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SPOILERS FOR “GAME OF THRONES”

Every so often, I read something that is so ill-advised I want to jump on a soapbox and start ranting.  This hasn’t happened for a while (unfortunately, because I could always use good subjects for blog posts).  Now, luckily for me, along comes the article “The Real Monster in ‘Game of Thrones’ Is Its Hidden Reactionary Agenda,” by Timothy Malone.  The article begins: 

If one were to Google “White Walkers + metaphor”

Okay, let me stop you right there.  Treating everything as metaphor is something that literary critics are trained to do, but it doesn’t work the same way in fantasy and science fiction.  Tolkien’s ring is not “really” the atom bomb, and Sauron is not “really” Hitler.  In science fiction and fantasy things are what they say they are, a magical ring, a powerful entity who wants to enslave the world.  Sure, they can be given different symbolic interpretations, but that’s not their main function.

Google, according to Malone, would tell you that the White Walkers are symbolic of “catastrophic climate change,” and he goes on to quote George R.R. Martin saying that “there’s a certain parallel there.”  Unfortunately for him, this demolishes his thesis right out of the gate.  So how does he get around this?

But really, do we need the words of an author about his intent to interpret a text?  Haven’t we recognized “the death of the author” for some time in criticism?  A piece of art is subject to negotiation; its meaning is not universal.

Have we recognized the “death of the author,” the theory that the author isn’t important when it comes to understanding his or her text?  Well, some people have, and some people haven’t.  As a writer I’ve always thought that an author should at least get a say in what his or her work is about, but then I’ve also thought that the phrase “death of the author” sounds vaguely sinister.

Still, this allows our (still living) author to make his point.  He goes on to say: 

The genres of both science fiction and fantasy function as loosely veiled narrativizations of the contemporary moment.

This is misguided as the idea that everything in science fiction and fantasy is a metaphor.  Science fiction and fantasy are not about “the contemporary moment.”  They are about the future, or the past, or an alternative timeline, or an imaginary landscape.  Of course they do function as -- oh, god, I’m going to have to try to spell that word -- “narrativizations of the contemporary moment,” but that’s because they can’t help using the assumptions of their time.  But this is a bug, not a feature.  If your book about 2319 sounds like 2019, you are, as they say, doing it wrong.

Malone goes on to say that the White Walkers are not a metaphor for climate change, no matter what that upstart George R.R. Martin might think.  That’s because this theory does not take into account the wall that holds them back.  What the White Walkers really symbolize -- but I’ll let him tell it:

The fantasy genre in which “Game of Thrones” operates is a thinly veiled representation of the contemporary political moment.  The story is a deeply reactionary project meant to shore up white-supremacist ideology in its moment of crisis.  It’s not about climate change at all.  It is not progressive, not instructive.

(As an aside: Malone apparently thinks that to be progressive a story must be instructive.  If A Song of Ice and Fire really was about climate change, he seems to be saying here, there might be hope for it yet.)

He goes on to talk about the language some in this country use for immigrants and incarcerated people -- a “scourge,” a “disease” -- and how this turns them into something like a biohazard.  And you know, he isn’t wrong here; you can’t fault him about politics.  It’s when he writes about fantasy that he runs into trouble.

The zombie is a metaphorical representation of the subhuman contaminant threat, the immigrant and the incarcerated, behind their respective walls.  Through this narrative, they have the potential to contaminate us, to rip us down, to make us like them, to end “civilization.” 

Another aside: The first book in the series came out in 1996, a far more innocent time, when the words “President Trump” sounded like the punchline to a joke.  Immigration was not the issue Trump would make it later, and almost no one was thinking about building a wall across the entire southern border.  If Martin truly was writing about the “contemporary moment,” he must have been prescient.

That’s not the point, though.  The point is that the White Walkers are symbolic of zombies, a huge humongous crowd of undead coming to eat your face off.  Critics can argue that they have another, symbolic, meaning, but what that meaning is is up for grabs.  As Google says, they can represent climate change.  If I had to write an essay for English class I’d say they represented the monsters in the unconscious, the ones we try to keep walled off but that come out no matter what we do.  But you know, I just thought of that now, when I entered the terms “White Walker + metaphor” into my brain.  What I mainly thought while watching “Game of Thrones” was “Oh my god, zombies!”

Malone then goes on a bit.  The Wildings are the “poor whites” turned into cops and prison guards, and so able to feel superior to the “socially dead.”  (No, they feel superior to them because they’re not zombies.)  The “fear of the White Walkers breaking through the northern wall is a thinly veiled metaphor for immigrants...”  (No, the fear is because they’re... oh, never mind.)

