Call it what it is.
Science fiction: that genre of literature spawned from the community of writers and readers based about the magazine Amazing Stories, first published in 1926. Often abbreviated to sf, but never to sci-fi.
Sci-fi is considered a pejorative by science fiction fans. Perhaps because it's used to put down sf works by some outside the genre. It might well be time we claimed the term back for ourselves.
It's not speculative fiction. All fiction, irrespective of genre, is essentially speculative. Calling something speculative fiction (or spec fic) is just a feeble attempt at disguising its true nature. Why be embarrassed about enjoying science fiction? You can call them pommes frites, but they're still bloody chips.
Wednesday, 9 January 2008
Tuesday, 8 January 2008
The Survival of Artistic Modes...
In an interview at Focus on Science Fiction and Fantasy, author Jack Campbell (AKA John G Hemry) says: "I think SF has a good future as long as it doesn't take itself too seriously. By that I mean it has to remain focused on telling the story, rather than trying to be Literary."
Which is where I do my impression of Ben Kingsley from Sexy Beast (here: warning - not for the easily offended or faint of heart.)
Rather than refuse to take itself seriously, science fiction needs to grow up. The word "literary" (capitalised or not) is not an insult, and should not be used as such. It is an aspiration. As long as sf continues to trivialise itself and its ambitions, then it will be seen as the province of children and sad nerds in anoraks. And that's an image those of us who are serious about the genre having been trying to throw off for decades.
Just because mainstream critics and readers sneer at science fiction, that's no reason for reverse snobbery. That's no reason to take the complaints levelled at sf by mainstream critics and proudly claim them as the genre's defining characteristics. We shouldn't celebrate crap characterisation. We shouldn't claim that lumpen "transparent" prose is superior to any other form. We shouldn't privilege "idea" because it's unique to the genre - and so that's a competition we'll always "win". Neither should we privilege world-building, just because that's an area in which we've had so much more practice...
I'm not saying we should dispense with story, or no longer consider it important. But neither should other aspects of fiction be ignored. Science fiction is not exempt from the rules of good fiction. If anything, it's harder to do well because there is so much more which must be done well to succeed.
Also, it's not about the genre surviving. Genres evolve, and that's how they survive. It has nothing to do with taxonomy, or what letters publishers put on the spine of a novel. It's about individual works surviving. A century from now, will people still be reading supermarket bestsellers? Or will they be reading the "serious" works? The history of literature so far suggests the latter. I don't see any penny-dreadfuls still in print... but Dune is, 42 years after its first publication.
Science fiction is capable of so much more than trivial action-adventure tales dressed up with spaceships, aliens and robots. Why limit ourselves? I mean, isn't that the whole point of sf? That there are no limits?
Which is where I do my impression of Ben Kingsley from Sexy Beast (here: warning - not for the easily offended or faint of heart.)
Rather than refuse to take itself seriously, science fiction needs to grow up. The word "literary" (capitalised or not) is not an insult, and should not be used as such. It is an aspiration. As long as sf continues to trivialise itself and its ambitions, then it will be seen as the province of children and sad nerds in anoraks. And that's an image those of us who are serious about the genre having been trying to throw off for decades.
Just because mainstream critics and readers sneer at science fiction, that's no reason for reverse snobbery. That's no reason to take the complaints levelled at sf by mainstream critics and proudly claim them as the genre's defining characteristics. We shouldn't celebrate crap characterisation. We shouldn't claim that lumpen "transparent" prose is superior to any other form. We shouldn't privilege "idea" because it's unique to the genre - and so that's a competition we'll always "win". Neither should we privilege world-building, just because that's an area in which we've had so much more practice...
I'm not saying we should dispense with story, or no longer consider it important. But neither should other aspects of fiction be ignored. Science fiction is not exempt from the rules of good fiction. If anything, it's harder to do well because there is so much more which must be done well to succeed.
Also, it's not about the genre surviving. Genres evolve, and that's how they survive. It has nothing to do with taxonomy, or what letters publishers put on the spine of a novel. It's about individual works surviving. A century from now, will people still be reading supermarket bestsellers? Or will they be reading the "serious" works? The history of literature so far suggests the latter. I don't see any penny-dreadfuls still in print... but Dune is, 42 years after its first publication.
