strong></strong></o:p></span> </div>
<strong>
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;">* Or arguably not. It isn't important.<o:p></o:p></span></i></strong><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"><o:p><strong> Note: All book covers are copyright by the individual artists or publishers, and are reproduced on the principle of "fair use" as subjects of this article.</strong></o:p></span></div>
Nyki Blatchleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07707481035530963855noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8924177687424620844.post-75156232742986358022015-03-22T23:48:00.000+00:002015-03-22T23:49:59.889+00:00Review of Steeleye Span, Harlow Playhouse 11th March 2015<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"><strong>There are three
things that can happen when a longstanding band is largely replaced by newer
members. Firstly, the strengths and tastes of the new people can turn it into
an almost completely different band, for good or ill. Secondly, they can end up
coming over as a tribute band to themselves. Thirdly, the new members can
settle in, bringing new ideas but not overwhelming the band's identity.<o:p></o:p></strong></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"><strong>I was delighted
to find that <a href="http://steeleyespan.org.uk/" target="_blank">Steeleye Span</a>, with only two members left from their classic
Seventies line-up, are very much of the third kind.<o:p></o:p></strong></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"><strong>I loved
Steeleye back in the Seventies, and I've continued to enjoy their classic
albums; but, unlike fellow folk-rockers Fairport Convention, I'd somehow lost
track of what they've been doing since, until I chanced on and fell in love with
their most recent album, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Wintersmith</i>
(<a href="http://nyki-blatchley.blogspot.co.uk/2014/07/review-of-wintersmith-by-steeleye-span.html" target="_blank">reviewed here last year</a>).<o:p></o:p></strong></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"><strong>So, when I
found they were playing on the 11th March at the <a href="http://www.playhouseharlow.com/" target="_blank">Playhouse in Harlow</a>, only a
few miles away, I went to see them for the first time in many years.<o:p></o:p></strong></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"><strong>They played a
mixture of classics from the Seventies — some heavily reinvented — and a
substantial number of tracks from <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Wintersmith</i>.
The latter makes the evening bitter-sweet in retrospect. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Wintersmith </i>was a collaboration with lifelong fan Sir Terry
Pratchett, and it was just the next day that he died.<o:p></o:p></strong></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"><strong>Nevertheless,
on the night the performance was electrifying and uplifting. The two remaining
members from the Seventies are singer Maddy Prior and bassist Rick Kemp, and
neither have lost any of their power. Maddy's singing is, if anything, stronger
than it used to be, even if she no longer hits those notes only your dog can
hear. She still dances to the instrumentals, too — rather more stately dancing
than she used to do, but impressive for someone in her late 60s.<o:p></o:p></strong></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"><strong>Rick is as steady
and inventive as ever on the bass, and he's become an effective lead singer,
taking nearly a third of the songs. The other half of the rhythm section,
drummer Liam Genockey, while relatively a "new boy", has actually
spent longer behind the kit for Steeleye than the classic drummer Nigel Pegrum,
and he plays a big part in keeping the band rocking.<o:p></o:p></strong></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"><strong>Pete Zorn is
newish to Steeleye Span but not to the British folk-rock scene (in spite of
being American). His role is perhaps the least defined of the current line-up,
but it reminds me a little of Tim Hart's multi-instrumental role in the
Seventies, although he plays a different set of instruments — guitar, dulcimer,
saxes and flute — and sings no leads. The saxes, in particular, give the band's
sound a new dimension.<o:p></o:p></strong></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"><strong>The two newest
members both have extremely hard acts to follow, but succeed triumphantly.
Julian Littman makes light work of being the successor, both as guitarist and
vocalist, to Martin Carthy, Bob Johnson and Ken Nicol, while fiddler Jessie May
Smart fills Peter Knight's seven-league boots as if they were made for her.
Both clearly understand and respect Steeleye's history but are going to do
things their own way. On the evidence of the Harlow gig, they've found the
perfect balance I referred to at the beginning of this review.<o:p></o:p></strong></span></div>
<strong>
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<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"><strong>The band played
the whole evening, with no support act, and rattled through their two sets with
a mix of polish and relaxed banter. They included around half of <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Wintersmith</i>, which sounded as good as
(or better than) on the album, and a mixture of light-hearted songs, such as <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">One Misty Moisty Morning </i>and <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Saucy Sailor</i>, with the dark,
bloodthirsty ballads Bob Johnson used to initiate, such as <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Long Lankin</i>, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">King Henry </i>and
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Edward</i>. And they finished the first
set with what Maddy called "that song" — their 1975 #5 hit <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">All Around My Hat</i>, with the audience
yelling back the chorus.<o:p></o:p></strong></span></div>
<strong>
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<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"><strong>It wasn't just
crowd-pleasing, though. Steeleye have always had a habit of reinventing their
songs — like the reggae reinterpretation of <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Spotted
Cow </i>in the Seventies — and some of the classics had a different sound. Most
of all, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Boys of Bedlam</i> from their
second album — the dark, eerie track Terry Pratchett cited as first hooking him
on Steeleye Span — appeared in an excellently rocked-up version with a rapped
interlude about being insane.<o:p></o:p></strong></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"><strong>Steeleye Span
have been around for forty-five years now, and don't show signs of running out
of steam any time soon. They have energy that would do credit to a band half
their age, and musicianship that would do credit to any band.<o:p></o:p></strong></span></div>
<strong>
</strong><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"><strong>I'll be excited
to see where the new members take them. Julian already contributes to the
creation as well as the performance, with several songs on <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Wintersmith </i>— one of which, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">The
Summer Lady</i>, has shades of Fairport Convention's Chris Leslie (in general
sound, not in a derivative sense) — and he seems to handle a wide range of
material with ease.<o:p></o:p></strong></span></div>
<strong>
</strong><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"><strong>Jessie only had
one fiddle instrumental this time, though her playing is a significant part of
the overall sound, and I'm looking forward to hearing her come more to the
fore, as Peter Knight did.<o:p></o:p></strong></span></div>
<strong>
</strong><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"><strong>I'll certainly
be watching out both for their next album and their next tour.<o:p></o:p></strong></span></div>
<span id="goog_1901267385"></span><span id="goog_1901267386"></span><br />Nyki Blatchleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07707481035530963855noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8924177687424620844.post-84925519863651687792015-03-10T21:30:00.000+00:002015-03-10T21:30:05.394+00:00What Is Civilisation?<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiC8RA3XT7tkxtpWgbcjda7tWmdO-nf_LG7znB2wmaZf_QaNjqXHY6pRmp4ptBRsCCFDZYiH3Su9Dg0_86lUqwZrir0MfyD3x0QH6EA4ZWImpVJItc23p4Lbi9EJ8e4b-nRD6T4vYFL4Uo/s1600/Plato's_Academy_mosaic_from_Pompeii.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiC8RA3XT7tkxtpWgbcjda7tWmdO-nf_LG7znB2wmaZf_QaNjqXHY6pRmp4ptBRsCCFDZYiH3Su9Dg0_86lUqwZrir0MfyD3x0QH6EA4ZWImpVJItc23p4Lbi9EJ8e4b-nRD6T4vYFL4Uo/s1600/Plato's_Academy_mosaic_from_Pompeii.jpg" height="320" width="317" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"><strong>If
you write secondary world fantasy, the chances are that you'll be creating
civilisations for your stories. It's possible, of course, to write exclusively
about nomadic hunter-gatherers, but most fantasy involves civilised nations and
cities.<o:p></o:p></strong></span><br />
<strong>
</strong><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-pagination: none;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"><strong>So
what is civilisation? We all know it when we see it — or do we? Most of us (and
this certainly includes me) talk about customs and behaviour we approve of as
"civilised" and those we disapprove of as "uncivilised".
