let’s roundly shit on everything

It’s the end of the year and a bunch of genre blogs and websites are doing their unpaid marketing drone bit probably in the hope they’ll get free books and some scraps of attention from publishers or authors. First we have Fantasy Faction’s Top 10 Anticipated Fantasy Books for 2013, a list populated almost entirely by white men from a website catering specifically to neckbeards.

Remember this Liz B review of Theft of Swords? Remember “a chivalrous knight of archaic dimensions”? Yeah, same author, formerly self-published and perpetually redditor Michael J Sullivan. I haven’t read the synopsis and have no idea what this book is about, but going by the cover I’d guess it’s generic as fuck and going by the author’s previous works it is probably about as progressive gender-wise as a Conan story. Verdict: unreadable shit.

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links round-up the headstomp edition

Michael Tedder is a pathetic Joss Whedon fanboy.

For example, there are vast differences in technology between the rich planets and the Dust Bowl planets, and the characters tend to use Manadarian curse words to signify that, in the continuity of the “Firefly” universe, West and East cultures have fully integrated.

[...]

Joss Whedon is the great male feminist of pop culture, and as such “Firefly” had well-rounded characters like Gina Torres’ Zoe Washburne, the ship’s second in command, and the ship’s engineer Kaylee Fyre, played by Jewel Staite. (There was a fair amount of saving damaged-genius River Tam, played by Summer Glau, throughout the series and movie, but this story line eventually paid off in a thematically satisfying way that found the character embracing her inner strength in a way that there’s not really room to explain here but which involved a lot of awesome kung-fu moves.) These characters were more than just obligatory love interests and rescue Macguffins, and they weren’t perfect Mary Sues, either. They had fleshed-out character needs and personality flaws (Kaylee was insecure, Morena Baccarin’s Inara was emotionally closed off), they often drove the episode’s plots and, as is usually the case in Whedon productions, they got the best one-liners.

Stomp this man in the head. Twice. Then put a red-hot poker in his ear–that’s a common male wish-fulfillment fantasy (see: Terry Goodkind) so we’ll be doing Tedder a favor, honest. Notice how he makes sure to tell you that the ladies are no Mary Sues, but he doesn’t feel the need to apply the same qualifier to male characters. One of his favorite moments in Firefly includes “Inara struggling not to cry after she learns that Mal had sex with her best friend,” for an extra bit of telling. Tedder, I suspect, self-identifies as a Nice Guy (lit. a creep). The rest of the article consists of him proudly proclaiming that no matter how much cheetos, sweat and assorted filth might be found in Whedon’s beard, Tedder will still kiss it.

Hayley Campbell is… I’ve no idea who she is. Anyway, she wants you to know that she’s one of the boys and that the world we live in is totally post-feminist.

These shrill cries of Won’t somebody think of the [women]! and labelling things as sexist (until they are mathematically (!) proven otherwise) thoroughly undermine and dilute the stuff that is actually sexist. [Sub-Beef: Why, when women are challenged on the internet by something they said do so many run away and hide? I'm not talking about the cases of scary harassment or stalky dudes. I've seen people flee not because of threat but discussion and disagreement. If you stick your arse out, someone's going to kick it. Always. Don’t hide. Come back, get angry.]

My problem with the whole Women In Comics thing is, and let me state this bluntly, not women in comics. Women do great comics. Men do great comics. Women do some absolutely terrible comics, and so do men. End of disclaimer. My problem is the ghettos women build for themselves. A badly-designed women-only anthology is nothing but a childish reaction to the No Girls Allowed sign hanging on the tree-house door. Need an example? Pick any you like. They are uniformly awful because of the very thing that they are saying: they aim for some sort of equality (“don’t treat us differently, we are cartoonists too”) and miss the target by fencing themselves off (“we are different”). It’s self-defeating. Put everything together in a big heap and we will decide what’s good or not based on words and pictures, not gender. A women-only anthology is in no way empowering. It is not helping. It’s actually kind of embarrassing and completely old-fashioned. In the 1970s/1980s there was a need for Wimmin’s Comix and Diane Noomin and Aline Kominsky’s Twisted Sisters, but there isn’t now. The latter, while still being a women-only anthology, outgrew the particular brand of feminist bullshit I have problems with.

Some of the comments are surprisingly spot-on. The rest are the wails of mental infants.

Ronan Wills stomps on the desiccated zombie head of Ray Bradbury.

What amazes me about Fahrenheit 451 isn’t that it’s so universally acclaimed, but that it’s so beloved by geeks and nerds. Go onto any internet community in which average beard length stretches below the chin  and you’ll find “list your favourite book” threads routinely ranking Fahrenheit 451 in the top three. These are the same people who usually fancy themselves progressive and forward thinking and who certainly love the shit out of their new media, so why they find this pile of lukewarm tripe so appealing is beyond me. Or maybe it isn’t, given what most internet nerds are like.