Science fiction is capable of so much more than trivial action-adventure tales dressed up with spaceships, aliens and robots. Why limit ourselves? I mean, isn't that the whole point of sf? That there are no limits?
Sunday, 6 January 2008
Last of the Favourites Challenge - Dhalgren, Samuel R Delany
People either love or hate Dhalgren. This is not all together surprising - it's an experimental novel, it's pornographic in parts, and it's only peripherally science fiction. On its publication in 1975, some sf commentators hated and condemned it. Harlan Ellison said, "When Dhalgren came out, I thought it was awful, still do... I was supposed to review it for the L.A. Times, got 200 pages into it and threw it against a wall." (Ellison hating it is a good reason to like the book, if you ask me.) And yet Dhalgren proved to be Delany's biggest-selling novel, finding a huge audience outside the genre.
The plot, what little of it there is, is simple: a young man who cannot remember his name enters the city of Bellona. Some catastrophe has taken place there, and only there, reducing the city to a post-apocalyptic urban wasteland. In this wasteland live a few hundred anarchic survivors. There is a commune of do-gooders in the park, gangs of scorpions roaming the streets, and Roger Calkins, publisher of the Bellona Times freesheet, lording over it all from his walled mansion. The young man - who is quickly named Kidd, the Kid, or Kid - meets various of Bellona's residents. He helps the Richards move apartments. They are trying to continue their lives as if everything were normal, but it's proving very difficult. Kid enters into a relationship with harmonica-playing Lanya. Eventually, he ends up as the leader of a nest of scorpions. And he becomes a poet, and has a book of poetry published by Calkins.
The prose operates at a very detailed level, with almost every itch, breath, or passing thought documented. Occasionally, it's clumsy. Sometimes, it's serviceable. Mostly, it's good, but never quite brilliant. The characters are, by their very nature, chiefly ciphers. Bellona itself is probably the best drawn character in the novel. Some of the cast are merely mouthpieces. The prize-winning poet, Ernest Newboy, for example. The name itself is a giveaway. At several points in Dhalgren, Newboy discusses poetry with Kid - both the writing of it and people's responses to it. I haven't read enough of Delany's non-fiction to spot if Newboy is reiterating Delany's own theories. I doubt it, because Newboy's theories are pompous twaddle. For instance, he tells an anecdote about how his appreciation of two writers was changed by personally meeting them. The work of one he found bland and dull, but after interviewing the writer, revised his opinion - he could now hear the author's voice when he read, and what was anodyne he now saw was ironic and incisive. And vice versa for another writer, whose work he had always admired, but found near unreadable after getting to know the author. It's complete and utter rubbish, of course. You might as well expect a soap opera star to behave in real life the same as the character they play on television...
Dhalgren is only peripherally science fiction. No explanation is given for the catastrophe which has befallen Bellona. The various hints Delany gives are not rational - a second moon in the night sky, a day when a vast sun fills the sky, the way the city seems to randomly change, the unreliable nature of time within the city... I've seen it suggested that much of this can be explained through Kid being schizophrenic. But there are other sfnal elements in the novel. The scorpions are so called because they wear holographic "light shields". These were initially holograms of scorpions, although by the time Kid arrives in Bellona they're all manner of colourful and mythical creatures. This use of science fiction ideas, without the underlying process, is what angered some sf commentators - Delany was breaking the "rules".
But it's not just the "rules" of science fiction that are broken in Dhalgren. Many of the "rules" are fiction are also carefully broken. The voice is third person, but occasionally lapses into first person. The final section “The Anathemata: A Plague Journal”, is presented with interlinear comments, and in parts reads like an edited manuscript. Kid's character too is very different to that presented in the rest of the novel. The novel's opening line, "... to wound the autumnal city" is actually the latter half of the novel's last line. The narrative's chronology is confused and confusing - Kid loses entire days at a time, and yet the novel's timeline never quite adds up.
