Women in SF&F Month: A.K. Larkwood
Apr
15
2020

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Today’s guest is fantasy author A.K. Larkwood! The Unspoken Name, her fantastic debut novel released earlier this year, primarily follows an orc woman serving the extraordinarily powerful (and power-hungry) mage who saved her from being sacrificed to a god. It has a wonderful narrative voice that captivated me immediately, world-hopping, a lovely f/f romance, and a highly entertaining dynamic between the main protagonist and one of the mage’s other servants—who often have to work together but hate having to work together!

The Unspoken Name by A. K. Larkwood Book Cover

So, why did you decide to write a non-human protagonist? Why do you love monsters so much?

I’ve been asked these questions pretty often since The Unspoken Name was published. I have a range of flippant answers, including “hey, I just love weird stuff”. And that’s basically true — I’ve always had a bit of a fixation with whatever is monstrous, villainous, bizarre.

But I wanted to think about it more seriously. For me, the whole point of fantasy is to look at our reality from another angle. I’m interested in the idea that there could be a way of experiencing the world that is far from “human”, that it might be possible to make a fantasy world which moves beyond the idea of humanity as normative.

A lot of classic speculative literature contains humanity within a very specific closed field and whatever lies outside that margin is monstrous by definition — gross, ugly, villainous, abnormal. Queer people, people of colour, disabled and mentally ill people have been treated especially badly by the genre, because so much of what we are interested in in fantasy and science fiction is strangeness.

A few years ago I read a lot of short stories by Clark Ashton Smith. There is a lot to enjoy — vividly weird imagery and concepts — and a lot of the dreary background sexism and racism you’d expect from the era. What interested me was how many of the stories, including probably his best, ‘The City of the Singing Flame’, follow the same pattern: Rational Man (of course white, probably straight) discovers an irrational space, a pocket of bizarrity and horror hidden behind the normal world. He is repelled by it, but also seduced. He loses himself there for a while, then tries to leave, to reassert normality. But whatever he does, strangeness continues to call to him. It has entered into his soul.

In story after story you see this fascination with what is other than normative, manifesting as horror and repulsion — peering over the walls just to reinforce them. Openness to the strange, to outside influences, is shown to be corrosive to the self.

I am interested in the kind of science fiction and fantasy which offers an alternative approach, where charting and transgressing the boundaries of normality is a kind of liberation.

Jeff Vandermeer’s Annihilation explores a very similar narrative arc — the protagonist is a scientist who enters a Weird Place, and loses herself there — but with a delightful subversion of established values — what is humanity? What is inside and what is out? It’s a horror novel but the protagonist’s alienation and dissolution of self are also sources of profound joy and serenity.

To take another example, Hope Mirrlees’ Lud-in-the-Mist is a very early fantasy novel, dealing with a town on the borders of Fairyland. The townspeople struggle desperately to prevent the incursion of subversive fairy influences into their tidy, orderly society, but ultimately there’s nothing they can do, and the book culminates with a joyous merging of the two worlds:

First of all came the sounds of wild sweet music, then the tramp of a myriad feet, and then, like hosts of leaves blown on the wind, the invading army came pouring into the town. The accounts of what took place read more like legends than history. It would seem that the trees broke into leaf and the masts of all the ships in the bay into blossom; that day and night the cocks crowed without ceasing; that violets and anemones sprang up through the snow in the streets, and that mothers embraced their dead sons, and maids their sweethearts drowned at sea.

When my wife and I got married a few years ago, this was one of our wedding readings. I like the idea that opening up to strangeness and accepting it into yourself might let you overcome death itself.

The genre continues to move on from the tiresome prejudices of the early 20th century. Our understanding of what it is to be human continues to expand, as it should — as a queer woman I’m glad to be considered a human being. And of course we continue to need books in which marginalised people are normal, in which our concerns are treated as universal. There is an embracing warmth in seeing your experience treated as central to what it is to be human.

But I’m still interested in those margins. I’m interested in what it feels like to inhabit strangeness, in what lies outside our understanding.

You may now read my book and wish my protagonist was more alien. Her culture, the Oshaaru, is one among many and not especially marginalised. Csorwe’s outsider status is down to her personal history more than her cultural background. Ultimately, though, I wanted to write a fantasy world where humans were not the baseline, because I’m bored of seeing baseline humanity meaning a very specific thing.

Also, tusks are cool.

