a quixotic mood, and MiniCon
(quixotic is an actual entry in the LJ mood list, btw)
I used to be a windmill tilter. I have loved the image of Don Quixote since our high school drama department put on Man of La Mancha. Oh yea, we read the book in English too. And then there was Joxer on Xena. Loved the armor.
Maybe because I was queer and hiding that fact from myself, the search for the elusive Dulcinea appealed to me. Maybe because I just never quite *fit in*, because I could never just relax and be myself until my 40s, and I felt about as prepared for life as Joxer in his ridiculous gear.
Perhaps it was just the vague sense that something wasn't quite right with the world and needed to change. That someone had to do something.
But I'm not much of a tilter anymore. I have a life. I have children, a wife, a house and pets. I don't feel driven to search for my Dulcinea [a better name than Beatrice, don't you think?] any more. I have tried to do something, several somethings, with odd, not always unsuccessful, outcomes.
How in the world does this relate to MiniCon, you ask? Well gentle reader, I attended a session on Imperialism in fantasy and sci fi novels. The topic of corporations as Empire came up (thankfully). I was struck by the stark honesty of a soldier. I did not protect the American people; I protected the right of corporations like Halliburton to work in Iraq. The lack of bitterness in the African American female voice. We need to take agency; we cannot always blame the other of the corporation. The thoughtful questions from the young man in the red pants, shirt and cowboy hat. The intelligent comments from the overweight gentleman whose raspy voice could barely be heard. The respect that the audience paid to PhD-holding authors and misfits alike.
There are still tilters out there in the world, and I'd forgotten that. We probably won't change anything in our lifetimes. We won't be anything better than amusedly tolerated by the world at large. We probably won't accomplish much more than Joxer or Don Quixote. But perhaps in our oddness, in the strangely discordant note we strike in society, the quiet objections to injustice will be heard occasionally.
Perhaps in our own way, we illuminate the fine distinction between fiction, fantasy and truth.
Through the woodland, through the valley
Comes a horseman wild and free
Tilting at the windmills passing
Who can the brave young horseman be
And there you have it, gentle reader. One more reason why I love fantasy books. Why I believe in magic.