Reading Resolution Update: April

My 2022 reading resolution: Read or DNF every novel that has won a Hugo or a Nebula award, and acquire all the good ones.

In 2007, when I was a sophomore in college, I went up to Salt Lake City with some friends and was browsing the awesome (and fairly run down, even at the time) used bookstore near the Gallivan Plaza TRAX stop, which has since changed names and moved to another location. It was a really awesome used bookstore, and I determined to buy a SF novel while I was there, since I was really getting back into SF after my mission. I saw a massive 600+ page trade paperback edition of Cyteen by C.J. Cherryh, and since I was reading Downbelow Station at the time, I decided to get that one.

For the next fifteen years, I lugged that book everywhere, through more than a dozen moves (though for the biggest move, where I made the pioneer trek in the wrong direction and repented 8 months later, I boxed it up with my other books and left it in a friend’s basement). In all that time, I never actually read it—or even opened it up, really—but it was always there, somewhere in the middle of my dismally long TBR list.

It wasn’t that I didn’t want to read it: I just didn’t have (or make) the time. Downbelow Station had been an okay read, if not spectacular, but I had really enjoyed some of C.J. Cherryh’s shorter books, like Merchanter’s Luck and Voyager in Night. Also, space opera books about sprawling galactic empires were right up my wheelhouse, so it didn’t seem odd for me to own such a book that I hadn’t yet read. In fact, most of the books that I owned throughout this time were books that I wanted to read but hadn’t gotten around to yet. If I have a superpower, it’s an uncanny ability to acquire books no matter where I am. Unfortunately, I’m not as good at reading them.

Fast forward to 2022. I’ve gotten married, had a daughter, launched my own writing career, and become a homeowner—and I’m still lugging this massive 600+ page trade paperback book that I’ve never read. But I’ve just set a resolution to read (or DNF) every Hugo and Nebula award-winning novel, and Cyteen is on the list. So around the middle of March, I finally open it up and start reading it.

After about a month, I decided to DNF it.

It’s not that it was terrible. Perhaps you enjoyed it, and that’s fine. I just found it to be too drawn out and confusing. I think C.J. Cherryh does better when she’s focusing on just a few characters, rather than trying to give the grand sweep of galactic civilization or whatever. I didn’t finish Foreigner for similar reasons. Maybe someday I’ll return to that one and Cyteen, but for now, I’m counting it as a DNF.

But the thing is, I was hauling around this massive book for most of my adult life. When I bought it in 2007, I figured that since it had won a Hugo, it had to be good. Perhaps, if I’d read it back then, I would have been more patient with it and slogged through to the end. Perhaps I would have decided it was just as good as Downbelow Station. Or perhaps, if I read Downbelow Station today, I would end up DNFing it as well.

The point is, I wish I’d been a lot more discerning about my reading when I was younger, and not just acquired books that I hoped to read “someday”… because books (at least the paper ones) are heavy and take up a lot of space. And a lot of them really aren’t worth reading. Of course, you’ve got to read a few stinkers to figure out what you really like, so it isn’t always a waste… but libraries exist for a reason.

So what this experience really tells me is that Mrs. Vasicek and I are doing the right thing by taking our family to our local library once a week. Also, it tells me that the second part of my resolution—to actually acquire all of the books that I think were worth reading—is just as important as actually reading them. Because, if the ultimate goal is to “seek… out of the best books words of wisdom,” then it’s not enough to just make a list: you actually have to read the damned things, and keep your own personal library in order to revisit those words and share them with others. Because ultimately, you have to discover which books are the “best books” on your own, and your best books list isn’t going to be the same as anyone else’s best books list. Which means that you can’t rely on anyone else’s list. You can use it as a starting point to make your own list, but that’s all you should use it for.

So now I want to go through all of the books I’ve acquired over the years and figure out which ones I ought to get rid of, because Cyteen certainly wasn’t the only one. In fact, most of the books in our family library are books that I haven’t (yet) read. By my count, there are just under 150 of them, totalling about 55k words. Even at a rate of 100 words or two hours of reading each day, that’s still going to take almost two years… and that’s not counting all the library books that we’re sure to check out in the meantime.

