I tried hard to like this book, but I failed. I never
overcame my initial, extremely unpleasant impression of Red Sonja as callous,
self-centered, and incompetent. Even the queen she beds and betrays dives
headlong into revenge without a second thought. Jumping from one POV character
to another further disrupted any engagement with the story.
Sword and sorcery in the tradition of Robert E. Howard is a stylized
subgenre. The tropes are distinctive but consistent: larger-than-life
characters with larger-than-life adversaries, colorful settings with mythic
overtones, exaggerated action sequences, and a tendency toward florid prose. Consistency with Howard’s literary style without becoming ridiculous amounts to a high-wire act. In
the hands of a master, the elements come together like an amusement park ride:
breathless, engaging escapism that is ultimately emotionally satisfying. The
best of these stories work by evoking psychological resonances (see Joseph
Campbell’s The Hero’s Journey) in an immersive reading experience.
Alas, not only was I unable to connect with any of the characters
in the book’s opening, but too many details strained my credibility even by the
standards of the subgenre. For example, Red Sonja is remarkably unaware of her
surroundings, allowing enemies to sneak up on her on a regular basis. She’s
just plain incompetent at basic survival skills. Many details about riding and
horses are wrong in the sense of being ignorant. (Example: a skilled rider on a
familiar and extremely well-trained mount does not haul on the reins to halt
but uses a shift in weight and pelvic angle.) Once my confidence in the author
had been impaired, other things that might not have otherwise kicked me out of
the story became barriers, like “firing” arrows in an era before gunpowder. That’s
a linguistic bobble that has become commonplace and can be excused in an
otherwise consistent setting.
On the plus side, Simone occasionally comes up with a memorable
turn of phrase, action, or characterization (but not, alas, of Red Sonja).
I checked other reviews, both critical and defensive, to see
what other readers thought. I wondered if I was missing something because I
hadn’t read all the modern stories. The reviewers divided mostly into two
camps: those with extensive knowledge of the Red Sonja novels and graphic and
those who just want a fun reading experience. Some of the former novels are
either critical of the many lapses in geography, nomenclature, and history,
while others insist that this book cannot be properly appreciated without in-depth
knowledge of the franchise. I disagree with the latter.
Good storytelling is good storytelling, regardless of genre. Nobody expects high literary values from sword and sorcery,
but perhaps that is a mistake. Consider the work of Tanith Lee, C. J. Cherryh
or C. L. Moore. Unfortunately, Gail Simone is not in their class.
If you want to buy my books in
print format and you're boycotting Amazon, do not despair! Your friendly
independent bookstore will be delighted to order them for you. Borderlands, Mysterious
Galaxy, Powell's,
and others do mail orders. Some of these stores carry my autographed editions.
Don't forget Barnes
and Noble (for both print and ebooks).
What about ebooks? Never fear, you are not restricted to buying from Amazon for
your Kindle! Buy my books in epub format from one of the many other
ebook vendors (Google Play, Apple, Smashwords, and many others). Side-load to
your Kindle thus:
1. Download the file and place it where you can find it on your computer (I
store mine in Calibre)
2. Go to your Amazon account and locate your unique Kindle email address. It's under Account &
Listsà Content & Devicesà Devices. Your device should
have the Kindle email listed (one that ends in “@kindle.com”).
3. Send the file as an attachment
to your Kindle email. It should instantly appear on your Kindle.
This was originally posted in April, 2022, as the Russian invasion of Ukraine was getting underway. It seems just as urgent now.
At best, uncertainty is a difficult emotional state. We live
in a world of routines, reliable cause-and-effect, and pattern recognition. We
don’t need to test gravity every time we take a step, which is a good thing. We
make assumptions about how people we know well (or people in general) are going
to behave, based on their past actions. (Erratic behavior, whether due to
mental illness, substance abuse, or misreading body language, can be traumatic,
especially for children.) We anticipate many things, from the functioning of
traffic lights to our own digestion to the reaction of a deer suddenly come
upon in a meadow, based on our understanding of “how things work.” We use these
strategies all the time without thinking about it. Having a reasonable sense of
how events will unfold frees up mental (and physical) energy and gives us a
sense of control over our lives.
Unexpected things happen, of course. Most of the time
they’re ordinary bumps and bruises like burned dinner, a sprained ankle, a
higher-than-normal electricity bill, or a traffic ticket.They can be terrible: 9-11, a hurricane, the
wildfires that swept through my part of the country a couple of years ago and
resulted in my family evacuating for a month. A death in the family. Often we
have little or no advance warning: it’s over, leaving us stunned or horrified or
grief-stricken. We don’t get to vote on what happened, we only get to pick up
the pieces afterwards. At other times, we have advance notice, like the
wildfires or other weather events (but not earthquakes, lived through a couple
of big ones, too) or Covid-19. We grab the kids and the pets and get out of
town; we wear masks and stay home, and so forth. Even if there’s nothing we can
do to protect ourselves, we often have a pretty good idea how things are going
to go. Not always, of course. I remember staying glued to local news while
camped out in our hotel room, anxiety eating away at me as the fires got closer
to our house; I’d go to sleep certain that in the morning, our place would be
ashes (but it survived with only a little storm damage).
