Of Influences, Magical Realism, and the Uncanny

Dean was recently relating how surprised he was at the number of science-fiction stories that have been submitted for his spec fic antho.

At the onset, so was I. After all, given our Eastern culture and mindset-- despite our Western upbringing-- I would have thought our spec fic literature would veer more towards the fantastical. And in spite of local literature's fascination (almost obsession) with social commentary, one of the strongest aspects of our literature is still magical realism.

But then again, I later thought I wasn't really all that surprised. After all, nobody can really tell what influences will go into our writing and how it will affect us.

Personally, I read a lot of genre fantasy (read: epic and sword-and-sorcery) so these used to translate a bit into writing. However, my first forays into short stories tended to veer into horror and contemporary fantasy-- and sometimes in-between, the hallmarks of the interstitial and slipstream literature.

In this, I attribute to my earlier readings of Stephen King, the master of what Matt Cheney says is:

his knack for portraying the psyche of a certain part of contemporary American culture (which he does, I think, far better than a number of contemporary novelists who have been lauded for doing exactly that), his ability when he is writing at his best to create tremendous narrative momentum, his ability to evoke rural American settings that feel half like home-grown myths and half like reality, etc.

Or, as Elizabeth Hand says: "The secret of King's success is not that he writes so well about monsters and ghosts, but that he writes so persuasively about us."

It was a friend, while talking about horror writer Shirley Jackson, who told me that the feeling of the "odd and macabre" in everyday life-- that aspect of "strangeness" in normalcy that we cannot explain-- is the uncanny.

Serendipitously enough-- see, I'm seeing the patterns here!-- it was also the same friend who related to me the reason for the strong thread of magical realism in our literature given our folklore of magic and monsters. For those who've lived all their lives in the cities (like me), these things are just stories. But for those who come from the provinces, they're as real as you or me. As a friend once told me before, Well, it's one thing to see these things from afar. It's another to be directly affected by them.

And that, I think, is what informs-- and influences-- my writings.

Cat's Word for the Day

night bags (noun): 1. eye-bags; 2. burdens one carries throughout the night as one sleeps

I suppose I've never been one for sleeping.

Fact is, Croyd Crenson, a.k.a. the Sleeper of Wild Cards fame, would have been proud of me. (In the story, Crenson had been infected by a genetic virus that had swept the world, giving him the power to change shape or power when he sleeps. Unfortunately for Crenson, he hated sleeping before he had become infected and even more so afterwards. After all, when it's a fifty-fifty chance that he'll turn either into a superhuman being or a mutated freak when he wakes up, what's to be happy about his situation? But I digress...)

Like him, I thought that there was too much to do instead of lying on a soft bed asleep. Not in a "take Life by the balls" kind of thing, more like "things to do, people to see." So when I sometimes say I lack sleep, it's usually for a good cause.

Usually.

(It also doesn't help that the times I do sleep, my subconscious is screaming at 100 mph like a madman on speed and I wake up even more tired. Gah.)

Wala lang.

Crank Yankers

Phone rings.

Me: Hello, internet section.

Man: Hello, may I speak with Jennifer?

Me: I'm sorry, there's no Jennifer here.

Man: No, there's a Jennifer there. Near the computers.

Me: (What the fuck?) Uh, there's no Jennifer here.

Man, slightly raised voice: No, there is. She works in the editorial section.

Me: (Geez, what's the problem with this guy?) Yes but this is the internet section.

Man: Well, can you connect me to her?

Me: (This guy is now officially getting on my nerves.) I'm sorry but I can't connect from this...

Man, speaking in an angry voice: Who is this?

Me: Excuse me?

Man: Who is this?

Me: (Can everyone say piss off?) What for?

Man: Jennifer works in your office, you should know her.

Me: You arrogant...

Man: WHO IS THIS?

In response, I hang up.

Now excuse me, I need a friggin' smoke. Grrr.

JK Rowling is Watching You

Warning! This post is image-heavy!

This incredibly funny Photoshop effort is courtesy of upcoming novelist Scott Lynch. Heh. The man is a genius.

In Media Res: Retail Pawn

Thanks to jenn see, who gave me the idea. Also, I must have been channeling Dean because it riffs on one of his stories. Did I say riffs? Yikes...!

During his break, after a lunch of quezo de bola and bread, Mr. Reyes entered the nearby branch of the Illusorio Retail Pawnshop (their sign read "We Clear Things for You!") in dusty, dingy Old Manila.

Immediately, he was struck dumb by the aureate lights that lined the ceiling as they flashed and sparkled before his eyes. When his eyes cleared in tear-reddened fury, he saw himself standing in a clean, airconditioned and modern-looking shop with counters at the end of the room.