A. K. Larkwood Photo
Photo Credit: Vicki Bailey, VHB Photography		 A.K. LARKWOOD studied English at St John’s College, Cambridge, and now lives in Oxford with her wife and a cat. The Unspoken Name is her debut. You can find her online at www.aklarkwood.com and on Twitter as @AKLarkwood.
Women in SF&F Month: Isabel Ibañez
Apr
14
2020

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Today’s guest is author and illustrator Isabel Ibañez! Woven in Moonlight, her YA fantasy debut novel, involves a revolution and magical weaving in a world inspired by Bolivian history, politics, and culture. It was just released earlier this year—with a gorgeous cover that she designed and created!

Woven in Moonlight by Isabel Ibañez Book Cover

When I sat down to write Woven in Moonlight, I knew, from the beginning, three things: this story would be about a revolution, and second, it would include plot points inspired by real events in the political landscape of Bolivia, and third, the main character was going to be a woman.

I’m a voracious reader of young adult fantasy and have read dozens of stories featuring incredible female characters. I loved this new trend of badass warrior girls who wielded swords and bows and arrows, who are resourceful and brave and displayed courage against seemingly insurmountable foes. These stories are incredibly important because it hasn’t been common—until recently—to read about females carrying the war on their backs and stepping in as the hero of the tale.

And yet there were moments that made me squirm. If I were a character in any of these worlds, I’d die in the first chapter. If I were in The Hunger Games, my face would appear in the sky after the first round. In these stories, many of the main characters were praised and believed in because of their literal tenacity and know-how around weapons. I still think it’s a wonderful thing—because again, readers need to see these characters as not just the damsel to be rescued or the prize to be won, but as the one capable of saving the people they care about.

But I did start to worry that we left behind other depictions of strength in storytelling. Courage and the will to survive can manifest itself in many different ways, not only in the hands of someone who can literally drop someone to the ground with a well-placed kick. It is Penelope, Odysseus’s wife, who uses her creativity and art to keep the wolves at bay. I’ve always loved that Greek myth, and I kept it close while writing Woven in Moonlight.

I am a weaver, a trait that’s celebrated and widely taught in Bolivia. While bringing Ximena to life, I wanted her to possess an artistic passion while also the knowledge on how to defend herself. I wanted her to carry both a tough and soft side. And I wanted her to win the revolution with the help of her art, and her sword, because sometimes, a girl needs both.

I’ll never tire of reading about warrior female characters, not ever, but I also do want to read about heroines who display their strength off the battlefield, those who use their art to finagle a win, or their wit to counter arguments. For a long time, authors were advised to avoid writing a “Mary Sue” character, someone who is well versed in many things. I wonder if that’s why we’ve seen so many heroines who are skilled in fighting but aren’t allowed other talents. While I understand the advice (characters can’t be perfect after all), I can’t help feeling how misguided it is—after all, people are often multitalented. You’ve met them. An athlete who plays the piano, a baker who speaks three languages, an artist who can also sing. Just because someone is good at multiple things, doesn’t mean they are perfect beings, and they can still be written about.

The world needs characters, especially female ones, who can be several things at once, and not just a fighter.

Isabel Ibañez Photo Isabel Ibañez was born in Boca Raton, Florida and is the proud daughter of two Bolivian immigrants. A true word nerd, she received her degree in creative writing and has been a Pitch Wars mentor for three years. Isabel is an avid movie goer and loves hosting family and friends around the dinner table. She currently lives in Winter Park, Florida with her husband, their adorable dog, and a serious collection of books. Say hi on social media at @IsabelWriter09.
Women in SF&F Month: Emily Suvada
Apr
13
2020

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Today’s guest is science fiction author Emily Suvada! This Mortal Coil, her debut novel and the first book in a STEM-focused thriller trilogy of the same name, won the Oregon Spirit Book Award and was a finalist for the Aurealis Award for Best Young Adult Novel, the Waterstones Children’s Book Prize, and the Readings Young Adult Book Prize. It was followed by This Cruel Design, and the series was completed with the release of This Vicious Cure earlier this year.

This Mortal Coil by Emily Suvada Book Cover This Cruel Design by Emily Suvada Book Cover This Vicious Cure by Emily Suvada Book Cover

On Heroes, Horror, and Hope

My background is in theoretical astrophysics, which is just as much fun to say as you might expect. That background, and my love of science, has fueled the stories I write, so when I was asked to contribute a post for this series a month ago, I planned to write an article about women in STEM. A month ago, I was reading about advances in genetics. I was watching my baby wrestle and kiss his friends, and meeting fellow writers for coffee. A month ago, the coronavirus pandemic was in its early days, with only a few US cases, and the danger seemed so very far away.

