News | A BAMEless World Book Night

The notion of a “reading nation” is an unquestionably wonderful one, and making that fantasy a reality is what World Book Night is all about: celebrating “the enrichment that reading and books can bring to people’s lives” at the same time as “encouraging those who don’t already read for pleasure—an estimated 36% of adults—to get involved.”

How? Well, how else—by giving away hundreds of thousands of the things! Little wonder, then, that though it still struggles to reach some, the six-year old initiative has met with tremendous success. As Free Thought Research recently revealed, “80% of those who received a book on World Book Night had never read or read infrequently before the event, while 85% talked to others about books more, of which 47% reported an increase in the number of books they bought and 32% borrowed more from their local library.”

Thus, the announcement of the fifteen books to be distributed on the next World Book Night, on April 23rd, 2016, should have been a happy moment; a date to save. Instead, the lately-launched list—described by the organisers as “diverse” and “curated to appeal to a breadth of audiences”—has quite rightly come under fire for failing to feature a single Black, Asian and Minority Ethnic (BAME) author.

In a blog post for The Bookseller, Nikesh Shukla, author and editor of Rife, dubbed World Book Night “a wonderfully charitable way of spreading your love of reading with friends and strangers alike,” but there’s a but, and it's a biggie:

Lists can do what prizes necessarily can’t—be inclusive. Prizes are effectively competitions. There’s an arbitrary standard of literary merit to be upheld. Publishers will submit subjectively to suit judges’ tastes. Lists, on the other hand, are a set of items, in this case books. World Book Night’s panels are looking for books that are “good, enjoyable, highly readable books with strong compelling narratives.” It seems problematic, thus, to not include any authors from BAME communities. 

If World Book Night is about getting that 36% of the country reading, what about the brown pound? It’s potentially a huge market, but one that will feel disenfranchised by not being visible in a high profile list such as this. For one, having BAME writers will encourage more BAME readers to become givers or to take a book, but also it’ll show that, on lists, we belong just as much as everyone else.

Saying that “some questions are too important to go unanswered,” and that this is one “we at World Book Night have been struggling with for some time,” Project Manager Rose Goddard responded to Shukla’s condemnation the next day:

World Book Night is an extraordinary industry initiative achieved through a wide coalition of authors, publishers, printers, distributors and other partners—not least the volunteer givers. However, like all charitable initiatives the funding model and submissions process which underpins it also shapes its delivery. The curation of the final books is not simply a question of choosing freely from publishers’ lists; publishers submit titles for the list and financially support the printing of the titles selected and the programme overall. Participation in the programme represents a significant monetary commitment for all of them, particularly for the smaller presses we’ve been delighted to welcome on board over the last few years. They all think very carefully about which books to suggest in the context of our drive to reach people who do not normally read for pleasure and WBN would not exist at all without the generous backing they provide. Each year we strive to strike a balance across the list. This year, despite our best efforts we have not been successful in respect of BAME writers.

In other words, World Book Night’s hands were tied.

But who by? Why, by the same, “increasingly out of touch” industry that was the subject of Spread the Word’s deeply dismaying survey of “writers from a variety of backgrounds, as well as literary agents, and mainstream and independent publishers” operating out of the UK.

In other words, as Writing the Future concluded, “despite all the hard work, good intentions and a ‘signing up’ to the principles of diversity, it seems that an old mono-culture still prevails” in publishing.

And none of this—none of this—is good enough.

Meme, Myself and I | Regarding Reading Habits

Memes of the old mold seem in recent years to have gone the way of the dearly departed dodo, and although I thought them at best a guilty pleasure then, now, much to my surprise, I find myself missing them. To wit, it was with happiness in my heart that I saw a fifteen question genre fiction book meme, mostly focused on reading and buying habits, featured on Pornokitsch a wee while back. I gather those guys got it from Gail Carriger, who traced the thing back to SF Signal.

Fast forward a fortnight—and the fact that it's taken me a fortnight to answer fifteen quick questions should tell you something about how bloody busy I've been recently—and I'm finally finished!

***

1. What was the last sf/f/h book you finished reading?

The Buried Giant by Kazuo Ishiguro: a genre novel by all accounts, although one at its best when its fantastical trappings are left in the background. I called it "a minor work by a modern master" in my review for Tor.com—a statement I feel safe standing by despite the unadulterated praise that's been heaped on it this week.

2. What was the last sf/f/h book you did not finish reading and why?

I finish almost everything! But that's because almost everything I read, I read with a view to review, and my feeling is that to review a book fairly, you have to see it through to its conclusion.

3. What was the last sf/f/h book you read
that you liked but most people didn’t?

Hmm. Maybe Something Coming Through by Paul McAuley? I wouldn't go so far as to say most people disliked it, but I certainly liked it more than most.

4. What was the last sf/f/h book you read
that you disliked but most people did?

As above, so below. Though I didn't quite dislike it—as I put it at the time, The Death House by Sarah Pinborough is never less than "completely competent"—I certainly didn't love it, and I dare say a fair few folks did. Each to their own, of course.

5. How long do your single-sitting
reading sessions usually last?

If I have less than an hour to spend reading, it isn't often worth my while, because the longer I spend reading, the faster the speed I read at. In an hour, for instance, I might make it through fifty pages; in four, I'll defeat four hundred. It's funny. 

Also frustrating, because four free hours are increasingly hard to find.

6. What are you currently reading?

The Long Way to a Small, Angry Planet by Becky Chambers: a formerly self-published science fiction novel which the fine folks at Hodder are hoping to bring to a bigger audience when they re-release it as an ebook in a few weeks.

7. Do you like it so far?

I'll be reviewing it soon—don't anyone act surprised or anything—so I don't want to give the game away, but do I like it so far? Hell yes.

That said, I still have half of the whole to go. It's all to play for!