Except for another customer and the two employees, there was nothing else-- and no one else-- inside the shop.

"Hi. Can I help you?" said a beautiful young employee behind one of the counters. Behind her, various machines were lined up razor-sharp and aestheticalyl distinct against the walls.

"Uh...Yes," Mr. Reyes said, his hang-dog eyes uncertain, "I would like to trade or... er, pawn something."

"Of course you would. This is our specialty, after all.," the woman said, leaning closer and giving the flustered Mr. Reyes a peek down her low-cut uniform. From the nearby counter, a square-jawed movie-handsome man flashed him a reassuring grin as he conversed with a middle-aged woman. Mr. Reyes flinched at the perfect teeth that flashed before his eyes.

"What would you like?" the woman prodded gently.

"Yes. Well," Mr. Reyes said. He looked down and said, "You see... for most of my life I've been rather forgetful. My wife's birthday, our wedding anniversary, my son's recital. Things to do, my business to run-- it all gets mixed-up in my head, you know?"

When Mr. Reyes looked up again, the young woman gave him a sympathetic smile and nodded at him to continue. Mr. Reyes gulped and added, "It's never been something I've proud of. However, the past few years have been pretty bad. And so when I heard from my friend... well.... Of course I'm still not sure...!"

Taking her cue, the young woman laughed a crystal-bright laugh and said, "It's not a problem. I'm sure you have your doubts. But trust me when I say there are no side-effects, it won't affect who you are (except in a good way!), and it's not expensive. At the same time, you get paid-- or trade-- for it. What more can you ask for?"

"Uhm, what exactly does happen?"

The woman gestured at one of the machines behind her, "It's so simple, really. This gadget behind me will just take a drop of blood from you. We'll let it process for a bit and once it's done, you're cleared. No more forgetfulness."

"Is that guaranteed?" Mr. Reyes asked, hopeful.

"Of course!" she replied with passion.

Afterwards, it was done and Mr. Reyes, a few hundred bucks in his pocket, left clear-eyed and happy as memories started surfacing in his mind like ancient land-masses from the ocean.

Meanwhile, the young woman, humming softly under her breath, pasted a tag with Mr. Reyes' name on the small bottle of his blood. Beside her, the good-looking young man was also doing the same thing except that his customer had pawned away her sense of insecurity for gift certificates from a fancy boutique.

As legal contracts go, the management had told them, a spot of blood in exchange for pieces of the soul was enough.

Oooh, I hate endings. I can never get to convey the impression I want known about the story properly.

La-di-da.

Ex Libris: Leviathan Three by Vandermeer and Aguirre, eds

Heh, it's been a while since I've done one of these.

Two or three years ago was a good time for story anthologies. Jeff Vandermeer's and Forrest Aguirre's Leviathan 3 was one of the big collections that I had been drooling over, together with Peter Straub's literary Conjunctions, Robert Silverberg's collections of novelettes in Legends, Michael Chabon's first McSweeney antho, and later on, Al Sarrantonio's attempt in cutting-edge speculative fiction in Flights. So when I had a chance to pick up this book together with The New Fabulists collection, I didn't hesitate.

But what is Leviathan all about?

From the copyright page of Leviathan 1, writer/editor Jeff Vandermeer stated that the "anthology series was an attempt to cover many different themes and concerns without the kind of specific restrictions that often prove the downfall of more focused theme anthologies." He added that "each anthology shall attempt to map part of the Leviathan that is fiction."

Quite an ambitious undertaking, true? However, in the case of Leviathan 3, he declared that, "Leviathan 3 is our great Decadent volume—our anthology of excesses. Armed with a new co-editor—Forrest Aguirre—and a new publisher for the Ministry (Prime), we decided to take the anthology to yet another level, abandoning forever the idea of a logical set of themes that might map the entirety of fiction."

Moreover, Vandermeer wanted an element of the Decadent to enter the anthology " because the Decadent movement and the Surrealist movement had a lot in common—cross-pollination made a lot of sense." Uh-oh. (Sometimes I regret taking up political science in college instead of English lit.) Rich Horton in Locus at least attempted to call it a work of slipstream, and thus, it's understandable why it's hard to classify these stories.

Though I thought the collection was a gold mine of stories, I also agreed at what writer Stephan Chapman told Vandermeer when he said that the slogan for Leviathan 3 should be "There's something for everyone to hate." After all, just consider the book's ecletic collection of 27 stories and its broad range of themes and approaches. After all, this wasn't just about fantasy but also fantasy without the fantastical element, i.e. fantasy at the level of metaphor.

