Blog

One of the questions raised by today's LHMP post is, "What does it meant to identify a poem or a poet as 'lesbian'?" especially in an era with different categories and expectations than our own. I raised a similar question in yesterday's blog about queer characters in historical fiction. When we write a character in a historic setting, we're telling two stories: the story of how that character relates to the past, and the story of how that character relates to present-day readers. When the character and the readers fit into cultural defaults (e.g., straight, white, middle-to-upper class, and usually male) the necessary distinctions between those two stories are not as often challenged as when either character or readers are marginalized. If someone had written a study of Katherine Phillips that presented the passionate expressions in her poetry as nothing more than metaphor, and her relationships with women as simply very close friendships, they would not feel the need to proclaim, "Katherine Phillips, Straight Poet".

Fiction is a great way to break through those quiet assumptions about the past, which is why I'm once again going to plug the Historic Fantasy StoryBundle as a great way to enjoy both rip-roaring adventures and non-default characters. (You knew I was going to find a way to do that, didn't you?)

Back last year when Melissa Scott contacted me about being part of this StoryBundle offer, I was totally blown away. Here Melissa is, explaining why she did this project and how it works.

* * *

The Historical Fantasy Bundle - Curated by Melissa Scott

My favorite fantasy novels are the ones that ground the fantastic in the historical — that use pieces of our known past to build their fantasy worlds. Partly, of course, that's because I was trained as a historian, and seeing bits of esoteric detail used to buttress an entirely new story is always a delight, but even when I don't know the period well, there's something tremendously satisfying about seeing the details of the past used as scaffolding for new stories. The historical imagination and the fantastic imagination have a lot in common, after all: both take known data points as scaffolding on which to hang a narrative. The difference, usually, is that the fantasy writer has created the data as well as the story. In these novels, however, fact and fiction mingle, whether the author is placing fantastic events in a real and familiar world or using that familiar history as a basis for a fantastic setting.

In this collection I've been able to bring together an extraordinary group of writers who draw their inspiration from Western history, in periods from Ancient Egypt through the Second World War. There are classics like the World Fantasy Award-nominated Lord of the Two Lands and the Nebula-nominated Death of the Necromancer, and newer novels like Daughter of Mystery and The Emperor's Agent — and Stag and Hound, just released in April. What these novels have in common, across these very different periods, is a depth to and delight in their worlds, in the precise detail and pitch-perfect moment that not only propels the story, but makes it utterly, dazzlingly real.

If you pay the minimum, you'll receive five novels, Jo Graham's The Emperor's Agent, Heather Rose Jones's Daughter of Mystery, Martha Wells's The Death of the Necromancer, Geonn Cannon's The Virtuous Feats of the Indomitable Miss Trafalgar and the Erudite Lady Boone, and David Niall Wilson's The Orffyreus Wheel — a set that will take you from the Egypt of Alexander the Great almost to the present day. Pay the bonus minimum, and you'll receive six more: Judith Tarr's Lord of the Two Lands, Geonn Cannon's Stag and Hound, Jo Graham and Melissa Scott's Steel Blues, Judith Tarr's Pillar of Fire, Martha Wells's Between Worlds, and Melissa Scott and Lisa A. Barnett's The Armor of Light, taking you from Akhenaten's Egypt to Elizabethan England to World War II. I'm really proud to have persuaded such talented group of writers to join in this StoryBundle. The past may seem a foreign country, but in their capable hands, you'll feel entirely at home. – Melissa Scott

The initial titles in The Historical Fantasy Bundle (minimum $5 to purchase) are:

• The Death of the Necromancer by Martha Wells
• The Emperor's Agent by Jo Graham
• Daughter of Mystery by Heather Rose Jones
• The Virtuous Feats of the Indomitable Miss Trafalgar and the Erudite Lady Boone by Geonn Cannon
• The Orffyreus Wheel by David Niall Wilson

If you pay more than the bonus price of just $15, you get all five of the regular titles, plus six more:

• The Armor of Light by Melissa Scott and Lisa A. Barnett
• Steel Blues by Melissa Scott and Jo Graham
• Between Worlds by Martha Wells
• PIllar of Fire by Judith Tarr
• Lord of the Two Lands by Judith Tarr
• Stag and Hound by Geonn Cannon

The bundle is available only for a limited time via http://www.storybundle.com. It allows easy reading on computers, smartphones, and tablets as well as Kindle and other ereaders via file transfer, email, and other methods. You get multiple DRM-free formats (.epub and .mobi) for all books!

It's also super easy to give the gift of reading with StoryBundle, thanks to our gift cards – which allow you to send someone a code that they can redeem for any future StoryBundle bundle – and timed delivery, which allows you to control exactly when your recipient will get the gift of StoryBundle.

