I started reading Celia Lake’s books just after she started publishing them, so a few years ago now. All of them are set in Albion: a society in the UK that functions parallel to regular society, because Albion citizens have magical abilities. Her books almost always combine romance, mystery, and historical fiction; Lake does a spectacular amount of research for each one (the weather on particular nights in World War 2; exact fashions in 1910…). They’ve been set from the late nineteenth century until (most recently) just post-WW2; she promises that stories set in the 1400s are also on the way (one day…). One of the things that fascinates me about Albion is the way that lives are, for most people, quite ordinary; magic helps with chores but doesn’t make doing them unnecessary. So when Lake sent me this essay about how she thinks about the place of magic in her society, I was very pleased, and it’s also made me think further about existing assistive technology in our world. (I can highly recommend all of her books; email me if you want a specific recommendation!)

There is a substantial amount of European medieval history in my literary DNA. I have read a very large number of King Arthur works, from Mary Stewart to Lavie Tidhar; I even did a subject on the Celtic origins of his mythology. So literary knights are something I’m familiar with. I’ve read my share of actual history involving knights, too, and unsurprisingly Joan of Arc has often come up. So when Joyce Chng offered me this essay, based on her Masters thesis - about the medieval representation of literary lady knights and how that affected representations of Joan of Arc - I was immediately intrigued. It’s quite different from the other essays that have appeared on Speculative Insight so far, its connections to modern fantasy perhaps more tangential. And yet Chng’s point at the start of their essay - that lady knights, or warriors, continue to appear in modern fantasy - absolutely make this an important issue. From the older (Joanna Russ, Tamora Pierce) to the newer (Ellen Kushner, Emily Tesh) (and where does George RR Martin fit) - how women are portrayed in this still-coded-masculine arena is deserving of investigation. Chng’s points are an excellent way to do that.

This month’s essay is not just about Star Trek.

Although I have held Star Wars closer to my heart for most of my life, I have never believed in that (largely imaginary) rivalry between it and Star Trek. For various reasons I never fell into The Next Generation, DS9, or Enterprise, but many years ago I set myself the challenge to watch all of the movies in order, and that was a largely enjoyable (if occasionally baffling) experience.

When Discovery started, I decided to finally get properly excited about Star Trek. And it was worth it - I love Michael, I love Georgiou, I love most of the cast and much of the story. I’m not saying there are no issues - of course there are - but it has been worth being excited about. Then there was lockdown… and I watched the entirety of Voyager in just a couple of months. No regrets.

Next was Picard - I followed Liz Barr’s advice about which episodes of TNG to watch beforehand, so I was up on the Borg - and Strange New Worlds; there’s Lower Decks and Prodigy, both of which I adore. Despite my recent viewing, though, I would not classify myself as a Serious Fan: I’m not engaging in the detailed discussions in whatever forum about all the minutiae, because I’m simply choosing not to. Liz Barr, though, is doing so. And she has a lot to say about Star Trek fans: their self-perception and their blindness, particularly in relation to their attitudes towards diversity.

This essay has a lot to say to all of us about acceptance, community, and how we treat each other. Inside and outside of any fandom.

When Octavia Cade first proposed this topic to me - what happens to economic predators in a post-capitalist society? - I was intrigued. I’ve watched my share of Star Trek, and read my share of utopian literature (which is not automatically post-capitalist), and done my share of fuming against capitalist strictures. But I hadn’t ever given thought to the question of what happens after capitalism to those people who have exploited it to the hilt, or who would if they could. Are they only a product of their society, and therefore not going to be a problem when the conditions don’t exist? Or will there always be people looking to take advantage, have more, and be generally exploitative? (I know what my answer to that question is.)

And so, Cade’s essay: it ranges from how humans treat polar bears to a novel and novella that confront human predators. It’s provocative and challenging, and I hope it gets you thinking.

I have been a fan of Sir Terry Pratchett’s Discworld novels for a very long time now, as have many millions of readers around the world. It always delights me to find the new and interesting and subversive things that he is accomplishing in his work: I never cease to be amused by the band names in Soul Music, and the Vietnam War-movie references in Monstrous Regiment (plus just the title and historical references of the entire book) make me giddy with joy.