8. How long ago did you buy the book you are
currently reading (or the last book you read)?

I, uh... didn't. I'm reading a review copy. But I do at least have the decency to feel bad about that, such that I'll probably buy a final physical edition of The Long Way to a Small, Angry Planet if it continues to kick ass.

9. What was the last physical sf/f/h book you bought?

The Bees by Laline Paull. My mum doesn't read much, and rarely could what she reads be considered speculative, so when she does recommend something along those lines, I pay attention.

She was well into this one. Not sure I am so far, but my progress through The Bees has been slow; I'll let you know how it goes.

10. What is the sf/f/h sub-genre you like the most and why?

Weird stuff really does it for me. In part because there's just not a lot of it, so it seems special in a way other sub-genres don't.

Relatedly, roll on the next China Mieville collection, Three Moments of an Explosion: Stories.

11. What is the sf/f/h sub-genre you dislike the most and why?

Epic fantasy can be simply brilliant—see Guy Gavriel Kay, another of my favourite fictionists—but all too often, it's forgettable and repetitive.

But on balance, I'm going to have to say steampunk. Nine times out of ten, I find, steampunk stories favours style over substance, and I've long since tired of trying to find exceptions to the rule.

12. What is your favorite electronic reading device?

The second generation Kindle Paperwhite I gifted myself last summer. I don't use it all that often while I'm at home, where of late I've had the luxury of a library, but it's been a proper godsend on holidays. Come the end of the month it'll be coming to Gdansk with me.

I'm already wondering what to load it up with...

13. What was the last sf/f/h eBook you bought?

Actually, I bought twenty, some of which I already owned in physical format, by way of the Humble Subterranean Press Book Bundle. I can't resist a sweet deal, and at fifteen squids these were a real steal.

14. Do you read books exclusively
in one format (physical/electronic)?

I used to do. Reading ebooks was an age-old practice before I finally gave it a go, and old man that I am, I still favour physical editions—for the feel, the physical impression of progress and the notion of the novel as an object of artistic value—but I'm markedly more open to ebooks these days.

15. Do you read ebooks exclusively on a single device,
ie. an eBook reader, a smartphone or a tablet?

When I read ebooks, I read them almost exclusively on the Paperwhite. Occasionally I have to work with a PDF file, however, and allow me to close out this post by echoing the frustrations of the Pornokitsch kids: PDF files are a living nightmare. For those, I have my tablet: a 10.1 inch Samsung Galaxy Tab S.

But I Digress | Baby's First Audiobook

Confession time, folks: I'd never listened to an audiobook from beginning to end till 2014. Till this autumn, even.

In my defence, I had tried at various points in the past... but the time I have to spend simply listening is limited. Plus I suck at it, utterly: I have restless hands, so to listen to something I have to be doing something else at the same time. The dishes, for instance. Or driving. 

But I only do so many dishes; I only drive so far.

And there are things I listen to as often as possible. I've been a podcast fan for many years, as long-time TSS readers will recall, so between the Bombcast, Idle Thumbs, Rocket Talk, and the Skiffy and Fanty Show, there's been, before now, more than enough to keep my ears occupied—and I haven't even mentioned BBC Radio 4! There's always something fascinating on there, so on those rare occasions when my podcast supply ran dry, I tended to tune into Woman's Hour or whatnot.

But my circumstances, of late, have changed. Since the Summer I've been commuting to and from work—whihc is an hour and change away—twice a week. Then, sometime in September, the radio in my car broke, and no-one that I've taken it to in subsequent months has been able to identify why.

I ran out of podcasts stored on my phone pretty much immediately, and whilst I did waste an age looking for a few new ones, I came to my senses eventually. I tried streaming some radio, too, but I have a silly small data allowance, and I realised this was going to cost me a small fortune. 

So I bought myself an audiobook. More Fool Me by Stephen Fry, and read by said. He hasn't come up often on The Speculative Scotsman at bottom because he isn't either of those things—speculative or Scottish—but I'm a huge fan of the man, and I'd enjoyed the bits of his autobiography he shared at his live book launch.

More Fool Me lasted me a couple of weeks, and though I had significant problems with it as an autobigraphy—it's repetitive, incomplete and unbelievably brief—to my surprise, I enjoyed the experience of hearing it hugely.

So I doubled down when, all too quickly, it was finished: I bought the audiobook of Words of Radiance by Brandon Sanderson, which I'd been meaning to read since its release.

It's proven to be a completely different experience from More Fool Me. In the first instance, one of the two speakers reads his chapters with such bombast that his voice has been hard to get past. Other problems: this audiobook is fifty-odd hours in full, with long-ass chapters and few suitable stopping points. As such, I frequently find myself flabberghasted by the narrative, picking up as I must in the middle of a chapter. 

I've gone from one extreme to the other, I fear, and so you see: baby's first audiobook may well be baby's last... unless you lend a helping hand.

What I want from an audiobook, it seems, is something accessible. Sometimes that dovetails with my tastes. Something not too long overall, and read without the intrusion that's ruined (the audiobook of) Words of Radiance for me.

Recommend a friend?

The Scotsman Abroad | Gone Goodreading

I'm sure this sounds counter-intuitive coming from a blogger, but social media and me, we... we have a somewhat strained relationship. It's true that I tweet; it's true, too, that that's been as much as I can manage—and sometimes, I'm crap at managing that. I'll either be tweeting all the time or not at all.

I'm just bad at balance.

Over the years, though, I've come to realise that community is crucial. Especially for a blogger based somewhere as out there—relative to the likes of London—as the boondocks of Scotland. So a week or so ago, an invite inspired me to give in to Goodreads. I signed up for an account, sent a few (hundred) friend requests and set about filling a bookshelf or two.

