David R Slayton

Apr192008

History and the Family Epic: David’s Review of Dragon Prince

Album I’m listening to today: Lisa Gerrard’s Immortal Memory
In the backpack: Sunrunner’s Fire by Melanie Rawn and The Splendour that was Egypt by Margaret A. Murray

I got to Melanie Rawn along a strange path. My first exposure to her books was through the cover art: particularly the cover to Sunrunner’s Fire. That Michael Whelan painting is still nicely etched in my memory. I wish I had read Dragon Prince, the first book in this trilogy, in high school (and I hereby date myself by letting you know that’s when it was published). Though I’d already started working with some of the characters and ideas that would become my first still unpublished book, Neophyte, I wasn’t reading much fantasy in 1989.

I wish I had. This book definitely seems to be from a different age of writing: it has a lot description and detail, particularly in the realm of colors. I was struck by her detailing of the clothing and colors, which is nearly overdone at points. I think she veers into romance territory often, but a lot of the darkness I find (okay, and write) in fantasy, isn’t to be found here. The most brutal acts in this book didn’t resonate for me. I didn’t shudder with concern for the characters, and well, maybe I’m being a little too harsh.

If you have read Isabelle Allende’s House of Spirits, you know epic family history can be a powerful device in fiction (though to be fair, House of Spirits is magical realism, and down the street a ways from traditional fantasy). My friend Brian, who recommended Dragon Prince, hinted that the first book is a large amount of buildup, that a lot of its events won’t bear fruit until the second novel. After nearly 600 pages, I’m not sure the payoff is going to be worth it.

Front loading is a big issue for me in books lately. I need to get my review of Blood King up, but it turned my attention to this problem that I hope I can avoid. Dragon Prince follows an older style of epic, whereby all the players are set in position and slowly introduced before any action comes to bear. Summoner did a good job of getting right into the thick of it, while its sequel, Blood King really takes a while to execute its plot.

Dragon Prince makes one other crucial mistake: it tells a lot of important deaths and details, rather than showing them. To cover such a wide range of time and so many characters, this was probably necessary, but it definitely robs the book of a lot of impact. I’m glad I read it, and it was compelling enough that I’m working my way through the other two books in the trilogy, but I wouldn’t recommend it unless you’ve already been drawn to it.

Apr92008

Sultry Fairytale: David’s Review of Thief with no Shadow by Emily Gee

Album Playing tonight: Twilight as Sung by the Twilight Singers.

I bought this book a while ago. It’s the third book by Hyperion that I’ve read, and so far I’m impressed. While Summoner was a good little ghost story, Thief with no Shadow is fairly less epic in its aim, though I think it is better written. Gee’s sentences are simple in style but with good color and depth. She spins a fairly simple plot that drew me in to its depths.

It reminded me of Caroline Stevermer’s When the King Comes Home, which was another simple book that had a lot of thought put into it. Thief is definitely more adult. I wouldn’t pass it along to my teenage daughter, though I was pleased with the distinct voice of the main character. The sexuality is still pretty minimal but not easy to digest. One of the things I think Gee did best was essentialist world-crafting: I got the right amount of detail to envision her locales but not so much that I got lost in boring details of customs or travelogue.

If you’ve noticed that I haven’t given you a plot summary, I should tell you that it’s on purpose. Pick this one up and discover by chance, like I did. I don’t think you’ll be disappointed. Like its main character, it will sneak up on you.

Apr12008

No Future in Sight

Today’s Ipod song? Nothing. The chaos wave affecting my technology finally hit the pod.

S.M. Stirling’s Dies the Fire is exactly the type of fantasy that I try to avoid. I have it on good authority that it’s well written and fascinating. What would happen if all of our much vaunted technology was suddenly zapped and ceased to function? In Stirling’s view, it would be interesting chaos: some social conventions would completely die out, others would thrive. The idea that we’re so close to a complete and utter collapse of society sends all too familiar shivers up my spine not because I necessarily believe it, but because I’ve heard it all too often, and it echoes against something drilled into me for many years.