One of the interesting aspects of Dhalgren is not that you find something new every time you read the book, but that you consider the book itself anew. Each reread changes how you think about the novel as a whole. This time, I found many of the characters less appealing than I'd remembered. Newboy was a pompous arse, astronaut Captain Kamp (based on Buzz Aldrin? in places, he seemed to be) was patronising, George Harrison was almost a caricature, and most of the scorpions were unlikeable yobs. And yet, on this read, I learnt something new about Dhalgren: it is filled with references to Greek and Roman myths. Such as the opening scene, in which Kid has sex with a woman and then visits a grotto and finds a strange chain of prisms and lens - a reference to Daphne. In many parts of the novel, Kid's story references that of Apollo. Dhalgren is more myth than literature, and in some respects its construction reflects that.
I still find the novel fascinating. There's something primal in the story which appeals to me. As post-apocalyptic novel, it's completely different to George R Stewart's Earth Abides. Dhalgren is never dull. It hasn't even dated, because it's one of those sf novels - like van Vogt's Undercover Aliens - which carries the time it was written around with it, irrespective of, and in addition to, the time in which the story is set.
So, that's it - I read one of my favourite science fiction novels in each month of 2007. I'm glad I did. It went something like this...
January: Undercover Aliens, AE van Vogt (1950)
This one remains a favourite. Every time I read it, it never disappoints - perhaps because it has no pretensions, so my expectations are always met. It's a lot of fun.
February: The Ophiuchi Hotline, John Varley (1977)
Whereas this one did disappoint a little. This time, I found the characterisation thinner than I'd remembered it, and the multiple copies of Lilo a little unnecessary. There are still a lot of great ideas in the book, though - even if the best one is thrown away in the last couple of pages. All the same, it'll stay a favourite.
March: Stations of the Tide, Michael Swanwick (1991)
The first one to get demoted. I remember being blown away when I first read Stations of the Tide back in the early 1990s. Sadly, I wasn't this time. Refusing to name the protagonist now seemed like a gimmick, parts of the story were lifted straight from a Southern Gothic, and the sections set in the Puzzle Palace were confused and confusing. A very good book, yes; but not a favourite any more.
April: Where Time Winds Blow, Robert Holdstock (1981)
I was in two minds about this one. The central conceit - Kriakta Rift, where strange winds blow through time, depositing unknowable artefacts from past and future - is a stunning invention. The central triumvirate of characters are handled with skill and compassion. But. But. But. It's that last section, where the time winds are "explained". It sort of spoiled it for me. On balance, however, I think it remains a favourite - because the first three-quarters overshadow the final quarter.
May: Soldier, Ask Not, Gordon R Dickson (1967)
Another book gets relegated. I bunged this one on the list to make it up to twelve, and chose it chiefly from fond memories of the trilogy and a recollection that this was the best of the three. And so it is. Unfortunately, those fond memories were a little rosier than I'd guessed. Dickson seemed more concerned with his historical theories than he was with his story, and the end result reads like a pulp sf action-adventure tale wrapped around some oddball lecture.
June: Kairos, Gwyneth Jones (1988)
This novel was once described to me as "a beautiful book badly written, or a bad book beautifully written". The remark impressed me at the time - I was a callow youth then. Kairos is actually neither. Like many literary sf novels, there are sparkles of beauty and brilliance in its prose. But more than that, it is tightly plotted and the characterisation is superb. The story unfolds with the same remorselessness with which the eponymous drug unravels the world of the story. A favourite it is and a favourite it shall remain.
July: Against A Dark Background, Iain M Banks (1993)
Like Undercover Aliens, this one appeals because it's fun. And every time I read it, it's still fun. Not content with charging headlong through space opera tropes, Banks also subverts the standard fantasy quest template. Each time Sharrow wins a new plot coupon, she goes and loses it or has it taken from her. And yet Against A Dark Background is not in the least bit a frustrating read. Still a favourite.
