Fiction Review: Jeff Vandermeer’s Acceptance

Acceptance: Book 3 of the Southern Reach Trilogy

by Jeff Vandermeer

Farrar, Straus and Giroux

You feel numb and you feel broken, but there’s a strange relief mixed in with the regret: to come such a long way, to come to a halt here, without knowing how it will turn out, and yet… to rest. To come to rest. Finally.

This is how we are addressed on the first page of Acceptance, the final installment of Jeff Vandermeer’s Southern Reach Trilogy. The first two novels have dragged us, helplessly and impressively, through their respective worlds. Annihilation tossed us into Area X, a southern coastal wilderness that exhibits an unsettling awareness, and reacts to its visitors with a strange indifferent hostility, while Authority put us at the fulcrum of the Southern Reach, the maddening bureaucracy that has been fruitlessly investigating it for years.

But here, the second person narration jars our expectations, but also signals a change: that things are coming to a head, and that we can expect that some respite from the anxiety of not knowing. Of course, it also taunts us, as we know full well that nearly 350 pages stand between us and the “rest” that it promises.

While the first two novels stand alone fairly well, and could probably be read in any order, Acceptance makes no apologies for being a concluding book. It is split between four points of view, three we have met before and one that is new. It encompasses the entire life of Area X, from its creation through the end of our characters’ respective journeys; but the novel assumes that the reader already has most of the context. This is good, because it rewards its readers with a narrative structure that, despite shifting chronologically, never stops marching forward.

Given the fast pace and roving narration, it may come as a surprise that Acceptance also manages to be the most intimate installment in the series. Most of the characters in the Southern Reach novels wear self-created “shells.” These may come in the form of a name they’ve taken, a story they’ve constructed, or even a structure they inhabit. Their shells help them cope, they bring comfort, and stability. Acceptance is about stripping those shells away.

The terrifying thing about Area X is its odd familiarity, the simultaneous sense of belonging and repulsion that it evokes. As Area X challenges these characters to shed their shells and accept the truth that lies beneath, the novel challenges us, its readers, to remove some of the barriers we erect against the world to avoid seeing it, and our role therein, for what it is. Though this awareness can be petrifying, it is also, as that first narration suggests, an odd relief.

Steampunk Files #8: Steampunk! An Anthology of Fantastically Rich and Strange Stories

Steampunk!: An Anthology of Fantastically Rich and Strange Stories

Edited by Kelly Link and Gavin Grant

Candlewick Press

 

I’ve read my share of steampunk anthologies, not all of them, but I’ve read more collections devoted to steampunk than any other specific SF niche. I may be wrong, but based on the essential reading lists I’ve seen floating around, this particular collection from Candlewick Press, published back in 2011, seems to get overlooked. It’s a shame, because it may be the most accessible and thoroughly pleasurable read out of the whole pack.

The content has a decided young adult orientation, which is unique from other anthologies, such as the three volumes edited by the Ann and Jeff Vandermeer and published by Tachyon Press, which bring a very “literary” sensibility to the subject matter. That’s not to say that the stories contained in this volume lack depth or literary merit, just that, on the whole, they feel less conscious of their own relationship to the genre, and exist more freely as vehicles for their respective narratives.

I also enjoyed the opportunity to read stories by authors who I am less likely to run into because they are mainly active in the YA market, like Cassandra Clare, Libba Bray, and Holly Black, alongside authors who I have long admired, but never read in a steampunk context, like Cory Doctorow, and the anthology’s co-editor, Kelly Link.

Back in the first paragraph I wrote that this anthology was one of the most accessible steampunk collections I’ve read. By that I meant that it conforms pretty neatly with what newcomers to steampunk prose would probably associate with the genre: clockwork automatons, airships, and steam engines abound, mostly in the context of a rollicking adventure or a whimsical fancy. In spite of their comfortable familiarity, these stories do not equate genre with generic. A sense of wonder and possibility runs through each narrative, but also an empowering subversion that is often meatier than their brassy veneer initially lets on.

Libba Bray’s “The Last Ride of the Glory Girls” tells the story of Adelaide Jones, a woman of the law embedded with a band of outlaws who use a fanciful “enigma apparatus” to manipulate time and rob trains. The wild west setting has a romance to it that appeals to the core idea of the steampunk fantasy, but the choices the characters face give it a relevance that extends beyond aesthetics. Adelaide faces a conflict between her duty to the Pinkerton Agency that employs her, and her new-found sisterhood with the Glory Girls, providing a meaty moral conflict that lends a strong resonance to the human drama of the story.

Less romantic is “Clockwork Fagin,” Cory Doctorow’s story set in an orphanage characterized by all means of Dickensian inequality and abuse. In this tale, the pitiful children overthrow their oppressive master and use their own ingenuity to create an autonomous steampunk utopia. In addition to its anarchic inclinations, the story makes use of hard computer science as a plot device, something relatively unique and refreshing in a genre where the “science” often involves aetherial energy sources, hollow earth theories, or inexplicable AI’s.

Throughout the collection authors continue to explore fresh settings for steampunk’s familiar literary constructs. Kelly Link’s “The Summer People” and Dylan Horrock’s “Steam Girl” each employ steampunk concepts in a modern setting as ways for their respective teenage protagonists to combat social exclusion and abusive parents, while M.T. Anderson’s “The Oracle Engine” constructs a steampunk tragedy set in Ancient Rome.

Also appreciated, are the two short comics included: Shawn Cheng’s “Seven Days Besot by Demons,” and Kathleen Jennings’ “Finishing School.” These comics are quite different from one another, but they both represent a stylistic maturity within the medium that should satisfy the steampunk and comic book enthusiast alike.

Being a YA anthology, the stories are light on (but not devoid of) “mature” content like sex and violence. that could be a deal breaker depending on your preferences, but if you’re like me, then mature storytelling is more important than mature content. If you fall into the latter camp, I would enthusiastically recommend this anthology for anyone looking for a comprehensive introduction to the genre.

 

Click here to read more steampunk reviews and essays!

Steampunk World Kickstarter, Just Six Days Left!