My mother and stepfather are apocalyptic Christians, which means they strongly believe strongly that at any moment the world will unravel, the Rapture will happen, the United Nations will come over the hills seeking our guns and put us all into concentration camps. Hearing this nearly every day in high school didn’t do much for my sense of futurism. It fed in me a distinct fatalism. What was the point of college? Striving for a better career? Any effort you put forth to improve yourself was soon to be wiped out by a cataclysmic change. The best you could do is remain pure in thought or deed, remain as static as possible, in case today was the day when all hell would break loose.

I rejected this teaching in time. I had something in me far too Humanist, far too curious, to do nothing with my life. Having a job flipping burgers could have contributed to it, but I wanted more.

When I first began reading the Enlightenment thinkers, I understood where they were coming from. They were trying to reason on logic while also updating their methodology. I won’t say they hit their mark, but I found in Voltaire and Franklin sympathetic minds. I strive for the rational, though sometimes the superstitious still lurks at the edge of my mind. When I see people being injected with RFID tags for security purposes my mind immediately leaps to the Mark of the Beast. The more I see our privacy violated the more I worry that the world could teeter in that destructive direction. Maybe it will. Maybe my mother was right all those years ago when she told me the tales of the tortures we’d all face at the hands of a world government.

I believe this world is worth living in, that for every terror the nightly news shows us, there is a sublime beauty in nature or in the arts. By endlessly contemplating the horrors awaiting those left behind, my mother fails to edify those she could help: instead of remaining static, she could be feeding the poor, educating the illiterate, improving the world a little bit at a time.

There is only so much time in a life. At thirty-four I know I’m at the halfway mark. It doesn’t make me dread the mystery of the end; it makes me want to do more, faster. If we’re all doomed by some asteroid the government isn’t telling us about or by the work of the devil, I’d still rather get what good done that I can, rather than waste time contemplating the inevitable end.

Mar272008

Writing from the Cave

My writing sometimes feels very distant from me, like a thing I’m looking for but cannot locate in a cluttered closet. That is how it feels right now: like Eastlight is a world spinning out there on its own, and I can’t connect with it. One thing I’ve always struggled with and need to master, is the ability to just pick up a book I’m writing and be able to work on it regardless of what’s happening in my outer life. It’s not quite the same as inspiration. If I feel uninspired, I can always edit. In fact, that’s the best time for me to edit: when I can read it without wanting to take an idea off in a dozen directions. Right now if feels like going to the gym: a good habit that I’ve gotten out of.

In defense of my laziness, it’s been a hell of a year so far. I do not know if it’s the leap year effect, as some have suggested, the stress of the impending election, the economy, or a dozen other things, but 2008 so far felt very chaotic, like a lot of changes are happening very quickly.

Of course that turns my mind to fantasy. Change can happen so quickly, on such a large scale, that a kingdom can turn from peaceful to oppressive nearly overnight. Coups and political machinations are slowly plotted but often quickly executed. Keeping the people fed and in shelter requires a delicate balance between order and nature. Our world is filled with political strife and starving people. Fantasy mirrors these problems.

Conflict is essential when writing. You don’t want to read a story where everything is idyllic and your main character is completely unchallenged. How can they possibly grow if they don’t experience change? How can we? Change can come quickly, without warning. That is true in life or in fiction.

Mar262008

Meth

I’ve seen addiction portrayed in fantasy. Fred Saberhagen used it to great effect in his Song of the Swords series, and I will never forget his image of people letting worms loop through their skin to get the narcotic effect of the chemicals the worms left behind. Let’s leave Herbert out of it for now. The strongest example of addiction I can name in truly popular fantasy was Willow’s use of magic in Buffy the Vampire Slayer. I didn’t care for the angle personally, the metaphor felt forced, but if it helped someone out there, then I am grateful for it.

