In Which I Cry "Uncle"
Look, I just can't read another two Seanan McGuire stories. Sorry, my brain just won't take it. So I'm going to cut my losses, read one and call it a day.
So "In Sea-Salt Tears" by Seanan McGuire is a doomed romance of the very annoying short. A young selkie (who doesn't have a skin) is in love with the witch who cursed all the selkies. That's because their skins are literally the skins of her Fae children. (Not that anyone lusting for a skin knows this - you only find out when you get one and if you reject it they kill you.) The skins are handed down in families and every young selkie desperately wants one, which creates unpleasant rivalries in the families.
Why do I call this a very annoying romance? It's because the witch gives the selkie an ultimatum not to accept a skin or they are done. What the witch doesn't do is tell the selkie why she shouldn't accept the skin. So while the witch has a valid reason to not want the selkie to accept the skin, the choice she offers boils down to "Why aren't I enough for you?"
And that's an asshole choice to foist on to anyone.
Anyway, this was easily the best of the McGuires/Grants on the ballot. Take that for whatever it's worth.
The Boy Who Cast No Shadow by Thomas Olde Heuvelt. - There is a fairly long tradition of stories about people made from other things - metal (like the Tin Woodsman) or a balloon (like in Pop Art) or here, glass. They are frequently fragile and not able to fully participate in the rigors of life and this acts as a stand-in for other emotional or physical frailties.
This is a doomed romance between two young boys - one who casts no shadow or reflection and one who is made of glass. They go on a road trip and the boy made of glass dies, as you knew he would. The most I can say about this story is that it isn't very memorable - I read it a few weeks ago and it hasn't stayed with me at all.
Fade to White by Cathrynne M. Valente. In general, I'm not much of a fan of Valente's fiction - I frequently find it overwrought and overwritten. "Fade to White" is the sort of story that would have been shocking had it been written in the seventies, back when people still worried about communists and global nuclear war. The story's world is stagnant with the fifties' worst nightmares all turned up to eleven and Father Knows Best-esque setting twisted into a battery henhouse.
These aren't my nightmares.
I guess it's hard for me to feel afraid of the idea of President McCarthy when I've already lived through President George W. Bush and the horrifying rights infringements which are now commonplace. And forced engagements seem tepid compared the war on women which is being waged in the US.
"The Girl Thing Who Went Out for Sushi" by Pat Cadigan is my favorite story on the Hugo ballot in any category.
This story has a rather old school feel - the sensawunda at being in space is palpable throughout and what drives people to become sushi. (Going out for sushi is slang for getting the surgery to become a post-human: crab, octo, nautilus are some of the flavors mentioned in the story.)
What really makes this story is the language - Cadigan throws you in the deep end and makes you swim:
I was coated and I knew Fry’s suit would hold, but featherless bipeds are prone to vertigo when they’re injured. So I blew a bubble big enough for both of us, cocooned her leg, pumped her full of drugs, and called an ambulance. The jellie with the rest of the crew was already on the other side of the Big J. I let them know we’d scrubbed and someone would have to finish the last few eyes in the radian for us. Girl-thing was one hell of a stiff two-stepper, staying just as calm as if we were unwinding end-of-shift. The only thing she seemed to have a little trouble with was the O. Fry picked up consensus orientation faster than any other two-stepper I’d ever worked with, but she’d never done it on drugs. I tried to keep her distracted by telling her all the gossip I knew, and when I ran out, I made shit up.
Then all of a sudden, she said, “Well, Arkae, that’s it for me.”
Her voice was so damned final, I thought she was quitting. And I deflated because I had taken quite a liking to our girl-thing. I said, “Aw, honey, we’ll all miss you out here.”
But she laughed. “No, no, no, I’m not leaving. I’m going out for sushi.
I wish this one was online so everyone could read it.
Edit 25/8/13 Helloooooooo to the person who has recent;y been commenting on my Hugo posts. I haven't been responding because I wasn't sure you'd see the response, but I've been enjoying your comments.
