Tag: sff

This Star Trek Post is Brought to You by Not Getting Whooping Cough

So there is a pertussis epidemic afoot in our neck of the woods at present, and after one local news source referred to it as the Hundred Day Cough—the Napoleon of viruses!—I ran out and got myself vaccinated.

At which point my brain fell all to pieces.

It’s not whooping cough, and it’s not an allergic reaction: it’s just my body taking energy to make antibodies, like it’s supposed to. But it has drained all the thinky-juice from my brain-parts, so instead of making headway on any of my works-in-progress I am weeping over episodes of My Little Pony (that poor tortoise just wants to be loved!) and watching a lot of original series Star Trek for the first time ever.

Which is why I want to talk about the Unnamed Female Romulan Commander.

A still shot from 'The Enterprise Incident,' featuring (among other figures) the Unnamed Female Romulan Commander in a long-sleeved, two-tone asymettrical mini-dress with black over-the-knee boots and sheer black hose.

That’s her there, center left, in one of the greatest outfits Star Trek has ever given humanity. She appears in an episode called ‘The Enterprise Incident,’ which is also pretty fantastic. The UFRC is in charge of the Romulan flagship (!) with a cloaking device, and spends most of her on-screen time seducing Spock (!!) using her words, logic, and that incredible minidress-boot combination. (Which is, of course, what any right-thinking dude-inclined woman would do if dropped into a Star Trek episode.) All while trying to also seduce him into defecting, which somehow doesn’t come across as evil so much as it does, well, strategic. Spock is clearly a badass and good to have on your side, plus if he’s fighting with the Romulans then she can keep seducing him, and it feels like everybody wins.

Spock, of course, is there to steal the cloaking device. There’s an elaborate game of espionage being played, though the episode goes to some lengths to keep the reveal from happening too early. It’s one of Star Trek‘s most effectively plotted stories. And though the UFRC doesn’t win, she’s not humiliated, and she’s treated with the respect due to her rank by everyone on the Enterprise, and Spock even privately admits that their brief sexytimes will have a greater impact on him than the theft of the cloaking device.

And then she disappears from the Star Trek universe forever.

This is unacceptable.

I mean, look at her accomplishments!

  • She can command a damn Romulan flagship, which bespeaks a certain amount of ruthless intelligence and political cunning, but she is never vicious or cruel in the use of her power.
  • She can seduce both the human and Vulcan sides of Spock, and very nearly bend him to her will without denting his awesomeness or independence. Not even Kirk can do this—except in the slashier areas of internet fandom (love you, K/S!).
  • She respects the rights and dignity of her prisoners, even those she has condemned to death.
  • She does not lose control when she discovers Spock’s betrayal, and she is as gracious in defeat as she is in victory.
  • She has emotions and expresses them, but they are not her sole motivation.
  • She manages to find two flattering, tasteful outfits in the Star Trek universe—which let me tell you, is no small feat. I expect she has a personal dressmaker on staff, because every other non-Federation lady has the worst outfits.

I don’t really have a larger point here. Just that one of the weaknesses of the original series is a tendency to ignore opportunities for long-form narrative arcs, as well as a distressing amount of sexism for a show that was/is considered a progressive benchmark. Following up on the UFRC would have been an excellent way to address both.

And if anyone knows where I can find a replica of that minidress, please let me know.

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A Tribute To Anne McCaffrey, Accidental Romance Author

Word came over the Twitter today that beloved author Anne McCaffrey has died at 85. She was one of my absolute favorites growing up, and what’s more I’m currently in the middle of the biggest Dragonriders of Pern-reading binge in the history of dragons. Or binges.

It’s always dangerous to revisit things you loved as a kid—there is the chance they will have gone stale or turned fragile, and then you can never quite recapture that soothing golden glow. But then there are the things that turn out to be even better now that you’ve grown up and gotten around more than you did when you were, say, twelve. And then you feel smart for having such good taste as a kid.