It's even possible, the way the word's generally used, to argue that those
nomadic hunter-gatherers might be more "civilised" than us.<o:p></o:p></strong></span></div>
<strong>
</strong><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-pagination: none;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"><strong>That's
not what the word means, though. It's nothing to do with how a society treats
its people, whether it's spiritually aligned with its environment, or even
whether people are polite to one another. Fundamentally, a civilisation is a
society that has cities.<o:p></o:p></strong></span></div>
<strong>
</strong><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-pagination: none;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"><strong>It's
a lot more complex than that, of course. Perhaps the best way to define what
civilisation is would be to define what factors cause its development.<o:p></o:p></strong></span></div>
<strong>
</strong><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-pagination: none;">
<span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="color: #2e74b5;"><span style="font-family: Calibri Light;"><strong>Food Surplus &
Specialisation<o:p></o:p></strong></span></span></span></div>
<strong>
</strong><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-pagination: none;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"><strong>The
first stage to a civilisation developing is, quite simply, that a society
produces more food than it needs. It's simple, when you think about it. If it
takes every man, woman and child's work simply to prevent the community from
starving, that's all they're going to do. They'll get other things done in what
little spare time they have, whether that's making clothes or repairing tools,
and they may even have just enough energy left to make music or tell tales in
the evening, but no more.<o:p></o:p></strong></span></div>
<strong>
</strong><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-pagination: none;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"><strong>If
there's a food surplus, though, everything's different. The person who's best
at mending tools will start mending everyone's tools, and they'll have enough
spare food to give to this person in return. The same for the person who's best
at making clothes. Then again, if you have more food than you need for now,
you'll need somewhere to keep it, and specialists will start making pots and
other containers.<o:p></o:p></strong></span></div>
<strong>
</strong><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-pagination: none;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"><strong>Before
you know it, you'll be realising there are all kinds of other services you
don't know how you lived without. Perhaps, eventually, you might even start
giving someone food so they can concentrate on making the music or telling the
stories.<o:p></o:p></strong></span></div>
<strong>
</strong><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-pagination: none;">
<span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="color: #2e74b5;"><span style="font-family: Calibri Light;"><strong>Merchants and Traders<o:p></o:p></strong></span></span></span></div>
<strong>
</strong><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-pagination: none;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"><strong>So
you've started swapping your spare food for services your neighbours can offer,
but you still have some left. What else can you do with it?<o:p></o:p></strong></span></div>
<strong>
</strong><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-pagination: none;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"><strong>Well,
the chances are your area won't produce everything you could possibly want.
Perhaps another region has different food you'd like to try. Perhaps it
produces some material that makes better clothes. Perhaps it's a little in
advance of you and has wonderful manufactured goods to sell.<o:p></o:p></strong></span></div>
<strong>
</strong><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-pagination: none;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"><strong>Trade
seems to go back a very long way — there's evidence of it in Palaeolithic
times, long before civilisation — but certainly the food surplus and the growth
of specialisation gives it a new impetus. Before long, you're relying on all
kinds of imported products, and producing many other goods besides food to
export.<o:p></o:p></strong></span></div>
<strong>
</strong><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-pagination: none;">
<span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="color: #2e74b5;"><span style="font-family: Calibri Light;"><strong>Towns and Organisation<o:p></o:p></strong></span></span></span></div>
<strong>
</strong><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-pagination: none;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"><strong>It's
all a bit of a mess, though. Specialist craftworkers are scattered through
countless villages; merchants have to make long journeys just to gather up
their merchandise, and outside traders have to do the same to find buyers.<o:p></o:p></strong></span></div>
<strong>
</strong><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-pagination: none;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"><strong>Sooner
or later, centres begin to grow up. These may be the most prosperous villages,
and the specialists will gradually gather there, while these places can
conveniently act as trading centres, with produce brought in and merchants
doing their deals in a fixed place.<o:p></o:p></strong></span></div>
<strong>
</strong><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPWBbYYIhw9Y7zzEMtN0rN1oTx1yY51f9AOdbG3kD5Om-QbfJ_oqXKdJWXaG8CHwE6OWuAhQGQnfRgVN0-D0KocDgIg0t_VzgURZAljVe17N3reixDSlzYQa4sc_lxHw_xw0whK7apYxM/s1600/Ghanghro_location.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPWBbYYIhw9Y7zzEMtN0rN1oTx1yY51f9AOdbG3kD5Om-QbfJ_oqXKdJWXaG8CHwE6OWuAhQGQnfRgVN0-D0KocDgIg0t_VzgURZAljVe17N3reixDSlzYQa4sc_lxHw_xw0whK7apYxM/s1600/Ghanghro_location.jpg" height="277" width="400" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-pagination: none;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"><strong>Eventually,
these growing towns will cease to take part at all in food production, and must
rely on being fed by the villages that still do produce the food. This takes
organisation, as does having such a large number of people living in close
proximity, not to mention the foreigners coming in to exchange goods. Someone
has to run all this, and usually this results in the emergence of a king and
the people he relies on for support. Not always, though: for instance, some
ancient cities — such as <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Mohenjo-daro" target="_blank">Mohenjo-daro</a> on the Indus (above) — seem to have been ruled by
merchant oligarchies.<o:p></o:p></strong></span></div>
<strong>
</strong><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-pagination: none;">
<span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="color: #2e74b5;"><span style="font-family: Calibri Light;"><strong>Going to War<o:p></o:p></strong></span></span></span></div>
<strong>
</strong><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-pagination: none;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"><strong>Warfare,
in a very general sense, may predate civilisation, and it's possible its
motivation could have been as a substitute for the Palaeolithic tribal hunts,
which had become impractical when large prey like the mammoth died out. War
certainly gives the same opportunities — communal strategy, action and comradeship,
together with the chance for young men to show individual feats of skill and
courage.<o:p></o:p></strong></span></div>
<strong>
</strong><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-pagination: none;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"><strong>Early
warfare, though, was probably small-scale raiding, and it took organised
civilisation to initiate wars of conquest or ideology. In many cases, the
ruling classes would be specialists in war, although it doesn't seem to have
been a universal practice. Some civilisations — like Mohenjo-daro again — seem
to have relied on commercial influence rather than force of arms, while there's