Why StoryBundle? Here are just a few benefits StoryBundle provides.

• Get quality reads: We've chosen works from excellent authors to bundle together in one convenient package.
• Pay what you want (minimum $5): You decide how much these fantastic books are worth to you. If you can only spare a little, that's fine! You'll still get access to a batch of exceptional titles.
• Support authors who support DRM-free books: StoryBundle is a platform for authors to get exposure for their works, both for the titles featured in the bundle and for the rest of their catalog. Supporting authors who let you read their books on any device you want—restriction free—will show everyone there's nothing wrong with ditching DRM.
• Give to worthy causes: Bundle buyers have a chance to donate a portion of their proceeds to Mighty Writers and Girls Write now.
• Receive extra books: If you beat the bonus price, you'll get the bonus books!

StoryBundle was created to give a platform for independent authors to showcase their work, and a source of quality titles for thirsty readers. StoryBundle works with authors to create bundles of ebooks that can be purchased by readers at their desired price. Before starting StoryBundle, Founder Jason Chen covered technology and software as an editor for Gizmodo.com and Lifehacker.com.

For more information, visit our website at storybundle.com, tweet us at @storybundle and like us on Facebook.

Before I dig into the chapter in which Sara meets Ram Dass, I'd like to talk a bit about one curious inconsistency regarding him.

I presume that the character of Ram Dass in A Little Princess was named after one of the significant early figures in the development of the Sikh religion in the 16th century, Guru Ram Dass. I have no idea whether it is a typical Sikh practice to name children after significant founding figures. It's interesting that the book never identifies him as a Sikh specifically, but rather as a "lascar", which is neither an ethnic nor religious label, but more in the line of a job description. Per Wikipedia, the term lascar applied originally to sailors from India or south-east Asia generally who took service on European ships. But it also came to be used to indicate an Indian servant, especially those employed by British military officers. It is in this latter sense that Ram Dass is identified as a lascar, although the nautical sense is used early in the book as well. Ram Dass is desribed as wearing a turban, which is strongly consistent with identifying him as a Sikh. We may easily presume that he entered Mr. Carrisford's employ in India at some time well previous to the disaster around the diamond mines, and traveled with him to England.

One of the first things we learn about Ram Dass is that he speaks Hindi. (WIkipedia indicates that the primary language associated with the Sikh community is Punjabi, but that Hindi is also spoken.) In fact, later in the book, in the context of his interactions with the Carmichael children, it is noted, "[Ram Dass] could have told any number of stories [about India] if he had been able to speak anything but Hindustani." And when Sara first meets him and speaks to him in Hindi, "[Sara] thought she had never seen more surprise and delight than the dark face expressed when she spoke in the familiar tongue."

So. In that case, when Ram Dass is describing his interaction with Sara to Mr. Carrisford, how does it never come up that the little girl who lives in the attic next door speaks Hindi? Now, it's possible that Ram Dass never mentions this point, and that he describes Sara's circumstances without ever mentioning that they'd had a conversation. But the subject is touched on again when Ram Dass and Mr. Carrisford's secretary are surveying Sara's attic in preparation for redecorating it as a surprise. Ram Dass mentions that he spies on Sara sometimes at night and has heard her describe to her friends her "pretends" about how the attic could be made over into something more comfortable. Presumably Sara wan't speaking Hindi to the other girls!

We can squeak through on plausibility if we make two allowances. First: that Ram Dass--as most multilingual people--has a passive linguistic competency that's larger than his speaking competency. So it's plausible that he could follow what Sara was describing in English but that he wasn't comfortable telling stories in English to the Carmichael children. Secondly: we may presume that Mr. Carrisford's secretary is fluent in Hindi and this is the language in which they are discussing the redecoration of the attic.

But that still leaves us with the puzzle that Ram Dass knows that his employer is searching for a little girl who was born and raised in India, and he knows that the little girl in the attic next door speaks Hindi, and he never thinks to mention this matter. It is, of course, an essential plot element. But this goes beyond Donald Carmichael's observation that if he'd just asked Sara's name when he gave her his Christmas sixpence, then he could have told Mr. Carrisford exactly where Sara Crewe was, the first time Carrisford mentioned who he was searching for. After all, one doesn't typically ask the names of beggar girls. But conversely, running into a servant girl in London who speaks fluent Hindi would seem to be a matter worth mentioning.

Of course, the other option is that I'm looking for logical consistency in an idiot-plot motif.

* * *

Obviously, my usual weekly schedule got hijacked yesterday in favor of the Storybundle announcement. For the next three weeks, you're going to get regular reminders about the Historic Fantasy StoryBundle that Daughter of Mystery is included in. I'll be running some guest-posts on that topic periodically. If you want a sampler of a variety of great stories by fabulous authors (and especially if you like your history a bit on the queer side), check it out!