 

Cover art by James Ng

This is a very important anthology that features some serious talent: Jay Lake, S.J. Chambers, Jaymee Goh, Ay-Leen the Peacemaker, just to name a few.

Editor Sarah Hans sums up the mission of Steampunk World as follows.

Steampunk is fascinating. There’s something compelling about the shine of clicking brass clockwork and hiss of steam-driven automatons. But until recently, there was something missing.

It was easy to find excellent stories of American and British citizens… but we rarely got to see steampunk from the point of view of the rest of the world.

Steampunk World is a showcase for nineteen authors to flip the levers and start the pistons and invite you to experience the entirety of steampunk.

It’s an admirable mission, and one that I believe will help elevate steampunk fiction to the transformative heights of which it is capable. Victorian England has been crucial in establishing much of the look, feel, and aesthetic identity of steampunk, and the tumultuous social context and the rich literary, historical, and pseudo-historical lore of the time and place leave room for all types of stories. However, that particular setting is hardly crucial to steampunk’s underlying raison d’être: the exploration of technological innovation on culture, society, and the diverse individuals therein. A multicultural perspective on the genre will be essential to the next step of steampunk’s evolution, thereby ensuring the genre’s longevity and its legacy within the world of speculative fiction, and it seems quite fitting that fans of the genre should have the opportunity to bring it to life.

The anthology has already been successfully funded, which is great, it means this thing is definitely happening, but I’ve been following its progress since I pledged a few weeks ago and it seems to have stalled just shy of its next stretch goal with only 6 days to go. If the project raises $12,000 it will be able to pay for original illustrations for every story in the book! Great multicultural steampunk art is every bit as crucial as great multicultural steampunk stories, and who doesn’t enjoy a book more if it has pictures? But the really crucial goal here is the next stretch goal of $18,000, which would pay for a second volume before the first has even gone to press, meaning original stories could be solicited with the promise of professional rates!

There are a lot of great rewards including limited art prints, fiction critiques, even handmade steampunk gloves. The most popular  rewards are a DRM-free digital version of the book and a paperback copy at $10 and $20 respectively. If you think you’d like to buy a copy, why wait until it comes out when you could make the book better by ordering it now? What are you waiting for? back it here!

Steampunk Files #4: Steampunk Prime

Steampunk Prime

Edited by Mike Ashley

Foreword by Paul di Filippo

Published by Nonstop Press

Steampunk Prime is a very cool, if slightly vague, title, and against closer scrutiny the intrigue only seems to grow. Editor Mike Ashley has a very strong pedigree in the SF community as the editor of over 90 books. That credit alone should be enough to raise an eyebrow or two, throw in a foreword by SF stalwart (and author of The Steampunk Trilogy) Paul Di Filippo and, on paper, there is a lot to recommend this anthology. But what does the publisher mean by “a vintage steampunk reader?” Steampunk Prime is actually a collection of original Victorian and Edwardian science fiction stories from an eclectic assortment of little known authors. So is it really a steampunk anthology? The answer undoubtedly depends on who you ask – if you ask me, the answer is no.

I’m aware that many smart and influential people in the steampunk community cite Verne and Wells as the great progenitors of the genre, and I agree that there is a relationship between steampunk, Verne, and Wells. However, I believe that what those authors wrote was science fiction that was simply a product of there era, much the way that science fiction literature and art of the 30s and 40s was defined by the art-deco, atomic era aesthetic of that period, or the way that the original wave of cyberpunk was influenced by the new digital age that was rising, even more quickly in the imagination of authors, filmmakers, and artists than it was in daily life. Just as dieselpunk draws on the aesthetic of golden age science fiction, so does steampunk on that of the turn of the century British and American authors.

I believe, however, that there is something inherently postmodern about proper steampunk literature. I don’t mean that it needs to be something that is self-conscious or heavy-handed in its historical and literary deconstruction, in fact the best steampunk rarely is.  Yet, what makes steampunk unique is its ability to look at the present by examining parallels (or aberrations and anomalies) in the past. Steampunk assumes a working understanding of the social, technological, and cultural conditions of our own era as well as that of the Victorians. It allows a simpler and more transparent past to act as a framework that, when pitted against our more convoluted present circumstances, is capable of exposing some of its underpinnings and its basest driving mechanisms. Conversely – it occasionally introduces complexities and nuances originally absent from the Victorian era, that encourage authors and readers alike to speculate on the forces that drive behavior, politics, and economies.

Verne and Wells are neat tools and references for individuals who create steampunk art and literature, or participate in the culture; they helped to define a literary aesthetic that is heavily borrowed by many authors, and their works represents a fascinating and invaluable document of the contemporary attitudes towards technological innovation. Perhaps it is unfair to expound too heavily on the virtues of Verne and Wells here because the two authors are quite deliberately excluded from this collection, which focuses on the unsung heroes, as it were – but the point is, as with the work of Verne and Wells, the aforementioned qualities are completely absent from the stories collected in Steampunk Prime.

Despite my personal belief that a practical and useful definition of steampunk will radically increase both the volume and quality of discussions on the genre, I do understand the commercial value of labeling this as a steampunk collection, and frankly, I welcome it if it puts long forgotten stories back in print. At the same time, I wonder if the forced presentation detracts at all from the overall experience. In Mike Ashley’s introduction he writes: “there’s something so gloriously reassuring about steampunk fiction. The idea that the Victorians may have got it right….” And in his foreword, Di Filippo declares that “steampunk is the adolescent SF genre dreaming of the adult that it hopes to grow up to become.” Both of these statements run so counter to what good steampunk is and can be that it is hard not to be a little bit offended. My post on feminism in steampunk in particular looks at a handful of stories about just how wrong the Victorians had gotten it – and how challenging it was for the victims to fight back. Its true that there is a youthful flare that runs through many steampunk novels, but I would not hesitate to include Ekaterina Sedia’s The Alchemy of Stone, Neal Stephenson’s The Diamond Age and Alan Moore’s League of Extraordinary Gentlemen (just to name a few) among the most “adult” and “mature” novels the SF genre has produced, both in terms of craft and content.