To my surprise, it's been a bunch of fun so far. I particularly enjoy having a place to put my immediate reactions to texts as they develop, and I figured a few of you might do too. So if you're interested in reading my ramblings about the books I'm reading right now—books you won't see reviews of on The Speculative Scotsman for some time, typically—feel free to friend me, folks: on Goodreads, or indeed on Twitter, Xbox Live, PSN, Steam and so on.

My username is always niallalot.

Perhaps one day I'll tell you why...

Guest Post | Clifford Beal on Fact vs. Fiction in the Curriculum

Gideon's Angel was fantastic fun. But if you've read the preamble to my review, you'll see that I got rather distracted by the idea of real history, and how we teach it.

As an English tutor when I'm not reviewing books, a large part of my day job involves finding ways to get the kids I work with interested in reading and writing, and that's rarely as easy as it seems. Few can see past the stress and the pressure of exams, because that's what the curriculum is all about: a grade at the end of the day. On the one hand, I have to help them get a good one; on the other, it'd be easier if a few more of them gave a flying fuck about the subject.

That said, I sympathise. When I was in their position, more years ago now that I'm completely comfortable admitting, I was never particularly interested in history. I got my grades, but I didn't much care about the subject one way or the other.

That probably had a lot to do with my dreary teacher, because in recent years, I've realised I could have been. Should have been, even. History can be absolutely fascinating—as demonstrated by Gideon's Angel—but only when taught properly. And as Clifford Beal argues in the guest post I'm proud to post below, where there's a will, there's a way.

***

I’ll be truthful. I started my writing profession grounded purely in stone-cold reality. Defence journalism, articles for history magazines, and finally, a book about a little-known Anglo-American pirate named John Quelch who lived in the early 18th century and whose case set legal precedent.

It was that sense of adventure, of the mysteries of what had gone before, that drew me into switching over to write historical fiction and fantasy. I have always read historical fiction. And for me, history was always very much alive, all around us, and always a source of discovery.

As a child, I remember a near endless series of fiction books called Childhoods of Famous Americans, published by the now defunct Bobbs-Merrill company but now back in print. I would devour probably one a week. They were written from the 1930s onwards and when I discovered them in the sixties, they were just as exciting.

These books were instrumental in taking larger-than-life historical figures, somewhat dull as taught in the classroom, and making their experiences relevant to me, as a kid. So too did television often trigger a trip to the library. Watch  Henry Fonda barking orders in the Battle of the Bulge on TV? Check. Then I’d go and read the book. It was axiomatic for me then and probably for a lot of people my age.

I’m not so sure that’s the case any more. It appears today kids are taught “modules” in history where they dive deep into ancient Egypt one term and then WWII the next. They know nothing in between and end up with an unconnected series of historical waypoints that have no relevance or meaning. [All too true!—Ed.] Give me chronological teaching any day.

So here’s an idea: get kids into learning history again by teaching it as a subject that tells “how we got to where we are” and supplement it with narrative, both real and fictitious. If historical fiction can excite young people to take more interest in the actual events of the past—and their impact on the world today—then overall education will benefit and we might actually get a few more historians (and novelists) to enjoy reading in the future.

But what does this all have to do with historical fantasy or alternate history genre fiction? OK, cause and effect gets a bit weaker here I admit, but even speculative fiction can engender serious thought about who we are. And what might have been. Maybe if a kid reads H.G. Wells he’ll develop an interest in the Victorian age—or planetary science. For me, I’m chuffed to bits that I can combine my two great pleasures that are history and fantasy, have fun creating it, and give others the escapist pleasure in reading it.

***

Many thanks for that, Clifford!

So, folks... thoughts? What say you to a bit of fiction with your fact?

Giving the Game Away | We Are Among Others

Hello again, everyone. I'm back!

Only briefly, I'm afraid. Predictably, I've returned home to deadlines aplenty, and as ever, the day job awaits, so I only have a few moments to devote to The Speculative Scotsman this afternoon. Luckily, that' should just long enough for me to blog about one of the very best books I've read in recent years: a multiple award-winner that (for once) deserves all the acclaim that's been heaped upon it. Namely Among Others by Jo Walton.

It's an extraordinary novel, with the most memorable narrator I've encountered in ages: Morwenna Phelps (or Mori to her friends... not that she has terribly many) is always charming and often disarming, but here's what really struck me about this marvellous character: she is undeniably one of us—which is to say an individual as inextricable from the fantastical literature she reads and reflects on throughout Among Others as any die-hard genre fiction fan—and wonderfully, one senses Jo Walton is as well.

If you've gone this long without reading Among Others already, you must know by now that you're missing something magnificent. But perhaps you aren't aware of what this novel is, and equally, what it isn't. Well:

"Think of this as a memoir. Think of it as one of those memoirs that's later discredited to everyone's horror because the writer lied and is revealed to be a different colour, gender, class and creed from the way they'd made everybody think. I have the opposite problem. I have to keep fighting to stop making myself sound more normal. Fiction's nice. Fiction lets you select and simplify. This isn't a nice story, and this isn't an easy story. But it is a story about fairies, so feel free to think of it as a fairy story. It's not like you'd believe it anyway."

The thing of it is... I did. Among Others came alive for me in a way truly few books do when I finally read it this past winter. Sadly, the review I wrote way back when—the review I had been sitting on ever since, waiting for this very day, I dare say—appears to have been eaten by Blogger, so you'll just have to take my word for it: Among Others is bittersweet, beautifully put... quite simply brilliant.

But wait! What am I talking about? You don't have to take my word for it at all, because even if you exclude the innumerable glowing reviews of the book my bloggery colleagues have written already—and why would you?—this post begins a whole week of awesome Among Others coverage.