I think war is fundamentally different. On a day-to-day
basis, for those in the fighting zones, it must be like a monstrous union
between the Chicxulub impact, the 1906 San Francisco earthquake, and the Black
Death. Adrenaline fight-or-flight panic overload survival time, one blast at a
time. But for those of us watching the catastrophe unfold from afar, anxiety takes
over as the dominant emotion. Watching one horrific event after another taxes
our ability to pay attention to the present moment, and that is normal. It’s in
our DNA to anticipate what will happen next. In our minds, we flee to the
future.
Where will Russia strike next? What weapons will they
use? What can we do to shield Ukrainian civilians? Will anything come of the
peace talks? What will China—or India—do?
Enter the pundits and op-ed writers, predicting everything
from the economic collapse of Russia and Putin being deposed, to Russia
bludgeoning Ukraine into surrender to plots, to assassinate Zelenskyy to even
wilder speculations. They speculate about increasingly grim futures: Is this
a prelude to nuclear war? The collapse of Russia and a worldwide recession?
We gobble up the columns, even though they often leave us feeling even more
anxious and wretched than before.
Why do we do this to ourselves?
I think the answer lies in how predictability lowers anxiety,
and the greater the stakes, the stronger the allure of a promised outcome.
Not-knowing is a hellish limbo, and all too often it’s more intolerable than believing
an authoritative voice with a fixed answer, no matter how grim.
I’ve started avoiding those opinion pieces. I see headlines
while I’m scrolling through news, but I’m getting better at not clicking on
them. Instead, I remind myself that masking anxiety with visions of doom is not
likely to help anyone, beginning with myself. The truth is that I don’t have a
crystal ball—and for sure the pundits don’t, either.
Working myself into a lather harms impairs my ability to
think clearly. It cannot affect the outcome of the war.
Powerlessness is hard, and in evolutionary terms it’s
dangerous. But when it is our true condition, the best way to manage it is by
seeing it for what it is, and then finding ways to make a big difference in our
own lives through good self-care and a small difference in the world.
Martha Wells has become one of my favorite authors. I loved
her “Raksura” series and was bowled over by her “Murderbot” novellas. I thought
I would follow her across genres. Two of her recent releases soar in terms of
world-building imagination, but fall short in dramatic shaping and plot
structure.
Witch King, by Martha Wells (Tor)
Witch King opens with a mystery as demon Kai (not “a”
demon, THE demon) wakes up in captivity with a mage attempting to seize control
of his magic. His immediate goal is to free himself and locate his companions.
This proves to be both easier and far more challenging than it appears on the
surface. For one thing, Kai’s last (dead) host body has been murdered and he’s
in another, quite unfamiliar (and much less fit) body; for another, he has no
idea how much time has elapsed since he’s been unconscious (a lot), what
political changes are afoot in the world, and where the wife of his closest
ally has disappeared to.
So far, so good, and Wells does a superb job in introducing
complex characters, an unusual system of magic, and millennia of history and
world-building without dumping expository lumps on the reader.
Wells then shifts to the distant past when Kai inhabited a
volunteer body and lived in a rich, joyful, and emotionally warm culture. From
here, the two timelines alternate chapters. A few characters, such as Kai who
is almost immortal, appear throughout, but many others (many, many others) are
specific only to one. Still more are alive and active in the past but distant
memories in the present. Because the focus is on Kai and a few others who are
present in both times, I had to search for other clues as to where and when I
was.
Both storylines are filled with action and wonderful
characters, situations, and relationships. Each one would be more than enough
for a novel in itself. Some readers will love the weaving back and forth and
all the myriad ways the past informs and shapes the present. I was one of them,
but only at first. As the book went on, however, I found it increasingly
frustrating trying to orient myself—which time is this? what’s been going on?
who’s still alive? and, most importantly, what is the present goal or threat
for the protagonist? There didn’t seem to be a single plot arc, a building
dramatic tension that carried through in both past and present. It didn’t help
that my favorite character from the past is long since dead in the present. Within
each timeline, unrelated problems arise and are resolved. I could never figure
out what the overall “Big Bad” was, especially after one candidate villain
after another is eliminated. The “Big Bad” at the end seemed to come out of
nowhere. Mark Twain famously said that life is “one damned thing after
another.” Fiction must play by a different set of rules.
Witch King is hugely ambitious, filled with
imaginative elements, compelling personal drama, and a huge landscape across
time as well as space. Wells handles these elements with the effortless skill
of a seasoned professional, but fails to shape them into a single dramatic story.
Wheel of the Infinite, by Martha Wells (Tor)
Wheel of the Infinite starts with a fortuitous
encounter on the road between Maskelle, a confident and immensely powerful
magic wielder, and handsome, enigmatic swordsman Rian. After she saves his
life, he and a band of motley other characters accompany Maskelle to the heart
of the Celestial Empire. Much later, we learn that she’s returning from exile
after being judged a traitor and much, much later, that her task is to help
remake the beautiful, orderly mandala known at the Wheel of the Infinite,
thereby ensuring peace and harmony for the Empire. At turns, the action moves
swiftly with leaps of dramatic tension or as slowly as any travelogue. In this,
it reminded me of The Lord of the Rings (the books, not the movies),
which alternated between seat-of-the-pants action and pages upon pages of
passing scenery. Also that there’s a quest, although in Rings, the
mission is much more clear and consistently present.