I know I’ve delivered quite the laundry list of critiques of the anthology – but once one comes to terms with the fact they are reading an anthology of turn of the century science fiction, not steampunk, there are many things to recommend it, not the least of which are the detailed and informative introductions to each story. The brief background information provided by Mike Ashley provides biographic details about the array of largely unknown authors featured in the collection, as well as contextual background on the diverse themes and subjects and their relation to larger cultural and literary trends of the period.

The quality and relevance of the stories varies drastically from one to the next; some are exceptionally well-written and maintain social or literary significance, while others feel more like forgettable pulp fodder, the relevance of which is largely historical. The collection, however, retains a sense of consistency as an anthology through its thoughtful and fluid organization that places stories in progressive thematic groupings rather than in chronological order based on date of publication. The anthology begins with a few stories set in a more or less contemporary London, that employ the relatively grounded tropes of mechanical men and steam-oriented technology. As the anthology progresses, the stories take greater and greater speculative leaps and progress further and further into the future, culminating in the penultimate tale, “The Last Days of Earth,” by George C. Wallis, which hurtles us 13 million years into the future. The final story “The Plunge,” breaks the pattern somewhat by returning to a contemporary setting, which Ashley chose instead because it “has all the standard images of steampunk,” and an “into-the-sunset” ending.

Among the mixed bag of entries, a few stories had a significant lasting impact on me, mainly because they came the closest to anticipating the narrative elements that I believe constitute true steampunk fiction. The second story, concisely titled “The Automaton,” is apparently based on the very real public fascination over the idea of a chess playing automaton, and an equally real hoax surrounding that idea. Its fascinating on one hand because aptitude for chess still seems to be one of the main qualities by which the public judges the success of A.I., and on the other hand, it is also a well executed early 20th century detective story. I also appreciated the funny image it presents of the idle amateur-gentleman chess enthusiasts in 1900 England, though I’m not sure all of the humor was intentional.

“Plague of Lights,” by Owen Oliver easily had the most imaginative and compelling concept in the anthology. The plot is essentially this: mysterious lights infect nearly all of the inhabitants of every major city with a consciousness from another world. At times, the alien takeover is described in quite chilling language and the general tone is one of confusion and outright paranoia. Readers looking for an iconic steampunk setting, however, may be disappointed. While a lack of Victorian indicators may leave the narrative without a certain aesthetic flair, it may also have helped it to age a bit more gracefully than some of the other stories.

It is hard not to notice how many of the themes and trends that dominate these stories actually clash with what we think defines a steampunk story today. Most notably is the preoccupation with technological disasters as a driving narrative force in and of itself. “The Gibraltar Tunnel,” by Jean Jaubert, is a heroic tale of a disastrous accident averted in an underwater train tunnel; “What The Rats Brought,” by Ernest Favenc, combines vampire mythology with the social anxieties of industrialized urban living; and “The Great Catastrophe,” by George Davey, is a story of electricity gone wild in London. technological catastrophe, while present in modern steampunk, is generally used as a narrative device rather than a narrative focus. Cherie Priest’s Clockwork Century series revolves around the ecological disaster set off by a steam-powered mining machine called the “boneshaker,” yet the stories are about the characters and political factions left in its wake, and while first generation authors like Blaylock and Jeter often pitted their protagonists against potential disasters, it was the shady conspirators and cabals that were the antagonists, and not the technology itself. After reading Steampunk Prime, its easy for one to assume that this paranoia surrounding technological progress consumed the Victorians, but in an era far removed from the pre-industrial anxiety, modern steampunk chooses to focus on the various social and political interests that competed for control of technology, both real and speculative.

Less surprising, but more disappointing, is the marginalized role that women play in these stories. Its no secret that women weren’t allowed much agency in Victorian fiction, but one of the major draws of steampunk is its ability to both revise and revisit the untold stories and untapped potential for women in the era of burgeoning feminism and rapidly shifting social paradigms, something that I wrote about more thoroughly in my post “I Sing the Body Pneumatic: A Brief Survey of Feminism in Steampunk Literature.”

I can’t speak for all steampunk fans, but I find steampunk appeals to my love for speculative fiction as well as my fascination with the social and political maelstrom that was the turn of the century. In that way, this collection is welcome as a glance into the social and cultural attitudes and preoccupations that defined the era. I enjoy this artifact because I read steampunk, not because it is steampunk.

Another Awesome Trailer for Warren Ellis’s Gun Machine

Last week I posted this fantastic trailer for Warren Ellis’ new book, Gun Machine. It is a brilliant collaboration between Jim Batt, Ben Templesmith, and Wil Wheaton. This week a new trailer was released by independent filmmaker and photographer Clayton Cubitt. It’s takes a much more expressionistic approach than the first trailer did, but it is quite chilling and perhaps even more intriguing.

Vulture.com has the exclusive release and you can watch the video here. Enjoy!

An Awesome Trailer for a New Book by Warren Ellis

A few days ago Mulholland Books released Gun Machine, a new novel by Warren Ellis. Here’s the premise, it sounds pretty awesome:

Warren Ellis reimagines New York City as a puzzle with the most dangerous pieces of all: GUNS.

After a shootout claims the life of his partner in a condemned tenement building on Pearl Street, Detective John Tallow unwittingly stumbles across an apartment stacked high with guns. When examined, each weapon leads to a different, previously unsolved murder. Someone has been killing people for twenty years or more and storing the weapons together for some inexplicable purpose.

Confronted with the sudden emergence of hundreds of unsolved homicides, Tallow soon discovers that he’s walked into a veritable deal with the devil. An unholy bargain that has made possible the rise of some of Manhattan’s most prominent captains of industry. A hunter who performs his deadly acts as a sacrifice to the old gods of Manhattan, who may, quite simply, be the most prolific murderer in New York City’s history.

Warren Ellis’s body of work has been championed by Wired for its “merciless action” and “incorruptible bravery,” and steadily amassed legions of diehard fans. His newest novel builds on his accomplishments like never before, announcing Ellis as one of today’s most daring thriller writers. This is twenty-first century suspense writ large. This is GUN MACHINE.

I haven’t read Ellis’s other acclaimed novel, Crooked Little Vein, but I am a huge fan of his comic book work (you can read my piece on his steampunk graphic novella, Aetheric Mechanics here). I was intrigued by Gun Machine’s concept when I first heard about it but this trailer may have inspired me to knock it up a few rungs on my “to read” list.