Have you seen the skeletal face of someone strung out on crystal methamphetamine? I’ve seen mummies with more flesh. I’ve seen healthier corpses. As a Family Guy episode quipped, “it’s a hell of a drug.” Addiction comes up in fantasy a lot, usually in response to power, but as I’ve watched meth melt the brain of someone I once cared deeply for, I’m grateful that it doesn’t exist in my fantasy worlds. Now here’s the hard part: do I wish it didn’t exist in the real world either? One of the reasons I write fantasy is to hold a mirror up to reality, not to moralize, but to question. When we escape into fantasy, we get caught up in the adventure and the universe a writer has crafted for us. I read fantasy to escape, to leave earth for a while, but I’ve found that the best fantasy sends something back with me: I return to reality with something to consider, something to think about. By editing out addiction, I run the risk of editing out something to think on, an issue someone might want or need to consider. If I make my worlds too idealized, I run the risk of separating them too far from reality, and losing the reader if they don’t have enough points of connection.

Is meth right for me? Um, hell no. Have a look at the ruined face of a long time user. Have a conversation with them. I think you’ll find it isn’t right for you either, but it’s a question you have to answer for yourself. The issue of addiction is something that permeates our society. In fantasy we might find a healthy way to confront it.

Mar252008

Secret Gardens

One of the things always strikes me in my trips to Greece is the use of public space for growing food. Orange trees are the most common thing, ringing town squares in Kalamanta and Argos. Even near the Acropolis in Athens, herbs grow. Coming home to Denver, I walk the streets and wonder why we don’t plant more fruit trees. (I am not counting crab-apples here). At the least, they’d give the homeless something to eat.

The NYTimes posted an article today on people using their backyards as mini-orchards, which frankly just strikes me as a good idea. They even cited Meyer’s lemons, two of which I grow in my living room. While my “harvest” isn’t exactly going to provide a foodstuff, it’s a neat party trick to ask a guest to pick a lemon.

In fantasy, we deal a lot with medieval traditions and medieval lifestyles. While I try not to write too much about a character bathing or brushing her teeth, I do think about the differences in hygiene. Food sources are a principal concern in a medieval society, so I’m becoming entranced by the idea of urban gardens, walled away and struggling for sunlight.

In our generation we have gotten away from some of the more practical construction and land uses of the pre-War generation. It’s regrettable that our office buildings never get a blast of fresh air, that we don’t use more natural lighting, and particularly that we don’t maintain our connection to the earth by growing some of our own food. As power becomes scarcer, we turn to solar, but why not skylights as well? Don’t get me started on grey water, why aren’t we doing this in every house (particularly here in the west, where water rights are a growing concern). Okay, I’m a tree-hugging dirt-worshipper as my friend Jacinta has said, but I find it interesting that as times get a little harder, we start looking back as well as forward. The medieval period was the dirtiest in history, but that doesn’t mean we can’t learn a few practical things about life from it.

We’ve separated our urban selves from the natural cycles of life and death. What we might give back to the land, we flush away. What we take from the land is delivered to us from far away. But a fantasy character, even an urban one, doesn’t have such a strong separation from the food cycle. Then again, she may not have a toothbrush either.

Nov172007

Workshop on Dialogue Format I

As my novel makes the rounds of trusted “beta” readers, I am getting a lot of feedback on how to format dialogue. You think it would be the easiest thing in the world but when do you capitalize? When do you use a comma versus a period? Is a single space appropriate now, or should I still use two? All of these things are coming back with conflicting opinions.

A quick flip through some of Gail Simone’s issues of “Birds of Prey” tells me that a character’s name should always be preceded by a comma when they are being addressed, but this is fantasy. What about titles like sir, your lordship, my liege, and so forth? It’s time to hit the books.

Here is a dialogue-heavy passage from R.A. Salvatore’s Sea of Swords, which I’ve broken into six parts for analysis.

1 “You did this to me,” Wulfgar remarked.

2 “Did what?”

3 “Your words put me here, not those of Captain Deudermont,” Wulfgar
clarified. “You did this.”

4 “No, dear Wulfgar,” Robillard said venomously. “You did.”