There's a lively conversation online these days about representation of non-default characters, the intersection of identities, and the importance of representation that comes from authors' "own voices" (Twitter hashtag #ownvoices). That is, understanding the distinction between authors who are writing from within their own cultures, their own histories, their own identities, and authors who are writing those things as an outsider but who may have more access to publishing and publicity support, and who thus may become the "face" of those identities in preference to #ownvoices authors.

When writing historical or SFF fiction, there are additional complexities to the concept of #ownvoices. Who best represents the voice of a historic culture? Anyone descended from the people of that culture? People living in the same geographic area? What does it mean to write a marginalized culture in a secondary world? Are invented marginalized cultures a way of respecting real-world marginalizations by not appropriating them, or a lazy dodge to avoid having to engage with how readers are identifying with the characters?

When I...realized? decided?...that Serafina Talarico in the Alpennia series had an Ethiopian heritage, I knew I was going to have to do serious work to place her in the context of this conversation about representation. It would be entirely too lazy to say, "Well, I don't really represent any of the various intersectional identities in the Alpennia books--not really even their sexuality, because 19th century understandings of sexuality are very different from modern ones. So there's nothing special about Serafina in that respect." There is something special, because where the world is full of historic fiction and historic fantasy about early 19th century white Europeans, and it is definitely not full of fiction about early 19th century Ethiopians (fantasy setting or no). So I have to accept that there will be readers for whom Serafina may be their most memorable representative of that set.

Given that, what is my responsibility? Firstly, to write a complex, three-dimensional character who is true to her cultural and historic setting to the best of my ability. Secondly, to not promote her as an authentic representative of that culture. This may seem contradictory, but consider: if I were writing a generic heterosexual Regency romance full of improbably young and handsome single Earls and clever but impoverished gentlewomen, would they be "authentic representatives" of early 19th century England? No, absolutely not. And anyone who gave five seconds' thought to the question would know that. That's the sense in which I mean "not an authentic representative".

My third responsibility is still under construction because it involves research and fact-checking: to identify and promote books that share Serafina's characteristics that are #ownvoices stories with regard to culture and ethnicity. I doubt I'm going to find any #ownvoices books about an early 19th century bisexual Ethiopian immigrant to Europe, never mind the fantasy setting. But I can find some of those intersections. And thanks to the wonders of Goodreads thematic lists, I have a list of titles to look into further. (I've also identified some websites and blogs that may be useful for vetting the results of my initial lists, if they are willing to help.)

The message I want to send my potential readers is: don't read Mother of Souls instead of #ownvoices books, read it instead of the books I chose not to write that didn't include marginalized identities at all. That was the choice it was within my power to make.

And with that, here's the next teaser for Mother of Souls: a bit of Serafina reminiscing about her childhood in Rome.

* * *

It hadn’t felt like this when she was a girl. Visions had been a joy, a gift, a promise. A tiny white-walled room, with the blazing Roman sun slanting through the shutter slats to form stripes on the carpet. She sat cross-legged on a cushion, practicing her letters on a slate. Her mother sang as her dark hands lifted up another sheet of injera from the griddle. Serafina knew it was a charm-song, even without understanding the words, by the way the light danced in harmony. In memory, the visions mixed with the aroma of the spices and the sharp scent of clove and sandalwood in the oil Mama used to dress her hair. The magic seemed to dance in time with the swaying of her gauzy white shawl that somehow never slipped from her shoulders or fell into her work.

And when the dancing sun-stripes slanted just so, Papa would come through the door, looking all important in his dark suit just like the Roman men in the world outside, with her brother Michele trailing after him, carrying his books and writing case. Papa and Mama would say the prayers together in the tongue she’d never learned, and she and Michele would repeat the Pater in Latin and the everyday prayers in Romanesco—there was no Coptic church here and she and Michele had been baptized by the Catholic priests. Then there would be the sharp sour taste of injera and the rich spiciness of the stew wrapped within it. Papa would sigh and say he could almost think himself back in Mekelle at their wedding feast. He and Mama would be sad together for a time, remembering, but it was their sadness, not hers.

In time, the magic faded from her mother’s work. She stopped singing the old songs. Serafina hadn’t noticed, for the visions still came in church. They would stand together in the back and Mama would say her own prayers quietly, but Serafina would drink in the way the lights of the candles and the colored windows rose up in a great symphony of movement, answering the priests as they celebrated the Mass, or flowing throughout the crowd of worshippers during the special holidays. When she gasped and exclaimed at the sight, Mama would grasp her hand and murmur, “My little angel!” and Papa would smile with pride and say, “You will become a learned woman!”