August: Metrophage, Richard Kadrey (1988)
I've maintained for many years that the publication of Metrophage locked and bolted the door on cyberpunk. There was nothing more than needed to be said. Neal Stephenson's pisstake of cyberpunk, Snow Crash, was only a bit of fancy icing on the cake - all sugary colour and no substance. And yet, rereading Metrophage, it occurred to me that what Kadrey had actually done was - as I wrote in my original post on the book - fold cyberpunk back into science fiction. Still a great novel, still a favourite.
September: Coelestis, Paul Park (1995)
There's no doubt in my mind about this one. Each time I read it, it impresses me more. It stays a favourite.
October: Dune, Frank Herbert (1965)
I had to add two titles to my original list to make it a year's worth of reading. And while I've read Dune many times, and enjoyed it each time, I've never really held the book in high enough regard to consider it a favourite. For one thing, it's the start of a series, but not the strongest book in that series. But I decided to add it to my favourites challenge and... my opinion on it remains unchanged. I read it, I enjoyed it, I'll likely read it again. I like Frank Herbert's writing a great deal... but he's written better books than Dune, and has written books with better writing in them than in Dune... Unfortunately, the Duniverse overshadows all his other creations. For the time-being, Dune will remain on the list. But at the bottom, ready to be relegated should another sf novel really take my fancy.
November: Take Back Plenty, Colin Greenland (1990)
I'd forgotten how good this novel really was. I'd remembered the too-pat ending, though. But that's minor. An engaging heroine, a clever homage to pulp sf, and some lovely prose. This books deserves to back in print. It remains a favourite.
December: Dhalgren, Samuel Delany (1975)
See above. Yes, Dhalgren remains a favourite.
So there you have it. Of the twelve books, two didn't make the grade, and one is ripe for relegation. I still have that list of also-rans, which I may work my way through. Having said that, the few from it I did read last year weren't good enough for promotion. But then the list was chiefly put together from nostalgia, which is never a good indicator...
The plot, what little of it there is, is simple: a young man who cannot remember his name enters the city of Bellona. Some catastrophe has taken place there, and only there, reducing the city to a post-apocalyptic urban wasteland. In this wasteland live a few hundred anarchic survivors. There is a commune of do-gooders in the park, gangs of scorpions roaming the streets, and Roger Calkins, publisher of the Bellona Times freesheet, lording over it all from his walled mansion. The young man - who is quickly named Kidd, the Kid, or Kid - meets various of Bellona's residents. He helps the Richards move apartments. They are trying to continue their lives as if everything were normal, but it's proving very difficult. Kid enters into a relationship with harmonica-playing Lanya. Eventually, he ends up as the leader of a nest of scorpions. And he becomes a poet, and has a book of poetry published by Calkins.
The prose operates at a very detailed level, with almost every itch, breath, or passing thought documented. Occasionally, it's clumsy. Sometimes, it's serviceable. Mostly, it's good, but never quite brilliant. The characters are, by their very nature, chiefly ciphers. Bellona itself is probably the best drawn character in the novel. Some of the cast are merely mouthpieces. The prize-winning poet, Ernest Newboy, for example. The name itself is a giveaway. At several points in Dhalgren, Newboy discusses poetry with Kid - both the writing of it and people's responses to it. I haven't read enough of Delany's non-fiction to spot if Newboy is reiterating Delany's own theories. I doubt it, because Newboy's theories are pompous twaddle. For instance, he tells an anecdote about how his appreciation of two writers was changed by personally meeting them. The work of one he found bland and dull, but after interviewing the writer, revised his opinion - he could now hear the author's voice when he read, and what was anodyne he now saw was ironic and incisive. And vice versa for another writer, whose work he had always admired, but found near unreadable after getting to know the author. It's complete and utter rubbish, of course. You might as well expect a soap opera star to behave in real life the same as the character they play on television...
Dhalgren is only peripherally science fiction. No explanation is given for the catastrophe which has befallen Bellona. The various hints Delany gives are not rational - a second moon in the night sky, a day when a vast sun fills the sky, the way the city seems to randomly change, the unreliable nature of time within the city... I've seen it suggested that much of this can be explained through Kid being schizophrenic. But there are other sfnal elements in the novel. The scorpions are so called because they wear holographic "light shields". These were initially holograms of scorpions, although by the time Kid arrives in Bellona they're all manner of colourful and mythical creatures. This use of science fiction ideas, without the underlying process, is what angered some sf commentators - Delany was breaking the "rules".