Maskelle was one of my favorite characters in a long while.
She’s an older woman, always a plus with me, she’s quite comfortable with her
sexuality (double plus), and she’s terrifyingly competent as a magician (triple
plus). Once the question of whether she’ll decide it wise to take Rian as her
lover is settled, he pales by contrast as a character. Many, many other
characters appeared (and disappeared, some temporarily, others not so much) but
weren’t around for long enough to engage my sympathy.
As with Witch King, the premise, world-building,
magical system, and protagonist in Wheel of the Infinite were all
marvelous. The book is highly ambitious, offering fresh, original takes on
time-honored tropes. Its sheer size and scope break down under their own weight.
It’s as if Wells, whose novellas and shorter novels are tightly plotted gems,
hasn’t quite made the leap to books of this length and complexity.
Nevertheless, both are enjoyable reads with many twists and innovations. While
neither worked perfectly for me, I’m eager to read her next project.
From Rebecca Solnit's marvelous blog, Meditations in an Emergency:
Here's another thing about power; the power the Trump Administration has is largely what we give it. They often cave when it is not given or when it's taken away by the courts. And they're spending power, not tending it, by breaking alliances, support, relationships, treaties. their threats to seize Greenland. They may desire to make the US weaker, because they may think a weakened country with undermined institutions may be easier to dominate, but as the heads of government they're also making themselves weaker. The administration has sabotaged relationships with our neighbors, Canada and Mexico, and with NATO and EU allies. So they're losing the power of alliances abroad, along with the power of public support at home.
They seem to have miscalculated--so far as I can tell by assuming their power is boundless, to be endlessly spent, never built up and protected, as political leaders normally do. Take the threats to seize Greenland, which is an autonomous territory of Denmark, which in turn is part of the European Union and NATO, so that any invasion of the indigenous-majority island would be an attack on these powerful alliances. The loud threats have infuriated and alienated Greenlandic and Danish and many other people around the the world. The stunt whereby the administration decided to send the vice president's wife to Greenland for what was clearly a publicity campaign pretending to be a little holiday backfired badly.
Usha Vance was going to attend a dogsled race, show herself about, and then the vice president decided to join her. Greenlanders made it so clear they were so unwelcome that they limited their tour to a few hours at the isolated US military base for a pathetic photo op. It was a fool's errand and they showed their weakness by backing down from something that was always a dumb idea and maybe one that shows they lack intelligence in the ordinary sense of being smart and the specific sense of having good analysis of the political situation and the consequences of given actions. Or maybe they think their power is irresistible, but a small indigenous population resisted it effectively. They certainly failed, again, to anticipate both public reaction to their conduct and the fact that the public has power too.
Elon Musk has helpfully just proven how resistible power is, or the folly of confusing mountains of money with outright power. He had an apparent meltdown last night over his failure to buy the Wisconsin supreme court election, in which his candidate didn't just lose but lost in a landslide. And earlier he choked up on Fox News talking about the protests against Tesla and the impact it's having on the company's valuation. Both these things demonstrate the limits of his power and the scope of our power. The Tesla protests are working. People have the power.
This is an excerpt from the above-titled article in Live Science. I highly recommend clicking through to read the whole thing!
Females have one active X chromosome and one dormant X chromosome in each cell. But a study suggests that genes on the dormant X get "reawakened" later in life, potentially giving the brain a boost.
Dormant genes on the X chromosome may reawaken in old age, potentially giving the aging female brain a boost that the male brain doesn't receive. This phenomenon may help to explain why, on many measures, females show a higher level of cognitive resilience in old age than males do.
Males typically carry one X and one Y in each cell; they inherit the X from their mother and the Y from their father. Females, on the other hand, usually carry two X chromosomes — one from mom and one from dad. But each cell needs only one X to be active, so in females, the second X is "silenced," leaving only the maternal or paternal X switched on.
Among the 22 reawakened genes, one called PLP1 carries the instructions to make a key component of myelin, the fatty insulation that helps neurons send signals efficiently. It's known that mutations in PLP1 can decrease the amount of myelin in the brain, resulting in intellectual disability. It's also known that myelin can be compromised in aging and that loss of myelin function can contribute to cognitive decline.
To see if the reawakening of PLP1 might boost cognition, scientists confirmed that older female mice had more PLP1 activity in their hippocampi than the older male mice did. They artificially increased PLP1 using gene editing in both old males and old femalesfound that both sexes performed better on tests of learning and memory after that boost.
To see if any of the findings extended to humans, the team looked at data previously collected for a large study of human brain tissue. Data weren't available for the hippocampus, but the brain tissue immediately surrounding the hippocampus showed more PLP1 activation in older women than in older men. So that hints that the same phenomenon might be unfolding in people.
Eleanor
Oliphant Is Completely Fine, by Gail Honeyman (Penguin)
This marvelous debut
novel is mainstream, not genre, but with overtones of “domestic thriller” and
superb handling of an unreliable narrator. The growth of the central character
skillfully parallels the gradual revelation of her past.