evidence of others, such as the <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Olmec" target="_blank">Olmec</a>, using ritual games rather than war to
settle disputes.<o:p></o:p></strong></span></div>
<strong>
</strong><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-pagination: none;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"><strong>Still,
the growth of warfare is usually part of the growth of a civilisation. Whether
it relied on a specialist military class, or whether the citizen body was
militarised, the city or kingdom would have prepared for war.<o:p></o:p></strong></span></div>
<strong>
</strong><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-pagination: none;">
<span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="color: #2e74b5;"><span style="font-family: Calibri Light;"><strong>Religion, Ritual and
Monuments<o:p></o:p></strong></span></span></span></div>
<strong>
</strong><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-pagination: none;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"><strong>A
fundamental requirement of any stable society is that most of its members must
get something out of it. Not everyone, necessarily — if it's a slave-based
economy, for instance — but if the majority of the population don't feel
invested in the system, it's unlikely to last.<o:p></o:p></strong></span></div>
<strong>
</strong><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-pagination: none;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"><strong>This
can often be achieved through religious rituals. Like war, religion is older
than civilisation, but it seems to have been when it was brought into organised
cities that it developed codes and hierarchies. Where before you might have
made a personal offering to the guardian spirits of a place, you now took part
in communal ceremonies that both affirmed that you were part of something
greater and taught you what you place was in that greater whole.<o:p></o:p></strong></span></div>
<strong>
</strong><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-pagination: none;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"><strong>Not
all communal rituals are overtly religious, although often religion lies behind
them. The Athenian theatre was a crucial ritual to bring the city together, and
a whole range of sports have been important in forging a sense of unity and
cultural identity. As they still are, of course.<o:p></o:p></strong></span></div>
<strong>
</strong><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWFB_dhq8aV28Ha7ZD1Cjt_PAfOCfD1EccE7iDcS3PdO8tV3Tku-5plwTv8J9J6MHQUL0Pnq5fCrUkOR4xlb8NBHRpVY3rl94Ka5vo3NT-_C0ZIPZk4Yi3xk5wu6voXyEqdmD-YJ9bKrc/s1600/Stonehenge_on_27_01_08.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWFB_dhq8aV28Ha7ZD1Cjt_PAfOCfD1EccE7iDcS3PdO8tV3Tku-5plwTv8J9J6MHQUL0Pnq5fCrUkOR4xlb8NBHRpVY3rl94Ka5vo3NT-_C0ZIPZk4Yi3xk5wu6voXyEqdmD-YJ9bKrc/s1600/Stonehenge_on_27_01_08.jpg" height="300" width="400" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-pagination: none;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"><strong>Monuments
tend to fulfil the same kind of need, whether they're religious or political in
nature (or both, of course). The real cultural of significance of the great
monuments, from Stonehenge (left) to the Pyramids, is that they'd be impossible
without a massive level of organisation. It's not only the logistics, but also
the ability to take vast numbers of workers — slave or free — out of food
production and feed them while they're building.<o:p></o:p></strong></span></div>
<strong>
</strong><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-pagination: none;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"><strong>The
size and permanence of many of these monuments may be a statement by rulers or
priests, but they're also a source of national pride, a statement by the whole
civilisation of their importance.<o:p></o:p></strong></span></div>
<strong>
</strong><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-pagination: none;">
<span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="color: #2e74b5;"><span style="font-family: Calibri Light;"><strong>The Rise and Fall of
Civilisation<o:p></o:p></strong></span></span></span></div>
<strong>
</strong><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-pagination: none;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"><strong>Most
of us think of history in chunks. We learn that the "end of the Roman
period" was 476 AD (or 410 in Britain) and that mean that Roman
civilisation vanished and was replaced by something unrelated. And it can seem
even more like that when we have only archaeological snapshots here and there,
as in the pre-Columbian Americas, or the early Middle East.<o:p></o:p></strong></span></div>
<strong>
</strong><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-pagination: none;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"><strong>Now,
I'm not saying that civilisations <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">never </i>disappear
completely, but what usually happens is that they go into a decline and then
mutate into something different. A civilisation, as we've seen, is only as good
as what it offers most of its people. If it's no longer offering the prosperity
and communal pride it did before, the people are going to look elsewhere for
their model.<o:p></o:p></strong></span></div>
<strong>
</strong><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-pagination: none;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"><strong>This
certainly happened to Roman civilisation. The empire had been in decline for a
very long time before the 5th century, and it would have been completely
unrecognisable to Augustus, who founded it. Economic recession was making the
cities gradually less viable, resulting in more and more "Romans" (a
largely meaningless term by then, since few had any connection with Italy) moving
to the country, either to own estates or to work on them.<o:p></o:p></strong></span></div>
<strong>
</strong><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-pagination: none;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"><strong>This
change in lifestyle gathered pace, until the cities, if not entirely abandoned,
became peripheral to the culture. At the same time, other peoples and their
cultures — the so-called barbarians — were looking far more attractive. In any
case, by now many people were subjects of barbarian warlords, so they gradually
began to learn the new languages, wear new types of clothes, convert to the new
religions. <o:p></o:p></strong></span></div>
<strong>
</strong><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-pagination: none;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"><strong>By
the time the cities were growing again and civilisation was back, the descendants
of the "Romans" were identifying themselves as "English",
"Franks" or a whole variety of other peoples. Their cultures looked
different, but they hadn't arisen out of nothing, and much of what was useful
from Roman civilisation had slipped seamlessly into the new order.<o:p></o:p></strong></span></div>
<strong>
</strong><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-pagination: none;">
<span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="color: #2e74b5;"><span style="font-family: Calibri Light;"><strong>There's a Catch?<o:p></o:p></strong></span></span></span></div>
<strong>
</strong><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-pagination: none;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"><strong>It's
not actually quite as simple as I've made it seem. You wouldn't really expect
it to be, would you, when we're talking about human beings?<o:p></o:p></strong></span></div>
<strong>
</strong><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-pagination: none;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"><strong>In
reality, civilisation doesn't always behave the way we'd expect. It's always
been assumed, for example, that the first cities developed as centres for an
agricultural hinterland, yet the earliest walled city known (the oldest phase of
<a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Jericho" target="_blank">Jericho</a>, around 9400 BC) dates from before agriculture had fully developed.