But it's not just the "rules" of science fiction that are broken in Dhalgren. Many of the "rules" are fiction are also carefully broken. The voice is third person, but occasionally lapses into first person. The final section “The Anathemata: A Plague Journal”, is presented with interlinear comments, and in parts reads like an edited manuscript. Kid's character too is very different to that presented in the rest of the novel. The novel's opening line, "... to wound the autumnal city" is actually the latter half of the novel's last line. The narrative's chronology is confused and confusing - Kid loses entire days at a time, and yet the novel's timeline never quite adds up.
One of the interesting aspects of Dhalgren is not that you find something new every time you read the book, but that you consider the book itself anew. Each reread changes how you think about the novel as a whole. This time, I found many of the characters less appealing than I'd remembered. Newboy was a pompous arse, astronaut Captain Kamp (based on Buzz Aldrin? in places, he seemed to be) was patronising, George Harrison was almost a caricature, and most of the scorpions were unlikeable yobs. And yet, on this read, I learnt something new about Dhalgren: it is filled with references to Greek and Roman myths. Such as the opening scene, in which Kid has sex with a woman and then visits a grotto and finds a strange chain of prisms and lens - a reference to Daphne. In many parts of the novel, Kid's story references that of Apollo. Dhalgren is more myth than literature, and in some respects its construction reflects that.
I still find the novel fascinating. There's something primal in the story which appeals to me. As post-apocalyptic novel, it's completely different to George R Stewart's Earth Abides. Dhalgren is never dull. It hasn't even dated, because it's one of those sf novels - like van Vogt's Undercover Aliens - which carries the time it was written around with it, irrespective of, and in addition to, the time in which the story is set.
So, that's it - I read one of my favourite science fiction novels in each month of 2007. I'm glad I did. It went something like this...
January: Undercover Aliens, AE van Vogt (1950)
This one remains a favourite. Every time I read it, it never disappoints - perhaps because it has no pretensions, so my expectations are always met. It's a lot of fun.
February: The Ophiuchi Hotline, John Varley (1977)
Whereas this one did disappoint a little. This time, I found the characterisation thinner than I'd remembered it, and the multiple copies of Lilo a little unnecessary. There are still a lot of great ideas in the book, though - even if the best one is thrown away in the last couple of pages. All the same, it'll stay a favourite.
March: Stations of the Tide, Michael Swanwick (1991)
The first one to get demoted. I remember being blown away when I first read Stations of the Tide back in the early 1990s. Sadly, I wasn't this time. Refusing to name the protagonist now seemed like a gimmick, parts of the story were lifted straight from a Southern Gothic, and the sections set in the Puzzle Palace were confused and confusing. A very good book, yes; but not a favourite any more.
April: Where Time Winds Blow, Robert Holdstock (1981)
I was in two minds about this one. The central conceit - Kriakta Rift, where strange winds blow through time, depositing unknowable artefacts from past and future - is a stunning invention. The central triumvirate of characters are handled with skill and compassion. But. But. But. It's that last section, where the time winds are "explained". It sort of spoiled it for me. On balance, however, I think it remains a favourite - because the first three-quarters overshadow the final quarter.
May: Soldier, Ask Not, Gordon R Dickson (1967)
Another book gets relegated. I bunged this one on the list to make it up to twelve, and chose it chiefly from fond memories of the trilogy and a recollection that this was the best of the three. And so it is. Unfortunately, those fond memories were a little rosier than I'd guessed. Dickson seemed more concerned with his historical theories than he was with his story, and the end result reads like a pulp sf action-adventure tale wrapped around some oddball lecture.
June: Kairos, Gwyneth Jones (1988)
This novel was once described to me as "a beautiful book badly written, or a bad book beautifully written". The remark impressed me at the time - I was a callow youth then. Kairos is actually neither. Like many literary sf novels, there are sparkles of beauty and brilliance in its prose. But more than that, it is tightly plotted and the characterisation is superb. The story unfolds with the same remorselessness with which the eponymous drug unravels the world of the story. A favourite it is and a favourite it shall remain.