I hated this book. Dear god did I hate it. Probably more than is strictly fair if I’m being honest, but it pushed several of my personal nuclear-meltdown buttons (in case that wasn’t obvious enough).

Oh, and if you’re ever in doubt that SFF continues to be a regressive shitpool that needs to lined up before a firing squad, take a look at these poll results for best SFF novels of the twentieth and twenty-first centuries. To the best of my knowledge pretty much every single author named is a pasty Aryan, and the overwhelming majority of them–90% if not more–are men. SFF, that great bastion of progressiveness!

line up the links and bring the firing squad

Marsomething Kaye (who I’ve never heard of before except in the context of “what a racist fuck”) has stepped up toe defend Save the Whites: A Thoroughly Non-Racist Book. Keep in mind that Martin Kaye thinks HP Lovecraft is awesome.

Weird Tales seldom prints SF, but this story is a compelling view of a world that didn’t listen to the warnings of ecologists, and a world that has developed a reverse racism: blacks dominating and detesting not just whites, but latinos and albinos, the few that still survive of the latter are hunted down and slaughtered.

He’ll publish the first chapter in WT’s next issue. Considering that even if you set aside the offensiveness the book’s still shit, what more needs to be said of either Weird Tales or Kaye?

Brent Weeks, who writes some barely-readable, forgettable dribble featuring cover art that looks like recolored Assassin’s Creed boxes, made a whiny tweet to the tune of “how dare mere mortals–like, readers!–complain ebooks are overpriced?”

What stuns me is that it takes him more than two years to churn out such barely-readable dribble. Mr Weeks, most hacks of your caliber need just one year per novel, if that. Step up your game! You’re writing dreck that’s barely a step above tie-in fiction, dude, not creating great art through blood and tears (unless the tears are for the knowledge you’ll never be anything more than mediocre). You should be grateful anyone’d even pay $4 for one of those things. I can direct anyone curious to pirated copies of his books, by the way.

I was hoping critics and writers in litfic were less entitled and testerical than the ones in genre. J Robert Lennon, whoever he is, decided to prove me wrong.

Second, have a little humility about your opinion. Even if you don’t like the writer you’re reviewing, not even a little bit, acknowledge, at least to yourself, that some people do, and that this fact is not meaningless. In your review, let your reader know what it is other people like about this writer. If you disagree, say so, in a non-condescending manner. The goal is to explain and persuade, not to hurt. Though I thought Ben Marcus’s last novel was largely unsuccessful, I understood why some people might like it. Marcus is well-regarded and has clear strengths — he does things in his work that I can’t, and many people I respect, respect him. Thus, I respect him too. The first half of my review acknowledged and characterized that respect before I presented my case.

What is this claptrap? Nobody owes anyone shit, boyo. He did however link to a wonderfully entertaining review (while whining of course that it’s too mean).

Ohlin’s language betrays an appalling lack of register — language that limps onto the page proudly indifferent to pitch or vigor. Mitch’s “heart sang” and then Mitch’s “heart sank”; poor Mitch “felt his heart cracking like ice cubes in warm water.” Annie “had touched Grace’s heart” but had also “gotten under her skin.” Grace feels “marooned on her own private island” and then “her nerves were singing.” In just 13 pages you will be asked to endure eyes “fluttering,” then “shining,” then “fluttering” again. Mitch’s girlfriend is “brilliantly smart” — imagine for a second the special brand of languor required to connect those two terms — and also blows her nose “goose-honkingly hard.” Ohlin’s preferred simile is some variation of the lazy “like a child,” and she has a baffling fondness for the most worthless word in English: “weird.”

links links links also let’s oppress weeaboos

The Biyuti Collective has a wonderful post On Manners, Etiquette and the White Man’s Rules.

It is important that so many white people use standards of etiquette to judge how civilized and human some people are. It is important that within the last ten years there is an incident like this in Canada. That children of colour are being held to and judged on some arbitrary white standard of etiquette. That they are being shamed and policed.

[...]

I have trouble eating with a knife and fork. I’m always awkward with them and often end up creating a mess. I never use them. I’m a pro with a spoon and a fork. With chopsticks, even. Knife and fork? Clumsy, awkward, and just not the best utensils for the sorts of things that I eat.

The “cutlery controversy” in Canada incident is referenced.

The boy’s mother pursued a formal apology, reporting that, in a telephone conversation with school principal Normand Bergeron, he had told her “Madame, you are in Canada. Here in Canada you should eat the way Canadians eat.”[3]

The story first appeared in the West Island Chronicle. According to the Montreal-area newspaper, “When (the boy’s mother) questioned Bergeron about punishing students for their table habits, she says he replied that, ‘If your son eats like a pig he has to go to another table because this is the way we do it and how we’re going to do it every time.’”