This was the Mesolithic era, a transitional phase when hunting was mutating
into herding and gathering into growing. Perhaps Jericho's importance was
actually as a centre for trading hides. Or maybe it was a stock town, if
herding had developed enough.<o:p></o:p></strong></span></div>
<strong>
</strong><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-pagination: none;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"><strong>Jericho
is the earliest city to have been found, but there's circumstantial evidence
that the fertile plain that's today the Sahara Desert may have also been developing
towards civilisation at a similar time. Of course, any remains that might have
been left would be buried deep under the sands, and it can't be automatically
assumed that getting on the road to civilisation will always result in the
finished product.<o:p></o:p></strong></span></div>
<strong>
</strong><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-pagination: none;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"><strong>In
any case, can we always recognise civilisation from the remains? Stone
buildings are pretty difficult to dispute, but more perishable materials such
as brick, wood or earth can serve contemporary needs just as well, and are no
less "civilised". The culture that built Stonehenge, for instance,
undoubtedly had the social organisation and the food surplus to undertake the
venture, but as far as we know they built no cities. Were they simply a
different kind of cities that have left no trace? Or did that particular
society use the building-blocks of civilisation in a radically different way?<o:p></o:p></strong></span></div>
<strong>
</strong><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-pagination: none;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"><strong>Perhaps
most intriguing of all, there's evidence of places — in central France, for
instance — where at periods of the Palaeolithic era, long before agriculture or
cities, societies not only seemed to have had specialisation and trade, but to
have had them on an almost industrial scale. Was this a lost civilisation, long
before any civilisation should have existed? Or was it a culture that had some
of the conditions of civilisation but never developed civilisation itself? It's
doubtful that we'll ever know, but it's intriguing to speculate.<o:p></o:p></strong></span></div>
<strong>
</strong><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-pagination: none;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"><strong>Still,
in spite of the exceptions, the rule still more or less stands. If you want to
create a convincing civilisation for your secondary world, the chances are
it'll have had these preconditions — food surplus, specialisation, trade — and
will have developed at least most of the typical characteristics — cities,
social organisation, hierarchy, warfare, religion, social rituals and
monuments.<o:p></o:p></strong></span></div>
<strong>
</strong><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-pagination: none;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"><strong>And,
from there on, each one will be unique. That's the joy of history.<o:p></o:p></strong></span></div>
Nyki Blatchleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07707481035530963855noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8924177687424620844.post-56257891828472587662015-02-24T18:37:00.000+00:002015-02-24T18:37:02.781+00:00Goodbye, Musa<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEii8IXQrGwFSBoHavmRDxy2P2oE8ui3iojolp3sHjySrVALuQJZKQvL7ZIa8fp_kz0xdcykcwWHUVtS8Wn8f-14B1J8yWB8onuzdez0KzoyXo0K6eqf8LsTzHyk883eUiN1IN8bKII7ga8/s1600/Cover+image.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEii8IXQrGwFSBoHavmRDxy2P2oE8ui3iojolp3sHjySrVALuQJZKQvL7ZIa8fp_kz0xdcykcwWHUVtS8Wn8f-14B1J8yWB8onuzdez0KzoyXo0K6eqf8LsTzHyk883eUiN1IN8bKII7ga8/s1600/Cover+image.jpg" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"><strong>This weekend, I
was among a number of authors to be shocked by the news that Musa Publishing is
closing down. I have two books out with them, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">The Treason of Memory</i> and <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">The
Lone and Level Sands</i>, the latter only published just before Christmas, and
they'd recently accepted a short collection of stories.<o:p></o:p></strong></span><br />
<strong>
</strong><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"><strong>Before I go any
further, I'd just like to say that, as far as I can see, Musa have acted
correctly. Their explanation was that, although still solvent, they couldn't
see a way of continuing and still maintaining commitments to their authors and
staff, a matter they weren't willing to compromise on. <o:p></o:p></strong></span></div>
<strong>
</strong><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"><strong>You hear a lot
of horror stories about small presses imploding in far more damaging ways.
Although the closure is heartbreaking, it would have been far worse to have had
it anyway, perhaps a year down the line, amid a financial mire that could have
seen all our books held hostage while the mess was sorted out. As it is, within
a day of the announcement I had a full and clearly worded letter of rights
reversion that will allow me to do what I want with my work the moment the
doors shut on the 28th February.<o:p></o:p></strong></span></div>
<strong>
</strong><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"><strong>Which brings me
to the question: what am I going to do with these stories? As I see it, there
are two options. I can find another publisher that considers reprints, or I can
self-publish.<o:p></o:p></strong></span></div>
<strong>
</strong><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"><strong>Before I even
decide that, though, I have to make a decision on how I want to present them.