At first, Eleanor
Oliphant seems to be a tediously bland, often annoying office worker. Her
social skills leave a great deal to be desired, she’s compulsively
routine-bound, and she rebuffs every effort at friendship. Although she insists
to herself and to everyone else that she is completely fine, her weekly phone
chats with her emotionally abusive Mummy result in weekly bouts of heavy drinking.
Her doomed infatuation with a third-rate singer provides more fodder for
Mummy’s manipulations.
At first, I thought
that her problem was that she was a functional alcoholic, but the situation turned
out to be much more complex and nuanced. From the beginning, there are hints of
a deeper, darker story. When Eleanor and Raymond, a big-hearted if physically
unattractive IT guy, rescue an elderly man who collapses on the street, Eleanor
gets drawn into new social circles and relationships. The walls she has built
around her profound emotional damage begin to crumble. Needless to say, in
Honeyman’s capable hands, there is more than one surprise along the way.
This article first appeared in The Conversation. I offer it here with permission because now, more than ever, we need hope. Hope and belief in our power to resist and ultimately defeat a tyrant.
Social movements constrained Trump in his first term – more than people realize
Things feel different this time around. Critics seem quieter. Some point to fear of retribution. But there’s also a sense that the protests of Trump’s first term were ultimately futile. This has contributed to a widespread mood of despair.
As The New York Times noted not long ago, Trump “had not appeared to be swayed by protests, petitions, hashtag campaigns or other tools of mass dissent.” That’s a commonperspective these days.
But what if it’s wrong?
As a historian, I study how our narratives about the past shape our actions in the present. In this case, it’s particularly important to get the history right.
In fact, popular resistance in Trump’s first term accomplished more than many observers realize; it’s just that most wins happened outside the spotlight. In my view, the most visible tactics – petitions, hashtags, occasional marches in Washington – had less impact than the quieter work of organizing in communities and workplaces.
Understanding when movements succeeded during Trump’s first term is important for identifying how activists can effectively oppose Trump policy in his second administration.
Progressive activists were a key reason. By combining decentralized organizing and nationwideresource-sharing, they successfully pushed scores of stateand local governments to adopt sanctuary laws that limited cooperation with Immigration and Customs Enforcement, or ICE.
When the sociologist Adam Safer examined thousands of cities and dozens of states, he found that a specific type of sanctuary law that activists supported – barring local jails and prisons from active cooperation with ICE – successfully reduced ICE arrests. A study by legal scholar David K. Hausman confirmed this finding. Notably, Hausman also found that sanctuary policies had “no detectable effect on crime rates,” contrary to what many politicians allege.
Another important influence on state and local officials was employers’ resistance to mass deportation. The E-Verify system requiring employers to verify workers’ legal status went virtually unenforced, since businesses quietly objected to it. As this example suggests, popular resistance to Trump’s agenda was most effective when it exploited tensions between the administration and capitalists.
The ‘rising tide’ against fossil fuels
In his effort to prop up the fossil fuel industry, Trump in his first term withdrew from the Paris climate agreement, weakened or eliminated over 100 environmental protections and pushed other measures to obstruct the transition to green energy.
Researchers projected that these policies would kill tens of thousands of people in just the United States by 2028, primarily from exposure to air pollutants. Other studies estimated that the increased carbon pollution would contribute to tens of millions of deaths, and untold other suffering, by century’s end.
That’s not the whole story, though. Trump’s first-term energy agenda was partly thwarted by a combination of environmental activism and market forces.
His failure to resuscitate the U.S. coal industry was especially stark. Coal-fired plant capacity declined faster during Trump’s first term than during any four-year period in any country, ever. Some of the same coal barons who celebrated Trump’s victory in 2016 soon went bankrupt.
CBS News covered the bankruptcy of coal firm Murray Energy, founded by Trump supporter Robert E. Murray.
The most obvious reasons for coal’s decline were the U.S. natural gas boom and the falling cost of renewable energy. But its decline was hastened by the hundreds of local organizations that protested coal projects, filed lawsuits against regulators and pushed financial institutions to disinvest from the sector. The presence of strong local movements may help explain the regional variation in coal’s fortunes.
Environmentalists also won some important battles against oil and gas pipelines, power plants and drilling projects. In a surprising number of cases, organizers defeated polluters through a combination of litigation, civil disobedience and other protests, and by pressuring banks, insurers and big investors.
In 2018, one pipeline CEO lamented the “rising tide of protests, litigation and vandalism” facing his industry, saying “the level of intensity has ramped up,” with “more opponents” who are “better organized.”
Green energy also expanded much faster than Trump and his allies would have liked, albeit not fast enough to avert ecological collapse. The U.S. wind energy sector grew more in Trump’s first term than under any other president, while solar capacity more than doubled. Research shows that this progress was due in part to the environmental movement’sorganizing, particularly at the state and local levels.
As with immigration, Trump’s energy agenda divided both political and business elites. Some investors became reluctant to keep their money in the sector, and some even subsidized environmental activism. Judges and regulators didn’t always share Trump’s commitment to propping up fossil fuels. These tensions between the White House and business leaders created openings that climate activists could exploit.
