In All Your Fantasies…

Last month, I noted in this post that the majority of unpublished aspiring writers wrote science fiction and fantasy. The figures came from the blog of US literary agent Rachelle Gardner, who ran a month-long poll of 1,453 readers. Well, the poll’s over and the full results are here. A couple of numbers stick out like two sore thumbs:

26 percent of voters wrote fantasy or science fiction.

Only 6 percent of book deals were for fantasy or science fiction manuscripts.

Without going into the second number, I want to think a bit about the first one. Why do so many people write science fiction and fantasy?

While I obviously can’t speak for all the writers out there, my own feelings on the genre are as follows:

1) I write what I like to read.

It’s the most basic advice: write what you yourself would read, because you’ll have a hard time enjoying it otherwise, and if you don’t enjoy it, your distaste will spill over into your work. Well, sometimes you do want to convey your distaste. But most writers don’t. And it happens that I like to read science fiction and fantasy, because they allow the imagination to soar further than almost every other genre. Or the good ones do, anyway.

2) Fantasy is ‘easier’ to write.

This is pretty subjective. I wouldn’t call it easier per se, as the importance of storytelling technique doesn’t change between genres. But it’s easier in that you don’t have to do quite as much homework as you would for a novel set in the real world, nor do you have to worry quite as much about getting stuff wrong because in sf/f, you make the world and the rules.

That in itself opens a whole new can of worms, of course – it’s always arguable that you DO have to do research and consistent worldbuilding. But yes, in certain ways sf/f is easier to write. There’s more room for dodging reality checks. And your imagination can soar just as it did when you first read your favourite sf/f novels.

3) Fantasy writers and readers are more ‘glamorous’ in a geeky way.

OK, this is subjective too. But it’s a lot more fun dressing up as Harry Potter than as Robert Langdon, isn’t it? And it definitely attracts a lot more attention. For those who are naturally drawn to the snap and flair of outlandish garb and appearance, sf/f beats every. single. other. genre. hands. down.

By the way, I am lumping science fiction and fantasy together because, in my opinion, the overwhelming majority of science fiction seen today can be more rightly classified as science fantasy. My view of science fiction is that it should incorporate an in-depth examination of the impact of technology on human society. Otherwise, it’s just a backdrop. (Obviously, I am biased in the favour of the SF grand masters. But that’s why they’re called grand masters, after all.)

I’m fairly sure that the three points I just outlined are applicable to a LOT of writers. Especially the last two. Other genres have their fans, after all. But somehow, sf/f gives the impression of being easier to write and more glamorous. Especially when you let your imagination take off. It’s a lot more fun to invent castles full of cyborg elves than it is to write about a skyscraper full of iPad-wielding executives.

At least, that’s how a lot of people see it. I could think of some interesting things to do to those executives…but then again, some of those interesting things would very likely involve the fantastic realm! And there you have it. The term ‘fantasy’ originally meant an imagined scenario, after all. Such scenarios have a certain appeal, and that carries over into the genre as it’s defined today.

Essentially, fantasies are as appealing to read as any other genre. But they’re more appealing to write than just about all the others. And that’s why so many writers spring for the sf/f option, as shown by the first number cited above.

Oh, and as to the second number – to avoid entering a sensitive and controversial discussion, I shall not examine why so few of those writers get book deals.

Singapore Literature And Non-Literary Writers

Almost forgotten in the sound and fury of the elections was this forum I attended on the 7th, Polling Day itself: “Starting Out: Problems and Promises of Singapore Literature”, a panel discussion on the present state of Singapore literature, the progress it has made and its future direction.

Singapore literature, such as it has been defined over the last couple of decades, is miles away from the kinds of writing I – and the other genre fiction writers I know – aspire to. It’s also miles away from the kind of writing I do for a living. And the composition of the panel underscored that: one hundred percent of them, including the moderator, were poets. And the views they presented were uniformly those of literary writers.

Literary fiction: variously defined as fiction in which the plot primarily takes place within the characters, fiction which focuses on style and theme rather than action, and even fiction which does not sell.

I’ve had my brushes with literary fiction in the past, and – perhaps due to the noticeably elitist way in which it was presented – never cared for writing it. Not the sort that’s considered highbrow in Singapore, anyway. But curiosity about this “elite” group of writers moved me to attend. And while whole chunks of the discussion went right over my head, I gathered enough to know that the elitism of literary fiction is slowly but steadily being cranked down off its high ivory horse.

For a start, the panelists said quite firmly that Singapore literature ought not to be defined as poetry alone – which it was for a very long time, with poetry being considered the epitome of refinement and cultural novels following a close second. (This, incidentally, drove me to detest both with a passion in my JC days, which was also when I started to view the study of literature with a good deal of cynicism.)

The panelists, however, felt that the definition ought to encompass essays, travel narratives, journalism, genre fiction and so on. Somehow all of them managed to forget that lovely saying about Singapore literature consisting of ghosts and sex, but I suspect their definition is inclusive enough for those as well.

They also managed to toss the ball to a National Arts Council representative, who did a decent job of defending the NAC’s cultural bias – his argument was that the NAC’s approach to the arts has been overwhelmingly influenced by the profit-focused mindset so prevalent here. In his words, they would rather give resources to the top ten percent of artists, who are already established and producing quality works, than spend those resources trying to develop the other ninety percent (who might or might not produce quality works later). In the process, they inadvertently become taste-setters and influence not only the artistic sphere itself but the public, and that is not desirable…but it’s unavoidable collateral damage.