These are all short pieces, either longer short stories or novelettes, and most
have been published before — of the four pieces in the collection, two would
have been reprints (something Musa were always willing to consider).<o:p></o:p></strong></span></div>
<strong>
</strong><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"><strong>The six stories
are loosely connected. They have no characters in common, but all take place in
a later era of the world featured in <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">At
An Uncertain Hour</i>. ranging from an early modern period to that world's
computer age. Besides this, all involve something ancient, something magical —
whether good, evil or in between — intruding on this modern, rational world, a
theme common in real-world settings, but less so in secondary worlds.<o:p></o:p></strong></span></div>
<strong>
</strong><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"><strong>This was the
rationale behind the collection, so perhaps the simplest thing would be just to
expand it to include the two stand-alone publications. That would give me a
collection of around 50,000 words.<o:p></o:p></strong></span></div>
<strong>
</strong><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"><strong>First stop, of
course, will be to find out whether any publishers are happy to take
submissions of fantasy collections that are partial reprints. I'm not expecting
to find many — Musa were quite special in that regard — but I'm hoping there'll
be one or two.<o:p></o:p></strong></span></div>
<strong>
</strong><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"><strong>If not, I'm
looking at self-publishing them. Four of the six stories have already been
published, so the editorial process wouldn't be too difficult, and I have the
comfort of validation that all have been considered good enough for
publication. That essentially leave a cover, the book design and a lot of hard
work, before the real fun starts — the promotion.<o:p></o:p></strong></span></div>
<strong>
</strong><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"><strong>Quite apart
from losing my publications, I'll miss Musa. It was always a company with good
ethical values, and staff and authors were very much a family, everyone helping
one another out. I wish luck to all the staff and fellow-authors, and I hope
I'll be running into them a lot, whether it's seeing their books coming out or
working with them at other houses.<o:p></o:p></strong></span></div>
<strong>
</strong><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"><strong>And I'd like to
single out for particular good luck Daniel Ausema, whose wonderful <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Spire City </i>serial story has been
cancelled in the middle of its second season. I can't believe that someone
won't have the taste and common sense to pick this up, but whatever happens,
good luck, Dan.<o:p></o:p></strong></span></div>
<strong>
</strong><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"><strong>And good luck
and goodbye to Musa.</strong></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"><strong></strong></span> </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"><strong><em>P.S. The one slight upside of this is that Musa is having a closing-down sale. Until the 28th, both <a href="http://musapublishing.com/index.php?main_page=product_info&cPath=6&products_id=470" target="_blank">The Treason of Memory</a> and <a href="http://musapublishing.com/index.php?main_page=product_info&cPath=6&products_id=846" target="_blank">The Lone and Level Sands</a> are available for a mere 40c, and other books are going similarly cheaply. At least you can grab some great books for very little before they're gone.</em></strong></span></div>
Nyki Blatchleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07707481035530963855noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8924177687424620844.post-30270885886197683032015-02-18T22:18:00.001+00:002015-02-18T22:18:18.863+00:00Diversity in Fantasy<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"><strong>Following my post about
diversity on Nicholas Mena's blog a few days ago, I decided to write some more
about the topic, which has plenty of scope to have more written about it. Some
of this post overlaps with the other, but the focus is a little different.<o:p></o:p></strong></span></i><br />
<strong>
</strong><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-pagination: none;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"><strong></strong></span> </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-pagination: none;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"><strong>Discussions
of diversity in fantasy (and fiction in general) generally talk about the moral
and social importance of showing positive diversity, in particular the need for
positive role-models for members of under-represented races, genders and
orientations. All that's vitally important, but there are two other reasons why
it's important. Lack of diversity is unrealistic. Lack of diversity is <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">boring</i>.<o:p></o:p></strong></span></div>
<strong>
</strong><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-pagination: none;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"><strong>Of
course, I'm certainly not suggesting that every story has to have a "diversity
quota", especially not short stories. If you were write a story set in the
World War One trenches, for instance, your cast would have to be predominantly
male and probably mostly white (though any opportunities for more diversity
would be welcome) and there are even situations in secondary worlds where this
makes sense. I've written stories with all-male casts, but then again I've also
written stories with all-female casts. When the cast might be only two or three
people, it has to meet a specific need.<o:p></o:p></strong></span></div>
<strong>
</strong><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-pagination: none;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"><strong>Diversity
is best measured over an author's opus, or even over a widespread trend. It
doesn't matter if I write one story focusing on white males, if I write others
where black females come to the fore.<o:p></o:p></strong></span></div>
<strong>
</strong><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-pagination: none;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"><strong>In
fantasy, it can also be measured by how the world is presented, and this is
really where the unrealistic and boring issues come in. SFF is good enough at
portraying a variety of exotic races, though even these tend to be cut and
dried. Elves are all snooty tree-huggers, dwarves are all gruff axe-wielders,
Klingons are all obsessed with their honour… and so on.<o:p></o:p></strong></span></div>
<strong>
</strong><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-pagination: none;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"><strong>In
SF, if a human protagonist visits a planet, they're likely to find an alien
race who are all alike, all following a single culture and religion wherever
they are on the planet. Assuming there is anywhere else on the planet. "A
planet", especially in film or television SF, often seems to consist of
one city, or a small group of villages, and nothing else, just like a fantasy
"world" is often only a handful of kingdoms surrounded by <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">terra incognita</i>.<o:p></o:p></strong></span></div>
<strong>
</strong><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-pagination: none;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"><strong>Increasingly,
though, fantasy is focusing on secondary worlds populated by humans. And, more
often than not, the story will be about countries populated by European-type
peoples, and most of the active characters will be male.<o:p></o:p></strong></span></div>
<strong>
</strong><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-pagination: none;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"><strong>The
justification often given for the latter bias is that historical cultures in
our world were always strongly patriarchal, so it would be unrealistic to show
strong females. In fact, by no means all cultures were patriarchal. When the
Kingdom of Sheba (or Saba) in Yemen was excavated and inscriptions giving the
names of rulers were found, even the sober archaeologists were understandably
excited about identifying the "Queen of Sheba" from the Bible. In
fact, they discovered that nearly half of Sheba's rulers were female. It wasn't
a matriarchy — it was just that the Shebans didn't seem to have a strong
preference about the gender of their ruler.<o:p></o:p></strong></span></div>
<strong>
</strong><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-pagination: none;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"><strong>In
any case, a secondary world doesn't have to slavishly follow the same lines as
our world. As long as there's a good internal logic, you can have whatever kind
of society you want, including sexual equality. Invoking history is just an
excuse.<o:p></o:p></strong></span></div>
<strong>
</strong><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-pagination: none;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"><strong>The
same is true for the distribution of race in a secondary world. Of course, to a
large extent races with lighter skins will tend to live in cooler climates and
those with darker skins in the hotter regions, but this doesn't mean they'll
necessarily have the same cultures as their real-world equivalents.<o:p></o:p></strong></span></div>
<strong>
</strong><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-pagination: none;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"><strong>In
my main world, I have white, black, yellow, red and tan races (plus an isolated
race with a green tinge) in a roughly similar distribution as in our world
(except for the green race, that is) but the balance is very different. As in
our world, civilisation began independently in several zones, but here there
was no global takeover by any one of the zones. The predominantly black
continent, for instance, not only had ancient, high-achieving civilisations (as
Africa did) but, in the "modern" era, these civilisations still operate
on a roughly equal level with those on the other continents.<o:p></o:p></strong></span></div>
<strong>
</strong><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-pagination: none;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"><strong>Now,
some might say that, in portraying black races who don't have the legacy of the
slave trade and colonial exploitation, I'm belittling that heritage. My view is
the exact opposite. It seems to me that, if I were to portray another,
unrelated world whose black races have suffered slavery <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">en masse</i>, I'd be coming perilously close to suggesting that was
some kind of natural destiny for black people. Obviously it's not. In our
world, it was something done to Africa as a result of a specific lining up of
global factors, and there's no reason to assume this would happen in a
different world.<o:p></o:p></strong></span></div>
<strong>
</strong><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-pagination: none;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"><strong>Nevertheless,
without racial diversity, it's difficult to portray a range of cultures and
show a truly varied world — and it's not only necessary to have the races, but
to use them on an equal basis. Most traditional fantasy has European-style main
characters, with other races as "exotic" or "barbarous".