Oh well. I suppose this is more of a process than anything else. Journey before destination, and all that. And I’m sure I’ll have fun in the process, since despite the fact that I DNF far more books than I actually read, I do genuinely enjoy reading.

In any case, here are all of the Hugo and Nebula award-winning books that I read (or DNFed) in the month of April:

Books that I read and plan to or have already acquired:

  • Rainbows End by Vernor Vinge (2007 Hugo)
  • Blackout by Connie Willis (2011 Hugo and Nebula) (audio)

Books that I read and do not plan to acquire:

  • Blackout by Connie Willis (2011 Hugo and Nebula) (print)

Books that I did not finish:

  • A Time of Changes by Robert Silverberg (1972 Nebula)
  • The Gods Themselves by Isaac Asimov (1973 Hugo and Nebula)
  • The Fountains of Paradise by Arthur C. Clarke (1980 Hugo and Nebula)
  • The Claw of the Conciliator by Gene Wolfe (1982 Nebula)
  • Cyteen by C.J. Cherryh (1989 Hugo)
  • Tehanu by Ursula K. Le Guin (1991 Nebula)
  • The Diamond Age by Neal Stephenson (1996 Hugo)
  • The Moon and the Sun by Vonda N. McIntyre (1998 Nebula)
  • Parable of the Talents by Octavia E. Butler (2000 Nebula)
  • 2312 by Kim Stanley Robinson (2013 Nebula)
  • Beyond This Horizon by Robert A. Heinlein (1943 Retro Hugo, awarded in 2018)
  • The Nemesis from Terra by Leigh Brackett (1945 Retro Hugo, awarded in 2020)

Total books remaining: 26 out of 110 (currently reading 12 and listening to 3).

Thinking about getting back on Twitter

So now that the world’s richest African-American—who has done more to save the world from the evil sun monster than everyone at COP 25 put together—has now bought Twitter and promised to bring back free speech to the platform, I am seriously considering whether I ought to make a new Twitter account and become active on social media again.

I deleted my Twitter account back in 2016, before the elections, and blogged about it (in less than 140 characters, of course) by saying “life is better without it.” And that’s true. Life is so much better without a Twitter addiction, and that’s the one thing that makes me reticent to get back on the platform.

There is no doubt that our current incarnation of Twitter, before the Elon Musk takeover, is a toxic dumpster fire of outrage and stupidity. But it is also the public square. Life without social media is a lot healthier in a lot of ways, but it does turn you into something of a hermit as far as the internet goes.

The thing is, I’m not very optimistic about Musk’s makeover of Twitter doing much to change the toxicity of the platform, because I think that toxicity has less to do with politics (though that certainly is a factor) and more to do with the dangers of social media addiction itself. In other words, I think our toxic politics is a symptom of social media toxicity, not a cause. The first half of The Social Dilemma really got this right, though the second half was mostly just bad propaganda about the threat of “misinformation” to “our democracy.”

So before I get back on Twitter again, I need to come up with some personal rules in order to keep it from becoming addictive, unhealthy, or toxic to my author brand. Back in 2010, Douglas Rushkoff came up with a sort of ten commandments for digital media, and that seems like a good place to start. His ten commandments are:

  1. Do not be always on
  2. Live in person
  3. You may always choose none of the above
  4. You are never completely right
  5. One size does not fit all
  6. Be yourself
  7. Do not sell your friends
  8. Tell the truth
  9. Share, don’t steal
  10. Program or be programmed

I probably ought to reread the book where he explains all of these commandments. It’s a quick read, with some good theory and a lot of practical wisdom. It is over a decade old, though, so I’m sure there’s a lot of stuff we’ve learned since then. Some of these rules probably don’t go far enough, while other may go too far.

In any case, I’m not going to get back onto Twitter until I have a plan, because the last thing I want is to get addicted to all of the toxic outrage and watch as my career (and possibly life) implodes because of it.

What personal rules do you follow when using social media?