Tansy Rayner Roberts’ essays on Pratchett’s Women were another revelation when, several years ago, she published them over a series of months. When I mentioned this journal to her, and she almost off-handedly mentioned her notes for a series of essays on Pratchett’s Men, I absolutely made grabby hands. I think I managed to say “gimme” in a more professional manner, but it was a close-run thing. And so, today’s essay is the first in a series from Tansy, looking at how Pratchett portrays some of his men, and how they relate to the women in the books. We start with a witches book…

I don’t mind a fairy tale, but even more than the traditional ones (a dubious and slippery term in itself), I love the re-imaginings and fracturings and reversals that have been published over the last few decades. Ellen Datlow and Terri Windling’s Troll’s Eye View, from 2009, with tales from the “villain’s” perspective - and 30 years before that Angela Carter’s The Bloody Chamber - and then there’s the sublime Sourdough and Other Stories, and all of its later connected parts by Angela Slatter, whose stories feel like they should be familiar but they’re not.

Today’s subscriber essay looks at what a fairy tale is, some of their history, and a suggestion for why humans still tell them.

The question of what bits of the ‘real’ world to take into science fiction, and whether or how to make them the same or different, is a fascinating one. Personally, I hate coffee, so when I see people drinking it and complaining about it in space (looking at you, Jim Holden), I can’t relate. Tea, though - that’s something I drink. And so when Breq, in Ancillary Justice, talks about it being a fundamental drink for her people: that’s familiar but also not. And the history of tea, of course, is inherently tied to the history of tea. And so in today’s essay, Kemi Ashing-Giwa looks at both of those things, and how she brought both tea and empire into space in her debut novel, The Splinter in the Sky. If you’re somewhere cold right now, read it with a cup of tea! … not me though: it’s going to be over 30C here today.

Martha Wells’ Murderbot series is one of my favourite new series of books from the last few years. I love everything about them: I love Murderbot, and how breathtakingly relatable it is while resolutely refusing to be human; I love the relationship between Murderbot and ART; I love the intricate development of the in-world shows that Murderbot would prefer to spend all of its time watching, rather than having to deal with humans (urgh; also, relatable). I don’t love the universe it’s set in, because “the Corporation Rim” is a deeply unpleasant place and also all too believable - but I do love the way Wells deftly captures what it’s like, and how some on the edges might refuse to participate.

All of which is to say our first subscriber essay, from Joanne Anderton, is an absolute delight for me, because Anderton looks at Murderbot and its emotions over the whole seven-book (so far?!) arc, and what that tells us about ourselves as well as about Murderbot. As someone who rewatches and rereads their favourites a lot (I just finished Ann Beckie’s Ancillary Justice for the 8th time), and who enjoys binging tv, this absolutely hit home.

And if you haven’t yet read Murderbot, don’t worry! I think you’ll still get a lot out of the essay… not least the desire to go read the books… .

Our first essay is now live: Cheryl Morgan’s “What is Fantasy, Anyway?”. It’s an essay I enjoyed the first time I read it, and that I still enjoy when I read it for the nth time.

In many ways, it’s exactly the sort of essay I intend Speculative Insight to champion: it’s thoroughly grounded in research, and it’s accessible to a general audience; it challenges and provokes, and does so thoughtfully; and it gave me a few books I really need to follow up (Kim Newman’s Anno Dracula in particular).

I hope you’ll get as much out of it as I did.

The ‘life is a journey’ metaphor is hackneyed, and yet - here I am, using it.

This is an exciting new thing for me. Starting something completely new, getting other people on board, figuring out all of the minutiae…. there is an unavoidable overtone of ‘preparing to step out the door’.

This journal will provide a place for exploring the ideas and themes that stand behind, inform, and develop out of, speculative fiction - the science fiction, fantasy, space opera, slipstream, magical realism, mythological retellings, and other genres that have a wonderfully rich history, are key to understanding and exploring our society today and into the future, and which I have loved since I first learned to read.

… click to read more