This isn't necessarily a sign of active racism. Tolkien, for instance, was
fairly anti-racist for his generation and class*, but he still fell into the
cultural trap of portraying only undifferentiated hordes of his darker-skinned
humans.<o:p></o:p></strong></span></div>
<strong>
</strong><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-pagination: none;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"><strong>I
try to write stories with main characters of as many of my world's races and
cultures as possible. One of my most recurring characters, Eltava, would in
real-world equivalent be a cross between Chinese and Native American, and
several of my stories have central characters who are black. For example, in my
recent Musa ebook, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">The Lone and Level
Sands</i>, three of the six significant characters are black (and one other is
most closely equivalent to North African) and the archaeological expedition central
to the story has come from a university in a country with a black population.<o:p></o:p></strong></span></div>
<strong>
</strong><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-pagination: none;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"><strong>Still,
I haven't always got it right. My world and many of my characters have been
evolving for several decades, going back to a time when I didn't have so much
awareness of the need for diversity. The result is that I still have a
disproportionate majority of white characters and cultures focused on, although
I hope that will gradually diminish.<o:p></o:p></strong></span></div>
<strong>
</strong><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-pagination: none;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"><strong>Ultimately,
though, as I said at the beginning, getting diversity into fantasy isn't simply
a moral duty. It's a way to make your world zing. It's a way to create
conflicts and relationships that come from genuine difference, and to explore a
reality as complex and fascinating as our own.<o:p></o:p></strong></span></div>
<strong>
</strong><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-pagination: none;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"><strong>And
to pass that on to your readers. After all, who really wants to read about a
world without variety?<o:p></o:p></strong></span></div>
<strong>
</strong><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-pagination: none;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"><o:p><strong> </strong></o:p></span></div>
<strong>
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;">* For example, he referred
in a letter to Hitler's "filthy racial doctrine", and in a rare
political statement in the 1950s declared himself opposed to Apartheid.<o:p></o:p></span></i></strong>Nyki Blatchleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07707481035530963855noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8924177687424620844.post-39947811634347908122015-02-12T21:20:00.000+00:002015-02-12T21:20:45.763+00:00Guesting on Sancocho Pot<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWgp-7R0f9O89yBqTT7N_iQ-axul8eTTURYjkUv9uYphV0F6yTGlTjOtMZrRRnIad_rYavqyokgk48wSpqFIcbqq8hoIHp29Dy0By3DY98knP8QL0_bVq9q5MuZZM7ykAM9kLK2t0CAf4/s1600/Cover+image.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWgp-7R0f9O89yBqTT7N_iQ-axul8eTTURYjkUv9uYphV0F6yTGlTjOtMZrRRnIad_rYavqyokgk48wSpqFIcbqq8hoIHp29Dy0By3DY98knP8QL0_bVq9q5MuZZM7ykAM9kLK2t0CAf4/s1600/Cover+image.jpg" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><strong>Today I'm guesting on <a href="http://sancochopot.blogspot.co.uk/2015/02/diversity-in-fantasy-lone-and-level.html?utm_source=feedburner&utm_medium=email&utm_campaign=Feed:+SancochoPot+(Sancocho+Pot)" target="_blank">Sancocho Pot</a>, the blog of my friend and fellow-author Nicholas Mena, as part of his Diversity in Fantasy series. For my post, I've discussed how I approach diversity in my work generally, and in particular in <a href="http://musapublishing.com/index.php?main_page=product_info&cPath=6&products_id=846" target="_blank">The Lone and Level Sands</a>.</strong></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;"><strong></strong></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;"><strong>Diversity in fantasy isn't some "politically correct" fad. If you look at it the other way round, the question is why shouldn't there be diversity? In any remotely believable world, it's the default, not some special case, and the question isn't why have a diverse cast, but why not?</strong></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;"><strong></strong></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;"><strong>Please follow <a href="http://sancochopot.blogspot.co.uk/" target="_blank">Nick's excellent blog</a> in general, and particularly the thoughts on diversity from other guests that will appear throughout February.</strong></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;"></span>Nyki Blatchleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07707481035530963855noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8924177687424620844.post-63108011812145091042015-01-26T16:34:00.000+00:002015-01-26T16:34:40.478+00:00What Kind of Characters Do You Write About?<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgV8i3qWzPAls22afLrHf27Ig6HnKjja5aK9XGZZuSYxIFO1J0UHLdjcLKQoPN_lCwz3VsmNOdzwh0aOC6zwp23Vb0sADxomnWdOO1CEOZM50CkuM_oZXwIt8M33FGBDM-djvL4KC9yzrQ/s1600/At+An+Uncertain+Hour_Kindle.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgV8i3qWzPAls22afLrHf27Ig6HnKjja5aK9XGZZuSYxIFO1J0UHLdjcLKQoPN_lCwz3VsmNOdzwh0aOC6zwp23Vb0sADxomnWdOO1CEOZM50CkuM_oZXwIt8M33FGBDM-djvL4KC9yzrQ/s1600/At+An+Uncertain+Hour_Kindle.jpg" height="400" width="250" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"><strong>One
of the questions an author is sometimes asked (not as often as "Where do
you get your ideas from?" or "What's your book about?" *, but
sometimes) is "What kind of characters do you like writing about?" <o:p></o:p></strong></span><br />
<strong>
</strong><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-pagination: none;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"><strong>The
short answer is whatever characters the story needs, but that's something of a
cop-out. Much as we all like to vary our characters, most authors have a
tendency to gravitate to some particular kind of character, whether that's a
matter of gender, age, personality or lifestyle. So what kind of characters do
I like writing about?<o:p></o:p></strong></span></div>
<strong>
</strong><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-pagination: none;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"><strong>One