With that in mind, let’s talk about the first book in the Pern series: Dragonflight.

It is my contention that Dragonflight is a classic example of romance as well as sci-fi/fantasy.

Read more…

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Book Vs. Book: Card and Pratchett

We here at Olivia Waite earned our masters degree in Comparative Literature, and old habits die hard. The Book Vs. Book series will compare one book to another book similar in plot or theme or based on the same material. We will not care (much) about arguing which book is better, but we will care a great deal about what the books’ differences mean for the story experience.

It goes without saying that Here There Be Spoilers.

Welcome to the first installment of Book Vs. Book! Let’s get down to business.

The cover image from Orson Scott Card's book Ender's Game

Enders Game by Orson Scott Card

vs.

Only You Can Save Mankind by Terry Pratchett

The cover from Terry Pratchett's book Only You Can Save Mankind

Full disclosure: I read both books a while ago, and memory might be a little hazy.

Further disclosure: I am a diehard Pratchett fan, and Orson Scott Card’s books have become a little tainted for me by some of his politics in the past decade or so. So if the question were Which book do you like more, Olivia? the answer would not require a thoughtful blog post.

But the question here is something else: If your main character has a life-changing revelation that will alter the reader’s perception of the entire story, where in the plot do you put that revelation?

Both books involve a boy playing an alien-slaughtering video game that turns out to be real. Which means all those video-game deaths are real deaths. Ender’s Game was published in 1985, and Only You came out in 1992, but the question of how video game violence intersects with real-life violence is evergreen. It’s not clear that violent games cause violent acts, as many have claimed—but it’s also not clear that violent games and violent acts exist in totally separate ethical realms, either.

This revelation—that the fictional deaths each boy has caused are in fact the death of real alien beings—comes at different points in each story.

With Ender’s Game, the revelation is held back until the climactic point of the story’s arc. It is a twist ending, a pull-the-rug-out-from-under-them surprise. It’s been some years since I read the book, but I remember thinking: What on earth does he do now? And Orson Scott Card spends the rest of a lengthy series exploring precisely that. In fact, the original story was a novelette, meant to establish the character of Ender as the protagonist of Speaker for the Dead (at least, according to Wikipedia, so feel free to rebut my ignorance in the comments). So this first book is really a set-up to an exploration of the question, rather than an exploration itself.

Meanwhile, in Only You Can Save Mankind, Johnny Maxwell learns that he’s been killing real—or mostly real—beings about halfway through the book, and the second half is him trying to fix what he’s done wrong. The tone of this book is quite different—Pratchett is funny even when dealing with weighty issues, where Card is all about heavy moral angst—but what really matters is that the realization comes halfway through. It’s the obstacle, rather than the reveal.

The trouble with saving the question for the reveal is that it makes false all the things that seemed important before, and not in a way that feels satisfying. For instance, in Secret Window, or Identity, or Shutter Island, or even Inception (possibly), the twist at the end lets the audience know they’ve been mistaken the whole time. There can be a pleasure in this—The Usual Suspects and The Sixth Sense both use the twist ending rather beautifully, to solve a mystery and to help a child move forward, respectively—but the pleasure comes because the twist responds to the stakes we’ve been working with the entire time. In Ender’s Game, the stakes are suddenly changed, and just as suddenly the book is over. The reader has spent the entire reading experience caring about conflicts that ultimately do not matter. This is why the twist ending can feel like cruelty.

Ultimately, I want stories to explore questions, rather than simply pose them. I want to come to the end of a book and feel as though I’ve gained something, not lost something. If the stakes change, I want the characters to work through what that change means.

In short, I want answers. Even answers I disagree with—even multiple answers. But there must be something offered to the reader, in gratitude for their work in bringing the story to life.

Please feel free to agree, disagree, and offer evidence in the comments below. If you have a suggestion for a future installment of Book Vs. Book, please let me know as well.

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