So "In Sea-Salt Tears" by Seanan McGuire is a doomed romance of the very annoying short. A young selkie (who doesn't have a skin) is in love with the witch who cursed all the selkies. That's because their skins are literally the skins of her Fae children. (Not that anyone lusting for a skin knows this - you only find out when you get one and if you reject it they kill you.) The skins are handed down in families and every young selkie desperately wants one, which creates unpleasant rivalries in the families.
Why do I call this a very annoying romance? It's because the witch gives the selkie an ultimatum not to accept a skin or they are done. What the witch doesn't do is tell the selkie why she shouldn't accept the skin. So while the witch has a valid reason to not want the selkie to accept the skin, the choice she offers boils down to "Why aren't I enough for you?"
And that's an asshole choice to foist on to anyone.
Anyway, this was easily the best of the McGuires/Grants on the ballot. Take that for whatever it's worth.
The Boy Who Cast No Shadow by Thomas Olde Heuvelt. - There is a fairly long tradition of stories about people made from other things - metal (like the Tin Woodsman) or a balloon (like in Pop Art) or here, glass. They are frequently fragile and not able to fully participate in the rigors of life and this acts as a stand-in for other emotional or physical frailties.
This is a doomed romance between two young boys - one who casts no shadow or reflection and one who is made of glass. They go on a road trip and the boy made of glass dies, as you knew he would. The most I can say about this story is that it isn't very memorable - I read it a few weeks ago and it hasn't stayed with me at all.
Fade to White by Cathrynne M. Valente. In general, I'm not much of a fan of Valente's fiction - I frequently find it overwrought and overwritten. "Fade to White" is the sort of story that would have been shocking had it been written in the seventies, back when people still worried about communists and global nuclear war. The story's world is stagnant with the fifties' worst nightmares all turned up to eleven and Father Knows Best-esque setting twisted into a battery henhouse.
These aren't my nightmares.
I guess it's hard for me to feel afraid of the idea of President McCarthy when I've already lived through President George W. Bush and the horrifying rights infringements which are now commonplace. And forced engagements seem tepid compared the war on women which is being waged in the US.
"The Girl Thing Who Went Out for Sushi" by Pat Cadigan is my favorite story on the Hugo ballot in any category.
This story has a rather old school feel - the sensawunda at being in space is palpable throughout and what drives people to become sushi. (Going out for sushi is slang for getting the surgery to become a post-human: crab, octo, nautilus are some of the flavors mentioned in the story.)
What really makes this story is the language - Cadigan throws you in the deep end and makes you swim:
I was coated and I knew Fry’s suit would hold, but featherless bipeds are prone to vertigo when they’re injured. So I blew a bubble big enough for both of us, cocooned her leg, pumped her full of drugs, and called an ambulance. The jellie with the rest of the crew was already on the other side of the Big J. I let them know we’d scrubbed and someone would have to finish the last few eyes in the radian for us. Girl-thing was one hell of a stiff two-stepper, staying just as calm as if we were unwinding end-of-shift. The only thing she seemed to have a little trouble with was the O. Fry picked up consensus orientation faster than any other two-stepper I’d ever worked with, but she’d never done it on drugs. I tried to keep her distracted by telling her all the gossip I knew, and when I ran out, I made shit up.
Then all of a sudden, she said, “Well, Arkae, that’s it for me.”
Her voice was so damned final, I thought she was quitting. And I deflated because I had taken quite a liking to our girl-thing. I said, “Aw, honey, we’ll all miss you out here.”
But she laughed. “No, no, no, I’m not leaving. I’m going out for sushi.
I wish this one was online so everyone could read it.
Edit 25/8/13 Helloooooooo to the person who has recent;y been commenting on my Hugo posts. I haven't been responding because I wasn't sure you'd see the response, but I've been enjoying your comments.