“Let a hundred flowers blossom and a hundred schools of thought contend…” or water ten flowers and let the other ninety die a natural death.

He clearly didn’t like it much, and I have to agree with him. It’s an execrably short-sighted approach and shows that the institution has an inferior understanding of how the arts work in business terms.  To put it in financial language, which I sometimes think is the only language the institution understands: the profit from the arts is firstly intangible and secondly accrues over the long to very long term, and anyone with a basic grasp of accounting knows that such revenue streams have to be treated in a different fashion from the typical short term cash sources.

Nevertheless, the arts community is long used to institutional elitism and its resulting ineffectuality, and while no one is very happy about it, there’s not much that the people on the ground, the beneficiaries, the artists themselves, can really do about it. (Somewhat similar to the GE, where institutional elitism has resulted in Parliament receiving a certain young lady who is variously known as Kate Spade, Miss Stomp and She Who Doesn’t Know What To Say.)

What the panelists say, however – and I can only report their words since I am entirely alien to their sphere – is that the institution is no longer the only way for new artists to gain access to mentorship and education. Well, it’s still the only way to get funding, but all artists starve anyway, even the ten percent which get water, sunlight and…erm…fertilizer from the institution. Poetry, the panelists, said, does not pay. I’m inclined to believe that, since genre fiction in Singapore doesn’t pay either. (As to what does pay, my business card says “Corporate/ Finance/Accountancy”. Not a word about the arts, highbrow or lowbrow.)

Most of the rest of the discussion centred on what was going on at the literary fiction level. I have no real opinion about literary fiction one way or another – my views are reserved for the attitude taken towards it by the institution, which I find to be rather infantile and easily impressed by flowery language and local context. (This holds true even at secondary school essay level.) I am, however, encouraged by the fact that the writers themselves are clearly not blindly following the institution’s lead. The discussion was actually accessible to a firmly non-literary, unpoetic, cynical individual like myself – and seeing that the panelists and the moderators were all poets, I’d expected to feel alienated at the very best.

Instead I saw that the literary folks aren’t that different from us genre writers after all. They face the same pressures, expectations and stumbling blocks. While it’s true that their circle is quite alien from ours, I expect they’d find our groups and discussions equally foreign and baffling.

And curiously enough, this division is encouraging. It shows that Singapore literature, on whatever level, isn’t uniform. All of us, whether commercial hack or literary poet or establishment journalist or you-name-it, are going our own ways and, from the look of it, merrily ignoring the institution’s taste-setting (inadvertent or otherwise) wherever we can. The institution’s tastes and prejudices may be immature, but with or without it, we are maturing the other ninety flowers anyway. The blossoms, I suspect, are coming out lopsided and rather odd in colour, and some might not be healthy to sniff. But they are there. And who knows, we might develop our own school of ikebana one day.

In Defense Of Email Interviews

I wrote this as a response to Jessica Faust’s post on email interviews at the BookEnds, LLC blog, which gathered an approximately equal number of supporters and detractors for email interviews. (Read her post here.) After writing a defense of the medium, I discovered that it was, in my typical tradition of verbal diarrhoea, the length of a small essay. Reproducing it here for entertainment value.

I’m a journalist by profession, and half the interviews I conduct are done by email. The rest are face to face, with a very few being over the phone. I find that email interviews are unavoidable, very often necessary, and by no means as evil as many seem to feel. Why?

Firstly, the interview medium is highly dependent on the kind of article the interview is meant for. In the case of profiles or Q&A articles such as most commenters seem to be referring to, a face to face interview is a must. No two ways about it.

 However, if the article is a wide-angle commentary featuring many sources, it’s far more efficient to communicate by email or phone – the two are interchangeable. Now, I work the corporate beat, so this may not hold true everywhere. But as has already been pointed out, interviews with corporate big shots have three sticking points.

 1) They are careful about what they say. Very careful.

2) They are closely monitored by their corporate communications people. I’ve NEVER gotten an interview with a CEO/CFO/you name it without their minder hovering close by.

3) They are busy people. A face-to-face or even a phone conference needs to be scheduled, not just for them but for their minder. It’s just not practical to set one up for something like a one-paragraph or one-line soundbite.

 Then there is the geographical and time zone factor. If I were to interview, say, Jessica, I would have to do it by email because I’m based on the opposite side of the world from her. Again, no two ways about it.

 Finally, there is the journalist’s own due diligence. Bear in mind that very often, information about the interviewee is already available. Thus when composing questions for any kind of interview, you have to make sure you ask relevant questions that haven’t already been answered elsewhere. Certainly not pre-processed form questions!

(I didn’t write this in the original mini-essay, but I’ll add here that when I send a cold-calling email either requesting an interview or as the interview itself, I take care to explain why I want to interview this particular person (e.g. they were earlier quoted on this subject, or they are known to have views/expertise in this area). It’s only polite.)

In short, email interviews are not to blame. They don’t have to be impersonal any more than comments posted here. It’s about the journalist’s own effort to make the interview thoughtful and, if not unique, then at least not flavourless.