But of course I didn't know about this; when I first started reading the collection, I had no preconceptions about the anthology, something that was a major hindrance for Chabon's and Sarrantonio's collections.

To name some home-runs for me: Jeffrey Ford's "The Weight of Words" would set word-lovers a-spinning; Brian Stableford's "The Face of an Angel" was oddly creepy; "State Secrets of Aphasia" by Chapman himself and "The Genius of Assassins" by Michael Cisco were fun but almost incomprehensible readings; "Phocas" by 19th Century French writers de Gourmont and Gautier was saddening despite its religious overtones; James Bassett's "While Wandering a Vanished Sea" was quite Vance-ian in telling; and of course the Library stories by Zoran Zivkovic were excellent despite being dry. (Or maybe it was the translation?)

Others were either okay or didn't work for me. Despite excellent recommendations about the writings of L. Timmel DuChamp and Carol Emshwiller, their "A Fool's Tale" and "The Prince of Mules" respectively didn't exactly set my attention on fire. Neither did Brendan Connell's "A Season with Doctor Black." Unfortunately, while I was enjoying Tamar Yellin's "Kafka in Bronteland," I found my copy didn't have the requisite ending due to bad printing. Good thing that Yellin-- after I emailed her asking about it-- pointed me in the right direction on where to find the last part.

Overall, it's a pretty good set of stories. Though there were hits and misses, it's hard to take Vandermeer and Aguirre to task when even they admit that not everyone will like all the contributions in the collection. Likewise, you can see their enthusiasm when loading an anthology with varied tales. Though the reader would invariably find one story to hate, at least it's sure that the same reader will also like one story.

And that, I think, makes all the difference.

_______________________________

Just an edit: a comment from the ever-informative Jeff Vandermeer:

Leviathan 3 (which did win the WF Award) is available through Amazon, if any of your readers care to order it. Leviathan 4 is available from Night Shade Books (Forrest edited that one himself). And we're planning on, at some point, doing a best-of Leviathan 1--3, given that 1 and 2 had somewhat limited distribution. Either that or an omnibus of 1 and 2 together. Meanwhile, my wife Ann and I will edit Leviathan 5, which will be a dark humor volume, probably for 2007.

Likewise, Vandermeer is cleaning house (well, when you have 250,000 books, you do gotta move 'em around a bit) so he's offering some great stuff, including Leviathan 2 and The Troika. Check it out here.

Labels: books, reviews

The Shortest Internet Quiz Evah

I kid you not.

Anyway, obviously, I have tons of work to do (2 articles, 1 story, 1 printing job) but I can't get my head wrapped around the idea yet.

So, in lieu of intelligents posts, here is the usual internet quiz:

Your Blogging Type is Spontaneous and Shocking

Nothing is off limits for you when it comes to blogging. In fact, your blogging style is basically "Shock and Awe." You're competitive - you strive to be an A list blogger. And with your wild writing style, you just might make it.

Eh? WTF? "Shock and awe"? Where did that come from? And what does that mean that I'm an anime girl?

(Thanks mysfit!)

An Experiment in Economic Reality

(In the spirit of l'esprit escalier...)

Hmmm. So that's how the Google ads look like.

Does that mean I've sold out? Gone commercial? But then again, I've always been a hack. *wink-wink*

Anyway, thanks to Jonas for the link on how-to and what-to on GoogleAds.

*goes back to tinkering*

What Me, Relaxed?

Because rei asked, I must needs answer.

What specifically do I do to unwind? That reminds me of a poster I once saw-- I forgot the picture-- that had the words, "I can't relax, it's the stress that keeps me together!" Most apt.

Unfortunately, I think that's why I can't fill out the required five answers for each of the questions.

What are the things you enjoy, even when no one around you wants to go out and play?

• Reading - Of course. I collect books so obviously, I gotta read them sometime. That's why I usually have 2-4 books (with one more hidden somewhere) burning on my reading list at any given time. I read at home (when I have time), in the car (when I'm driving and stuck in traffic), in coffee shops and restaurants (when I'm by myself), at other people's houses (when it's polite). However, one place I usually don't read is in the bathroom. I don't know-- maybe it's a question of multi-tasking?
• Driving - I admit I must be a little crazy in wanting to drive despite the incredible traffic in the metro. But I'd rather be the one in the driver's seat when going anywhere rather than sitting in the back seat and letting someone else drive. Is it control issues? Probably not. Rather like something for my hands and feet to do and akin to tapping your fingers on the table when listening to some imaginary music.
• Walking - If it's not hot or polluted, I like to walk around and see the sights. Or even if it's just going from one place to another. The mere mobility and motion in the face of traffic and despite the crowds is an empowering thing. As someone once said, I walk through crowds like I was racing at a Grand Prix. (That, or maybe I'm just a cheap bastard.)

