Something Wicked's going on 'round here

Gregory Maguire's Wicked: The Life and Times of the Wicked Witch of the West, to be precise.

I loved this, and I'm not even that much of an Oz fan. I knew enough about F. L. Baum's universe to place the book against its background, get the drift of what was going on, and see how the whole Oz experience was being inverted, subjected to some lovely race, class and gender analysis, and re-presented as a chronicle of resistance.

What person with even a shred of the geeky outsider in her body couldn't feel for Elphaba? What person without a smidgen of social conscience could fail to understand the path she follows, right to the biter end?

I am in general a fan of the retelling of fairy tales and children's stories in order to explore the unpleasant truths of social conditioning and control behind them, and Wicked not only does this very well, but it is also well written, delightfully satirical, and generally wicked. In a good way, of course.

Her Smoke Still Rises

James Tiptree Jr.: The Double Life of Alice B. Sheldon, Julie Phillips

I remember when James Tiptree Jr burst onto the SF scene as a writer of absolutely amazing, mind-bending, gob-smacking short stories. There was no question that he was one of the finest SF writers of his time, possibly of all time. I remember when he became known as she - as two shes, actually, since Alice Sheldon was discovered to be writing as Raccona Sheldon as well. I don't actually remember being all that astonished, the way many others were. Maybe I've forgotten, maybe I didn't really care at the time whether a man or a woman had written those wonderful stories. I remember being shocked and saddened when she died, at the thought of no more stories like that - although I had, sort of, noticed that there had been less and less Tiptree since Tiptree became Sheldon, too.

And now Julie Phillips has written a much welcomed biography of the person who was Alice Bradley Sheldon and became Tiptree and Raccoona. I felt a strong sense of connection with Alice/Alli/Tip as I read this book. Partly it's the skill of the author, and partly it's the elements of brother/sister/outsiderhood that bring most SF people, writers and fans, together in the end. Plus, I really understand what it's like to grow up female in the shadow of an overpowering and highly accomplished mother, especially if you have some gifts of your own but no confidence in them.

I found the unfolding of Sheldon's life as a writer compelling, the exploration of her not-very ordinary life as a woman of her times quite fascinating, and the examination of her sexuality, and her awareness (or not) of her sexuality, both intriguing and sad. Again, I have some idea of what it's like to spend time wandering the the ambiguous waters of not-being-straight at a time when there's not a lot of information available about what that is, or means (and fortunately, I managed to work out what I am, which Sheldon never really did, it seems).

The source material for this book is rich, and the interpretation is penetrating, insightful, caring and respectful. The selections from Tiptree/Sheldon's correspondence with other writers of SF, including Joanna Russ and Ursula K. LeGuin, make one long desperately for a collected edition of her letters.

If you read SF, if you know Tiptree, this book will have something for you.


Her Smoke Rose Up Forever, James Tiptree Jr.
Meet Me at Infinity: The Uncollected Tiptree, James Tiptree Jr.

And of course, having read the bio, I had to go back again and read her. My two choices, very clever ones, I thought, were Her Smoke Rose Up Forever, which is a collection of many of her finest stories, under both of her writing names, and Meet Me at Infinity, a posthumous collection of previously unpublished or uncollected stories and essays. If you want a survey course on Tiptree, this fills the bill.

If you haven't read Tiptree, go out and read Her Smoke Rose Up Forever, as soon as you can. If you know her work well, but haven't read Meet Me at Infinity, I think you'll enjoy it getting to know her in some different lights and places.

The Other Side of the Web

The Penelopiad, Margaret Atwood

In contrast to the lengthier classical Greek works The Illiad and The Odyssey that provide the context for Atwood's novel, The Penelopiad is rather short. Of course, there's a significant difference between the kinds of things that men and gods (and goddesses) can do in classical Greek storytelling and the kinds of things that women can do. Penelope survives her childhood, is married, has a child, runs a small kingdom and fends off unpleasant suitors for 20 years while her husband is out and about doing manly things, and then at some point after he comes home in a clever but still manly fashion and puts everything to rights (at least, that's how he sees it), she dies. In fact, since she tells her story from Hades, one gets the impression that she has rather more of a "life" after death than she had for much of the time she spent on earth.

This is not a criticism, by the way. It's more of a comment on how completely Atwood has incorporated into not just the narrative but the structure of her book this very feminist perspective of what women do when the heroes are somewhere else. But Atwood is not just looking at Penelope and her experiences as a wealthy ruling-class woman left behind while her man goes to war, and faces adventures which may or may not be complete fantasies invented to cover up a decade spent screwing his way from one end of the Mediterranean to the other. It is also an examination of the lives and fates of working-class women, whose lives are even less worthy of mention than those of the daughters and wives of kings and heroes in all these ancient and heroic tales.

The Joys of Rereading Tamora Pierce

Alanna: The First Adventure, Tamora Pierce
In the Hand of the Goddess, Tamora Pierce
The Woman Who Rides Like a Man, Tamora Pierce
Lioness Rampant, Tamora Pierce

No, Tamora Pierce's novels are not particularly demanding. But they're fun, and this particular series is, like many of her books, about a plucky young woman who makes her way in a man's world, and does so spectacularly well. And when you're feeling like regaining some of your long-lost youth and reading some deliciously wish-fulfilling sword-and-sorcery on an unusually chilly winter night, Pierce delivers.

One thing that struck me when I reread these earlier this winter was that, like Mercedes Lackey's earlier Valdemar books (the Arrows and Last Herald-Mage trilogies) and several other fantasy and science fiction books for young adults, these books allow their youthful characters to explore their sexuality in ways that, I think, are becoming less common in non-genre books for young adults. Alanna actually has sex with several people in the course of the series before she picks one to make a commitment to, and surprise, it doesn't scar her for life.

The messages in fiction for young adults have become of greater personal importance to me in recent years, because I have two nieces now edging into adolescence that I hope to see incurably infected with an eternal love of books (mind you, her mother is doing quite well with that, but I'm always to glad to help). And because Alanna makes her own way, because she tries to do what's right, because she's better at what boys do than most boys, because she is a hero, and even because she has sex without worrying about the morality, just the ethics of it all, I'm really glad that my sister of the heart has been giving her daughters these books to read.