Today, my family is under stay-at-home orders in Oregon, and the article I’d drafted feels awkward and strange. Everything feels strange, right now. A global pandemic is killing people, dividing nations, and spreading chaos into every facet of our lives. My life feels worryingly close to the dystopian science fiction books I have written—books in which a young hacker races to release the vaccine to a horrifying plague which, in the absence of a cure, has driven humanity into airlocked bunkers. Far too close for comfort.

Through my writing research, I knew what to expect: panic, misinformation, and hoarding. I knew that the poorest and oldest people would be among those most at risk. I knew to brace myself for months of horrendous, error-laden data analysis used to gain pageviews. And yet, despite the parallels, one element of our current predicament has surprised me: the hijacking of hope.

I am, by nature, an optimist. While the virus we’re facing is terrifying, I have a deep faith in the endless ingenuity, generosity, and perseverance of people. I believe that we’ll solve and overcome whatever problems we’re faced with. This comes through in my fiction: while my characters might endure horrors, their guiding light is the hope that there is a better world ahead, and that we can work together to reach it. That light, while present in the coronavirus pandemic, has seemed frustratingly dim.

Some people I’ve spoken to have admitted they’re struggling to picture a hopeful future. Many feel sure we’ll spend over a year in quarantine and devastate our society. They worry their children will lose years of critical socialization periods, and that their family will fall prey to the virus itself. On the other side, I’ve seen people blatantly disregarding social distancing rules, shrugging off the threat of the virus with “if I die, I die, whatever.” That kind of numb, senseless attitude is even more worrying than the fear.

And through it all, I sometimes feel like the only genuinely optimistic voices I hear are the blustering, populist world leaders and their pundits spouting ridiculous claims about the economy being unharmed, or this virus disappearing overnight. Their baseless arguments, and their mishandling of this pandemic, have dramatically worsened the outbreak.

And therein lies the problem.

What happens when the loudest voices of optimism are false? What happens when hope comes in the form of wilful ignorance? From what I see in the news and my social feeds, the answer is that optimism itself becomes suspect. Hope is seen as dangerous or ignorant. For those of us railing against populist governments, it almost feels like optimism is the mark of a traitor.

This isn’t something I ever considered in my writing. Every science fiction rebellion, every character’s arc, every turn of three-act structure in the stories we tell is founded on the unshakeable bedrock of hope. I never predicted that it could be co-opted like this. Hope has been weaponized and turned into partisan echolalia. But while it’s true we need to ensure that we never lose sight of the seriousness, and the danger of the crisis we are faced with, it’s absolutely critical that we don’t turn away from hope.

Like the characters in my books, and in every YA dystopian book in existence, when we’re let down by our leaders we must turn to each other for support. The world we will inherit after this virus won’t be defined by our government—it will be defined by us, the people, and the ways we’re acting now. If our leaders don’t offer science or data, we must seek out trustworthy sources and amplify it ourselves—there are good people doing incredible work. We must ask what other countries have done that’s working, and make those strategies part of the conversation here—there are countries winning this war. We must search for creative strategies to protect one another in communal spaces, and to bridge the growing cracks of inequality that this virus is causing. While we practice social distancing, we must practice social attachment, too.

We’re being told that our only power is in powerlessness, that our only course of action is inaction, but this isn’t true, and we must desperately search for ways we can fight: making masks, shopping for the elderly, supporting small businesses, donating blood, and amplifying bright stars of hope as they blink on throughout our feeds. New drugs, new strategies, new data. For each other, for the future, and for those who are breaking under the strain, we must wrestle optimism back from our governments and make it our own. We must rage against this virus and the pain it’s causing, and lift each other up when we feel the slip of despair. We’re not helpless, and we’re not powerless, no matter what our leaders would have us believe. We are an unstoppable force of creativity, of genius and compassion, and we owe it to the world and to ourselves to fight desperately for hope.

The alternative isn’t something I can bear—not as a lover of science, not as a writer, and most certainly not as a mother. In the immortal words of Jyn Erso: Rebellions are built on hope. We can’t yield our brilliant minds and burning hearts to the crushing drudgery of doom. Now, more than ever, we need stories, fictional and real, that are filled with strength, with community, with love and generosity, and most of all, with hope.