Nonetheless, workers’ direct action on the job won meaningful victories. For example, educators across the country organized dozens of major strikes for better pay, more school funding and even against ICE. Workers in hotels, supermarkets and other private-sector industries also walked out. Ultimately, more U.S. workers went on strike in 2018 than in any year since 1986.
In addition to winning gains for workers, the strike wave apparently also worked against Republicans at election time by increasing political awareness and voter mobilization. The indirect impact on elections is a common side effect of labor militancy and mass protest.
Quiet acts of worker defiance also constrained Trump. The early months of the COVID-19 pandemic featured widespread resistance to policies that raised the risk of infection, particularly the lack of mask mandates.
Progressive movements have no direct influence over Republicans in Washington. However, they have more potential influence over businesses, lower courts, regulators and state and local politicians.
Of these targets, business ultimately has the most power. Business will usually be able to constrain the administration if its profits are threatened. Trump and Elon Musk may be able to dismantle much of the federal government and ignore court orders, but it’s much harder for them to ignore major economic disruption.
While big marches can raise public consciousness and help activists connect, by themselves they will not block Trump and Musk. For that, the movement will need more disruptive forms of pressure. Building the capacity for that disruption will require sustained organizing in workplaces and communities.
Court of Fives trilogy (Court of Fives, The
Poisoned Blade, The Buried Heart) by Kate Elliott (audiobook)
I’ve been a fan of Kate Elliott for a long time, admiring
her thoughtfulness and nuanced presentation of relatable characters wrestling
with complex social issues. Plus great action sequences and world-building. I
found this trilogy in audiobook format through my public library (hooray for
libraries!). It had been around for awhile, the first volume (Court of Fives)
having been published in 2015.
After the patriarchal kingdom of Saro invades and conquers
the land of Efea, a colonial-style caste system perpetuates the resulting conquerer/conquered
elite/slave dichotomies. The fact that the aristocratic Saroese are light-skinned
and have straight hair and the Efeans are dark with “coiled” hair evokes echoes
of British imperialism in Africa or the post-Civil War America. Here, as in
Elliott’s ficticious realm, people from different castes will inevitably meet,
fall in love, and have children. Jessamy and her sisters have grown up in such
a family; their father is a common, untitled Saroese who has risen to military prominence
due to his extraordinary skill. His wife in all but name is a perceptive,
generous Efean who excels at caring for everyone in her orbit.
Jessamy has a secret: she has been training to compete in
the Court of Fives, a sort of Olympic trial combinng strength, agility,
quick-thinking, and speed—and she does so anonymously, against her father’s
wishes. He does his best to protect his mixed-race girl in the larger world of Saroese
dominance. Jessamy’s secret rebellion and a chance encounter with Kalliarkos, (a
Saroese prince in line for the throne) ignite vicious political infighting, simmering
Efean rebellion, betrayals within her own family, and a discovery that will
transform forever the relationship between the two peoples.
The result is a coming of age story fueled by Jessamy’s
burgeoning insight, courage, and maturity, and the her (and the reader’s) step-by-step
discovery of the history of this world, the power of rebellion, and the
emergence of the leadership this world needs so desperately to survive. The
resulting tale is neither a quick nor superficial, but rich, detailed, and
ultimately satisfying.
I love to listen to audiobooks while I work in the garden,
take a walk, or cook a meal. Recently, I borrowed two memoirs from my public
library and was struck by the contrast. Both were written by famous people and
narrated by themselves. I was curious enough about each of them to listen to
their stories.
The first was Spare, by Prince Harry (Random House),
mostly because it popped up on my screen. Okay, I thought, his perspective on
growing up in the shadow of Princess Diana’s death should be be interesting.
His life has been very different from (or, in Brit: to) mine.
Being in the public spotlight does not qualify a person to
write a compelling memoir, nor does belonging to a royal family confer the
ability to narrate with clarity and emotion. Spare fails on both counts.
The charm of Harry’s accent lasted about five minutes, long enough for the
emotional shallowness—a combination of the dry text and the manner in which it
was read aloud—and lack of awareness of his elite white privilege to wear thin.
Since I know from my own experience what it’s like to lose a parent unexpectedly,
I hoped I’d be able to connect with Harry’s loss. I found his denial of Diana’s
death understandable as a child. The problem was that Harry, the adult
looking back, seemed to not have gained any insight or grown beyond denial as a
childish survival strategy. I heard no understanding of how much he’d matured
through adversity, the pain he’d walked through. No connection between that
loss and the subsequent estrangements from other members of his family or the
mental health issues with which he struggled later in life. But there was lots
about the privileged life where everything was provided without him having to
work for it and which he accepted without question.
I finally gave up, so I never got to hear about his military
service or his courtship with Meghan Markle and how they made a life for
themselves apart from his royal relatives. I wish them well, but I found little
in this audiobook memoir to attract and hold my interest in who Harry is as a
person.
In contrast, Lovely One, A Memoir, by Ketanji Brown
Jackson (Random House) was a joy from start to finish. Jackson is the newest
member of the US Supreme Court and the first Black woman to be confirmed to
that post. As a student, she excelled in public speaking and debate, tackling
challenging topics with determination and extraordinary eloquence. Her facility
with communicating complex ideas shines through her narrative, as does her love
for her family, her capacity for enduring friendship, her passion for justice,
and her unwavering courage. Whether she is talking about the African origin of
her name, the environment of racism and misogyny prevalent in here field even
today, her and her husband’s struggles to maintain separate careers while
raising two daughters, one of whom is autistic, she speaks with unusual clarity
and persuasiveness. I loved every minute of her story. In another life, I want to be her best friend.