What lowers your stress/blood pressure/anxiety level?

• Book-questing - I find going on book searches relaxing. There's actually something almost zen in scanning the book bins and book shelves of shops looking for one or two gems amidst the thousands of titles before you, like you're balanced between the knife-edge of hope and pragmatism. Of course, in the balance you find your tranquility.
• Cleaning my stuff - Whether it's my room or my car or my bookshelves or even my desktop computer at home/work, there's a definite anxiety-release button pressed when I clear stuff that's accumulated over the past few months. Call it catharsis in response to all the things you have to do but don't have time to do it.
• Smoking - Okay, I know this won't sit nicely with some people. But I can't help it. Whether it's taking a break from work or on long drives or even before/after a meal, I take a stick of yosi and light up. Sometimes I just want to think, sometimes it's just to get my breath back. One thing I can't do without though when I smoke is having something tasty to drink, whether it's coffee, soft-drinks or juice. Ironically, I don't like the taste of cigarettes.

Ehrm, I can't think of anything else.

For tagging purposes, I elect: Dean, who juggle roles (writer, businessman, husband, father) like a man enraptured with Life-- or maybe he is; JP, who seems more like a cat than me in terms of being laidback; gelay, who bounces around blogs and does e-zines in her spare time; jenn see, who trawls the sea for interesting fishes for your benefit; Dodo, who was last seen blade-running in Shanghai; and...

... you, who might be interested to answer.

Life is waiting.

The Law of the Few

Interesting book this, The Tipping Point by Malcolm Gladwell.

I know, I know... reading a popular book because everyone's reading it (and late at that too!). Still, I'm a few chapters in-- specifically with the reputed Law of the Few-- and it got me thinking of how the different people of that law (Connectors, Mavens and Salesmen) could be applied to speculative fiction, the internet, and online journals. After all, a lot of thought and efforts have been applied to trying to spread speculative fiction like a virus.

Anyway, bear with me on this, alright?

With regard to connectors, that would be easy: Tor books editors Patrick and Teresa Nielsen-Hayden would be two, what with the number of people who visit their site. I also thought of writer Neil Gaiman, whose recommendation can cause a dent on the internet registers.

With regard to mavens, this was slightly harder: who are people who collect information? My first thought was the critics. For example, there's the subversive Gabe Chouinard, who always raises the flag of good speculative literature. Likewise, there's Matt Cheney, with his well-thought posts on literature and genre. There is also the critic John Clute with his biting criticism and eloquent recommendations in his review columns at Science Fiction Weekly.

For the last category, this was the hardest of them all. Who are the salesmen of speculative fiction? Maybe writer Jeff Vandermeer, whose works and recommendations are always well-received by fans and readers alike? Or... this one needs more thought.

I know some of these ideas can be mixed and matched. For example, I thought that Gabe could also be a salesman. However, his sales pitch sometimes rub some people the wrong way. Ditto with Clute with his rather deep prose. On the other hand, Gaiman would make a good salesman due to his massive fan-base.

Ah, me. The things I think of while working with a 30-minute internet limit. Blame the internet cafe I'm sitting in right now.

And speaking of recommendations, Gladwell's book came to my attention via Mark. Grazi!

Anyway, wala lang.

Last Gaiman Post

The Zenned-Out Cat Speaks: Well, some tidbits I got a kick out of gathered from Neil Gaiman's journal.

When a Brazilian asked what the comparison was between them and Filipinos during his Philippines visit, Neil said:

I'm glad you're not offended, for I love Brazil, and I love the Brazilians, and what I was trying to say was that until I got to the Philippines, the Brazilians were the most enthusiastic audiences I've encountered...

So what I was trying to get across was that in terms of enthusiasm and sheer volume, the Filipinos pulled into the number one spot, forcing Brazil (which previously occupied the World's Most Enthusiastic Country spot in my head) to number two. It's perfectly possible that the next time I go back to Brazil it will reclaim its title.

Us, enthusiastic? Oh definitely. We gather for anything with enthusiasm. Look at our current political situation: we're enthusiastically trying to get a president to resign. Now that's enthusiasm!

Second, on questions on his nom du plume:

Some Frequently Asked Questions from the Philippines that I'm going to answer in haste.1) The assumed name that Fully Booked registered me at the hotel under was...Mister Punch.