July: Against A Dark Background, Iain M Banks (1993)
Like Undercover Aliens, this one appeals because it's fun. And every time I read it, it's still fun. Not content with charging headlong through space opera tropes, Banks also subverts the standard fantasy quest template. Each time Sharrow wins a new plot coupon, she goes and loses it or has it taken from her. And yet Against A Dark Background is not in the least bit a frustrating read. Still a favourite.
August: Metrophage, Richard Kadrey (1988)
I've maintained for many years that the publication of Metrophage locked and bolted the door on cyberpunk. There was nothing more than needed to be said. Neal Stephenson's pisstake of cyberpunk, Snow Crash, was only a bit of fancy icing on the cake - all sugary colour and no substance. And yet, rereading Metrophage, it occurred to me that what Kadrey had actually done was - as I wrote in my original post on the book - fold cyberpunk back into science fiction. Still a great novel, still a favourite.
September: Coelestis, Paul Park (1995)
There's no doubt in my mind about this one. Each time I read it, it impresses me more. It stays a favourite.
October: Dune, Frank Herbert (1965)
I had to add two titles to my original list to make it a year's worth of reading. And while I've read Dune many times, and enjoyed it each time, I've never really held the book in high enough regard to consider it a favourite. For one thing, it's the start of a series, but not the strongest book in that series. But I decided to add it to my favourites challenge and... my opinion on it remains unchanged. I read it, I enjoyed it, I'll likely read it again. I like Frank Herbert's writing a great deal... but he's written better books than Dune, and has written books with better writing in them than in Dune... Unfortunately, the Duniverse overshadows all his other creations. For the time-being, Dune will remain on the list. But at the bottom, ready to be relegated should another sf novel really take my fancy.
November: Take Back Plenty, Colin Greenland (1990)
I'd forgotten how good this novel really was. I'd remembered the too-pat ending, though. But that's minor. An engaging heroine, a clever homage to pulp sf, and some lovely prose. This books deserves to back in print. It remains a favourite.
December: Dhalgren, Samuel Delany (1975)
See above. Yes, Dhalgren remains a favourite.
So there you have it. Of the twelve books, two didn't make the grade, and one is ripe for relegation. I still have that list of also-rans, which I may work my way through. Having said that, the few from it I did read last year weren't good enough for promotion. But then the list was chiefly put together from nostalgia, which is never a good indicator...
Tuesday, 1 January 2008
One Year Ends...
... and another one begins.
2007 was a bit of a mixed bag. Book-wise, I read 175 books, but bought more. Both figures are up on last year. I need to spend less money on eBay. Mind you, I've been saying that for years. However, new to 2007 were books on the Apollo programme and mediaeval Arabic literature
. Hopefully, those two "enthusiasms" should keep me going through 2008, and so limit my book purchasing...
Of those 175 books read, around half were science fiction. Brian Aldiss and Lawrence Durrell tied as most-read authors (5 books each), closely followed by Eric Brown with 4 books. Actually, Alan Moore was most-read, but that was graphic novels (11, in fact). Prior to 2007, all I'd read by Moore was Watchmen (excellent) and Batman: Killing Joke (meh). But last year I discovered Tom Strong, and loved it. Other authors new to me in 2007 were John Jarmain (see here and here) and Leigh Brackett. I can't read more of the former - I've read everything of his that has been published - but I will read more Brackett. There were other writers new to me, but those two are the notables ones.
On the music front... myself and a friend, Craig, resolved in January last year to attend one gig a month during 2007. That plan fell flat - the first band we saw live was Mostly Autumn in April. But by the end of the year, I'd managed seven gigs and a metal festival. Not counting those at the festival, here are all the bands I saw perform in 2007: Glow, Mostly Autumn, Ted Maul, Cephalic Carnage, Akercocke, Kramer, Blind Ego, Pallas, Engel, Amon Amarth, Dimmu Borgir, Sonic Syndicate, Caliban, Dark Tranquillity, Soilwork, Ella, Fell Silent, The Final Sigh, Opinicus, Asuras, Coliseum, Pelican and High on Fire. The festival was Bloodstock Open Air... and I enjoyed it so much I've already booked tickets for 2008.