[...]

“I don’t necessarily want students to eat with one hand or with only one instrument, I want them to eat intelligently at the table … I want them to eat correctly with respect for others who are eating with them. That’s all I ask. Personally, I don’t have any problems with it, but it is not the way you see people eat every day. I have never seen somebody eat with a spoon and a fork at the same time.

It doesn’t need to be reiterated of that this is racist as fuck, and disgusting. And have you ever considered how inefficient it is to eat many dishes with a fork and knife? Stupid even, and inefficient? The spoon-and-fork way is both superior and more decorous: it’s neat and lets you gather up all the things you want to gather up. It lets you clean the plate. If occidentals want to find dirty primitives to sneer at, they need only to look into a mirror.

Rochita Loenen-Ruiz guest-posted Decolonizing as an SF Writer at Kate Elliot’s blog.

In the course of this journey, I have been told that I need to learn English better. That I can’t possibly grasp the nuances of the English language the way a native English speaker does and that I will never be published as an SF writer.

And then, there are people who say that because I write in English, my narrative is contaminated and no longer true to the culture I come from.


People who follow me on twitter may have been watching a particular exchange yesterday. I now feel that it is necessary to clarify some things, since people appear to misunderstand me about a very crucial matter–to wit, that I’m an advocate of some strange form of feminism that is an all-human, encompassing movement in which the rights and identities of weeaboos, otherkin, furries, fandom, geeks, nerds and their ilk must be respected and campaigned for. Now I’ll say, and dispel this misconception once and for all, that I do not give even one single shit about the fake oppression and the martyr complexes enjoyed by weeaboos, otherkin, furries, fandom, geeks, nerds and such ilk.

You might think this is not a thing which requires clarification. So did I! Well, both you and I are wrong.

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links and chewtoys of interest

Brian Keene (who’s a writer or something, I think) muses over why his list of top 25 writers has not a single woman on it. Keene, I get the impression, would like to come across as an ally; everything in that post screams fauxgressive man to me, and I wasn’t surprised to see that most of his beloved icons are neckbeard favorites (Alan Moore, Neil Gaiman, Stephen King, Howard, Lovecraft, Clarke: unsurprisingly, they are also writers with giant fucking issues with writing women). For the most part the post doesn’t seem especially offensive until you hit the end and you realize that Keene, er, blames anything but… you know… misogyny. Institutionized misogyny goes unmentioned; that his own sexism might be at fault never occurs as a possibility. Goodness no!

But when I consider that time-period — the mid-70’s to the late-80’s — it occurs to me that there simply weren’t as many female writers working in either the genre or in comics as there are now.

[...]

Fact is, I simply wasn’t exposed to a lot of female writers during my formative years, because work by female writers wasn’t as commercially available. That’s a big reason why there weren’t any on my list.  But that doesn’t mean I don’t enjoy books written by women, which brings me to thought number two.

I wasn’t reading books during that exact period (I’m smart, but if I was reading pop-culture artifacts while waiting to be born I don’t remember it, I’m not that smart), but as a kid I could obtain works by women writers (Anglophonic and not), and certainly there was plenty of shoujo to go around. Now, yes, manga is a different thing from comics, but I also recall reading Mists of Avalon (1983), Vinge’s The Snow Queen (1980), Edith Bland (aka E. Nesbit, dead in 1924), and more. In translation. This means those works were prominent enough to be localized in a country where western SFF isn’t a huge thing, and where English is not the primary language.

What is Keene’s excuse? A more self-aware man might admit that, no, at that age he wasn’t interested in girly things because COOTIES and institutional patriarchy. Keene, I fear, is not that man.

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intermission! white men’s tears and the insecurity of the privileged

The subject refers to the idea of white woman’s tears, which sometimes comes into contention due to its gendered nature. But that’s not what I’m here for today, oh no. I’m here to point out that white men too will cry, and cry and cry, and flood the Internet with their tears. Or their jizz, or both, since I’ve come to suspect that many of them jerk each other off as they write the things I will soon link.

You will have heard of the Bakker brouhaha, if you are here. Let’s have a chronology:

You may be thinking I’ve willfully obscured something. Surely, surely no grown adult man could go on about that one post from August 2011… six months later? Surely not? I must have consistently attacked him! Blogged about him! Many times! Perhaps I may even have personally harassed him! Such is the way of bitchy, angry feminists: we hound offensive men to the end of the earth. So much so that their sales figures suffer and their family goes poor. (For your perusal and pleasure, try this bit of flash fiction by Elodie.)