Heh. Shouldn't have been surprised by that. If local stalkers/fans were quick enough, hotel phones would be ringing from Quezon City to Makati City with queries like "Do you have Mr. Punch in your hotel?" Surreality, meet my tenuous grip on reality.

To quote Neil, "Identity can be so gelatinous sometimes".

Third, on local tastes:

PS. I think I'm now addicted to calamansi juice.

I think calamansi translate to lime though I'm not sure. It's the same plant family as the lemon though definitely better tasting than lemon IMHO. 'Twas my favorite drink when I was a kid, when I would slice up 12-15 pieces to make a big pitcher of juice. Of course, I also tossed in 6 tablespoons of sugar to sweeten the deal.

And no, I'm still not a geek. Jim once mentioned that though he wasn't able to check out the Gaiman signings, he did get Whilce Portacio's autograph the first time he came here. That's nice, I thought.

See? It's not the comic-book geekery that impresses me, it's the writer's geekery. There's a whole lot of difference there...

--o0o--

And just to move out of Gaiman territory altogether, fantasist Jeff Vandermeer says there is 'heaven on earth' and snaps a picture of it:

As bookseller Joe Gordon sez about it:

...a book shop the way book shops are supposed to be, crammed with as many books as it possibly can be. None of this chain store mentality of arranging things just so according to retail psychologist's notions. A book shop that looks like the kind of book shops where real readers go to happily explore the stacks and rumamge around, pause to leaf through books in musty corners and don't think about 3 for 3 offers of the week...

Rushing to Wait While in Line for the Gaiman Signing, part 2

No, really. I'm not a geek.

So why was I at the 3rd-day of the Neil Gaiman signing at Gateway Mall in Cubao? And on a work-day, for crissakes?!?

Well, falseprophetess and I talked about giving it one more try. After all, what's so hard about coming in early Monday morning, get a slot, and then coming back afternoon for the signing, yes?

Yeah, right.

First of all, coming from my office in Manila, I came in around 10 a.m. to find out that, while I had been waiting for the mall to open, a long, long line had already started at the entrance nearest the Fully-Booked store where the signing was to be held. Crap. Fortunately, out of the 150 slots, I got the 141th slot.

As falseprophetess couldn't make it that morning, I was on my own as I waited for my slot confirmation. Unfortunately, the event handlers decided to give the confirmation around 12:30 lunchtime so I waited for more than two hours. And all that time, I was bored out of my mind thinking: I seriously hope this is worth it.

It was a mixed crowd there: people who had snuck out of work to grab a slot, students playing hooky, geeks with esoteric comic books (Gaiman wrote an issue of Friends of the Green Lantern Brigade? WTF?), giddy anorexic girls, budding photogs, etc. What was funny was this girl in front of me whose boss had made her come in early (6:30 a.m.) to the office only to send her to line up for him. Heh, priceless.

Finally, I got my slot confirmation-- instead of 141, I got 146 and almost got cut out in the process. Having a few hours to kill before 3 p.m. (the signing was around 4 p.m.), I decided to go back to office and do a little work--15 minutes worth, to be exact. Then it was back to Cubao for me.

When I got there, the Gateway 150 had already lined up as per their number. However, an eye-popping 300 and more had lined up behind us (a line stretching three levels down) in hopes that they would be also allowed to get an autograph. Wow. I didn't envy the Fully-Booked shop volunteers their job in trying to get the crowds to line up properly. Good thing some of them looked like bouncers. (Well, falseprophetess said they were.)

So. A whole lot more of waiting. Bored to tears as I was, I was almost glad whenever someone would ask me where the end of the line was. Maybe they approached me because I didn't look so weird? After the 3rd time, I was thinking of charging as an information desk:

"See that escalator? Go down and just follow the line. Nope, unfortunately the management gave a limited number of 150 slots for the signing this morning."

*ding-dong*

"This is a book-signing. For who? The author Neil Gaiman. Who is he? Er-- he's a writer from abroad."

*ding-dong*

"If you want two or more books signed, you need to have a book pass which they aren't giving out anymore. And you can only have one book signed if you don't have a pass."

Good thing also I managed to cadge a book pass from someone as I had a couple of items for signing: my Books of Magic together with falseprophetess' Sandman: A Game of You.

(No, that's not me. But at least I was close enough to use my camera phone.)

Finally, by 7 p.m., we reached The Man himself. The shop volunteers gave directions on what we were going to do, where to go, offered to take our cameras for taking pictures, yadda-yadda. Once I got to Gaiman, in true faerie style, I asked a request and offered a gift while he was signing my stuff.

Gaiman: "Er, what's your request?"

Me: "Well, I want to take a picture of you." (Brandishes my camera phone.)