I’m excited by the recent resurgence of collaborative music videos and trailers and this one features some serious talent. In addition to Ellis’s writing, we are treated to beautiful illustrations by Ben Templesmith (30 Days of Night, Wormwood), narration from Wil Wheaton (Star Trek: TNG, Big Bang Theory), and animation by Jim Batt (whose video collaboration with Molly Crabapple and Kim Boekbinder I featured here).

Critical Engineering: A Perspective on Defining Steampunk

Art by John Coulthart from Steampunk II: Steampunk Reloaded

It was probably about three years ago that I started really thinking critically about steampunk as a genre. At the time I began to formulate some rough ideas about how steampunk could be defined in a way that would be as inclusive as possible yet still specific enough to establish a framework for critical discussion. Originally, I had the idea to write a very thorough piece of literary criticism, analyzing a selection of steampunk novels in order to support my argument. Don’t worry, this is not that essay. Though I would still like to get to it, hopefully sooner rather than later, free time has not been on my side lately, and if I am going to write that piece I would like to do it right. However, since I started writing about steampunk more frequently for Entropic Worlds I found myself wanting to refer to the ideas about steampunk that I have been working through on my own for a while now; of course I can’t, not without providing a page of exposition each time around. My goal here is to offer a critical definition of steampunk, discuss why I prefer it to the definitions I’ve been collecting for the past few years, and offer some anecdotal rather than specific evidence to support it.

Despite the vast body of critical writing on the subject that has appeared in the time since I first became interested, there is still little in the way of a concrete definition that’s useful for critical endeavors. Just In preparing this cursory essay I read or reread over a dozen pieces on the topic, pulled from various anthologies, sources around the web, and the pages of Steampunk Magazine

Unquestionably, the most meticulous and comprehensive attempt to define the genre has been undertaken by Ph.D. Mike Perschon, who goes by the pseudonym the Steampunk Scholar. An overview of his ideas on the topic can be found here on his blog. The premise of his thesis is that steampunk is an aesthetic rather than a genre and that the aesthetic is defined by three interacting elements: technofantasy, retrofuturism, and neo-victorianism. Perschon’s work as one of the pioneering scholars of Steampunk is commendable. He is easily one of the most well-read figures in the community and his blog is packed full of resources for newcomers and aficionados alike. However, I have never felt completely comfortable with his stance on the topic and I have been able to boil that down to three specific complaints.

Issue #3 of Steampunk Magazine

My first issue is perhaps a semantic one, but one that I feel carries substantial weight.  The concept that steampunk is an aesthetic rather than a genre is a misconception that stems from a misuse of both terms. The definitions of genre and aesthetic have been used rather casually and sometimes interchangeably for years. This, of course, only matters when it does. Science fiction author Samuel Delany presented a compelling argument for the difference in his fantastic essay “About 5,750 Words.” This quick summary that I’m about to provide hardly does it justice and I strongly recommend reading it for yourself.  He argues that there are essentially three aesthetic styles of writing in fiction, each defined by a unique level of subjunctivity. Naturalistic fiction arranges words that create images that “could have happened,” fantasy fiction creates images that “could not have happened,” while science fiction creates images that “have not happened.” To claim, as Perschon does, that steampunk is not a genre because it overlaps with all three narrative modes without having recurring narrative strands of its own is something of a fallacy from this perspective. In fact steampunk, along with other recognizable genres such as horror and mystery, does have a set of unique narrative elements that can be expressed through each of the aesthetic modes of naturalistic fiction, fantasy, and science fiction.

Second, while Perschon’s characteristics of steampunk fiction appear to be quite specific, they become a bit more wishy-washy when scrutinized. A work that contains all three of these elements would almost certainly be steampunk, yet it is easy to imagine a piece of fiction that while containing one or more of these elements, is not steampunk. The first example that comes to mind is Alfred Bester’s The Stars, My Destination which, despite featuring a group of future aristocrats who have adopted a neo-Victorian lifestyle, is really a dystopian space opera adventure because the neo-Victorianism represents a plausible trajectory of society rather than an anachronism. Perschon’s set of constraints seems to be effective at determining how steampunk something is, though not necessarily how good a work of steampunk  is, which brings me to my final objection.

What I am looking for is a definition of steampunk that allows critics to evaluate how effective, original, or progressive a given example of steampunk is, even if the element is a minor one within the broader scope of the piece. I am personally more interested in reading a book that does steampunk well, even if it only does it a little bit, versus a steampunk book that is unoriginal and uninteresting, regardless of how filled it is with dirigibles, aether, and parasols.

Perschon isn’t the only scholar to define steampunk as an aesthetic. In their introduction to the 2010 anthology, Steampunk Reloaded, Ann and Jeff Vandermeer refer to steampunk as “an aesthetic toolbox useful for a range of approaches.” Many other pieces on the topic eschew categorization entirely in favor of a descriptive approach that almost seems mystical in its effort to conjure the indescribable quality of steampunk. To this end, the Catastrophone Orchestra writes: “[steampunks] are archaeologists of the present, reanimating a hallucinatory history.” The approaches to definition are varied and the task is a daunting one.

So, where does that leave us then? I have never been able to shake my belief that there is something more solid to the foundation of steampunk, at least as a literary pursuit. The flashy tropes that characterize the genre are not merely aesthetic veneers, but are a language used to explore some more fundamental cultural concern, just as werewolves, vampires, and zombies are a language used to explore our culture’s repressed fears. I believe that steampunk is a genre of literature, and furthermore, that it can be identified by three specific narrative elements: a quality of anachronism, the invention or introduction of a new or repurposed technology, and a conflict over the control or application of that technology. If you take these elements at their most rigid face value, you wind up describing a novel like Sterling and Gibson’s The Difference Engine. This is probably appropriate given that that novel is one of the most universally accepted examples of the genre, however, given a certain degree of flexibility, I believe that the definition I have laid out can easily transcend the narrow focus of Victorian alternate history grounded in the imperialist/industrial complex of the era. What follows is a more detailed discussion of the three narrative elements of steampunk.

