Sense of Wonder
This isn't quite a Bittercon since I swiped the topic from ConDor's program list (this weekend in San Diego, and I hope to go down for Saturday and Sunday) but. When I see "Is Sense of Wonder Dead?" I don't want to see potshots taken at current genre books under the header of "Oh, it's all just the same old same old." I guess that could be an interesting discussion for many, but I'm not among them--I think there are new and exciting voices being published just about every day, or are on the verge of being published (I read a bit of something by pxcampbell just yesterday that I can hardly wait to see in print) and many older voices have plenty of good things to say.
I'd rather consider those of us who have been enjoying genre writing for decades. We love the genre, but we've read a lot. So many of the ideas that younger readers find new are familiar to us, and shock for the sake of shock is pretty much a non-starter. Can we still experience sense of wonder? When I was young I thought that sense of wonder was just a fancy name for surprise. As a teacher, I have seen for years how kid readers responded with delight and surprise and wonder at tropes new to them--or at works which I found unreadable, they were so thick with borrowed ideas, characters, conversations, like Eragon. So when students come to me to enthuse about such books, I just say, "Isn't it great? Say, if you like that, give Bruce Coville a try . . . Anne McAffrey . . . maybe you'd like the Star Wars novelizations..." etc. I think that subject has already been covered.
I've come to the conviction that a sense of wonder isn't just surprise. It can also be evoked by a clever or insightful twist on an old trope. I call that intense inner shiver a trapdoor moment, when my expectations are slapped off-balance, and there is the hidden paradigm shift that opens into entirely new possibility. Likewise, when I see a wire light up (character or idea, recognition or new) that hitherto was woven tightly into the matrix without revealing itself. Maybe it is the wire that binds the work together, to extend the image, maybe it's just one of many, but that moment of insight that changes everything catches me right up.
To make a radical shift, anyone who needs three or four minutes of quiet delight, check out this vid that green_knight linked to today. Ordinarily I am not especially fond of animals doing tricks, especially if their eyes are rolling in terror and constraint, their muscles trembling with fear. But this dog is so joyful, so proud of itself and full of love for that human, and the human for the dog, and the music so quietly lovely, I found myself tearing up.
I'd rather consider those of us who have been enjoying genre writing for decades. We love the genre, but we've read a lot. So many of the ideas that younger readers find new are familiar to us, and shock for the sake of shock is pretty much a non-starter. Can we still experience sense of wonder? When I was young I thought that sense of wonder was just a fancy name for surprise. As a teacher, I have seen for years how kid readers responded with delight and surprise and wonder at tropes new to them--or at works which I found unreadable, they were so thick with borrowed ideas, characters, conversations, like Eragon. So when students come to me to enthuse about such books, I just say, "Isn't it great? Say, if you like that, give Bruce Coville a try . . . Anne McAffrey . . . maybe you'd like the Star Wars novelizations..." etc. I think that subject has already been covered.
I've come to the conviction that a sense of wonder isn't just surprise. It can also be evoked by a clever or insightful twist on an old trope. I call that intense inner shiver a trapdoor moment, when my expectations are slapped off-balance, and there is the hidden paradigm shift that opens into entirely new possibility. Likewise, when I see a wire light up (character or idea, recognition or new) that hitherto was woven tightly into the matrix without revealing itself. Maybe it is the wire that binds the work together, to extend the image, maybe it's just one of many, but that moment of insight that changes everything catches me right up.
To make a radical shift, anyone who needs three or four minutes of quiet delight, check out this vid that green_knight linked to today. Ordinarily I am not especially fond of animals doing tricks, especially if their eyes are rolling in terror and constraint, their muscles trembling with fear. But this dog is so joyful, so proud of itself and full of love for that human, and the human for the dog, and the music so quietly lovely, I found myself tearing up.
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