A reading hack for the ADHD-addled brain

I’ve got a mild case of ADHD. As a kid, I took ritalin from grade 3 through about grade 8, and as an adult, I occasionally self-medicate with caffeine (usually in the form of soft drinks, since I don’t drink coffee or tea). I can function all right without treating it, but I am more prone to getting distracted when I don’t. But leaving it untreated also makes it easier for me to make interesting connections between seemingly unrelated subjects, which improves my creativity, so it’s more of a trade-off between being more productive vs. being able to make leaps of logic and switch between subjects more easily.

In terms of reading, ADHD makes it very difficult for me to finish long books, unless I’m hooked all of the way through, which is rare. I’ll often start books but drift away from them without either finishing them or making the conscious decision not to finish them. Over time, this makes me less enthusiastic about reading, since I’ve got a huge pile of unfinished books behind me that I can’t easily get back into, because I’ve forgotten what was happening in them.

Well, I recently found a new reading technique (or rather, a new reading accountability technique) that helps me to hack my ADHD to read more, not less. It starts with keeping a reading log on a separate spreadsheet, with columns to track total pages, pages already read, and the date to finish reading, among other things.

Most importantly, it has a column for “cumulative daily pages,” which is just the sum of all the pages you have left to read up to a certain date, divided by the number of days left. In the spreadsheet above, the formula is “=(SUM(C$3:C[current row]-SUM(D$3:D[current row]))/G[current row]”.

What the cumulative daily pages tells you is how many pages you have to read each day, not just of the given book, but of all the books before it, in order to finish that book by the given date. So in the screenshot above, if I want to finish Sundiver by May 28th, I need to read 93 pages per day across any of the books listed above it. I can read all 93 of those pages in Sundiver and still stay on goal, or I can read 93 pages of Cyteen instead, or I can spread them out by reading 7-8 pages of each of the 14 books with a “due” date before May 28th. Or any other combination.

Changing the “due” date also changes the cumulative daily pages, so I can also bring that number down by extending the deadline and reordering the books in descending order by “due” date. I’ve also color coded the pertinent columns using conditional formatting, but that’s just for personal convenience. The redder a number is, the more I need to bring it down (or up, in the case of percent read). For daily cumulative pages, I like to keep the half-dozen books with the soonest “due” date pretty low, so that I don’t have to focus on them exclusively.

And that’s where the ADHD hack comes in. Because instead of trying to read just one book from start to finish, the reading log allows me to skip from book to book without losing track of which ones I still have to read. That way, when one book begins to feel like a slog, I read to the end of the chapter and skip to the next book. My ADHD-addled brain says “Oh look! Something new!” and I get excited about reading again. And I don’t fall into the trap of feeling like I’m not making any progress, because I can see it all there on the spreadsheet.

Of course, the big danger is that when I think back on what I’ve read, I’ll remember an epic tale about how rabbits colonized Mars and uplifted dolphins while the dark lord raised the cauldronborn and killed vampires for the government. In space. But hey, at least I’m reading lots of books now!

Reading Resolution Update: March

My 2022 reading resolution: Read or DNF every novel that has won a Hugo or a Nebula award, and acquire all the good ones.

So March is usually the time where people get tired of their new year’s resolutions and either give them up entirely or put them on the back burner for a while. But at this point, I’m a little more than halfway through achieving this one, so I will definitely keep pressing on since I don’t think it will take the whole year to accomplish it. In fact, I may actually expand it to include all of the short stories, novellas, and novelettes. I’ve already filled out the spreadsheet (with a huge thanks to the Internet Speculative Fiction Database, which also lists all of the collections and anthologies where each story can be found).

With that said, my enthusiasm for reading all of these books is starting to flag, and I’m not pushing on as vigorously as I did back in January. There have been a lot of DNFs… a lot of DNFs. But now, I’m starting to get to the books that aren’t obvious DNFs, which is frustrating, because when you get more than halfway through a 600 page book before you realize it isn’t worth finishing, that really does take the fun out of reading, at least in the short term.

But it has been very eye-opening to see what kinds of books tend to win Hugos and Nebulas. I’ve noticed some interesting patterns that have given me real insight into the people who vote in these awards, which consists of the old guard in fandom for the Hugos, and members of SFWA (mostly professional authors) for the Nebulas.