In order to fully appreciate the concept of anachronism in steampunk literature one needs to begin to think beyond the limiting notions of neo-Victorianism or retrofuturism. In fact, even in steampunk novels that strongly orient toward these characteristics, anachronism may derive from a different place altogether. One of the most striking examples is found in K.W. Jeter’s Infernal Devices. Although the novel is set in a fictional Victorian England and utilizes fantastical inventions and clockwork automata, it is in the dialog of the character of Scape, a man who has seen the future by means of a pseudoscientific device, that Jeter creates much of his anachronistic tension. Scape’s affectedly modern speech pervades the novel creating a contrast between our expectations of the historical setting and our own knowledge of the future. Social conventions and organization are used to evoke a quality of anachronism; frequently it is the intrusion of a full scale industrial revolution on the Victorian social structure, rather than the retro-futuristic technology that was responsible for it, that creates the anachronism. In Ekaterina Sedia’s Alchemy of Stone antiquated medieval relics, such as gargoyles, literally interact with a low-tech mining industry and a techno-fantastic automata creating a landscape that exists as a cross-section of centuries of technological innovation struggling to exist at the same moment. Though anachronism can be located in many places within the context of a given narrative, its implications are significant in steampunk and its effect is to create a setting that is not defined by the standard linear trajectory of historical progress.

A steampunk golem by Viejuno

Regardless of where the anachronism is located, steampunk features some innovation or repurposing of technology. However, it serves no practical purpose to define technology through a narrow lens. Technology in steampunk specifically signifies a transformation of the status quo, however, where traditional speculative fiction often looks at technological innovation in order to speculate on the consequences of a specific discovery, steampunk is more concerned with the idea of technological change on its own. Consequently, steampunk technology may come in the form of mechanical computers, lighter-than-air ships, or other retrofuturistic concepts grounded in hard science or engineering, but it may also be far more fantastical. Steampunk has the unique ability to blur the lines between science and fantasy, yet the significance of innovation and discovery remains the same. In a fictional world in which aether is a reality, then a fuel source derived from aether is technology according to the scientific laws of that world. Even magic can play the role of technology in steampunk given that it is grounded in some technological source, such as language, which is technology after all. Thus the golem, a homunculus brought to life through sacred words, is essentially congruous to an automaton brought to life through a computer program. Despite the fetishization of particular industrial aesthetics that seem to characterize steampunk, it is a preoccupation with the impact that technological change has on society that informs steampunk as a genre.

What we have so far is a setting that is not defined by historical or logical chronology into which a status changing technological innovation has been introduced. The way that steampunk explores this often cataclysmic shift in the status quo is through a conflict over control or ownership over the technology. This is often represented through a large-scale conflict between competing social or political interests. The conflict can also be very personal or even internal, as is the case in Jeff Vandermeer’s short story “Fixing Hanover.” This story flips the traditional expectations of the genre by depicting an inventor who struggles to relinquish his ownership over the deadly inventions for which he is responsible. The conflict may also play out against traditional domestic relationships as well. In a lurid take on 19^th century gender expectations, Margo Lanagan’s “Machine Maid” tells the story of an oppressed woman who subverts the device that she discovers to be an agent of her oppression into that of her liberation.

The narrative elements of technological innovation and conflict over control of that innovation are not new. They have been present in science fiction and naturalistic fiction for decades, especially in the dystopian genre. Where steampunk separates in a meaningful way is by locating technological change outside of either a recognizable history or a projected future.  This difference is what makes steampunk such an important genre right now. Science fiction that deals primarily with new technology within a standard chronological tradition faces two significant challenges that steampunk manages to overcome. One is that of longevity. Regardless of an author’s intention, speculative explorations of technological innovation are often interpreted as prophecy. This has two possible consequences: either the prophecy comes true or it doesn’t. In the case of the former, any of the work’s social relevance is often ignored for the novelty of the prophecy itself; in the case of the latter, the work is quickly dated and then subsequently ignored outright by future readers. Steampunk’s chances for longevity and continued relevance are great because the technology they depict can never date.

A more significant challenge facing technological fiction, especially fiction that presents a far future or an extreme dystopia, is the tendency for readers to distance themselves from the social implications of the literature because they are too far removed either culturally, or chronologically, despite the connections the author may have intended to make to contemporary life. Steampunk has a unique opportunity to reflect powerfully on contemporary culture and society specifically because it never purports to resemble it in any way.

It is no mistake that steampunk has reached critical mass during a period when technological innovation is occurring at such a rapid rate that, as individuals, we literally cannot slow down long enough to consider the implications. Steampunk is often cited as a reaction against the sterile and mass produced technological culture of the digital age. This strikes me as a very reductive explanation; even a superficial glance at my twitter feed will tell you that the number of steampunks whose iPhones constitute an extra appendage is as great as in any other subculture, possibly greater. Furthermore, I don’t believe that the subculture could have possibly grown to the size it has with the level of coordination and interaction that it demonstrates if it weren’t for social media and the associated software and hardware. Steampunk doesn’t exist to pass judgments on technology, but to attempt to explore the implications of modern “progress” through a disinterested lens.

So what, then, of politics and values in steampunk? Cherie Priest (author of the Clockwork Century series) tackled the question of defining steampunk in her essay “Steampunk: What it is, why I came to like it, and why I think it’ll stick around.” It’s probably the most exuberant and infectious piece out there and the most memorable line in the essay is “It is lots of fun. If it isn’t lots of fun, you’re doing it wrong.” This seems to imply that steampunk’s value is primarily escapist. I don’t mean to put words into Priest’s mouth, I actually think she made this statement in order to highlight the idea that steampunk is an original, creative, endeavor that is at its best with passionate engagement from fans, readers, and writers. Furthermore, her work in the genre is hardly escapist schlock, it is fiercely intelligent and she often focuses on marginalized characters whose stories have broad socio-political implications.