Films - since leaving the United Arab Emirates in 2002, I've been really crap about visiting the cinema. Admittedly, it was easy there. I lived around the corner from the best cinema in the city, and finished work at 3 o'clock, so it was easy to catch the afternoon showing. I usually had the auditorium to myself, too. With the exception of The Golden Compass, seen at a cinema in Leeds on 23 December, every film I watched in 2007 was on DVD or telly. Last year, I also became a fan of the films of Elia Suleiman, Werner Herzog and Ingmar Bergman.
I started writing short stories again in 2007. Not many - I was never prolific. In fact, that's one of my resolutions for 2008 - be more prolific. One story racked up five rejections - including the dumbest rejection ever. Another one... I've still not heard back from the magazine. Fingers crossed. I also had a bash at poetry in 2007. Not something I've ever done before. One last buff and polish, and I think I'll submit it somewhere this year. And, of course, there's the novel... (It's almost done, John.) Book two of a trilogy, and better than the first one, I think. Could this be the year? If I kick the writing into high gear, then perhaps it might be...
2007 was a bit of a mixed bag. Book-wise, I read 175 books, but bought more. Both figures are up on last year. I need to spend less money on eBay. Mind you, I've been saying that for years. However, new to 2007 were books on the Apollo programme and mediaeval Arabic literature
. Hopefully, those two "enthusiasms" should keep me going through 2008, and so limit my book purchasing...Of those 175 books read, around half were science fiction. Brian Aldiss
and Lawrence Durrell tied as most-read authors (5 books each), closely followed by Eric Brown with 4 books. Actually, Alan Moore was most-read, but that was graphic novels (11, in fact). Prior to 2007, all I'd read by Moore was Watchmen (excellent) and Batman: Killing Joke (meh). But last year I discovered Tom Strong, and loved it. Other authors new to me in 2007 were John Jarmain (see here and here) and Leigh Brackett. I can't read more of the former - I've read everything of his that has been published - but I will read more Brackett. There were other writers new to me, but those two are the notables ones.On the music front... myself and a friend, Craig, resolved in January last year to attend one gig a month during 2007. That plan fell flat - the first band we saw live was Mostly Autumn
in April. But by the end of the year, I'd managed seven gigs and a metal festival. Not counting those at the festival, here are all the bands I saw perform in 2007: Glow, Mostly Autumn, Ted Maul, Cephalic Carnage, Akercocke, Kramer, Blind Ego, Pallas, Engel, Amon Amarth, Dimmu Borgir, Sonic Syndicate, Caliban, Dark Tranquillity, Soilwork, Ella, Fell Silent, The Final Sigh, Opinicus, Asuras, Coliseum, Pelican and High on Fire. The festival was Bloodstock Open Air... and I enjoyed it so much I've already booked tickets for 2008.Films - since leaving the United Arab Emirates in 2002, I've been really crap about visiting the cinema. Admittedly, it was easy there. I lived around the corner from the best cinema in the city, and finished work at 3 o'clock, so it was easy to catch the afternoon showing. I usually had the auditorium to myself, too. With the exception of The Golden Compass
, seen at a cinema in Leeds on 23 December, every film I watched in 2007 was on DVD or telly. Last year, I also became a fan of the films of Elia Suleiman, Werner Herzog and Ingmar Bergman.I started writing short stories again in 2007. Not many - I was never prolific. In fact, that's one of my resolutions for 2008 - be more prolific. One story racked up five rejections - including the dumbest rejection ever. Another one... I've still not heard back from the magazine. Fingers crossed. I also had a bash at poetry in 2007. Not something I've ever done before. One last buff and polish, and I think I'll submit it somewhere this year. And, of course, there's the novel... (It's almost done, John.) Book two of a trilogy, and better than the first one, I think. Could this be the year? If I kick the writing into high gear, then perhaps it might be...
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