thing I have noticed is that I seem to like writing about teenagers. Not in a
YA sort of way, since the perspective tends to be standing a little apart and
making gentle fun of the naivety and silliness of adolescence. It's not really
a new thing, though. From what I can remember of the stories I was creating at
about ten or eleven (none of which have survived) the important characters were
always between about sixteen and eighteen — which, of course, was very grown up
then, although perhaps young enough to be relatable.<o:p></o:p></strong></span></div>
<strong>
</strong><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-pagination: none;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"><strong>When
I started writing <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">The Winter Legend</i>,
in my later teens, most of the main characters were still of a similar age, and
this has largely survived innumerable rewritings through the decades. And I
still use characters of that age a good deal. Estent, the protagonist of <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><a href="http://musapublishing.com/index.php?main_page=product_info&cPath=6&products_id=470" target="_blank">The Treason of Memory</a></i>, is around
eighteen, although his age isn't given in the story. Zadith and Musu, in <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><a href="http://musapublishing.com/index.php?main_page=product_info&cPath=6&products_id=846" target="_blank">The Lone and Level Sands</a></i>, are a little
older, but not much over twenty, while my recurring characters Kari and Fai (<a href="http://www.nykiblatchley.co.uk/stories_of_karaghr__failiu.html" target="_blank"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Steal Away</i>, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">The Temple of Taak-Resh</i></a>) are around sixteen or seventeen.<o:p></o:p></strong></span></div>
<strong>
</strong><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-pagination: none;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"><strong>Not
everyone's that young. The Traveller measures his age in millennia, and the age
he "stuck" at is around thirty, but he's in his teens during a number
of the chapters in <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><a href="http://www.nykiblatchley.co.uk/at_an_uncertain_hour.html" target="_blank">At An Uncertain Hour</a></i>.<o:p></o:p></strong></span></div>
<strong>
</strong><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"><strong>On
the other hand, I do like watching characters grow up. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">The Winter Legend </i>covers about twenty-five years, and the central
characters go from teens to early forties, turning from the struggling young
heroes to the wise guides, in much the same way that Obi-Wan grows through the
Star Wars films. <o:p></o:p></strong></span></div>
<strong>
</strong><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"><strong>Perhaps
my favourite example of this is Eltava, MC of seven published stories as well
as having a cameo in <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">At An Uncertain Hour</i>.
In the earliest story I've written about Eltava, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Witch</i>, she's fourteen (though I do have flashbacks in a couple of
stories to her as a little child), but I've shown her through her twenties,
thirties and forties, right through to <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Storm-Blown</i>
where she's in her late sixties. It's been a fascinating ride to watch her
growing and developing while still remaining essentially the same person.<o:p></o:p></strong></span></div>
<strong>
</strong><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"><strong>In
gender terms, although I haven't done a statistical count-up, I suspect I have
a roughly 50-50 split, although if anything my first instinct is more often to
focus on a female. That's something which has certainly changed through the
years. When I was first writing, almost all my POV characters were male, and I
deliberately set myself the aim of using more females, but that seems to have
become a matter of instinct now.<o:p></o:p></strong></span></div>
<strong>
</strong><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"><strong>I'm
not sure why this is, but perhaps it has something to do with otherness. Unlike
some authors, I don't create characters to explore myself. I prefer to explore
what it's like to be someone completely unlike myself and, though I can
certainly do that with male characters **, being a female for a story gives the
otherness an extra kick.<o:p></o:p></strong></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"><strong>As
for lifestyle, I tend to write about characters who are pretty much footloose
wanderers. Perhaps that's an element of wish-fulfilment, since part of me has
always been attracted to the idea of being a rootless traveller, although
that's balanced by the other part that wonders how I'd lug a thousand-odd books
around with me. Perhaps having a very large ship all to myself would help.<o:p></o:p></strong></span></div>
<strong>
</strong><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"><strong>The
Traveller and Eltava are both wanderers for life, although the Traveller might
spend a decade, or even a few centuries, in one place sometimes. Kari and Fai,
in their inimitable adolescent style, are homeless, outlaw sorcerers and love
every moment of it. Even people with more roots and responsibilities tend to be
wanderers, like Ferriji, the protagonist of <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Present
Historic</i>, a middle-aged international diplomat who travels constantly
across the world trying to save it from itself.<o:p></o:p></strong></span></div>
<strong>
</strong><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-pagination: none;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"><strong>Other
people have wandering thrust upon them, like Estent, who begins <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">The Treason of Memory</i> with a place in
his society (quite a high place, too) and finishes it as a homeless exile. In
the final part of <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">The Winter Legend </i>(currently
finished but by no means finished with) someone from a primitive mountain tribe
refers to the difference between those who "stand above the valley and
make sure everything [they] can see is as [they] want it" and those who
want " to travel to the distance, as I do, and see what’s beyond it."