However, the idea that steampunk should be “fun” is a curious one. Fun as opposed to what? Boring? Tedious? Scholarly? Surely it can’t mean in opposition to political? Intellectual? Didactic? Needless to say, “fun” is extremely subjective, any of the three qualities I just listed can be incredibly fun given the right treatment. I’ll admit that I like my steampunk political, in fact, I don’t mind a healthy dose of politics in anything I read. Personally, I find radical politics and socio-political subversion every bit as exhilarating as airship battle. According to the model of steampunk I’ve laid out, the genre need not be political; it must, however, be social. Given the setting and elements of steampunk literature, social effects and interactions are necessary. Like any fiction writing, the story will be more compelling the more the social environment of the world has been mapped out. As readers, this is where we should be asking questions about steampunk. Who are the groups or individuals in conflict over the technological innovation? What interest does each have in controlling the innovation? Should there be a third party with an interest in it, if so who? If not represented directly in the conflict, what impact, if any, will the consequences have on groups like the poor, the working class, minorities, women, LGBT interests? If those groups aren’t directly involved, why not? Is it a logical consequence of the narrative elements or is it neglect on the part of the author? When we begin to treat steampunk with this type of complex social criticism I believe the divisive discussions between escapism and politics will dissipate in favor of a quality discussion of the genre’s social significance.

I don’t claim that the definition that I’ve laid out is universal, nor have I read everything in the genre, but I do believe that examples of steampunk that don’t fit this definition are relatively rare exceptions, or maybe just not steampunk. On one hand, I think it’s important to remember that there are some things that may be pretty universally liked by steampunk fans that aren’t really steampunk, just as many fans of punk proper appreciate the music of Tom Waits and The Velvet Underground, though it would be hard to really classify those artists as punk. On the other hand I believe that we could create some interesting discussions by using this definition, or a similarly specific definition, to look at why something isn’t steampunk, or at least is a different kind of steampunk.

It should also be noted that this model does not apply to many of the steampunk offshoots. Dieselpunk, for instance, doesn’t usually focus on the introduction of new technology. For the most part, works set in this genre, tend to exist in a world where the future has already come and gone. Retrofuturism is arguably more a part of dieselpunk than steampunk because dieselpunk exists in that 1940s art-deco fantasy image of the future. It is concerned with exploring the aftermath of the future; who is thriving? Who has been discarded? What is the state of industry and the environment? But I’m opening up a whole new can of worms so I’ll refrain from going any further, I only mean to illustrate the idea that this model of steampunk is meant to open and inspire discussion, rather than close the topic once and for all.

I have intentionally left two issues absent from this discussion: the future of steampunk given this model and how this model works with steampunk in media other than literature. I have some formative ideas on both and I hope to get to them soon, but that is plenty for today. The next post in the “Steampunk Files” will look at feminism in steampunk short stories so check back in the near future. In the meantime, please share your thoughts in the comments section.

Steampunk Files #2: Aetheric Mechanics by Warren Ellis

Steampunk, in comics perhaps more than in any other medium, has been known to experiment with a type of postmodern literary fantasy in which classic characters and literary tropes are reimagined or explored, usually with a wink and a nod, in alternate version of Victorian London. The most well-known and well-loved example of this is probably Alan Moore and Kevin O’neill’s League of Extraordinary Gentlemen. Equally exceptional, but less widely read, Warren Ellis and Gianluca Pagliarani’s 2008 graphic novella, Aetheric Mechanics reads as an interesting companion piece to Moore’s League series. Both concepts are primarily concerned with the fictional landscape composed primarily of late 19^th century and early 20^th century English literature, and how that landscape interacts with and informs our conception and perception of reality. However, the two texts address the issue from significantly different perspectives. While Moore uses that landscape to create an original universe, radically different from its Victorian roots as it strives to revise and also pay tribute to aspects of the literature while creating a narrative that, in itself, reflects the evolution of fictional ideas and values over time. Ellis, on the other hand, is primarily concerned with the illusion that the fictional landscape represents.

Aetheric Mechanics quickly immerses us a sprawling retro-futuristic version of turn of the century London. Our experience is grounded through the lens of Watcham, a doctor returned home after serving during the United Kingdom’s war against Ruritania, who also marvels at the many changes that have occurred to the London he knew during his sojourn. When we are introduced to the character of Sax Raker, who appears to be an amalgam of Sherlock Holmes and Sexton Blake, we come to recognize that Watcham is in an analog for Holmes’s Watson. When the two characters meet after their extended separation due to the war, Raker wastes no time before filling Watcham in on his latest case: “the man who wasn’t there.”  The mystery begins to unfold as a mechanically crafted homage to the stories of Arthur Conan Doyle, however, we begin to learn that the entire concept of the case, a murderer who is seen to flicker in and out of existence while committing his crimes, is merely a McGuffin or a red herring for the real story being told, and the ultimate revelation about the double meaning of the case name.

It is tempting to go into more detail about the plot but it would be impossible to do so without divulging a hefty pile of spoilers, suffice it to say, it will appeal to fans of steampunk concepts, Sherlock Holmes style mysteries, and general sci-fi alike. That being said, there is a part of me that would refrain from placing this comic directly under the steampunk umbrella. This is because steampunk generally locates most of its interest in the actual functioning of the anachronistic technology and, though such technology abounds in this narrative, it carries little agency, it is, rather, an aesthetic conceit. The real discussion centers on modern technology and the way that it shapes our conception of the world – and how tenuous and flimsy that conception of the world can be. Perhaps it would be more appropriate to call it a commentary on contemporary steampunk culture, rather than a work of steampunk itself. As such, however, it is a very compelling and playful read.

Warren Ellis has written a significant amount of other steampunk works, both before and after Aetheric Mechanics. Steampunk tropes occasionally made its way into his work on Planetary and his more recent Captain Swing is a full on steampunk airship pirate adventure. He has also explored various dieselpunk and retro-futuristic concepts in Ignition City, Anna Mercury and Freakangels. In all of these examples alternative and anachronistic technologies play a much more central role in the narrative while serving political subtexts to greater or lesser degrees. Despite the backdrop of war and politics in Aetheric Mechanics, it is not as directly political as these other works, however, I decided it would be a more fitting text to look at in this column because it provides a unique perspective on our cultural infatuation with turn of the century London and pushes the boundaries of what we may conceive to be the capabilities of the steampunk genre.