5 Wulfgar lifted his chin, his stare defiant.

6 “In the face of a potentially difficult battle, Captain Deudermont had no choice but to relegate you to this place,” the wizard was happy to explain. “Your own insolence and independence demanded nothing less of him. Do you think we would risk losing crewmen to satisfy your unbridled rage and high opinion of yourself?” (Salvatore, R.A. Sea of Swords. Wizards of the Coast, 2001, 112-113)

Let’s look at the style first. Salvatore doesn’t use a lot of “he said/she said.” He’s big on alternate words like “clarified” or “remarked.” Stephen King, in his excellent book On Writing, suggests steering away from these alternates. I prefer a mix but try to not overdo it. Wulfgar is a character of action, so Salvatore makes him a man of fewer words than the intellectual wizard, Robillard. The characters’ sentence patterns well-reflect their characterization. The characters’ word choices are also appropriate to their personality. Wulfgar doesn’t use Robillard’s fancy adjectives, “unbridled” or “high.” Wulfgar is more to the point. These are subtle tricks and Salvatore employs them to great effect. I’ve always admired his combat choreography and pacing, but I’ve never noticed how good he was at this technique before now.

Now let’s look at the punctuation, the real reason why we’re here. Part one is easy. Wulfgar makes a single line remark. It’s a complete thought, but it still ends with a comma:

1 “You did this to me,” Wulfgar remarked.

This is pretty simple. You open the quote, end the remark with a comma and end the quote. Wulfgar is a name so of course it gets capitalized.

In part two, we know Wulfgar is talking to Robillard, so Salvatore just lets the responding question stand alone:

2 “Did what?”

No “the wizard” or “Robillard said.” Leaving this out creates more white space and speeds the flow of the passage. There are only two characters present so Salvatore doesn’t have to worry about confusing us about which is speaking. In a longer dialogue I’d be careful to not confuse the reader, but Salvatore gives us another pointer in part three.

Part three contains an insertion:

3 “Your words put me here, not those of Captain Deudermont,” Wulfgar clarified. “You did this.”
It’s not much more complicated than part one. Wulfgar speaks, ending on a comma. Salvatore closes the quote and gives us a pointer to indicate who is speaking “Wulfgar clarified.” The pointer ends on a period and Salvatore opens a fresh quote so Wulfgar can finish his accusation.

Part four deals with a character’s name being spoken. This is the part I’ve been waiting for:

4 “No, dear Wulfgar,” Robillard said venomously. “You did.”

Salvatore opens a quote. He puts a comma before “dear Wulfgar,” as “dear” is modifying “Wulfgar.” Instead of saying “Yep dear, Lady,” the pause of the comma goes before the dear: “Yep, dear Lady.” I’ll still have to thumb through some books to see a concrete example for a title, but I suspect I’ll find it says “As you wish, my lord,” the knight said. King would drop the “venomously,” but I think the adjective here it appropriate. Salvatore is aiming for sarcasm and the “dear” might give the wrong impression without the “venomously” in the pointer. We should also note that we’re still ending on a comma in the first part of the dialogue.

Part five has no dialogue, but Salvatore opens a new paragraph since the action shifts entirely to Wulfgar:

5 Wulfgar lifted his chin, his stare defiant.

Part six opens a new paragraph and I’m anxious to see how Salvatore handles the pronoun. Does it get capitalized? No:

It’s a much longer ending than the insertion style we saw in part three, but the punctuation is very similar. The important thing is that “the wizard” isn’t capitalized.

Oct42007

Today’s Randomly Overheard Phrase That Would Make a Good Band Name

“Bash the Squeaker.”

My coworker was saying that yes, her dog’s new toy is very annoying and she’s certain it will not be long until someone “bashes the squeaker” in order to end their pain.

