Apparently the Dublin Portal was being discussed quite widely when it first opened, in 2024, and I completely missed it. I had no comprehension of such an intriguing bit of public art / exhibition / installation / experiment until Val Nolan proposed an essay exploring how this structure - and people’s experiences of it - might be understood through the lens of fantasy fiction: in particular, the notion of the ‘portal fantasy’ - that trope where someone goes through a door and then they’re somewhere… else. The essay beautifully brings together notions of public and private space, ‘real life’ and fantasy, questions of Irish identity (and perceptions thereof) - it’s a delight, and I hope you enjoy it.
This latest essay from Tansy Rayner Roberts takes us to Lords and Ladies, and mostly what I would say is: poor Magrat. While things do ultimately turn out well for her, I’ve always felt quite sorry for her. This latest essay from Tansy Rayner Roberts is mostly about the men of Lancre (and some visitors), and you can learn a lot about many of those men by looking at how they interact with Magrat. Because neither Granny nor Nanny care much what you think (and who’s going to dare to be rude to Granny?), but Magrat really does.
A Midsummer Night’s Dream has never been my favourite Shakespeare (bah, comedies), but when I first read it, this novel gave me a whole new way of looking at it.
Also Morris dancing.
While I have been aware of the Warhammer 40,000 universe for a long time, it’s not one that I have explored; TTRPGs (table-top role playing games) have never really been my bag. I therefore had no idea that the Warhammer universe also includes books, but I shouldn’t be surprised, especially given that Magic: The Gathering (a game I have played a bit) has an extensive library attached to it. The day after Kyle Tam pitched an essay about Warhammer to me, I walked past a store devoted to the game. I went in and chatted to the folks about the books and this discussion, combined with Tam’s persuasive description of the two characters she wanted to explore, convinced me that such an essay would be interesting not just to devotees of the game but to a broader audience as well. I hope you’ll agree that the end product is indeed fascinating.
Over the last few decades, there has been a concerted effort to improve and increase representation of diverse human experiences in fiction. If you’ve read even somewhat widely, you’ll likely have noticed this yourself. Such an effort is to be lauded - but the fiction landscape still has a way to go to be genuinely reflective of how people across a variety of spectra (race, gender expression, income status) think, feel, and act. Today’s essay looks at one axis - disability representation - through its presentation in one novel. Emilie Morscheck uses that novel (a retelling of Beauty and the Beast) to highlight positive changes in representation, and indicate where there are still changes to be made.
I first read The Lord of the Rings when I was 12 (long, long before the movies came out), and for a few years in my 20s I was One Of Those People who read it every year. It’s safe to say that when I first read it, I was completely ignorant of any sort of politics, both in our world and in Tolkien’s superbly realised Middle-earth. Reading Abby Roberts’ essay on how two of the nations in Middle-earth talk about themselves, and their history, was a reminder of the depth of Tolkien’s world-building, as well as a useful reminder of the power of such myth in our own lived experiences of politics and history and identity (looking at you, Australia, and the way you talk about 1788 and “Australia Day”). Even if you know nothing about The Lord of the Rings, I suspect you will nonetheless still find points that resonate in Roberts’ work.
I am not ashamed to admit that I am a tragic for TV police procedurals. Vera, Midsomer Murders, The Brokenwood Mysteries, Shetland - I love them. I do not, however, tend to go in for written procedurals. I’m not sure why, but they don’t work for me in the same way. Then I came across V.J Knipe’s work analysing the use of ‘forensics’ in science fictional and fantastic settings, and I was immediately captivated. Knipe approaches the question scientifically - there are graphs in the essay - and she brings out interesting points about what words get used to discuss forensic matters in the books she examines, as well as the comparative depths that different authors go to in their work.
This essay acts as something of a companion piece to Tansy Rayner Roberts’ piece from January (“Romantic Lead Balloons”). In that one, Roberts looks at some of the least romantic men in the Discworld novels - men who nonetheless are placed in (somewhat) romantic situations, with at least the suggestion that sex might happen. In this essay, she examines the apparent prohibition on Discworld wizards engaging in sexual intercourse. She looks at the various reasons presented across different novels for the prohibition, as well as suggesting her own theory. These range from fears of super-wizards to “urgh, girl cooties” to the possibility that wizarding might attract the sort of man who prefers scholarly over romantic pursuits.
In December, we had an essay from Dove Cooper about cosy fantasy and whether a novel (specifically Deerskin) with difficult themes can “count” as a cosy. In today’s essay, E.D.E Bell looks at further genre descriptors and what they might offer readers. In particular, she looks at descriptors like gentle and quiet: what they mean, what they tell us about the stories they’re applied to, and how using descriptors like these can expand our understanding of genre and help readers to find the sorts of books they want.
I had not heard of ‘quiet fiction’ before, but having read Bell’s discussion here I know I’ve read it - sometimes enjoying it, and sometimes finding it hard to fit into my understanding of genres, which is something that Bell herself discusses here. I am intrigued by Bell’s suggestions about using a continuum (eg Hopeful to Grim) as a way of talking about different modes in fiction. I hope you’ll find it intriguing, and that it gets you thinking about what sort of fiction you enjoy reading (or writing).