Emily Suvada Photo
Photo Credit: Britt Q Hoover		 Emily Suvada is the award-winning author of the Mortal Coil trilogy, a science fiction thriller series for young adults. Emily was born and raised in Australia, where she went on to study mathematics and astrophysics. She previously worked as a data scientist, and still spends hours writing algorithms to perform tasks which would only take minutes to complete on her own. When not writing, she can be found hiking, cycling, and conducting chemistry experiments in her kitchen. She currently lives in Portland, OR, with her husband and son.
Women in SF&F Month 2020: April 13–17 Schedule & Week in Review
Apr
12
2020

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Women in SF&F Month 2020 is now underway—thank you so much to all of last week’s guests!

Before announcing next week’s schedule, here’s some information on the month so far in case you missed any of last week’s guest posts.

All of the guest posts from April 2020 can be found here, and in last week’s guest posts:

And the recommendation list project has been updated and opened for new recommendations! In 2013, Renay from Lady Business asked readers to submit some of their favorite science fiction and fantasy books written by women and we’ve been collecting submissions every year since. After updating it to include last year’s submissions, the list now includes 2,710 titles, many of which have been recommended multiple times. (There’s one book that’s been recommended 58 times!) It’s also possible to add more books to the list: you can add up to 10 of your favorites (or, if you’ve already done that, 10 of your favorites read over the last year).

Next week, Women in SF&F Month 2020 continues with guest posts by:

Women in SF&F Month 2020 Schedule Graphic

April 13: Emily Suvada (This Mortal Coil, This Cruel Design, This Vicious Cure)
April 14: Isabel Ibañez (Woven in Moonlight)
April 15: A. K. Larkwood (The Unspoken Name)
April 16: Devin Madson (We Ride the Storm, In Shadows We Fall)
April 17: Katharine Kerr (The Deverry Cycle, Nola O’Grady, The Runemaster)

Women in SF&F Month: Jennifer Estep
Apr
10
2020

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Today’s guest is New York Times and USA Today bestselling fantasy author Jennifer Estep! She’s the author of the urban fantasy series Elemental Assassin, the young adult urban fantasy series Mythos Academy and Black Blade, and the paranormal romance series Bigtime (featuring superheroes/villains!). Crown of Shards, her epic fantasy trilogy beginning with Kill the Queen, was recently completed with the release of Crush the King last month.

Kill the Queen by Jennifer Estep Book Cover Protect the Prince by Jennifer Estep Book Cover Crush the King by Jennifer Estep Book Cover

Greetings! Thanks to Kristen for asking me to guest blog. I appreciate it. 🙂

Over the years, dozens and dozens of people have asked me why I write books. Of course I love books, reading, writing, and storytelling, but I especially love the fantasy genre. Assassins, gladiators, superheroes, mythological creatures. I’ve written about all those and more.

Why do I love fantasy so much? Because of all the possibilities. As a writer, you can come up with any kind of magic, spells, myths, creatures, weapons, and more that you want. The possibilities are literally endless in the fantasy genre.

I also think that many of the books, movies, and TV shows that we love as kids influence our writing as adults. For example, one of my favorite TV shows as a kid was The A-Team, which is probably one of the reasons why I love writing action/fight scenes so much. I also loved the Wonder Woman TV show with Lynda Carter, which is probably why I like superheroes so much.

Some of the first fantasy movies that I ever remember watching are the original Star Wars trilogy. (Even though there are spaceships and droids, I still think that Star Wars is more fantasy than sci-fi). But one thing always bothered me about the original Star Wars trilogy.

Why didn’t Leia ever get to become a Jedi?

Don’t get me wrong. Leia was cool, smart, confident, and kick-butt in her own way. But I always wondered why Leia didn’t go with Luke to confront the emperor in Return of the Jedi. Why didn’t she get her own lightsaber? Why didn’t she use the Force as much as Luke did? Why didn’t she get to help turn Darth Vader back to the light? After all, he was her father too.

I used to imagine that Leia did become a Jedi, that she did go confront the emperor, and that she and Luke defeated the emperor together. Sometimes, I would even imagine myself as a Jedi, wielding a lightsaber and battling the bad guys. (For the record, I loved that Rey got to do all of those things in the new trilogy and that the audience found out that Leia did train as a Jedi with Luke.)

In high school, I read fantasy books by David Eddings, Terry Brooks, and J.R.R. Tolkien, among many, many others. Somewhere along the way, I decided that I wanted to write my own fantasy books and tell the stories that I wanted to tell. Why? Because part of me still wondered why Leia never got to become a Jedi.

So here I am, more than 35 books later. I write in first person, usually from my heroine’s point of view, so a big part of my stories is having female characters who are the heroes and who do get to use swords and wield powerful magic and who do save their friends, families, and kingdoms. And I plan on telling those stories for many years to come.