One book in particular I found really eye-opening in this regard, and that was They’d Rather Be Right by Mark Clifton and Frank Riley. Mark Clifton was a science fiction short story writer who was fairly prolific, but died tragically about ten years after They’d Rather Be Right came out in 1955. Frank Riley was a newspaper man who dabbled a little bit in mystery short stories but only ever co-wrote this one novel.

They’d Rather Be Right is a notoriously difficult book to get your hands on. An abridged version with the title The Forever Machine is on sale on Amazon somewhere north of $100, and neither version was available at either my local library or the Harold B. Lee Library at BYU, and that’s unusual because the HBLL’s science fiction and fantasy collection is one of the best in the country. I eventually bought a used version of They’d Rather Be Right on Amazon from a third-party seller for $10: it was an old library copy from a small town in Arizona, and I think the seller was the actual library.

In reading about this book, I discovered that it’s been widely panned as the “worst book to win a Hugo.” However, after reading it, I can definitely say it is not the worst book. It’s not the best book either, but it is far from the worst, and I enjoyed it enough to put it on the “books worth keeping” list. So why is it considered the worst Hugo-winning book, and why has it been forgotten so thoroughly?

My working theory is that They’d Rather Be Right isn’t actually bad, it’s just heretical. Science fiction has always skewed toward the political left, and this book thoroughly ridicules some deeply held left-wing beliefs of its day. For example, it goes out of its way to ridicule scientists as a class, and makes it seem ludicrous that they have any business deciding on how the rest of society should be governed. It also pokes fun at some of Sigmund Freud’s ideas, which is notable because so many of the Hugo and Nebula winning novels of the 60s and 70s are so thoroughly Freudian.

So what happened, I believe, is that after the Hugos became a regular feature of Worldcon (They’d Rather Be Right was only the 2nd novel to ever win a Hugo), the influencers and kingmakers within fandom decided that this one won on a fluke, and did everything they could to suppress it. And perhaps it really was a fluke, since the Hugo Awards weren’t yet established, and Worldcon itself was only a little more than a decade old.

Because here’s the thing: the Hugos and the Nebulas have always been radically left-wing. Science fiction in general has always leaned hard to the left, and those of us who consider ourselves right-wingers have always been a despised minority to most of the rest of fandom. That didn’t start in the 50s either: if anything, it started with the Futurians, as Donald Wollheim himself (founder of DAW Books) said that science fiction “should actively work for the realization of the scientific world-state as the only genuine justification for their activities and existence.” The Futurians were the ones who founded both Worldcon and SFWA, as well as several other establishment institutions in the SF&F field.

But I think it started before the Futurians, because it makes a lot of sense that science fiction would attract left-wingers more than it would right-wingers. Left-wingers are the kind of people who think that traditions should be thrown out and new ideas should be implemented, whereas right-wingers are the kind of people who think that new ideas should be treated cautiously, and traditions should be upheld.

There’s a cycle that happens about every 50 to 100 years, and it goes like this: someone comes up with a Beautiful Idea that almost everyone on the left becomes enamored of. They pore over this idea, ponder it, debate it amongst themselves, and spill copious amounts of ink over it, mostly in the form of academic discourses and thesis papers.

Gradually, this idea matures into a General Theory, and the left constructs a whole worldview around it. But at this point, it starts to come into conflict with reality—not in a catastrophic way at first, but definitely in a way that causes some uncomfortable cognitive dissonance. But because the Beautiful Idea was so beautiful, none of the theory’s proponents really want to give it up, so they start to build a bulwark of apologia to explain the theory’s inconsistencies and contradictions.

After a while, though, that isn’t enough, and reality begins to intrude in ways that simply cannot be ignored. At this point, the General Theory morphs into an Ugly Ideology, possessing all of its followers and driving them into incredible pathologies. Groupthink and doublespeak become de rigueur, and hypocrisy infects everyone. Values like diversity, curiosity, open inquiry, freedom of speech, and intellectual honesty are all thrown out, as nothing is more important than promoting the ideology. Right and wrong cease to matter as well: the only thing that matters is power.