Then he makes another of his important political points.  “You can have Black people close to power -- but not in power.”  I almost hate to say it, but he’s right; there are very few black characters in ASoIaF, and nearly all of them are servants or slaves or soldiers.  Every so often Martin will introduce a black person from the Summer Isles, but they’re always in the background, with no agency.  Point to Malone, though this point has to be taken away later for misogyny.

It’s a shame Martin, with his enormous cast of nearly every kind of person, did not include black people in positions of power, and yes, there is some racism there.  But to say that the series is a “project to shore up white-supremacist ideology,” that Martin approves of the system that created, for example, the Unsullied, is ludicrous.

Malone then says that ASoIaF wants you to identify with a particular house (I never wanted to do this, but okay), so you can cheer for one manifestation of white supremacy and become invested in it.  He goes on to list the various houses, and, well, here comes the misogyny:

Maybe you consider yourself a conservative -- you have the patriarchal Lannisters, headed by Tywin and now Cersei/Clinton.

WTF???  In what way is Cersei like (Hillary, I assume) Clinton?  Cersei: Loves her brother Jaime, to the point of an incestuous relationship; tries to kill her brother Tyrion; is partly responsible for the death of her husband, Robert; sleeps with a good portion of the court, and frames or tortures or imprisons another portion; sets the Great Sept on fire, killing a number of people; ignores the threat of the White Walkers in favor of consolidating her power.  Hillary: Taught at the School of Law at the University of Arkansas; worked for children’s law, family policy, education, gender equality, and health care; First Lady, senator, Secretary of State, and got the majority of the votes in the 2016 presidential election.  Yes, it’s true that Clinton was too willing to go to war, and too close to Wall Street, but that hardly makes her the villain Cersei is.

The only thing the two women have in common is their separate Walks of Shame.  Cersei’s lasted for a day, but Clinton’s went from 1992, when her husband ran for president, to the present -- and if this article is any indication, it will probably go on forever.
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The first thing you notice about Fire & Blood * is that it isn’t The Winds of Winter.  Of course I agree that George R.R. Martin should be able to write whatever he wants, and if his muse leads him to a 700-page book about the history of Westeros starting with Aegon the Conqueror then by all means he should go for it.  Though I’d really like to know what happened with Jon Snow I’m still waiting, as patiently as I can, for the next volume in the Song of Ice and Fire series. **

The second thing you notice is that 700-page thing.  And not only is the book very long, it only covers the first half of a three-hundred-year history, with another book to come.  So I guess that while we’re waiting to see IF JON SNOW IS STILL EVEN ALIVE Martin will be spending some more time working on the second half of the history.

Seven hundred pages would be great if Fire & Blood reached the heights of SoIaF, or even came close, but unfortunately that isn’t the case.  The blurb makes an inadvertently apt comparison to The Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire, apt because Decline and Fall has long patches of boring as well.  You know the kind of thing: lists of the heirs of kings or emperors, and what happened to them, and who they married, and if/how they were killed, and how many children they had … 

So at times the history seems too long, but at other times, weirdly, it seems too short.  We don’t get any of the fascinating and complicated characters we’ve come to love or hate in SoIaF, none of their telling traits and foibles.  There’s no one with anything like Tyrion’s wit, or Dolorous Edd’s over-the-top pessimism, or Jaime’s quest for redemption, or Arya’s stranger and darker journey.  Just a picture of a king or queen, whether they ruled wisely or not, who their counselors were, what battles they fought.

The lack of spark In Fire & Blood, the way it failed to keep my interest, led me to a very unsound theory, which is that Martin didn’t write most of it.  It does have a lot of Martin’s tics and tropes, phrases like “much and more” and “little and less,” and “leal” for loyal and “wroth” for angry.  (This last always reminds me of the Marx Brothers’ movie Horsefeathers.  “Professor, the Dean is waxing wroth,” someone says.  Groucho: “Well, tell Roth to wax the Dean for a while.”)  But these are easy to copy, and there are some strange missteps as well.  A few times, for example, the writer uses the word “prevarication” to mean “procrastination.”  Then there’s “mayhaps,” which doesn’t appear in the Oxford English Dictionary (or my spellchecker, for that matter).  The OED does have “mayhap,” which it says comes from “it may hap,” or happen — but you can’t say “it may happens.”