They might not be Jedis, but my heroines will always be warriors.

What about you all? What are some of your favorite fantasy books, movies, and TV shows? What fantasy stories do you want to tell?

Jennifer Estep Photo Jennifer Estep is a New York Times, USA Today, and international bestselling author prowling the streets of her imagination in search of her next fantasy idea.

Jennifer writes the Crown of Shards epic fantasy series. Crush the King, book #3, was released on March 17.

Jennifer is also the author of the Elemental Assassin, Mythos Academy, Bigtime, and Black Blade fantasy series. She has written more than 35 books, along with numerous novellas and stories.

In her spare time, Jennifer enjoys hanging out with friends and family, doing yoga, and reading fantasy and romance books. She also watches way too much TV and loves all things related to superheroes.

For more information on Jennifer and her books, visit www.jenniferestep.com or follow Jennifer on Facebook, Goodreads, and Twitter. You can also sign up for her newsletter.
Women in SF&F Month: K.S. Villoso
Apr
09
2020

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Today’s guest is K.S. Villoso, author of The Agartes Epilogues series and Blackwood Marauders. The Wolf of Oren-Yaro, the first novel in her epic fantasy trilogy Chronicles of the Bitch Queen, was recently republished by Orbit Books with the next two books in the series following soon—The Ikessar Falcon in September and the new conclusion next year. I’m excited for the rest of this series since The Wolf of Oren-Yaro is exactly the type of book I love to read: a character-driven story with a vivid voice that captured my attention from the very first line and kept me riveted until the very end.

The Wolf of Oren-Yaro by K. S. Villoso Book Cover

Queen Talyien is a badass.

At least, this was the seed from which the entire concept of this series sprouted. She is the first woman I’ve written this way. Before Talyien, many of my women characters were not warrior types. Most were non-assuming, brimming with strength that bubbled beneath the surface as they faced their challenges with quiet resolution. Years later, when I started in the field of engineering, I learned the textbook definition of strength: a material’s ability to withstand load, to carry a burden.

That doesn’t mean that we can’t have the catharsis, the power fantasy that comes with the imagery. I enjoy the genre for much the same reason as many people—I really, really like swords, and fighting with swords, and the romantic notion that evil is something can be destroyed with a few strikes to the jugular. It is the allure of epic fantasy in the backdrop of a chaotic, unpredictable real life—the idea that our struggles aren’t senseless. That it will always lead up to a big, final battle that will save the whole world. And I’m not saying we can’t have that…

But I wanted Talyien to be more than her sword.

She has to be. More than a warrior, she’s also a politician and a mother and a person, and the answer to how to balance all these things—her responsibilities (deserved or not) against her personal desires—doesn’t lie in her ability to wield a blade. Otherwise, would she be any better than the men who laid the path of violence that led to the troubles of her life as it is? Would she be any better than her mass-murdering tyrant of a father? Ripping a body in half can’t solve all of Talyien’s problems, and it certainly can’t feed the poor. For a politician, it is a particularly dangerous road to walk down.

In many ways, I wanted to confront the idea of the male power fantasy with a female power fantasy, which in the current state of things is not at all as simple as cutting down enemies and bloodshed. I wanted to go beyond the woman who should have been a boy and start with a woman who has it all: power, family, purpose, physical ability, wealth, the confidence to chase after what she thinks she wants. Yet the issues unique to many women, even women in her position, remain: still that concern, deep down inside, about your choices, whether you’re a good mother or not or should’ve even been a mother in the first place, and the mistakes you’ve made, how the world judges you for it, but you’re the glue and it’s too much and you’re just one woman but you have to figure things out anyway.

That this physically capable woman is also given to second-guessing, and is sensitive and thoughtful on the inside, is not an accident. She could have ordered her husband killed in the first page, but she doesn’t. Talyien’s innate prudence might just very be her land’s saving grace: that the one person who has every reason to want everything go down in flames might stay her hand. And if she can learn the wisdom to be kind not just to others but also herself, learning to face adversity with true strength, then perhaps she might save her people.

There are, after all, many ways to be a badass.

 

K.S. Villoso Photo
Photo Credit: Mikhail Villoso		 K.S. Villoso writes speculative fiction with a focus on deeply personal themes and character-driven narratives. Much of her work is inspired by her childhood in the slums of Taguig, Philippines. She is now living amidst the forest and mountains with her husband, children, and dogs in Anmore, BC. You can find her at www.ksvilloso.com, Twitter, or Facebook.