Tomorrow, Civilian Reader will be chipping in; Dark Wolf's Fantasy Reviews welcomes Jo Walton on Wednesday; on Thursday, tune in to 2606 Books; then The Book Smugglers are due to do their inimitable thing on Friday. Over the weekend, Jan Edwards and Fantasy Faction will have the book's back, and a week from today, the blog tour concludes courtesy of Curiosity Killed the Bookworm.

Needless to say, it'll be a brilliant week, and all in honour of a good cause. Among Others really does merit such celebration. And to start us off properly, it's with immense pleasure—and many thanks to the fine folks at Constable & Robinson who are publishing the paperback this Thursday—that I say I have three copies of the beautiful new British edition of this book to give away to interested parties based in the UK.

All you need do to stand a chance of winning Among Others is to email me at thespeculativescotsman [at] gmail [dot] com with your name and address. Mark your subject headers 'We Are Among Others' and I'll announce the lucky ones next week, when I'm properly on top of the blog again.

It really is as easy as that.

Seriously, what are you waiting for? :)

We'll talk again shortly, all. In the interim, do stay tuned for a few more Short Story Reviews, including one of the piece I think should win the BSFA's award for the Best Short Story of 2012.

But I Digress | On What Bookish Begot

Does the world need yet another website about books?

Well, that's exactly what Bookish is: a shiny new community revolving around a recommendation engine.

But before you lose interest entirely, it's actually quite clever. I told Bookish about my thing for China Mieville; it recommended I read Jeff VanderMeer. I fed it Tigana; Bookish responded with Tad Williams and Steven Erikson.

(Also Robin Hobb. Which makes me wonder if I should really be reading Robin Hobb. Thoughts?)

And all this while the engine's still in beta!

If the truth be told, though, I'm probably not in need of new books to read, and if I were, I'd really rather follow in the footsteps of a friend, or place my trust in one of the community's more reliable reviewers. But there are those, of course, without these fantastic facilities; without peers who share their interests, or absent access to (or tolerance for) certain social media.

And for those folks, Bookish could be brilliant.

If Twitter's any indication, however, news of the new resource has been met with a resounding meh. Why? I've heard the lack of user-generated content cited as a particularly singular reason why Bookish is irrelevant, or just utter rubbish. But even at this early stage, users can submit quotes, reviews, and I don't know what else.

Why the single-minded emphasis on user-generated content anyway? I appreciate the added value such integration represents at the best of times, but the cranky old man in me can't help but wonder, when are those? Where are those? In my experience of social media, opening the doors to all comers makes for a mixed bag of good and bad.

What's the problem with old-fashioned curated content anyway? Why does everything need to be about everyone?

Basically, why the hate for Bookish?

Does every medium have to be social to survive in this day and age? Let's face it: nothing is likely to supplant Facebook at this stage, so why risk ruining a good thing trying to put in hooks for users who won't care anyway?

But let's circle back to the first question I posed in this post: does the world need yet another website about books? Well no, of course not. But what's the harm in it, exactly? Indeed, when has the internet, and social media especially, ever been about need?

Quoth the Scotsman | Patrick Ness on the Printed Page

A couple of Quoth the Scotsmans ago, I featured an excerpt from The Explorer by James Smythe—a fine novel, no?—which revolved around the inimitable feeling of reading. I'd like to return to that idea today, if I may, via a passage from The Crane Wife by Patrick Ness... coming soon from Canongate in the UK.

The main character in The Crane Wife is an older gentleman called George, and in his spare time, George is a bit of an artist. But he doesn't paint or draw or sculpt... he cuts. Not himself! No, he makes cuttings from books he finds in bargain bins at charity shops.

That's really all you need to know to follow the following, which is taken from the first act of Ness' phenomenal new novel:

To take his blade and cut into the pages of a book felt like such a taboo, such a transgression against everything he held dear, George still half-expected them to bleed every time he did it. 

He loved physical books with the same avidity other people loved horses or wine or prog rock. He'd never really warmed to ebooks because they seemed to reduce a book to a computer file, and computer files were disposable things, things you never really owned. He had no email from ten years ago but still owned every book he bought that year. Besides, what was more perfect an object than a book? The different rags of paper, smooth or rough under your fingers. the edge of the page pressed into your thumbprint as you turned a new chapter. The way your bookmark—fancy, modest, scrap paper, candy wrapper—moved through the width of it, marking your progress, a little further each time you folded it shut. 

And how they looked on the walls! Lined up according to whatever whim. George's whim was simple—by author, chronological within name—but over the years he'd also done it by size, subject matter, types of binding. All of them there on the shelves, too many, not enough, their stories raging within regardless of a reader.  

[...] 

He had seen a story once about sand mandalas made by Tibetan Buddhist monks. Unbelievably gorgeous creations, sometimes just a metre across, sometimes big as a room. Different colours of sand, painstakingly blown in symmetrical patterns by monks using straw-like tubes, building layer upon layer, over the course of weeks, until it was finished. At which point, in keeping with Buddhist feelings about materialism, the mandala was destroyed, but George tended to ignore that part. 

What was interesting to him was that the mandala was meant to be—unless he'd vastly misunderstood, which was also possible—a reflection of the internal state of the monk. The monk's inner being, hopefully a peaceful one, laid out in beautiful, fragile form. The soul as a painting. 

The books on George's walls were his sand mandala. When they were all in their place, when he could run his hands over the spines, taking one off the shelf to read or re-read, they were the most serene reflection of his internal state. Or if perhaps not quite his internal state, then at least the internal state he would like to have had. Wheich was maybe all it was for the monks, too, come to think of it. 

And so when he made his very first incision into the pages of a book, when he cut into an old papterback he'd found lying near the rubbish bins behind the shop, it felt like a blundering step into his mandala. A blasphemy, a desecration of the divine. Or, perhaps, a releasing of it. (pp.60-61)

This is a sentiment near and dear to my heart indeed. I flatly refuse to even fold over the pages of a novel to mark my place... never mind taking a knife to one. The horror!