I've been keeping a list of articles on how to survive the second term of #Felon47 and have gathered the links here. Please send others as you find them and I'll add to the list.
The text below, dubbed the “Authoritarian Regime Survival Guide”, was published in social media in January 2017 in a series of improvised, spontaneous tweets, which reached 3 million views within one month. Their common element was their trademark signature, “- With love, your Eastern European friends”, and the accompanying hashtag #LearnFromEurope.
I refuse my consent to #fascism. I also refuse my consent to despair. I affirm that I will cling tenaciously – relentlessly – to #hope, and I invite you to do so, too.
I first posted this on January 2, 2017, right after the presidential election. I'm putting it up again as a reminder of how important it is to take care of our mental well-being in troubled times.
Recently, I’ve noticed more articles on staying grounded in
joy and hope, even when surrounded by fear. Perhaps such articles have always
been part of the general social media discourse and I am only now becoming
sufficiently calm to notice them. But I rather think (hope!) this is a trend. In me, it certainly is. After the initial
rounds of fear and trepidation, the constant adrenaline wore off. I’m not
naturally a person who enjoys being fearful; from my experience training dogs,
I suspect it’s not an appealing state for most of us. Some, I suppose, enjoy the
“high” of confrontation, even violence, but I’m not among them. Harming others
and myself is not where I want to live my life.
I see also posts affirming commitment to action, often in
terms of “We Will Fight On!” and I’ve been resisting the urge to jump on that
bandwagon. (Also the “Organize the Resistance” brigade.) It all sounds so
necessary, a matter of putting my money where my mouth is. And is just as unrealistic
for me as remaining in that state of terrified fury.
As unhealthy.
I am not objecting to others following the paths to which they
are led. Resisting fascism and protecting the most vulnerable are inarguably
vital to our survival as individuals, communities, and a society. I am thrilled
that people have the drive and knowledge to organize such resistance. I will be
right there, cheering them on. But I won’t be in the forefront.
It’s taken me a long time, coming from a family of dyed-in-the-wool
organizers (labor unions, radical politics, war resistance, etc.) to come to
terms with not being one of them. Undoubtedly, seeing the cost to my family
played a role in my reluctance. I’ve marched in my share of civil rights and
anti-war demonstrations, written a gazillion letters, painted an equal number
of signs. But it’s not where my heart is. I’ve seen the joy in the eyes of
those for whom this is their passion, their “thing.” I want to hug them all and
say, “I’m so glad you’re out there, doing this for both of us.”
The fallacy is that making the world a better place is an
either/or proposition. Either I’m out
there, making headlines by facilitating events of vast numbers for the people’s
revolution (as an example), or I’m
sitting at home, knitting while Yosemite burns.
The fact is, any social movement happens on many levels.
There’s the outward, banner-headline, political level, one that often requires
organization on a national or international level. There is a community level,
supporting your neighbors, particularly those in need. Soup kitchens are just
as necessary as demonstrations outside the White House, although they serve
fewer people. Taking care of ourselves and our families is yet another.
Quiet, mindful actions that focus on compassion, justice,
and unity need not be limited to small numbers. In fact, outward activism must
be balanced by inner activism. We can all find where we are called to act along
that spectrum, and we can move back and forth (or in and out, whichever image
works best) with circumstances, experience, and energy levels. What a relief to
realize I don’t have to pick one thing or level of involvement!
So what speaks to me right now is remembering joy. The year
to come is almost certainly going to be full of occasions for grimness if not
despair, so I don’t want to start off that way. I want to full up my “savings
account of hope” as much as I can, cultivating those people, places, and things
that lift my spirits. I want to never, ever let go of believing we can survive
this, kindness and persistence will triumph, and no matter how dark it may seem
at the moment, love will win.
I refuse my consent to fascism. I also refuse my consent to
despair.
I affirm that I will cling tenaciously – relentlessly – to hope,
and I invite you to do so, too.
These three horsemen of the MAGA-tech-bro apocalypse are in the position of penthouse dwellers who think their top floor apartment doesn't rest on all the floors underneath, or so it looks to me as they rush about wrecking things with an apparent conviction that they're immune to the impact, that they have a monopoly on power, that their power is not merely part of larger systems, that they have defeated everything including cause and effect. Trump just tweeted a quote from Napoleon Bonaparte, "He who saves his country violates no law," which is maybe supposed to justify the attacks on the Constitution and the outrageously illegal actions we've seen since the January 27th attempt to seize Congress's power of the purse.
But Napoleon didn't end his career as an emperor. He ended it as a prisoner of the British on a small volcanic island more than a thousand miles off the coast of southern Africa. I don't know where Trump, Musk, and Vance's story ends, but I know it doesn't end with them in power, and I don't think it will end particularly well for them, though my main concern--and yours, I presume--is trying to prevent damage along the way. And I'm convinced that if we take action, we get to write some of the chapters and maybe revise or erase some of what they're trying to impose.