Steampunk Files #1: Infernal Devices by K.W. Jeter

It’s been on my agenda for some time now to explore the works that make up the “first wave” of steampunk literature. The cohort of authors that comprise this moment are generally considered to be K.W. Jeter, Tim Powers, and James P. Blaylock, with various proto-steampunk authors, most notably Michael Moorcock coming before, and Bruce Sterling and William Gibson’s The Difference Engine following shortly. Like many current devotees of the genre and the culture, my main exposure to the literature has come in the form of anthologized short stories featured in collections like Ann and Jeff Vandermeer’s Steampunk series (where I was introduced to Blaylock’s “Lord Kelvin’s Machine”) along with modern interpretations of the Steampunk genre by authors such as China Mieville, Ekaterina Sedia, and Cherie Priest among many others. I have always been the type of person who feels like they can’t truly appreciate the modern iteration of an art form without exploring its progenitors in depth; hence the soft spot I maintain for proto-punk like the Stooges, the MC5 and the Velvet Underground, as well as my fondness for silent expressionist cinema. Furthermore, there is much discussion about the early Steampunk works in current criticism, largely in reference to what is seen as a greater political awareness – more of an emphasis on the “punk” portion of the nomenclature, if you will. However, little is usually offered supporting the subversive nature of these works; instead the emphasis is often on the lack thereof in modern Steampunk. It’s difficult to work out how much of these assertions are the result of nostalgia rather than scholarship. Jeter’s seminal work Infernal Devices seemed like a good place to start my inquiries.

To go into the plot of Infernal Devices in detail would be an onerous and unnecessary task for this space, not to mention it would spoil some of the more pleasurable twists and turns of the narrative. To lay a general foundation for this discussion, the following should suffice: Infernal Devices follows the relatively unlikeable and unremarkable George Dower, the son of a famous inventor, and inheritor of his estate. Dower has followed in his father’s footsteps only so far as he has acquired a minimal skill in engineering and sadly under-employs his great workshop towards the repair of simple mechanical problems within his limited abilities. A series of mysterious visitors, however, sends Dower into a world of wild plots and intrigue revealing facts of great portent about himself and his father that will forever shake his world.

One of the most obvious differences between this novel and much of today’s Steampunk is that it is certainly located within Victorian London, as opposed to an imagined world governed by the tropes and technology of fantastic Victoriana. Yet, upon closer inspection it is clear that this world bears little resemblance to any actual London, but is really defined through the lens of the literary London landscape. We are whisked into this romantically bleak version of London in the very first sentence as Jeter writes: “on just such a morning as this, when the threat of rain hangs over London in the manner of a sentence neither stayed nor pardoned, but rather perpetually executed…(15)” This description quite intentionally evokes a sense of stasis and permanence that is transparently artificial: the perpetually damp and foggy London streets of Robert Louis Stevenson, Arthur Conan Doyle, and countless others. However, there is also a heavy affectation towards the qualities of American writers in this novel, both of the period and not, in Jeter’s writing. As a narrative of detection begins to unfold, it is not the meticulous orderliness of Doyle’s Sherlock Holmes, but the inviting and inventive strangeness of Poe’s sleuths. There is also a touch of Lovecraft’s psychologically unstable narrators in Dower’s characterization. Like Lovecraft’s protagonists, he is simultaneously transfixed and horrified by the events and revelations unfolding around him. As chapter 3 opens he writes, “I awoke the next morning, half-believing that the preceding day’s events had been but a dream, driven by its own eccentric machinery to a baffling conclusion. My sleep had been vexed with shadowy figures, dark-skinned and sombre, or with eyes hidden by blue glass and spouting incomprehensible obscenities; I would have been grateful to shake them out of my muddled head, to disappear with all the nocturnal phantoms that had gone before them (63).” Clearly the Victorian setting in this case is less a vehicle for reevaluating and deconstructing social conventions and industrial era technology than one geared towards repurposing historical literary modes and styles, sometimes towards deconstructive ends, but also towards a genuine interest in employing outdated, but still potent, linguistic styles.

It is a generally accepted notion that the first wave of steampunk works exhibited a more unified set of characteristics than the modern iterations of the genre. It’s true that the umbrella that covers steampunk these days is extraordinarily broad; no setting, physical or temporal, or literary tradition, is capable of defining the parameters for the genre, yet while reading Infernal Devices I was struck by the sense that for all of its breathtaking scope, modern steampunk seems to exist within a much more specific set of expectations than Jeter’s novel does. Industrial victorian-esque imagery has become an ingrained part of popular culture via this first wave of steampunk literature, but also through films like spirited away Sherlock Holmes, and League of Extraordinary Gentlemen, and as an aesthetic construction throughout virtually all media. Clockwork Victoriana has indeed become its own fictional construction, much as the romantic version off of which Jeter riffs had become before. Due to steampunk’s newfound ubiquity, authors are able to evoke visual imagery of machinery, fashion, and customs on a much larger scope through very economical uses descriptive language. In some cases merely a few lines about the ticking of clockwork engineering or pumping steam engines is enough to conjure a sprawling retro-futuristic industrial landscape, or a humanized clockwork automaton. Steam technology is only one part of a larger puzzle in Infernal Devices. The story is a mash-up of fictional landscapes as diverse as they are imaginative. Vaguely scientific constructions, defined more by the concepts that they signify than by their actual mechanics, interact with a race of sentient amphibious creatures and a shadowy London underworld more sinister than even the most cynical readers at the time would probably have expected.

In some ways, it’s the blank canvas that Jeter had to work from that makes his novel unique and exciting. It’s easy to see how steampunk evolved from Infernal Devices and other works like it, yet it’s also obvious that it was not a straight evolution; it’s not as if every aspect of this novel would be borrowed, refined, or reinvented by later authors. The overarching aesthetic of Infernal Devices is one of plot turns and pyrotechnics. I am compelled to compare it in this sense to Alfred Bester’s The Stars, My Destination, mainly because I ready it recently and it is saliently on my mind. All the same I think the two novels share an insistence on continuously upping the ante around every corner, never allowing the author to think, even for a moment, that they are in command of what is unfolding. It is a novel very conscious of its power as an adventure story, something that the protagonist often reflects on. This quality hasn’t often been adopted by later authors. Though we tend to identify steampunk with a sense of adventure, many of the more critically acclaimed works are more character oriented, or emphasize the social and political implications of their imagined world, or both, but less frequently are they primarily occupied with the story that the setting allows them to tell.