In any case, I'll be reviewing The Crane Wife in full on The Speculative Scotsman shortly, but it should come as no surprise to anyone who's read Patrick Ness in the past that it's simply stunning stuff.

Now, to stroke the spines of a few good books...

But I Digress | The Many-Coloured Covers, or, Me and Mrs May

Whilst assembling the first edition of the British Genre Fiction Focus for Tor.com, I found myself looking for something to read — a rare occasion indeed — and for various reasons, the recent reissue of The Many-Coloured Land caught my eye.

Now I've been vaguely aware of Julian May for all my adult life. Though my mum doesn't read much these days, when she did, The Saga of the Exiles was one of her favourite series. She still recalls it fondly.

But I always was one to go my own way. Even as a babe. So though I read A Wizard of Earthsea on her say-so, and adored it, and though the various other books she recommended me in my younger years were very probably responsible for my abiding speculative fiction fixation, The Many-Coloured Land lay unloved on its shelf in the study.

A couple of weeks ago, I finally righted my wrong. I read through The Many-Coloured Land in a couple of pretty serious sittings, and I see now that I should have done so years ago. But better late than never, eh?

It was nice to have a shared experience to discuss with my mum, for one. And she was a proper font of knowledge about the series when I asked her about it over the weekend.

To begin with, I didn't realise that Julian May was a woman. I don't think that fact would have altered the odds of me reading these novels then or now... all the same, I feel an utter idiot.

Whilst visiting, I also took a look at the much-loved copies of the quartet my mum has had since the early 80s. Here's a quick comparison of covers adorning those versus this recent reissue:

I know which artwork I'd rather have! Are you with me?

Then again, if The Saga of the Exiles hadn't been re-released — never mind the Game of Thrones-esque imagery — I doubt I'd have looked twice at it. As is, I'm greatly anticipating the next time I have a few days to spare, because I can't get started on The Golden Torc soon enough.

So. Lesson learned. Digression end.

Except to say: hey, are there any other massive Julian May fans out there?

Quoth the Scotsman | James Smythe on Physical vs. Digital

Since the dawn of The Speculative Scotsman, e-books have gone from the margins to the mainstream.

I remember seeing video of a prototype of Sony's first e-book reader at CES years and years ago, and thinking this could change everything. I wanted one then and there... but when the time came that I could actually buy one, I held my horses.

I told myself was waiting for the next iteration. Then when the next iteration became available, I told myself... something else.

Eventually, however, be damned my doubts: I had my heart's desire. Not a Kindle, oh no! Ever the contrarian, I bought myself an Asus Transformer tablet, which - though it's beginning to look a little long in the tooth - I still use to this day. Primarily to read comics on, and e-books when needs must.

I'm just not a lover of electronic literature, by and large. I mean, I'll make do with an e-book - and these days, I often find myself with e-ARCs instead of physical proofs - but it simply isn't the same.

Before the tech savvy tell me what my problem is, I actually don't find the resolution of the text my tablet renders to be a problem. But I do mind the sluggishness of my micro-library. And I do wish Amazon would come the hell on and incorporate some of the software-side features of the Paperwhite line into the Kindle app.

But here I am having trouble articulating why I find e-reading such a sterile experience, when this whole post  is supposed to showcase a quote that captures my feelings exactly. It's from The Explorer by James Smythe, who's been rereading Stephen King for The Guardian recently, and it's short, but sweet:

"I always said that the thing I was saddest about, when they had pretty much stopped printing paper books, was that I couldn't tell how long was left until the end. I could find out, but that feel, that sensation of always knowing was gone. I used to love the way that the cluster of pages grew thinner in my hand, how I could squeeze it and guess the time it would take until it ended. I loved endings, when they were done well: I loved knowing that it was finished, because that was how it was meant to be. An ending is a completion: it's a satisfaction all in itself." (p.251)

Well said, James Smythe! I agree completely.

But who's with us, I wonder?

Ironically, the e-book of The Explorer is out on December 20th in both the UK and the US, but Harper Voyager aren't distributing the paperback till January 2013.

The far-flung future, in other words. :P

Never mind my trumpeting about time: I'll be reviewing The Explorer on tor.com shortly, and - spoiler alert - it's incredible. But resist the temptation, readers: wait for the physical edition!

But I Digress | Reading Rituals

Well, that's it, isn't it? Summer's over.

And winter, of course, is coming. I've felt the frost already, and if you squint into the slate-grey skies, you can nearly see the snow. Hell, if the supermarkets are to be believed, it's a fine time to start thinking about Christmas.

But let's not get quite so far ahead of ourselves!

Let's lament the end of the summer before we start celebrating the beginning of winter.

'Twas a mean season for me, I suppose. I had hoped to take a few weeks away from work over the holidays, but other factors intruded: a death in the family, changing obligations, sudden monetary troubles and so on. All the while the kiddies kept coming in, so I kept showing up to the education centre I teach English at.

As it stands, the plan is to steal off somewhere warm as soon as humanly possible - more on that as the story develops - but I'm running on empty at the moment. Have been since I got back from America in March: coming back from a life-changing experience only to have life kick in immediately will do that, I know now.

It hasn't, however, been doom and gloom all day and night in my little corner of Scotland. The rare sunny days we've had hereabouts have been a huge highlight, because earlier in 2012, I got myself a hobby: I decided the time had come to turn the rampant wilderness I called my back yard into a proper goddamn garden.

Well, it isn't perfect yet - and I don't imagine I'll be able to do much more with it till next spring - but six months of back-breaking, at times bloody labour later, I've got a lawn, a rock garden, and a pretty paved path between the two. A pretty paved path that proved the perfect place to drop a pair of camping chairs and improvise a table.