Eventually, reality intrudes in such a way that the entire edifice comes crumbling down, completely discrediting the Beautiful Idea and everyone who ever believed in it. But if the Ugly Ideology persists for too long, it culminates in a reign of terror, with guillotines, gas chambers, firing squads, holocausts, and genocides.

Fortunately, there are people who drop out at every stage of this cycle: “That’s a Beautiful Idea, but it’s still flawed.” “I like the General Theory, but I don’t think it explains everything.” “I am a true believer in this Ugly Ideology, but I’m not going to pull the trigger on those people.” And if enough people drop out, the pendulum swings back, the left goes into retreat, and culture and politics swing back to the right again… until someone discovers (or rediscovers) a Beautiful Idea.

In the 60s and 70s, the left was in the early stages of the Ugly Ideology phase of this cycle. Not surprisingly, the science fiction of that time was pretty terrible. Then the Reagan era happened, the Soviet Union collapsed, the Cold War ended, and left was thrown on the back foot for a generation. During this time (the 80s and 90s), the award-winning science fiction was actually pretty good.

But that was also the time when the ideas that underpin critical race theory began to take root—the “Beatiful Ideas” that gave us, among other things, Defund the Police, the George Floyd riots, the epidemic of smash-and-grab robberies, and the ongoing collapse of leftist-run cities like Chicago and San Francisco. In science fiction, this culminated in the sad and rabid puppies, at which point the Hugos and Nebulas became total garbage again, because the left-leaning fandom had become so ideologically possessed.

So anyways, that’s my take on it. I really did enjoy They’d Rather Be Right, and not just for the insights into fandom. In any case, here are all of the other Hugo and Nebula winning books I read or DNFed in March:

Books that I read and plan to or have already acquired:

  • They’d Rather Be Right by Mark Clifton and Frank Riley (1955 Hugo)

Books that I read and don’t plan to acquire:

  • The City & The City by China Mieville (2010 Hugo)

Books that I did not finish:

  • Stranger in a Strange Land by Robert A. Heinlein (1962 Hugo)
  • To Your Scattered Bodies Go by Philip Jose Farmer (1972 Hugo)
  • Where Late the Sweet Birds Sang by Kate Wilhelm (1977 Hugo)
  • The Snow Queen by Joan D. Vinge (1981 Hugo)
  • The Yiddish Policeman’s Union by Michael Chabon (2008 Hugo and Nebula)

Reading Resolution Update: February

My 2022 reading resolution: Read or DNF every novel that has won a Hugo or a Nebula award, and acquire all the good ones.

I didn’t read nearly as many books in February as I did in January. Part of that might have been enthusiasm for the resolution waning a bit, but a good chunk of it was due to the fact that my grandmother passed away, and we took off a week for the funeral. Also, potty training completely upended our daily routine. I also went ahead and finished Jeff VanderMeer’s Southern Reach Trilogy, after reading Annihilation, so that took off a lot of reading time that otherwise would have gone toward this goal.

But I’m not too worried about it, since I’m already well past the halfway point and should be able to finish before the end of the year. In fact, I went ahead and made a similar spreadsheet of all the short stories, novelettes, and novellas that won a Hugo/Nebula, and may move on to those after I finish the novels. It’s going to be a lot more challenging to hunt down all of those titles, though, so I might just move on to the Dragon Awards instead.

In any case, here are all the Hugo/Nebula award-winning novels that I read or DNFed in February:

Books that I read and plan to / have already acquired:

  • The Three Body Problem by Cixin Liu and Ken Liu, trans. (2015 Hugo)

Books that I read and don’t plan to acquire:

  • Conjure Wife by Fritz Leiber (1944 Retro Hugo, awarded in 2019)

Books that I did not finish:

  • This Immortal by Roger Zelazny (1966 Hugo)
  • Babel-17 by Samuel R. Delany (1967 Nebula)
  • The Healer’s War by Elizabeth Ann Scarborough (1990 Nebula)
  • Stations of the Tide by Michael Swanwick (1992 Nebula)
  • Slan by A.E. Van Vogt (1941 Retro Hugo, awarded in 2016)

Thoughts after reading the Southern Reach Trilogy by Jeff VanderMeer

So I recently finished reading the Southern Reach Trilogy by Jeff VanderMeer, and I have a lot of thoughts on it. I’ll do my best to avoid major spoilers, but I’ll probably end up spoiling some of it, so I’ll mark those parts as best as I can.