So finally, it seems pertinent to consider the political potency of Infernal Devices since politics is such a divisive and debated territory among steampunk fans. Compared to the politicized treatment that class conflict receives in the novels of Mieville or Sedia’s The Alchemy of Stone, Infernal Devices reads as fairly apolitical. However, the larger narrative is one of the competing interests of various social and political cabals treated with a cynically satirical tone. He uses the Royal Anti-Society to lampoon the scientific community and their patrons, and his absurd Godly Army to poke fun at religion. These political interests serve the narrative more than they do any clearly definable political agenda, yet there is certainly something subversive in presenting this sinister view of the way this world, albeit a fictional one, functions. Furthermore, underlying the absurdist treatment of these interests are some weighty themes such as cultural imperialism, slavery, and the unintended consequences of technology. These themes arise naturally from the mode of storytelling, yet that doesn’t make them less relevant. The political focus of modern steampunk may not have been fully articulated or realized in Jeter’s novel, but the seeds of it are easy to see. Readers who are inexperienced with the earliest incarnations of steampunk will find much to recommend Infernal Devices, especially those who are compelled by the more literary roots of steampunk. The largest difference to me is that this novel will also be very compelling to those whose interests lie more in classic SF and who may be coming freshly to steampunk. It’s interesting to me that the classics are less read within the genre’s circles since novels like this are such perfect gateways into the culture for the uninitiated.

 

Jeter, K.W., Infernal Devices, Angry Robot, Nottingham, 1987.

Check This Out! – Comics Pick of the Week: Wonder Woman #0

Wonder Woman #0

Writer: Brian Azzarello

Artist: Cliff Chiang

DC Comics

 

The last time I plugged this title on Entropic Worlds was with issue #11, where I delved into a more detailed discussion than usual, praising Azzarello for restoring integrity and depth to one of DC’s most important characters and elevating her to a status, both creatively and contextually, on par with any hero in comics, male or female. When I give a comic that kind of praise I usually won’t come back to it in my reviews for at least a little while in order to avoid redundancy, but when issues like Wonder Woman #0 come along I can’t help but make an exception. I expected Azzarello to turn out a compelling zero issue, I also expected it to be somewhat unique, as he is wont to do. I wasn’t expecting an episode from Diana’s youth told completely through golden age techniques, tropes and aesthetics. In fact, I am a little surprised that he was even allowed to get away with it. Borrowing bygone aesthetics to evoke the past in comics is not new, but given DC’s current dedication to present a decidedly modern universe (even actually referring to the New 52 #1s as first appearances in the Who’s Who in the New 52 feature in each issue) Its shocking that they were ok with Azzarello’s choice to present this story as if it was actually a story from a fictitious golden age comic. This is a good sign to me, it shows that the editors at DC truly trust what Azzarello is doing with the character, and hopefully his run will last for a long time to come.

The content of the story is relatively straightforward. It explores a year or so of Diana’s life during which she was apprenticed, behind the back of the Amazons, to Ares, the Greek god of war. So what, then, is the gimmick, what is the purpose for the unconventional style?  The truth is that it can’t be boiled down to one purpose, not nostalgia, not irony, not humor. Azzarello uses this format in a variety of ways throughout the comic, transitioning fluidly and effortlessly from mode to mode. At the beginning, the issue appears to be rooted in satire; Azzarello makes this blatantly clear with the outlandish title he gives to the fake comic: “All Girl Adventure Tales for Men #41.” The story opens on a similar note of humor as Wonder Woman fights off an angry Harpy which, though vicious, is much more juvenile in tone than the darker gods and monsters that have shown up in the series. However, as this issue progresses it becomes clear that we are no longer in the realm of satire. This isn’t merely a tonal shift, the character actually changes, managing to reclaim a semblance of control over her own identity by the end. The process of overcoming this ludicrous title actually works as a commentary on Wonder Woman’s journey as an individual character within Azzarello’s storyline, but also on the journey of Wonder Woman as a character in the iconic sense over the course of her publication.

Azzarello makes use of more than the tonal qualities of the golden age, he also uses storytelling techniques from the era throughout the story. Techniques such as captions with an omniscient narration, thought bubbles, and alliterative language have largely fallen out of popular use, yet Azzarello uses them to great effect, even to the point that reader may begin to wonder why they have fallen out of use to begin with. Omniscient narrators in comics often feel clunky and redundant , but here Azzarello reminds us that when used relatively economically they can create effective transitions and fill in quick exposition about setting or characters, but more importantly, that they can evoke a sense of distance and privilege that allows us voyeuristic access into a private moment in a way that first person narrations or narration free stories don’t. Thought bubbles can provide a sense of immediacy lost in first person captions, they can also interact with the visual qualities of a story well. Unfortunately they usually fail to achieve those ends, but Azzarello handles them cleverly during a few crucial dramatic moments.   The alliteration is Perhaps the most indulgent device employed here, used mostly for humor and authenticity, still, who can resist a line like “the plucky princess plunges into the icy water, leaving the horrible harpy hapless”?

Within this narrative Azzarello employs many more conventional, but still impactful, structural and visual motifs. Images of eyes and reflections appear throughout the comic, serving to support the themes of identity and belonging that have been present throughout the series and are explored quite  explicitly in issue #0.  The zero issues have promised to be full of revelations about their characters ,yet that has really not been the case, at least as far as I can tell, but in this issue there are some significant bits of information concerning Diana’s relationship with War, and the rest of the gods by extension, which may prove to be meaningful in the future of the storyline.

The only thing disappointing about this issue is that the cover had to follow the uniform design of the zero issue campaign. Though Cliff Chiang’s illustrations of Wonder Woman are always breathtaking and the one on this cover is nothing to scoff at, I imagine how fantastic his cover for All Girl Adventure Tales for Men #41 would have been and I lament the fact that it doesn’t exist. Though I am not usually one to promote the creation of variant covers, this would be the occasion for it if ever there was one.