I have many happy memories of afternoons in my brand new garden this summer. Yes, the weather could have been better, but often enough there was some sun, and whenever there was, I took out my book, and I read.

And I read and I read and I read!

This became rather a habit. A ritual, if you will — which brings me to my point.

Now that I can't go out there, under pain of mild frostbite or a simple soaking, I've had to say goodbye to the garden for the time being. That I can live with. What I've having more trouble overcoming is the loss of the spot I spoke of, where I spent, shall we say, some serious time reading.

I'm a creature of habit, I confess. Most of what I read, I read in bed, immediately before nodding off. I did this all through the summer, in addition to which I had a couple of hours every couple of days with my book in the back yard. Absent that, it's back to burning the midnight oil until some replacement pattern arises, so my reading, recently, has dropped off dramatically.

How I miss my afternoons in the garden! :(

On the bright side, this got me thinking. Am I just an oddity, or do we all have specific spots where we get the bulk of our bookworming done? Places where we can go, or things that we do, to get away from it all, you know?

With so many other things competing for our attention, reading for a protracted period - for me at least - isn't easy these days. Without my camping chair in the garden, I'm having trouble getting through more than a book a week.

So I want to know: what are your reading rituals?

Inspire me, people, please!

A Death in the Family | Harry Harrison (1925 - 2012)

You will recall I was AWOL, on a quest to finally read a few of the doorstoppers that had arrived with me recently. Well, Forge of Darkness is defeated, I'm about halfway through The Twelve as we speak, and next up, Great North Road.

I'm really pleased to have taken the time to do this thing, and I'll have much more to say about the experience at a later date... but today I wanted to take a time out from my time out, because I woke to some very sad news.

This morning, Harry Harrison passed on. As yet, we don't know from what. But it doesn't really matter, does it? He was 87, and I need not add that he'll be missed by many. Not just by friends and family members, but also by the legions of readers of his various series, including the saga of the Stainless Steel Rat. 

I see Harry Harrison also wrote the novel which inspired Soylent Green, a landmark genre movie if ever there was one.

Harry Harrison was a formative author for me, but oddly not because I read terribly many of his books. Tell you who did, though: my bloody mother! Here on the blog we've talked before about her particular influence on my habits and hobbies — about her fondness for Outlander and A Wizard of Earthsea, amongst other fantastic fictions. Another of her favourites, inherited I think from her father in turn, was West of Eden, by the late, great creator.

I read it, then, on her recommendation. But so long ago now that my memories of it are misty. That said, I remember it being brilliant; I remember that it was a book that underscored my burgeoning interest in fantasy and science fiction; I remember remembering it again and again over the years, and vowing to read it again when I realised that my memories revolved around remembering it rather than the thing itself.

Predictably, perhaps, I didn't. But what better time to right that wrong than now?

Let me open to floor to those of you who have fond memories of the man, or the books he spent his life writing. Do you have a favourite from his vast back catalogue? Was anyone lucky enough to meet or hear him in person, I wonder? He gave the world so much good — let's take this time to give a bit back.

Rest in peace, Harry Harrison.

Quoth the Scotsman | Lisa Tuttle on Beauty and the Book

Later this month, the fine folks behind Jo Fletcher Books are reissuing The Silver Bough by Lisa Tuttle. Originally released in the US in 2006, this lovely new edition marks the book's first publication in the UK — which is strange, because it's all about Scotland. Albeit a Scotland populated almost exclusively by Americans.

Now we have our fair share of settlers from The Other Side, sure, but the predominance of incomers in The Silver Bough struck me as oddly unsettling. Last I heard, there were still a few Scots left in the country... though you wouldn't think it from this fruit-based fairytale.

That said, the perspectives Tuttle presents in this text proffer an interesting angle on bonnie Scotland: an inversion of the unavoidable fact that when you spend any amount of time in a place, however amazing it may be, you become blasé about all it has to offer. The Silver Bough's characters, on the other hand, see Scotland for what it is: a space almost outside of time.

"The road leveled out, but then, almost immediately, it began winding downward in a long, slow descent. [Ashley] looked down at a mountainside covered in dark green pines like a pelt of thick fur, and up at a glittering, roaring cascade of water that tumbled steeply down over rocks. There were no buildings anywhere. It was all wilderness, with nothing man-made in sight but the long and winding road. 

"Except for the traffic, there was nothing to fix you to a particular era. The scene was magically timeless. Wander off across that rocky meadow, or into the shelter of that dark forest, far enough to lose the sight and sound of the road, and you might find yourself in another century, meeting some hunky, shaggy, kilted Highlander..." (p.18)

Other than the idea of wild Highlanders, Tuttle hits the nail on the head here, and later, she touches on another of my lifelong loves.

Can you tell what it is yet? :P

"She loved the look, the heft, the weight, the smell and the fact of books — all those miniature embodiments of other lives, other times. Thoughts and dreams preserved for posterity to be summoned back to life through the act of reading. The buzz these days was all about the Internet, the world of online, digital knowledge, the necessity of being connected. But even though she accepted that the Net was not merely the waves of the future but the fact of present-day life, and did miss the access to it that she'd taken for granted in her old job, on an emotional level it could not compare, for her, with the magic of an old-fashioned, printer, real book. It was that, and a childhood fantasy of being able to live in a library, which had really decided her choice of career, no matter what sensible reasons she might tell other people." (p.49)

I'll have a full review of The Silver Bough ready to post on The Speculative Scotsman shortly, but for the moment, know that it's as unassumingly lovely as it sounds... if a little slower than I might like.

Guest Post | Sarah of Bookworm Blues Considers Her Comfort Zone

Ladies and gentlemen: welcome once again to The Speculative Scotsman!