She adds that it's important to have both kinds of people, and I can see her
point, but travelling to the distance is more interesting to write about. For
me, at least.<o:p></o:p></strong></span></div>
<strong>
</strong><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-pagination: none;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"><strong>So
there are a few of the character types I like to write about. I've created all
kinds who are utterly different, but, if I switch off and just write by
instinct, the chances are I'll be writing about a teenaged wanderer who wants
nothing more from life than to discover what's beyond the distance.<o:p></o:p></strong></span></div>
<strong>
</strong><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-pagination: none;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"><o:p><strong> </strong></o:p></span></div>
<strong>
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;">* Answers: "From the
ideas shop round the corner" and "It's about 400 pages".<o:p></o:p></span></i></strong><br />
<strong>
</strong><br />
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<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"><strong>** I've never been three
thousand years old, I've never sailed the world on an enchanted ship, and I've
never led an army. Just thought I'd mention that, in case you were wondering.<o:p></o:p></strong></span></i></div>
Nyki Blatchleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07707481035530963855noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8924177687424620844.post-53416425671484690282015-01-15T19:02:00.000+00:002015-01-15T19:02:28.376+00:00Review of The Hobbit: The Battle of the Five Armies<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"><strong>So we've
finally got to the end of Peter Jackson's epic reimagining of Tolkien — unless,
of course, he gets the film rights to <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">The
Silmarillion</i>, but that seems unlikely. It's been a varied experience. I
generally loved the three <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Lord of the
Rings </i>films, although some of the omissions and changes niggled a bit. I
felt the same about the first of the <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Hobbit
</i>films, but the second felt too much of a change for no very good reason. I was
very unsure what to expect, going to see the final instalment.<o:p></o:p></strong></span><br />
<strong>
</strong><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"><strong>There's a lot
of good, in fact.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Overall, it sticks somewhat
closer to the book than the second film, even though several episodes are
vastly inflated from the largely summarised accounts in the original. Smaug's
attack on Lake-town (with a too-short reappearance by the great dragon and
Benedict Cumberbatch as his voice), the gathering of the refugees and the elves
before the Mountain, and very much the battle itself were all filled out.<o:p></o:p></strong></span></div>
<strong>
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<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"><strong>There's also
the attack on Dol Guldur, the climax of the White Council thread. Tolkien never
gave a detailed account of what actually happens, though it wasn't at all how I
imagined it. Still, it works well, and gives us another glimpse of the mighty Galadriel
who was briefly unleashed when Frodo offered her the Ring.<o:p></o:p></strong></span></div>
<strong>
</strong><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"><strong>As might be expected,
there's plenty of foreshadowing of LOTR, from Saruman's suave assurance that
the others should "leave Sauron to me" to Bilbo's growing obsession
with the Ring.<o:p></o:p></strong></span></div>
<strong>
</strong><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"><strong>This is the
stage of the plot where Bilbo really comes of age morally, and Martin Freeman
handles his inner struggles excellently, both over the Ring and the Arkenstone
(which, like Bard's black arrow, has a lot more significance than in the book).
This is contrasted with a thorough exploration of Thorin's descent into
near-madness and his return, which is equally well portrayed by Richard
Armitage.<o:p></o:p></strong></span></div>
<strong>
</strong><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"><strong>The Battle of
the Five Armies is the film's centrepiece, as it should be, but arguably it was
overdone, as most of the action set-pieces have tended to be. It's perfectly
reasonable, of course, that we should see the action itself, and what's
happening to people we care about in the midst of it, but I feel it goes on for
a little too long.<o:p></o:p></strong></span></div>
<strong>
</strong><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"><strong>Possibly the
highlight of the battle is the arrival of Dain, Dwarf-Lord of the Iron Hills.
Most of the dwarves have Scottish accents, which fits, but it was a joy to hear
Dain's greeting in broad Glaswegian and realise it was Billy Connolly. This was
no noble, questing dwarf, but a brawler from the Gorbals.<o:p></o:p></strong></span></div>
<strong>
</strong><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"><strong>Eventually,
though, the whole focus shifts to a personal showdown with the orc-lord Azog
and his "spawn" Bolg (the book simply calls Bolg Azog's son)
featuring Thorin, Fili, Kili, Dwalin and Bilbo, with Legolas and Tauriel
pitching in (giving Orlando Bloom plenty of opportunity for acrobatics). I do
think this goes on too long, though its culmination is moving.<o:p></o:p></strong></span></div>
<strong>
</strong><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"><strong>And then home
to Bag End, shown much as in the book (with a brief cameo of Lobelia
Sackville-Baggins) and a final scene with the old Bilbo (ignoring the fact that
he shouldn't have grown old) welcoming Gandalf before the Party. And a final
nice touch — the song over the credits is sung by Billy Boyd, aka Pippin.<o:p></o:p></strong></span></div>
<strong>
</strong><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"><strong>Altogether, I
don't find the <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Hobbit </i>trilogy as
successful as <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Lord of the Rings</i>. The
action scenes are overblown throughout, and some changes seem to have been made
for change's sake. Perhaps Tauriel irks me most. Not that there's anything
wrong with either her character as it stands or Evangeline Lilly's performance,
but the romance between her and Kili just doesn't convince me. Why should a
dwarf find an elf-woman attractive (she doesn't even have a beard, after all)?<o:p></o:p></strong></span></div>
<strong>
</strong><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"><strong>More than that,
though, is that she's introduced specifically for a romantic subplot. I can
perfectly well understand why Jackson wanted a strong female character in the
films (besides Galadriel's brief appearances) but it seems rather tokenistic
that the one female character should be introduced purely as love interest,
however kick-ass she might be. On the plus side, her presence helps Legolas's
development and turns Thranduil into a genuine character, but that could have
been done in a less stereotyped way.<o:p></o:p></strong></span></div>
<strong>
</strong><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"><strong>Still, there's
a lot to like, and I can see myself rewatching the films often enough on DVD.
Perhaps I'll even watch the entire hexalogy straight through — if I ever have
the odd eighteen hours to spare.<o:p></o:p></strong></span></div>
<strong>
</strong><br />
<strong></strong><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"><strong>I've also reviewed </strong><a href="http://nyki-blatchley.blogspot.co.uk/2013/01/review-hobbit-unexpected-journey.html" target="_blank"><strong>The Hobbit: An Unexpected Journey</strong></a><strong> and </strong><a href="http://nyki-blatchley.blogspot.co.uk/2014/01/review-of-hobbit-desolation-of-smaug.html" target="_blank"><strong>The Hobbit: The Desolation of Smaug</strong></a><strong> on this blog.</strong></span></div>
Nyki Blatchleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07707481035530963855noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8924177687424620844.post-8106557024098324432015-01-15T00:13:00.000+00:002015-01-15T00:15:52.646+00:00Fantasy and Archaeology on the Musa Publishing Blog<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<strong></strong><br />
<strong>I feature today on Musa Publishing's blog, discussing links between fantasy and archaeology, especially in my new Musa ebook <a href="http://musapublishing.com/index.php?main_page=product_info&cPath=6&products_id=846" target="_blank">The Lone and Level Sands</a>:</strong><br />
<strong></strong><br />
<strong><em>Fantasy and archaeology — they seem made for one another, don't they? After all, one of the most common ideas in fantasy is someone discovering ruins or a lost artefact from an ancient civilisation, yet real archaeology is very underused.<br /><br />As an approximate concept, of course, it's always been there. The spectacular discoveries of the 19th century, when entire civilisations were being uncovered — what's been called the heroic age of archaeology — inspired authors like H. Rider Haggard and many others to write stories in which explorers found such civilisations not just as ruins to be dug up, but actually still surviving...</em> <a href="http://musapublishing.blogspot.co.uk/2015/01/fantasy-and-archaeology-best-of-all.html" target="_blank">read the whole piece here</a></strong><br />
<br />Nyki Blatchleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07707481035530963855noreply@blogger.com0