Words for Worlds - Issue 75
Hello everyone, and welcome to another issue of the Words for Worlds newsletter.
C/w: Sexual assault, rape.
[Update: Since the publication of this newsletter, there is a third account that has been made public, on the Survivor Stories podcast.]
On 3rd July 2024, The Tortoise carried a four-part podcast making public the fact that Neil Gaiman had been accused of sexual assault by two women. The overview noted that “the allegations span two decades and concern young women who came into contact with Gaiman – the 63 year-old bestselling author of The Sandman, Good Omens, and American Gods – as a nanny to his child and as a fan of his writing.” It also noted that Gaiman denied the allegations, and stated that the relationships were consensual.
While in the immediate aftermath of The Tortoise podcast, this news was carried in the media (quite a few Indian newspapers carried a report of it), in the intervening month there has been what appears to be an omerta around the issue, especially within the industry. I’ve seen individual Twitter/X accounts talking about it (and here’s a fairly long Reddit thread on it), but very little by way institutional acknowledgment. There are some indications that this might be changing shortly, which is welcome, but in the meantime, as was pointed out to me on BlueSky, it is important not to let the issue be buried underneath mounds of silence.
The accusations against Gaiman are, of course, primarily about Gaiman, and we should not lose sight of that. In addition, we should perhaps also flag for a later conversation the underling power structures within the industry, that form the background to this, and which are rarely spoken about. These power structures - from my experience - rest on two foundations. One is the tendency to create cult figures out of successful writers (sometimes - though not always - with tacit encouragement), including through para-social relationships on the internet.
The second - related - aspect is the power wielded by these writers in a very opaque setting. Patronage from successful writers - sometimes as little as a word in the right ear at the right time - can make (or break) writing careers, open (or close) professional doors, be the difference between having a career in the first place, or not. We don’t like to talk about this because it would shatter some myths about the industry that we hold on to, but the fact of the matter is that wherever such opaque power exists, you will see instances of abuse. This is not to discount the agency of the abuser(s), but to note that institutional settings and frameworks are always relevant factors.
So, in the present case, we need to focus on the sexual assault accusations, and speak up about them. But we can perhaps, in due course, also speak about the structural features that enable - or facilitate - such things, and ask what an alternative future for the industry might look like where this is not the case.
What I’m Reading
These days it almost feels like a moral imperative to read Palestinian writers. Newly out is Nasser Abu Srour’s The Tale of a Wall, a Palestinian prison memoir. Nasser Abu Srour has been in an Israeli prison for upward of three decades, and The Tale of a Wall is his account of making sense of life within the four walls of his prison cell. “Forgive what you have lost from the springtime of your life,” he writes, in one of the most moving passages in the book, “take your autumn and your winter; take all the possibilities of a future life.” In this book, we are introduced not only to Nasser’s own life, but also contemporary Palestinian history, from the First Intifada, to the Oslo Accords, and onwards.
I cannot imagine what it must be to spend thirty years of one’s life in prison; one feels quite inadequate to the task of reviewing such a book, and one can only be grateful that these words exist, and have been carried to us from within the prison cell.
I’m a huge fan of Adrian Tchaikovsky’s science fiction. The Doors of Eden is one of my favourite novels ever, and I think Children of Time is a work of surpassing excellence. With that said, I found my foray into Tchaikovsky’s fantasy a little disappointing - not at the level of the craft, which Tchaikosvky is a master of, but at the level of themes. City of Last Chances is set in the Robert Jackson Bennett-esque city of Ilmar, which is under foreign occupation, and chafes to revolt. Tchaikovksy’s portrayal of the City goes far beyond a lot of what modern fantasy does - it’s set in an alt-early industrial age, so there’s a lot of political economy involved (very refreshingly, an industrial strike plays a significant role in the narrative), other than the usual intrigue and magic.
My issue with the book, however, is its cynical - almost nihilistic - view of revolutionary change. In Ilmar, the protagonists who find themselves in opposition to the Occupation are either opportunistic, or cowards, or involved in power games of their own, or a combination of all three. The only persons with sincerity are the university students - and they are painted as naive, almost devoid of agency, constantly being manipulated by more powerful actors.
This is not to say, of course, that the book needs to be misty-eyed or idealistic about revolutions. But even in our world, the mid-19th-century revolutions (whether successes or failures) that seem to be the closest analogues to Ilmar, were certainly not characterised solely by the cynicism that pervades the book about the very possibility of revolutionary change (I’m thinking specially of 1848, and the Paris Commune). And in the context of a secondary world, where one has so much inventive freedom, I do wonder about the authorial choice to construct a revolution made up of only the darkest, and the most ignoble, versions of its real-life analogues.
The Indian Scene
From Dip Ghosh’s Facebook, I got to know that a new SF anthology by Sukanya Datta is now available to order online. Get yourselves a copy!
Congratulations also to Prashanth Srivatsa, whose debut fantasy novel, The Spice Gate, is formally out in the world, and - even better - physically available in Indian bookshop. I spotted five copies in Bahrisons in Delhi, and the Bangalore bookshops are doing their thing, so if you’re nearby, go get your copy, read a fantastic fantasy novel, and support your local genre authors!
Apologies for forgetting about this in the last newsletter, but if you’re an Indian urban fantasy reader, there’s something for you now: Rohan Monteiro’s Shadows Rising, which has been compared to Jim Butcher. Here’s the blurb:
Banished from the Celestial Court for an unspeakable crime, Akran, once a powerful yaksha spends his days in the city of Mumbai pretending to be human.
When a young girl gets kidnapped, Akran finds himself dragged reluctantly into an investigation. But as he soon discovers, this is is not a simple case of kidnapping -villainous thugs, gods and demons are all involved. And an ancient evil is returning to the world.
What are the secrets from Akran’s own past that threaten his present? Why are celestial forces out to wreak havoc on his beloved city? As Akran and his friends race to save the girl, everything hinges in the balance. Including the fate of the world.
Finally, ICYMI: Westland SF anthology. Edited by yours truly. Accepting submissions until 31 October. Editorial review will be double-blind, so please don’t self-reject. More information here.
What’s Happening at Strange Horizons
A combination of SH and India: in the latest issue of Samovar here is a speculative poem by Sourav Roy.
And another: a review of Manjula Padmanabhan’s short story collection, Stolen Hours.
Recommendations Corner
We had our monthly meeting of the Delhi Science Fiction Reading Circle, and the theme was African writing. So we read Kojo Laing’s classic, anarchic, and absolutely maddening Major Gentl and the Achimota Wars. This is a book that’s no plot, no sense of place, and all vibes - but the vibes carry you along all the way to the end. It’s also very different from all the contemporary SF you’ll read, so if you’re looking for some defamiliarisation, it doesn’t get much better than this.