You may or may not know that I’m in America at the moment – if not, yes, it’s true... in fact I’m as far AFK as I’ve ever been before – but never ye fear! For in my absence, a few good men and women have volunteered to make the site their own, albeit only momentarily. They’re bloggers, by and large, but also friends; fine folks one and all that I’ve met on the internet (and occasionally off) in the course of keeping this shared space set aside for burbling about speculative fiction of all shapes and sizes.

They all have blogs of their own, of course, and I’d urge you to seek them out. I care a lot about what goes on here on The Speculative Scotsman, so let me stress this one thing before I get to giving over the floor: the fact that I’m hosting the work of each of these excellent writers here speaks to my admiration and my respect for every last one among them.

If you enjoy some or all of these terrific reviews and opinion pieces, do the decent thing and click through the links in the intro and outro of each. Follow a few of my favourite internet critics. :)

Now then. In honour of the time-tested blueness of Mondays, I thought the thing to do this Monday was to host a blueish guest post, and truly, who could be better qualified for the job than Sarah of Bookworm Blues? 

Like all the other guests we've had on TSS this last little while, and those still to come, Sarah is a fantastic blogger, and a mainstay on my favoured feed-eater. It's a real honour to have her here on the blog, and doubly so considering the post she's got in store for us: a frank, intimate and considered article on how our comfort zones can become, counter-intuitively, too comfortable.

It is, in short, exactly the sort of thing I had hoped Sarah would write for the site, though I'd never have asked. It's what she does best -- though I should say she does everything else very well indeed. I'm going to let her tell the rest of this tale, but if you're not on the Bookworm Blues bandwagon already, by the end of this blog you bloody well will be.

***

First, I want to thank Niall for asking me to guest blog. It’s incredibly flattering to think that Niall thinks I’m good enough to write on his fantastic blog. [Oh, I know so --- Niall] Secondly, I should admit that I wracked my brain for weeks about what to write about. Niall told me to review something I don’t typically review. That leaves comics and movies and I don’t read/watch either and I usually post all the reviews of the book I read directly onto my blog as soon as possible, so I had no reviews of books left to write about. I decided to review something else entirely.

Well, “review” might be quite a stretch.

I need to give you some background. In November of 2010 I was diagnosed with cancer. You can imagine how terrifying it was to hear that I had a potentially terminal disease at the age of 28. I had surgery to remove my tumor two weeks after I was diagnosed. In the beginning of January I went to start my cancer treatment in the hospital and found out I was (surprise!) pregnant. It was the last thing I expected. The pregnancy was very difficult, not only because I was worried about my cancer spreading due to my inability to treat it while pregnant, but I also faced other health problems. My daughter was born via c-section on August 15. A few weeks later I had an ultrasound done and learned that my cancer probably spread while pregnant. Now I’m sitting here waiting to start the next leg of my treatment at a cancer center, probably sometime this summer.

I’m not saying any of this for sympathy. I’m saying it to give you some background. I’ve had a hell of a year (and a bit). It’s been very difficult for my family and me and I can tell you that sometimes the only thing that got me through was taking a vacation from myself and the best way to do that is by reading some damn good books. I’ve devoured more books during this period of my life than at any other.

Now, why on earth am I writing any of this on Niall’s blog?

After I was diagnosed with cancer I read to escape my own skin. I wanted to forget all the issues facing me. Then, when my back went out during my pregnancy and rendered me basically paralyzed for six months, I really started really flipping out. I was fighting cancer, trying to grow a healthy baby and unable to walk. My usual everything didn’t cut it anymore. I needed unusual. I needed to escape everything, even my reading comfort zone. So what did I do? I read the books I wouldn’t have touched with a ten-foot pole a few months earlier. And I liked them. That’s the real crazy part. I liked them.

Avid bookworms like myself tend to have a comfort zone. We like what we like and we tend to disregard everything else. [All too true --- Niall] However, this period in my life taught me how closed I was to myriads of good books I had spent years ignoring. Before I’d only read a book if it was epic fantasy. It had to be bloody and filled with tons of complicated plot elements. Politics were always a plus. Then, this period of my life happened and I ventured out. I read urban fantasy, sci-fi, military sci-fi, fantasy with assassins, thieves, steampunk, new weird, young adult and whatever else. I even read Twilight. I didn’t like it, but I read it.

Not every book was a hit and I didn’t enjoy every author, but I learned that right outside of my comfort zone there were worlds that I had never dreamed about and talented authors that I had closed myself off to simply because my comfort zone was too comfortable. Why try something else when you know exactly what you like?

Well, sometimes life needs a bit of extra spice. Sometimes your usual meal needs to be changed out for something new. What’s amazing to me is how many authors there are who are incredibly talented that I overlooked before simply because I was too comfortable to move over and see what books were on the next shelf. I’m lucky, I get plenty of books sent to me by publishers from myriads of different areas of speculative fiction and while I would have ignored most of them before, now I read all of them. It might take me a while to get to them, but I read them. I read the new authors and the time-tested authors. I read epic fantasy, urban fantasy and young adult, as well as whatever else is thrown my way. I feel rather ashamed of how closed I was to many books before. My tastes are far broader than I had expected and I never would have known that unless all of this health stuff happened to me.

Cancer has changed me forever. Once you hear those fateful words, “you have cancer” there’s no going back. While I am still fighting my battle, and I will win it, there are lessons it has taught me that I would have never learned any other way. One of them is not judging a book by its genre, or it’s cover. Each book has a new world and vision to offer, and each book deserves its chance. Comfort zones are nice. I will always favor epic fantasy, but now I realize that epic fantasy isn’t all that’s worth reading.

I guess you could say that this post is a review of reading styles and the lesson in the end is, maybe the next time you go to the library or the book store, stop at the isle next to the one you prefer and maybe choose a book you’d avoided before because it’s not your typical fare. You might just learn that breaking out of your comfort zone can add some incredible spice and flavor into your usual literary feast.

