undiscovered countries
Why is it that every fantasy novel I’ve picked up recently has a strong nautical component? The Fox did, Red Seas Under Red Skies does and so does Hawkspar, next in the lineup.
Somebody toss me overboard into Davey Jones’ locker if I so much as even pen a boat ride in my next story. 😛
I finished reading The Fox last night.
Just in time, too. I have to generate three story ideas for the How to Think Sideways course I’m taking, and start revisions on Season of Rains. Not to mention writing one of the many short stories are that trying to beat their way out of my skull (“hey, it’s dark and cold in here!”).
Here is another reason why I read so much non-fiction these days: novels, especially fantasy ones, interfere with my ability to write my own work. When I read something as immersive and engaging as say, The Fox, it takes up all my headspace and crowds my own stories to the corners (“help, we’re being squished!”). It’s far too easy for my writing to be influenced by what I’m reading, especially if the novel I’m reading happens to be in the same genre I write in. For instance, right now I want to write about pirates (arr!) and sea battles and such, even though my knowledge of all things nautical would quite easily fit in something small, like the eye of a needle.
I became a writer of fantasy because I was first and foremost a great reader of the genre. And, ironically, I need to read less of it in order to protect my own work. (And, I should say, also in order to have time to write my own work!).
It doesn’t mean that I’m going to give up on fantasy. I’ve just gotten much much more pickier about which books in the genre I read.
Has anybody else experienced this?
Reading Sherwood Smith’s The Fox
Here’s another reason why I’m reading so much more non-fiction these days: non-fiction is a lot easier to put down than a really good novel is. Non-fiction does not have me staying up past midnight, or have me pick reading over ensuring that everyone has clean underwear, or cause extended nursing sessions where the baby falls asleep because I’m reading “just one more chapter”.
As you can tell, this book is pretty good.
If you like complex and detailed and juicy worldbuilding, lots of political intrigue, and adventures on the high seas, you’ll like these books. My big complaint is that there are too many characters and cultures and languages (some of which have similar-sounding names) to keep track of sometimes. I read Inda in January and I’d forgotten many of the secondary characters by the time I started reading The Fox (I think I’m up to speed now). When people have at least three names; first names, nicknames and family names (with the latter names all ending in Vayir), it can get confusing. Oh, and there are too many references to pleasure houses and what goes on in them for my taste. But then, I’m more of a prude than most people, so your mileage may vary. Aside from those bits, the story is immensely engaging (and not very graphic).
I can’t wait for the next book to come out in paperback (and by the time it does, I’ll have forgotten those secondary charcaters again). I’m going to interlibrary loan it. 😀
One of the exciting things about being a parent is introducing books to my little ones. They go from interacting with the physical books–chewing them, pulling them off shelves, stuffing them in various holes, crevices and nooks, turning pages and pointing to pictures–to interacting with the story itself. This is the fun stage my oldest son is at; he enacts the stories (though the enthusiastic chopping down of Truffula trees with an axe made out of Tinkertoys is not, perhaps the take-home message of The Lorax), talks about them and brings them into his real life.
The other day, while we were out on a family walk, the Firstborn started to make grimacing faces. “Look, Mommy! I smile at the good and frown at the bad*!” I cracked up and after that we were off and running, with the literary allusions flying fast and thick between us, calling the full moon a bowl of milk** and me teasing him that I would turn into a pumpkin at eight. (He insisted I would be a hen instead, then got upset when I made clucking noises, and turned me back into Mommy.)
I love how kids get into stories. I love that, after reading One Morning in Maine, the Firstborn took his sister to dig clams in our yard (good luck, kids!). I love that he’s memorized whole books; the other day he sidled up to me and told me that he’d be my best friend and give me five bucks if I let him drive the bus***. Oh, and he bet my mom would let him. I love how kids just dive into the material; playacting, drawing, building, asking questions, reinterpreting, weaving these stories into the fabric of their lives.
And I love how shared reading experiences bring us together as a family. That we can use these books as springboards for games, shared activities, crafts, silly inside jokes, serious conversations.
Here’s to many more years of sharing stories.
* Madeline by Ludwig Bemelmans
** Kitten’s First Full Moon by Kevin Henkes
*** Don’t Let the Pigeon Drive the Bus by Mo Willems