Gaiman: (Smiles nicely) "Okay though you got to hurry up because they're a lot of people behind."

Me: (Fumbles badly at my phone and mutters in a panic) Shit, shit, shit...!

Finally, the deed was done.

Me: (Just as I was being hurried away) "And here's my gift."

Gaiman: (Smiles again upon seeing the offered small native wooden mask) "Oh, that's great. It's local."

I think he liked it anyway.

And that was my experience in meeting the Dream King. Now I'm off to do voodoo with The Man's picture. After all, I paid well for it with the mask.

*cue Twilight Zone music*

(For accounts of the Writer's Forum sponsored by the British Council that Monday afternoon, check out micketymoc and Jonas Diego. For a transcription of Gaiman's talk, check out charles tan's blog.)

Rushing to Wait While in Line for the Gaiman Signing, part 1

(With the barest reference to the Primitive Radio Gods' song: "Standing Outside A Broken Phone Booth With Money In My Hand"...)

Okay, after a busy Friday afternoon (you know I'm having it bad when I consider a heavy news day as more posts to the newsflash section-- our site ain't a blog, for crissakes!), I figured that it would be nice to check out Neil Gaiman's 3-day signing this past weekend.

After all, it's not everyday a popular comic-book writer and author comes to the Philippines, right? But when and where?

There were three signings: "The Gathering" on July 9 at the Rockwell Tent in Makati City (the opening of the event), July 10 at the Promenade Mall in Greenhills, San Juan City, and July 11 at the Gateway Mall in Cubao, Quezon City. There was also the Writer's Forum sponsored by the British Council at the Music Museum in Greenhils on July 11 but that was by-invitation only and therefore out of the question.

Falseprophetess and I talked about which event to go to and by dint of sheer logic, we decided to go to the Promenade signing. Sunday lunch-time, [identity-protected] and I, as well as her sister and falseprophetess, headed down to Greenhills to be confronted with... a large crowd standing under the hot noon sun. Ugh.

Unfortunately, signing slots had already run out by that time and we had no chance of getting our books autographed. Instead, when Neil arrived for the signing, [identity-protected]'s sister and I decided to brave the crowds in front of the Fully-Booked Store to take pictures!

Heh. So this is probably how a press conference feels like: elbows being thrown, a lot of jostling and nudging, cameras flashing. At least since Greenhills is a upper/middle-class mall, the sweaty crowd smells good. Hee.

On the other hand, I only had an old Pentax silver camera-- no digital fang-dangled gadget for me!-- so whenever I had to take a shot, I would raise the camera, point in what I thought was the right direction, and click. Obviously, I still don't know if the shots came out right or if I was just taking some guy's bald spot-- until I get the film developed anyway.

Gaiman was a nice guy: he did a reading of an excerpt from his newest work, Anansi Boys, answered a few questions, and then proceeded inside the shop to do the signing. For us unlucky enough not to be included, we hung out a bit at the Delifrance across the event where we joked about writers and rockstars.

Some questions/ statements that cropped up include:

"Dude, we love your band!"

"Where are the groupies?"

"Maybe we can throw underwear his (Gaiman's) way?"

"I knew I forgot to bring my We luv u Neil! sign."

"I wonder if we can steal his jacket?"

"Let's try to figure out where he's billeted and kidnap him!"

For other accounts of the Greenhills event, check out: falseprophetess, curmudgeonly comic book artist Gerry Alanguilan, and a very giddy stellar.

For an account of the 1st-day of signing, check out official Gaiman-stalker (hey! they said it!) and volunteer to the 3-day event, anansi. Pau talks about how he was there but really, he wasn't. Azrael, who had a hand in setting up the event, talks about mugging with the Dream King.

(Thanks to Mark for some of the links!)

Trying Hard not to Geek Out

Apparently over 3000 people turned up to see me, although only 700 tickets guaranteeing you a signature were given out (and had all gone well before lunchtime). (Which I still don't quite understand as I was told it would be limited to 500. But there you go.) It began late, due to overrunning tv interviews, followed by Printer Hell, when I couldn't get something to print out on the hotel printer, so I had to read it on stage from the laptop -- which left me feeling I'd made the right choice in getting a laptop that weighs about 2lb. So the event began a little after 4:00pm. A short ANANSI BOYS reading, a short Q&A, and then I signed...

I stayed till everyone still there in the tent was done -- I finished signing for the last people in line, all of us more than somewhat shellshocked, around 1:25 am.

Figure this, the biggest number of people he's drawn for his signing has been 2,000 and we beat that. Amazing, eh?

More details to follow...