Dave Smeds has authored novels (including The Sorcery Within and X-Men: Law of the Jungle), screenplays, comic book scripts, and articles, but is best known for his short fiction. His work has graced the pages of Asimov's SF, F&SF, Realms of Fantasy, and a plethora of anthologies, including most particularly the Sword and Sorceress series and the Lace and Blade series. His wonderful short fiction piece, "The Wind's Kiss," first appeared in Lace and Blade 4. It's a marvelous story, exquisitely written, full of pitch-perfect heart. Now it's also available in Dave's collection Swords, Magic, and Heart(see the cover below).
Deborah J. Ross: Tell us a little about yourself. How did you come to be a
writer?
Dave Smeds: I
loved fiction from an early age. I was particularly drawn to stories of
imaginary worlds, or at least by settings that were in effect imaginary, such
as Mars as depicted by Edgar Rice Burroughs. At age fifteen, it occurred to me
I might be able to write a short story or two. I did that. The result was crap,
of course, but every time I did another story or fragment of a novel, I could see
how to improve. (It was, as you might imagine, REALLY OBVIOUS how I could
improve.) I felt driven to eventually write something at a level I’d want to
read if someone else had written it.
DJR: What
inspired your story in Lace and Blade 4?
DS: There is a great deal of me in “The
Wind’s Kiss.” The fulfillment I feel in being a father. The contemplation of
the pioneer life led by my ancestors as they moved westward, often literally
dwelling right at the edge of civilization, first settlers on the scene. The
vital need in our hearts for passion between, and admiration of, one’s lover.
However, there is also a more specific inspiration for this particular piece.
In August, 2016, I was finally able to take a journey through Nebraska. For the
first time in my life, and quite possibly for the last time, I visited the
grave of my great great grandmother, Marancy Alexander Warner. The land there
has a windswept, deeply conscious aspect. I wanted to install that presence in
my fiction as soon as possible, and as it happened, that sort of setting and
mood was perfect for what I wanted to write for Lace and Blade 4.
DJR: What
authors have most influenced your writing? What about them do you find
inspiring?
DS: In the early days, I never thought of
myself as deeply influenced by any particular author, except perhaps in the
sense that I loved to write sword-and-sorcery, and back then, anyone doing that
was standing on the shoulders of Robert E. Howard and J.R.R. Tolkien. In
retrospect, I see L. Frank Baum’s influence upon the way I structure a story.
Baum did not write The Hero’s Journey. He wrote The Heroine’s Journey. That is
to say, he wrote books in which the protagonist — usually a girl — makes
alliances, as opposed to the Campbell paradigm where a young man pulls himself
up by the bootstraps, stands alone, and takes sole credit for defeating an
antagonist. I prefer the complexity and subtlety of The Heroine’s Journey.
DJR: Why do
you write what you do, and how does your work differ from others in your genre?
DS: At first I wrote to prove I could do
it. Next I wrote to earn money. Both motivations, in my view, demanded that I
write the best work I could, so in that respect, I have no regrets. But I write
now with the awareness that an author of fiction has an obligation to inject
meaning into an essentially meaningless universe. That’s our job as human
beings. We are creatures of pattern recognition. It’s our chief survival trait.
But a fiction writer must do it better than anyone. Hard to do. However, at
this point in my life I’ve proven I can write many types of fiction and I’m at
a point where I don’t need the money, really, so what keeps me putting the
words down on the chance it will move a reader in a way that would not have
happened otherwise. As said, hard to do. I try anyway.
At the beginning of Trump 1.0, I began a series entitled "In Troubled Times." With the onset of the war in Ukraine (aka The War of Russian Aggression), I shifted to "In Times of War." Today, Substackian Robert Reich offers reasons for cautious optimism. Let's feed that hope!
This is a very brief summary. Click on the link to read the whole thing and to subscribe.
Friends, If you are experiencing rage and despair about what is happening in America and the world right now because of the Trump-Vance-Musk regime, you are hardly alone. A groundswell of opposition is growing — not as loud and boisterous as the resistance to Tump 1.0, but just as, if not more, committed to ending the scourge.
1.Boycotts are taking hold.
2. International resistance is rising. 3. Independent and alternative media are growing. 4. Musk’s popularity is plunging. 5. Musk’s Doge is losing credibility. 6. The federal courts are hitting back. 7. Demonstrations are on the rise. 8. Stock and bond markets are trembling. 9. Trump is overreaching — pretending to be “king” and abandoning Ukraine for Putin. 10. The Trump-Vance-Musk “shock and awe” plan is faltering.
In all these ways and for all of these reasons, the regime’s efforts to overwhelm us are failing.
Make no mistake: Trump, Vance, and Musk continue to be an indiscriminate wrecking ball that has already caused major destruction and will continue to weaken and isolate America. But their takeover has been slowed.
Their plan was based on doing so much, so fast that the rest of us would give in to negativity and despair. They want a dictatorship built on hopelessness and fear.
That may have been the case initially, but we can take courage from the green shoots of rebellion now appearing across America and the world.
As several of you have pointed out, successful resistance movements maintain hope and a positive vision of the future, no matter how dark the present.
I first posted this in April 2023. True then, even more true now.