Overall, I can say that it started out strong, but ended rather mixed. I really enjoyed the first book, with its creeping sense of escalating paranoia that kept me glued to the page right to the end. This book won the Nebula Award in 2014, which was how I discovered it, and I was pleasantly surprised to find a Hugo/Nebula award-winning book from the past decade that I actually enjoyed.

The second book had some good moments, but overall I felt that it suffered from second-book slump. Which is understandable. It did a decent job of setting things up for the third book, but it lacked that sense of creeping, paranoid danger that really drew me into the first book—or rather, the danger was dialed down to the point where it just felt creepy instead of gripping or suspenseful.

Also, even though it explained a lot more than the first book, I don’t feel like it explained enough. This is probably because the book is clearly written to be deconstructed using the kind of literary theories that English majors spend most of their time in college learning about. There’s a lot of vague symbolism and recurring motifs, which makes for some very obtuse reading. The quality of the writing somewhat makes up for that, but if the first book hadn’t captured my imagination so much, it definitely would have felt like a slog.

And then, the third book. In some ways, I really enjoyed it. In other ways, I feel like it suffered from all the same problems as the second book, with a frustrating number of loose ends. But if any more loose ends had been tied up, it probably would have felt a bit like the ending to Lost. Which makes me wonder if behind all the pretty writing and other literary tricks, there isn’t a whole lot of substance behind any of the books in this trilogy.

But the thing that really got to me was the trope where a character is LGBTQ for no other discernible reason than to make him sympathetic—as if all LGBTQ people are sympathetic or virtuous by default. [Minor Spoiler] This particular character is also the only Christian in the trilogy, which makes me wonder if VanderMeer believes that being a Christian automatically makes you villanous by default—especially given the eerie strangling fruit sermon in the first book. [/Minor Spoiler] I see this trope fairly often, especially in modern science fiction and fantasy, and it’s super frustrating because of how it ties in with all of the other grooming and gaslighting that comes along with the religion of woke. At least if it was preachy, there would be some sort of message to ponder and digest, hamfisted as it might be.

But the saddest thing is that I can’t tell if VanderMeer fell back on this trope because he actually believes it, or because he knows that his audience (which seems to be rich, woke English majors drowning in student debt) requires it. In other words, is he merely responding to his audience, or is he leading them? Probably some of both, with a little bit of “I’m a straight, white male, so I have to prove that I’m not a white supremacist” thrown in.

Don’t get me wrong. There was a lot about this trilogy that I liked, and literary deconstruction aside, it’s clear that VanderMeer can write. But after finishing the trilogy, I don’t think I’ll be picking this one up. Unfortunately.

Unpublishing The End of Elysium

This is actually one of my favorite short stories that I’ve ever written. For a while, I was thinking about expanding it into a novel, but while the story has a 4.2 rating on Amazon, I don’t think it hit on with the readers well enough to justify that sort of an investment. Maybe at some point down the road.

In any case, I think the time has come to take it down. It will appear in my next short story collection, Beyond World’s End, which is scheduled to come out in a few months. If you want to read this story before then, now is the time to pick it up.

From the description:

For the promise of paradise, the last civilization will surrender to the apocalypse.

Elysium was a world without without pain or suffering, hunger or disease, poverty or crime. So naturally, it was a world that was already dead.

Gehenna was a dead world, poisoned by the Great Catastrophe that had driven their ancestors into the underground vault. Few knew or cared what lay beyond the ancient airlocks. The bleak and windowless tunnels of Gehenna held nothing to the shared simulation of Elysium.

Gehenna still had a Watchman who searched diligently for the promised land. But would the people of Elysium give up their truth in order to have a future? Or is cultural suicide a price worth paying for paradisiacal bliss?