Cat on the Shrink's Couch

Interesting column by the always-excellent Matt Cheney at Strange Horizons. I thought it pegged the rather book-shaped hole in my head:

We collect to fill holes. I have surrounded myself with books partly for pragmatic reasons—I do read them, or at least a lot of them—but also because acquiring books allows me to give concrete form to certain aspects of my personality. When the days grow solitary, I don't need to feel lonely, because I can read the words of thousands of people. When the world becomes bewildering and life slips into shades of meaninglessness, I can rescue myself with other worlds and ideas. When I grow tired of my own words, there are always millions of somebody else's waiting within arm's reach.

Of course, collecting is seldom a solitary act, and collectors of various things need to create networks of knowledge and trading, communities of obsession, cliques and cabals. Yet the collector is solitary, because a collection is controlled by that one person, the person who has built and shaped it, the person who wields power over it. Collecting is about control of what is in and what is out of the collection. Regardless of whether the collection is of priceless art or of rocks picked up off the street, it is for the collector a type of art in and of itself, because a collection selects from the infinite items of existence and filters them through the collector's sense of their value and connection. Culture becomes refracted through the collector's own values, and the collection is itself a new cultural product.

Collecting, then, is a way to feel a certain sense of power and control in a society where it's easy to feel powerless and out of control. It's a better kind of control than comes from simple acquisition, the getting of stuff, because collecting is a more ordered activity, the collector discriminating, possessing knowledge rather than blind desire.

I know what he means. I normally don't like having company when I go book-hunting because it's distracting to talk to someone while searching the bookshelves or book bins. Unless company is also searching the shelves with me. *wry grin*

As for collecting, well, it does have a tendency to totter between discriminate and outright buying. Forum-ite Shevyk put it harshly for those who can't stop:

We are a diseased people. Or perhaps just troubled. But diseased we are. Upon entering bookstores, we are overcome with an unceasing desire to purchase a book - at least one - before we exit the store.

Quite apt. So unless it's a book I really, really, really got to have, I try to forgo. ("Forgo"- the new watchword for '05. *sigh*) At last glance, some books on a bookstore shelf that caught my eye include Boris Akunin, Iain M. Banks, Peter Straub and James H. Schmitz. But no, I've way too many books already. Enough is enough.

Is it akin to chronic shopping? Maybe. I know sometimes that I have a need to check out a bookstore because I'm melancholic, the way some people do when buying shoes or bags or clothes. But it's a very thin line to cross, whether I'm appeasing myself through the effort of the search or the actual finding and buying a book.

Cheney noted in conclusion:

Where and how does it all end up, though? Is a collector ever satiated? Perhaps the quest is not about items, but about posterity, or even immortality—we accumulate our collections, sifting and sorting them so that should we, by some catastrophe, disappear from the Earth tomorrow, the connections between every item in the collection would be in a perfect state, harmonizing and vibrating in just the right way so as to express our personality better than we did ourselves.

But he also admits this is a wistful fantasy of sorts. Ultimately, I thought it was Zoran Zivkovic, in a short story in Leviathan 3, who warned of such dangers while collecting:

...And it is a well-known fact that books devour space. You can't reverse this law. However much space you give them, it's never enough. First, they occupy the walls. Then they continue to spread wherever they can gain a foothold. Only ceilings are spared the invasion. New books keep arriving, and you can't bear to get rid of a single old one. And so, slowly and imperceptibly, the volumes crowd out everything before them. Like glaciers.

Well, hopefully not.

The Monster Show

Nasty looking thing, eh? Fence, mark and dinesh mentioned this:

Scientists have created eerie zombie dogs, reanimating the canines after several hours of clinical death in attempts to develop suspended animation for humans.

This picture, plus media's spin of 'zombie dogs' into the subject of cryogenics, is giving me willies. Specifically, I'm having images of 28 Days Later flashing through my head as zombie dogs break out of scientific labs. But can you really blame me? I was particularly traumatized by zombie movies when, while watching a betamax tape of Felix the Cat when I was a kid, that show's end quickly segued into the middle section of George Romero's Dawn of the Dead.

Good thing I remembered seeing a blog post--how come I forget where these come from?-- describing the best way to combat zombie dogs is to use robot cats.

And speaking of forgetting where I pick these things up, here's another article on something strange (edited to add: now I remember):

A mysterious column of water vapor that shot a kilometer (3,300 feet) into the sky from the Pacific Ocean near Iwo Jima was likely caused by an underwater volcanic eruption, and ships should avoid the area, Japanese officials have said.

Hmmm. Godzilla, anyone?

And don't get me started on that highly-publicized Deep Impact NASA project!

Heh. Welcome to my world. Wala lang.