I started a blog series, “In Troubled Times” after the 2016
presidential election. Folks I trust said that things were going to get a lot
worse before they got better. That’s true now, too, so here’s the first in a
renewed series.
Recently, I had a conversation with someone I love dearly
who, like so many of us, belongs to overlapping groups that have been targeted
by the current crop of hate-mongers. So many of the people and causes I support
are at risk, it’s easy to feel battered by prejudice, overwhelmed, infuriated, and
hopeless. But, in a moment of spontaneity, I found myself saying, “We can be
good allies for one another.”
Let me break this down a bit. There is more than enough
hatred to go around. There will never be a lack of worthy causes and people in
need. No one of us can save everyone.
Thankfully, we are not all crazy (or desperate, or paralyzed
by events) on the same day. Progress happens when we are actively pursuing it,
but also when we allow ourselves to take a break, tend to our inner lives, and
allow others to carry the load. The world does not rise or fall solely based on
any one of us. This is why solidarity is essential. Insisting on being on the
front lines all the time is an engraved invitation to exhaustion. If we look,
we will always find those who, for this moment anyway, have energy and
determination.
I think the secret to being a good ally is to realize that we
can be that person for someone else.
This requires paying attention.
It is not helpful to do for someone what they can and should
do for themselves. How then are we to discern when “helping” is arrogant
interference? When is it a genuine offer and when does it result in telling the
other person that they are inadequate and helpless to achieve their goal?
We ask. We listen. We give ourselves permission to appear
clumsy and we forgive ourselves when we make mistakes.
Sometimes, the best thing we can ask is “How can I help?”
and sometimes it is the worst, laying yet another burden on a person bowed down
under them (“Oh god, I’ve got to think of something for her to do!”) Sometimes,
saying, “Would you like me to help with that?” is the best, and sometimes it is
the worst. Sometimes, “You are not alone” is a sanity-saver. Sometimes, it is a
reminder of looming disaster. Sometimes, “I’m here and I care” is all the other
person needs to hear, and sometimes it is worse than silence.
We listen. We ask. We pay attention.
The one thing we do not do is walk away. When I think of
being an ally, I envision someone with whom I can be depressed, angry,
volatile, and just plain wrong—and know that I will be held up by their unrelenting care for me. I can vent my frustration and they won’t abandon me.
They will hear the pain and despair behind my words.
I want to be that ally for others. I want to be that safe
person. I’m far from perfect at it, though. My feelings get hurt. I sop up the
other person’s despair when I know better. I do my best to not walk away.
Listen. Forgive yourself. Take a break. Do what you can,
when you can. Then pick yourself up and get back into the fight.
I first posted this in April 2023. It's a good reminder.
I started a blog series, “In Troubled Times” after the 2016 presidential election. Folks I trusted said that things were going to get a lot worse before they got better. That’s true now, too. You can read the first installment, "Becoming Allies," here.
I came of age in the 1960s, demonstrating for civil rights
and marching against the Viet Nam War. I never burned my bra, but I volunteered
for Planned Parenthood in the years before Roe v Wade. I am not bragging about
my activist bona fides. I was one of many, and rarely in the forefront.
However, I remember all too well the feelings of both elation and futility. The
energy and inspiration of being surrounded by thousands of like minds, filling
the streets of San Francisco, chanting and singing. We thought that if we could
sing loudly enough and joyfully enough, we could change the minds and hearts of
the nation’s leaders. And then came a day when many of us realized they were
not about to listen to us. The war raged on, now captured on television in our
living rooms.
That feeling of powerlessness was one of the driving forces
behind my debut science fiction novel, Jaydium, by the way. My heroine
is initially trapped on a dusty, barely-habitable planet at the back end of
nowhere, and through a series of shifts through time and parallel dimensions,
she ends up on an alien planet where she has the chance to change history by
stopping a war. It’s about both re-engagement and the quest for peace (and I
was tickled when Tom Easton of Analog praised the latter as unusual and laudable.)
Writing it reflected my personal journey from withdrawal to participation.
I vividly remember how, in the late 1960s, my father, who
was born in 1907 and lived through two world wars, pogroms, the McCarthy witch
hunts, and more, would talk me down from desperation. When I was in a panic
about the Cold War maneuver of the moment, he never dismissed my concerns; he
was just coming from a broader perspective. And he was right. We got through
those years without blowing the planet up.
Now I find myself in the position of being an elder—a crone,
if you will. My earliest political memories date from the mid-1950s, including
the terror of HUAC, the pervasive suspicions, racism, misogyny, and
antisemitism that no one questioned. When I was a bit older, the anti-communist
hysteria had faded somewhat (depending on where you lived), but not the rest.
And always, in the years before oral contraception, sex meant fear of
pregnancy. I knew girls in high school who got sent out of the country and
returned the following year or so without their babies. Later, in the late
1960s/early 1970s but still before Roe v Wade, I volunteered at Planned
Parenthood. And heard many stories. Looking back, I cannot believe how ignorant
I was about so many other issues.
I do not mean to brag about my life experiences or to enter
into a contest of which times were worse. Each generation faces its own trials,
and each generation is convinced that theirs are world-ending, worst-ever scenarios.
This is one of many reasons why we need generational memory (not to mention
history books!)