Okay, so maybe “mayhaps” is a Westerosi word, not one that can be analyzed by the standards of English.  That still doesn’t explain some of the other problems with the writing.  “One wit named Rhaenyra ‘King Maegor with Teats,’” the author tells us, but, well, that isn’t very funny.  Or “Jason Lannister, Lord of Casterly Rock, poured down out of the western hills,” which gives you a very strange picture of poor Jason.  There are cliches like “veil of tears,” which 1) seems more like an English phrase than something from Westeros, and 2) should be “vale of tears.”  Martin has always seemed too good a writer for clunkers like these — and would the creator of the Vale of Arryn get this spelling wrong?

I’m almost certainly being unfair here.  This is a history, after all, not an exciting, event-filled novel.  (Though how many histories are called something like Fire & Blood?  It sounds like another expose of the trump administration.)  People who like history, or world-building, will probably love it.  So will fans of military fantasy — there are a lot of battles — and of dragons.

And I’m almost certainly wrong about the authorship as well.  I’m sure Martin invented the history, and parts of Fire & Blood appeared earlier as stories written by him.  (But what if he only wrote some of it?  There are places that could be his, where the writing is lifted above the plodding, pedestrian style, where something interesting happens.)  And maybe I’m just hoping that this is the case, that Martin’s been busily writing The Winds of Winter this whole time.  Maybe someday I’ll even find out what happened to Jon Snow.

———

* All the copy for this book uses that “&.”  It looks weird to me, but what do I know?
** Yes, I know Snow is alive and well in the HBO series.  But as someone who enjoys writing, I won’t believe it until Martin says so.
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The surprising thing was that so many people showed up for a panel at 10 o’clock on a Sunday morning, but we had a standing-room-only crowd.  The second surprising thing was that I actually managed to be coherent.  The panel was called Mythogenesis, about myth in fantasy and science fiction, and all the other panelists — Tad Williams, Diana Paxson, Heather Rose Jones, and Roni Gosch — had interesting things to say.   Heather did a great job as moderator — she told us her theory of moderating, which is that it’s something like being a classical conductor whose orchestra turned out to be a bebop jazz band.

We talked about myths other than the standard Norse or Celtic ones, and regretted that we only had people of European descent on the panel.  We talked about cultural appropriation — my opinion, which I’ve stated before, is that you can write about other cultures, but you have to be very respectful and careful and ask the advice of members of that culture or, if that’s impossible, if the culture no longer exists, read a lot.  We talked about if the US has myths, and whether they can be myths if they’re created by only one person.  I said that superheroes were created by one person but their myths were added to down through the years by other comic writers and now the movies, to the point where you could actually write an epic about any number of them.  People seemed to like that, and that’s what we closed with.

Then out to lunch with Pat Murphy, where we talked about thematic resonance and symbolism and deconstruction … no, actually we talked about what writers always talk about, which is advances and gossip and which editors will act in the best interests of your book.  On the panel Heather had said that Ursula Vernon’s stories read like myths and folklore that had grown up organically in United States, so we scoured the dealer’s room for her books.  I was sure that after Heather had said what a terrific writer Vernon was her books would be sold out, but I managed to snag the last copy of Jackalope Wives and Other Stories.  I haven’t gotten very far in it, but the title story is so good that I’m kicking myself for not reading it sooner, for not having had that many more days of enjoyment out of it.  There’s a beautiful jolt near the end that made the hair on the back of my neck stand up.

Then to my autographing at 5, this one the official convention signing.  I’d done two signings before at a con, and I’d noticed that whichever signing I did first got all the people, and the second one would be mostly me sitting and twiddling my thumbs.  This year my first one was at the Tachyon booth, and so, true to my theory, few people showed up at the second.  And the other writer scheduled for that time didn’t appear, and the only thing worse than twiddling your thumbs is twiddling your thumbs by yourself.  Then, like magic, Bogi and Rose showed up to sign their books — they’d apparently been added to the schedule later.  I spent most of the session talking to them and lost track of time, and then had to run to dinner.

Dinner was with Ellen Datlow, Pat Cadigan, Ysabeau Wilse, and Pat Murphy.  Then we all went to the Hugos, minus Pat M.  John Picacio, the MC, vowed to keep everything moving along, and he managed to bring it in at two hours.  I missed the more rambling ceremonies, though, the funny speeches and even the speeches that tried to be funny but didn’t quite come off, the way that the ceremony is run by amateurs, fans, and doesn’t have the cold precision of the Academy Awards.  We did get George R.R. Martin and Robert Silverberg presenting one award each, but it wasn’t enough.  (Connie Willis couldn’t be there, unfortunately, because of back surgery.)  Anyway, Pat C. later said that the ceremony she had M.C.ed had been even shorter — an hour and 50 minutes — and I remember that hers had been pretty funny.