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Edited to add: Hah! I finally found out where I got this idea of zombie dogs battling robot cats. See Brokentype's informative post and the magnificent robot cat Necoro that will save us all from the coming apocalypse unleashed by the running zombie dogs of war.

*cue music*

Love and Friendship

Was reading Luna's post about her problems with having male-friends and was sorely reminded of that conversation in the movie, When Harry met Sally.

Remember that? When Harry (Billy Crystal) was lecturing Sally (Meg Ryan) about how men can't be friends with women? (Taken from here.)

Sally: How do you know?

Harry: Because no man can be friends with a woman that he finds attractive. He always wants to have sex with her.

Sally: So, you're saying that a man can be friends with a woman he finds unattractive?

Harry: No. You pretty much want to nail 'em too.

Sally: What if THEY don't want to have sex with YOU?

Harry: Doesn't matter because the sex thing is already out there so the friendship is ultimately doomed and that is the end of the story.

Personally, when I was younger (a long, long time ago!), I thought the same thing except that instead of SEX, I thought it was LOVE that was a problem. Of course now that I'm older (and hopefully wiser), I know it's a lot more complicated than that.

But I suppose that's the usual problem for male-female friendship-- until they get around to introducing their significant others and they can freely admit they can get along with each other.

As one beerkada comic strip by Lyndon Gregorio aptly puts it:

To translate--

Cell phone rings:

Andrea (Glen's girlfriend): Hello Teddy Bear? Chomp chomp chomp! I can't wait to bite you after school! Hee hee hee.

Boopey (Glen's female friend): Andrea? Is this you?

Andrea: WHAT? WHO'S THIS PROSTITUTE? WHY IS GLEN'S PHONE WITH YOU? I KEEL YOU! GLEN IS MINE!

Boopey: This is Boopey. This is my phone.

Andrea: Ate Boopey? Ooops. Sorry, I pressed the wrong number. Tee hee. How are you and Kuya Glen?

Mind, a lot of the gut humor is lost in translation. The declaration, Sinong pok-pok ito?, comes off more effective than "Who's this prostitute?"

*Sigh*

City of Heroes (part 3)

Interesting enough, why is there a preconception against reading comic books?

I ask this question as a reader of speculative fiction who knows that there are the same preconceptions against books I read. Is it the same? I don't know. Maybe? Is it because people think that reading comic books is for kids? Worse, for the females, is it because people think reading comic books is for boys only?

Of course, looking at the past two comic books I've reviewed, these can be described as boys' "reading material." You have the the men and women in skin-tight and colorful costumes, sometimes masked, most of the times not. You have these characters battling it out for one thing or another: sometimes for good and sometimes for material gain; most of the time it's for reasons as varied as normal people have in deciding what milk they're gonna get at the store.

On the other hand, Brian Michael Bendis' EisnerAward-winning Powers is pure police procedural: it looks at superheroes from the side of a regular police force. If you're a regular Joe Cop and you have a dead super-guy on your hands, what the hell are you gonna do? The CSI can't determine what killed the super-guy because their equipment isn't strong enough to dissect the guy's super-skin. The super-guy has more super-enemies than he can shake a stick at. Heck of a question, right?

Likewise, J. Michael Straczynski's Rising Stars posits the creation of the 'Pederson Specials', a group of children who came in conception at the moment a comet hit the outskirts of Pederson town. This, of course, resulted in a group of super-powered kids that grew up to become the world's first super-heroes. And like everything, the world starts to revere them... and fear them.

In terms of story, both series are alright except for one or two hitches. At first glance, Bendis' work seems like a one-note affair: police investigating homicide cases involving superheroes. Bendis makes this work by adding a noir, almost pulpish-feel to the series (think Sin City but less graphic and more cartoonish).

In Straczynski's case, his series is almost a science-fiction work: how would the normal world react to an "alien"? "Alien" in this case being the super-being. Of course, unlike a science-fiction story with alien beings, Straczynski's "aliens" have very human characteristics. In this case, these beings are terrified of the world's fear and act accordingly: they hide, they fight, they beg for mercy, and they act treacherous.

And, compared to the first two books reviewed, these latter two books are more focused on characters. Whereas there's more violence and flash in Moore and Ellis' works, the super-battles seemed to be more toned down in Bendis' and Straczynski's series.

So in completion, I suppose the latter works can be recommended to non-comic books readers as these can be likened to a detective and a science-fiction work respectively. Of course, such genres are also "boys' stories" in pulpish terms. And this still doesn't address in how to get people to read what believers have called as sequential art or grafiction (a term which Dean also favors).

Ah well, I'm done...