***

Absolutely fascinating stuff, Sarah -- thank you so much!

So we want to know: what are your comfort zones, folks? And how often do you read outside them? One book in ten, would you say? More, or less?

Now I'm not sure what's coming up tomorrow on The Speculative Scotsman, but... it'll be brilliant. Or else it'll be me, with a belated Letters From America! Meantime, Bookworm Blues is where you'll find Sarah, and I think you and I both know you want to.

Guest Post | Amanda of Strange Chemistry on Becoming A New Type of Reader

Who am I kidding? Amanda Rutter needs no introduction! But I'm going to introduce her anyway. :)

 

Hell, it's the least I can do, given the magnificent guest post she's written for The Speculative Scotsman. Most of you, of course, will remember Amanda from Floor to Ceiling Books, and though it was a sad, sad day when she closed the door on her old blog, she began again immediately over at the Strange Chemistry site.

Some of you might be wondering why she blogs for "a global imprint dedicated to the best in modern Young Adult science fiction, fantasy, supernatural and everything in between" these days. Well there's a very good reason: it's her imprint!

 

I'll have more to say about Strange Chemistry later in 2012, when the imprint makes its debut in bookstores around the world -- and not before time, too. I'm certainly excited about some of the talent she's signed up. You guys should be too.

Anyway, given (I gather) how very much her habits have had to change of late, Amanda thought the thing to do for the guest post below was to talk a bit about the way we read. I'm sure you'll agree it makes for fascinating reading in its own right.

 

***

 

First off the bat, I want to say thank you to Niall for inviting me to contribute to his fancy blog while he’s away in the wilds of America!

 

*takes a good look around*

 

“Oooh, what does this button do…?”

 

*scuttles away as blog disintegrates*

Because I’m now in a very different role than I was six months ago (from blogger and occasional accountant to editor and occasional blogger!) I was asked if I could write a post talking about the transition, or the ins and outs of the publishing world as I see them. But I decided not to do this! (I’m a rebel like that! [We wouldn't have you any other way, Amanda! - Niall]) Instead I’m going to talk about Types of Reader.

1. The One Book a Year Reader

This reader does not generally read. Through choice they will do any other activity. Reading is a bit of a bind. But they usually manage to slog through one book a year (most often while sitting on a beach!) The book they pick is usually the most popular published that year – they’ve heard people rave about it and thought they’d give it a go. Also known as Da Vinci Code Readers. 

 

2. The ‘I Read One Author’ Reader

A little different from the One Book a Year Reader! This type does actually enjoy reading – it’s just that they tried one particular author and never really moved on to anything else. Why should they, when they get all they need from that author? They will re-read the books this author has written time and time and time again and, despite being told ‘if you like them, you’ll like this’ they can’t bear the idea of moving out of their comfort zone. Usually a fan of Catherine Cookson or John Grisham!

3. The Casual Reader

They have their favourite authors. They buy a book now and again. They are perfectly happy reading, but equally happy watching TV or working on some crafty project. Right slap bang in the middle of the spectrum. Slightly incomprehensible to both ends of the spectrum – I mean, if you’re going to read anyway, why not do it *more*, say the Fervent Readers, while the One Book a Year Reader wonders why they are wasting their time on picking up more than just that one book.

4. The Fervent Reader

This person loves to read! They adore it. There is nothing more fun than sitting curled up on a sofa all afternoon reading. The library is their favourite haunt. They are unable to tell you their favourite author or book – there are just too many to pick from!

5. The Blogging Reader

Okay, so this is a step above the fervent reader. The blogging reader is prepared to read just about anything. They know the publishing schedule better than most publishers do. They read critically and are prepared to argue their points – and in a very passionate manner! They still have favourite authors, but sometimes the most recent book from that author will lie unread for months while they work through the other review copies they need to tackle. [This. This exactly - Niall] They don’t have TBR piles – they have TBR mountains! A blogging reader is forced to log their books on a spreadsheet or Goodreads just to know what they own and what they want to own.

So where do you think you fit in on the spectrum?

I do have a reason for talking about this, even though I’ve approached it in a flippant manner. One of the odd aspects of stepping into publishing that I have faced is becoming a new type of reader. When a manuscript comes in, I have to read it with thoughts as to whether it would be popular to a wide audience; I have to consider the marketing angles; I have to decide about what level of editing the manuscript requires. I no longer simply read a book – I have to work out what exactly is making it stand out for me, so that I can communicate that effectively to the rest of the team around me.

 

 

Conversely, my reading outside of work has become entirely casual – reading for pure escapism, without having to swap scenes around mentally, or suggest whether a new character might be appropriate to carry the story forward. I find myself re-reading novels that were favourites years back, because of the comfort in knowing that I will enjoy without any sort of analysis. I read puff fiction and pulp fiction; books that demand little from me in return for the entertainment that they provide. And I am returning to my favourite authors – those authors who slipped a little by the wayside while I was a blogging reader and I can now catch up with all their output without any pressure.

But you know what hasn’t changed? And what doesn’t change, no matter what type of reader you are? That sense of potential as you open a new book or a new manuscript. That sense of stepping somewhere new, that journey of discovery. The best part of being an editor and commissioning books is knowing that I can make those discoveries and then share them with as many people as feasibly possible. Rewarding doesn’t even come close!

 

***

 

Thank you ever so much for that, Amanda. You're an absolute star.

But I'd add a sixth type of reader to your tally: in fact, let's call it The Larry. :P

Remember, you can find Amanda over at Strange Chemistry these days, and if you're looking to cast your mind back into the past - when the grass was greener and the chocolate creamier - why not take a long look through the archives of her fantastic former blog?

 

Now then. The lovely lady asked you a question! What type of reader are you?