As for the Hugos themselves — Well, once again I realized how few of the new writers I’ve read and vowed to do better.  Both Ysabeau and I wondered why the excerpt they showed from “Michael’s Gambit,” an episode of “The Good Place,” gave away the ending for the entire season.  Though I liked “Michael’s Gambit” better than “The Trolley Problem,” which was the episode that ended up winning.  And I’m glad I was there to see N.K. Jemisin get her third Hugo for the third volume of her trilogy, one for the record books.  That should have shut up the doubters, but of course it didn’t.  I never like every one of the Hugo winners either, but unlike the doubters I don’t posit some secret conspiracy meeting in dimly lit rooms somewhere.  The truth is much simpler than that — my taste and the majority’s don’t always coincide.

Then to George R.R. Martin’s party.  It’s terrific that he splashed out on such a lavish affair, with a DJ and pulsing lights and loud music, a bar and refreshments including a chocolate fountain, but these things don’t seem to fit with geek culture somehow, and I wondered how many fans and writers would enjoy them.  A lot, as it turns out, but I wasn’t one of them — maybe because I had to drive home after being up for a long time and couldn’t have any of the alcohol.  Anyway, I said goodbye to the people I could see through all the glittering lights and left.  When I got home I realized that I’d been pretty taken by that chocolate fountain — I found some chocolate on my badge.

Books I bought: The Jackalope Wives, of course, and The Karkadann Triangle, a chapbook with one story each by Patricia McKillip and Peter Beagle, and Lago de Sangre by Ken Wishnia, a mystery in Spanish.  (I always think I know more Spanish than I actually do.)  And I got some cool swag — many thanks to Ron and Jill and the Woman with the Purple Pen, whose name I didn’t catch but whose pen I will be signing with from now on.
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The WorldCon was an hour by car from Oakland, so I decided to drive to San Jose instead of staying over at a hotel.  On Friday I got there just before noon, in time for the Mexicanx Spanish Language Reading.  Unfortunately… Well, I always think I know more Spanish than I actually do.  I understood three stories, think I got the gist of a few more, but some passed over my head completely.  It helped that every writer read their work almost as if it was a performance, with all the sound effects and conversations acted out.  Some writers in the US can do this — Harlan Ellison comes to mind, and Daryl Gregory did it at the reading I went to at SF in SF— but a lot of times people here will just read the page in front of them.

After that I did that wandering thing, running into people I knew and promising to meet them later.  As always, there were people I never managed to see during the entire con, and I once again I realized I should have made arrangements or at least gotten people’s phone numbers beforehand.  Next time!

Then I went to the Gardner Dozois memorial.  Pat Cadigan, George R.R. Martin, and John Kessel reminisced, with assistance from Sheila Williams and other people in the audience, but the problem was that Gardner was such a powerful force, almost an act of nature, that no one could do him but Gardner.  He had one of the sharpest wits in science fiction, and that, combined with the wicked glee of a small child getting away with something, made him unique.  It was funny hearing him say “Peeee-nis” at inopportune moments, or seeing him stick a jellybean up his nose (you’ll just have to trust me on this), but at times the panelists seemed to have trouble getting this across.   When I got home Doug reminded me of one of the things he used to say that the panelists didn’t mention — he claimed that his pick-up line was “What’s the worst that could happen?”

Then went out to dinner with Sheila and her family.  As we left the Civic Center I remembered the last San Jose WorldCon, where Lucius Shepard had managed to find the only dive bar in downtown.  I didn’t remember where it was but I’m certain it’s not there now.  It probably wasn’t there then, either.

Then we went to the Asimov/ Analog party.  It was, like most of the parties I went to, far too crowded and too noisy.  I headed into the hall with some people to talk, ran into others on the way out and promised I’d be right back, and then, of course, when I came back they had gone.  I met some new writers, excited that they or their friends were nominated for Hugos, and I couldn’t help feeling old and nostalgic.  I remembered when everything had felt that bright and sharp and new, and I knew that, even if they went on to greater triumphs, it would never be like this again.  I didn’t tell them that, of course.  Why spoil it for them?  And they wouldn’t have believed me anyway.  But I’m here to report that, after talking to some of them, the field seems in good hands.

Stayed on too late, and then drove home.

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