Alas, no. I made but that one post. Ever after any mention of Bakker on this blog has been peripheral, because I didn’t care about him all that much, and wouldn’t especially want to read his books. But there it is: Bakker stewed over this, apparently, for six entire months. Peter Watts, who is a magical friend of Bakker’s, proceeded to call me “a rabid animal.” Something which even a person who finds me “toxic” recognizes as a loaded term. Not that Peter Watts would admit there’s any problem with him saying that because even if I’d been a fellow nerdy white boy he’d have called me the same, though even after having been told I’m a woman of color it did not stop him from graduating to “foul, rabid animal” which tells you all you need to know. You can go through the rest of that exchange, but I’m more interested in the larger picture of this. Which is: why is it that these people are so deathly afraid of being called sexist, racist, or any such thing… to that froth-at-the-mouth point where they go on to compound the offense by actively being sexist or racist?

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shitstains of a color ooze together – more on Pat’s Fantasy Hotlist

Pat of Fantasy Hotlist has, naturally, responded to my post in a completely mature oh wait lol. I don’t really care that much, but I wanted to highlight a little something:

Keeping in mind that he wants a “friendly, more casual approach”? Keeping in mind that he said he’d “monitor” the comments? This is what he let through:

(Trigger warning: rape.)

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Pat’s Fantasy Hotlist – neckbeard circlejerk with a side-dish of racist-sexist dick combo

Let me introduce you to Pat’s Fantasy Hotlist.

But scratch that. If you are an SF/F fan–which you probably are, reading this blog–you likely have heard of him before. Go over there and you’ll see endless splash banners advertising books or tie-in fiction. He’s basically a genre PR bot: all his content is little more than promotional material on top of promotional material, almost as though he is paid by publishing houses to fellate the latest-and-greatest grimdark neckbeard icon, which he might well be. Who knows.

And if you’ve read him for any length of time, you will probably have noticed that he’s a raging douche. I don’t just mean “douche” in a mild, non-specific way, oh no. We are talking about a grade-A sexist, racist fuckwad. The kind that should be put in a meat-grinder: there’d be about twenty people at the ready, vying to press the GRIND GRIND GRIND button. We’d press it until our fingers are raw and Pat nothing more than a memory of fat white meat.

He visited Thailand this one time: Bangkok: Sultry heat, temples, pollution, never-ending noise, and prostitutes. Off to a good start, and we aren’t even out of the subject line.

The upside: I have hundreds of girls after me. The downside: They’re all prostitutes! I mean, even though I knew what to expect, this goes beyond anything I could ever imagine. . .:\

I am amused that this is probably the only time in his life “hundreds of girls” would be after him in any fashion.

I got very close to punching one of them last night, but held off at the last second. You never know if the guy knows a bit of Thai boxing. And it would have done little to help me make my point if I had found myself flat on my back after a vicious kick I never saw coming, right?

I wish he had tried to punch someone and ended up knifed and bleeding from his guts in a dark corner somewhere. And nobody’d have given a shit, because this man’s douchiness is so evident it radiates off him in waves.

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search queries, links of interest, more author meltdowns

I still haven’t read Sarah Diemer’s lesbian retelling of the Persephone/Hades story, The Dark Wife, but from the passing glance I gave it, I’d say that despite being self-published it’s of the same standard as any professionally published YA. Diemer’s writing is even fairly readable, which is more than can be said of the vast majority of YA, so take that as you will.

Anyway, she wrote These Are Not Your Stories: Reclaiming Archetypes in the GLBT Community, which is an interesting read. Also, she and Jenn, now her wife, are adorable! They look so happy. Diemer herself seems like a really sweet person and I rather hope I won’t end up saying “wow, The Dark Wife is tripe.” I also liked this post.

Most gay YA with gay main characters ends with the main character not getting the boy or girl s/he has been thinking about/wanting/in a relationship with. The relationship ends badly. The boy/girl turns out to be straight or “just experimenting” or falls in love with someone else. Things don’t work out.

Let me say that again. Because it needs to be emphasized: Most gay YA with gay main characters ends with the relationship not working out.

These books are lauded, over and over repeated forever, as “realistic.” “The relationship was so realistic!” “The ending was perfectly realistic.” Realistic is used so often in reviews of gay YA that I notice when it’s NOT used.

On which note, I must say I’ve never read a book with a queer/female/chromatic protagonist (or all three) and thought “my god, it’s so unrealistic! It needs more homophobia/misogyny/racism. Bury the gays! Bury ALL the gays!” In fact, in my experience the people who insist loudest on the -isms and -phobia for the sake of “realism” tend to be the neckbeards. You know, the ones who are least affected by any -ism or -phobia? Mm-hmm.

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