Sep122007

It Broke My Heart: David’s Response to Everything is Illuminated

It’s my goal in the next twelve months to catch up on all of the great books I’ve missed in the last few years while I was focusing solely on reading for my education. Don’t get me wrong, I’ve learned a lot by reading classics and books on writing. I’ve even managed to slip in the occasional young adult novel or fantasy epic in order to keep current with the trends, but the extraordinary amount of time it takes to really read what’s good and bad out there just hasn’t been available.

I took time out this week to read Jonathan Safran Foer’s Everything is Illuminated. It’s another wonderful book I wish I’d read years ago. Aside from being the most playful with language and style that I’ve seen in a long while, it’s also the most beautifully written. It’s brief and easily digested in small chapters and I quickly found myself pulling it out of my bag whenever I had ten minutes at the bus stop or five minutes in line at the bank.

What worked for me was the development of character. I really don’t want to ruin anything for you but the characters take their time to reveal their secrets and while you’re waiting on them to give up the goods, you get taken for a ride in the whirlpool history of the fictional village around which everything is centered.

The style is extremely original and you find yourself having to backtrack often as one character edits the writings of another. It’s a bit like As I Lay Dying, which I hate, but without the incredible misery of Faulkner’s classic. Everything made me cry, certainly, but it made me laugh quite a bit too and it’s been a while since a book did that for me.

My critical piece on it will be up on my main site shortly if you’d like a deeper analysis with a bit more fancy vocabulary.

What didn’t work for me: Well, absolutely nothing.

I love this book. It is one of my favorites: instantly and completely. I hope to write a book half this good by the time I die.

Sep62007

Aronofsky, Alan, and the Fear of Death: David’s Response to The Fountain

The light right now, outside the bus window is perfectly golden. My copy of Everything is Illuminated just arrived and yeah, I saw the movie first.

I missed the Fountain at the theatre. I had intended to see it simply to take in its visual effect but I have to say, I really regret it now that I’ve seen the movie. There is much more to take in than simply the sight of it. It’s been a few weeks and I’m still thinking about it, so suffice it to say, I really liked it. My good friend Alan, over at randomtope, didn’t care for it but I think my expectations were a lot lower (which might explain why every movie I paid to see at the theatre this summer was a real letdown).

The theme in the Fountain that I connected with is the same theme that acted as a capstone for Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows: that of death and our extreme fear of it. In both narratives, the fear of death is the primary motivator for villain or protagonist (I’m not here to discuss Harry Potter so if you’re trying to avoid spoilers, don’t worry). I’ve been thinking a lot about the fear of death and why it can motivate us with such force, particularly when we’re not aware that it is the feeling in the driver seat.

My recent birthday filled me with a particular sadness and in trying to examine it, I found it associated with having gotten older without accomplishing certain goals, particularly that of finishing my novel and seeing it in print. At the bottom of it all was the fear of death. It is inevitable, unavoidable, but few of us can face with it with any measure of nobility of grace. The character of Izzie in the Fountain managed to do that. Her husband’s inability to accept such a thing and the heroic efforts he put forth to avoid it, are the source of the movie’s plot.

At the Fountain’s core it is an old tale: Enkidu’s death stirred Gilgamesh on a similar quest at the dawn of written literature. The biblical tree of life (nicely tied in to the Fountain) symbolizes our frustration with our inevitable end and how no way to stave it off is within our reach. Gilgamesh was told his quest for immortality was an overreach of human ego and he was robbed of the prize he journeyed so hard to find.

In fantasy, our characters cheat death. Sometimes they return from it, fulfilling a crucial component of Joseph Campbell’s hero’s journey or Plato’s actualization of the Philosopher-King. But even these characters must face the descent into death and a key element of their triumph is how well they handle themselves. Perhaps one of the reasons I like comic books is that they are a suspension of this cycle: characters die, sometimes repeatedly, but it just doesn’t stick. They return, just as Campbell’s hero must come back to enlighten the world or Plato’s Philosopher-King might return to the cave in an attempt to free others. In all of these cases, even comic books, the characters grow and change. Their brush with death has enlightened them, toughened them, scarred and given them knowledge.

I liked the Fountain and recommend it to you. Just don’t tell Alan.

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