In today’s essay, Ng Yi-Sheng considers the question of representation - in particular, who gets to represent Southeast Asia in SFF publishing around the world, and what stories get told. Ng is Chinese Singaporean himself, and carefully discusses the place of ethnically Chinese authors in Southeast Asia in general, as well as what stories they tell and what that means for understandings of Southeast Asia in the broader world. He points to specific story examples from a range of countries within Southeast Asia, how they reflect and use cultural ideas.
Focused on Southeast Asia, the essay also speaks to the question of representation in general. After identifying some of the issues, Ng suggests a range of ways forward, depending on an individual’s position; there’s something pretty much everyone can do, if you’re interested.
According to Terry Pratchett, the answer is definitively “no”, as Tansy Rayner Roberts unpacks in her latest essay, “Romantic Lead Balloon” (a title which still makes me giggle, as one of those jokes that only works in the written form and would have made Pratchett himself proud, I’m pretty sure). Roberts looks at some of the men who experience some form of romance throughout the Discworld novels, and shows just how unromantic most of their experiences are… and comes up with a rather surprising example of genuine romance (I’m not spoiling it here, you’ll have to read to find out.) (No, it’s not Vimes.) I don’t read Pratchett for romance, and/but it was really interesting to realise just how Pratchett undercuts romantic expectations across a variety of characters and scenarios. Also, I haven’t read Pyramids in an awfully long time, so that might be a summer re-read.
You might remember that Nina Niskanen wrote an essay for Speculative Insight last year, about the problems she sees with cargo ships in space. For 2025’s first essay, she examines a different theme in science fiction: that of “found family.” This is something that I tend to love: the people who are thrown together in some way, or for some reason, who make a life together despite their differences. The different ways in which people can contribute, and the different variations of what family can be - that stuff is a delight. Niskanen looks at a range of works, and points out the similarities and differences in the ways they discuss ‘family’ and how those families work. And this does, of course, also speak to the real world.
I was one of those people who adored Legends and Lattes (by Travis Baldree) when it came out. Like many, I re-read a lot of comforting books and watched a lot of comforting TV during Melbourne’s extended lockdowns (although my comforting may not match anyone else’s… see: my re-watching of Fringe.) So I have found the ongoing discussions about “cosy fantasy” really interesting
In fact, I often find discussions of genre and categories fascinating (at least, when it’s coming from a place of love rather than hate…). In this essay, Dove Cooper looks at the relatively recently named sub-genre of cosy (or cozy) fantasy. In particular, Cooper interrogates the question of whether Robin McKinley’s 1993 novel Deerskin ‘counts’ as a cosy, given that it involves some difficult themes. In doing so, she explores what can be ‘allowed’ in a cosy fantasy, and what that says about the genre.
This month’s essay looks at the 2023 Hugo Novelette winner, Hai Ya’s “Space Time Painter.” Not translated into English as far as I (and the author of the essay, Christine Yunn-Yu Sun) know, this essay aims to discuss the story’s details, explain its connection to Chinese history and art, and put it in a wider science fictional context. Hai Ya’s story uses a significant period in the 11th century AD, and in particular two spectacular pieces of art, as central pillars of the narrative. Sun explores how Hai Ya uses those within his story of ghosts and apparent time travel.
Please note; we are aware that the 2023 Hugos had significant controversies. This is not the place to discuss those issues; this is an essay specifically examining this one story.
Why do authors bother to reference music in a written text? Sure, some references are ubiquitous in the time they’re published - but those are going to date as badly as adolescent slang. And what about inventing new songs or genres wholesale?
These are some of the questions addressed in this month’s subscriber essay by Mary Fan. Both a musician and an author, Fan looks at some instances of music in a variety of SFF settings, and then explores the reason for its existence in her own work.
In today’s essay, Tansy Rayner Roberts’ series on Pratchett’s Men takes us to the dark side. And even if you’ve never read a Discworld novel, I think you’ll find this analysis of what makes a villain - including ruthlessness, single-mindedness, and a certain flair for bureaucracy - insightful and intriguing. And a refection on the real world as well. Plus, of course, the age-old question: is Vetinari a villain?
I am one of the many people who fell in love with Gideon, and Gideon the Ninth, way back when it was published in 2019. A necromantic gothic lesbian space opera, it’s not to everyone’s tastes - and that’s okay! (And it just got weirder with Harrow the Ninth, and THEN there was Nona the Ninth … I can’t even imagine what the final (??) book, Alecto the Ninth, will do.) I do admit to being unable to really explain my love of the books. After all, most of the characters die - or at least seem to, ish - and the entire system of magic is necromancy, which is unpleasant. And that’s before you discover that God’s power came from destroying a planet. Enter Paula Aamli’s essay, and the concept of cosy catastrophe, and suddenly things started to make more sense. You see, I love watching disaster films, and I think it’s for the same reason. As Aamli notes, things are going completely sideways but nonetheless the characters have the opportunity and the wit to not be completely overwhelmed. Aamli explores the utility and joy of this experience in her essay, and it resonated very deeply with me.
In today’s essay, Amy Salley tackles a pressing modern issue: the question of cancellation and redemption. Beginning with what it looks like in fiction - when done well as well as when done badly - she then offers a way for us to think about redemption when we’re confronted by the bad behaviour of a beloved celebrity. This isn’t an easy topic, by any means, and it’s specifically about how we as science fiction and fantasy fans respond to creators who disappoint us (and not about personal experiences of such behaviour). I hope it will help readers to think through how to respond in future when there are, inevitably, more revelations about frustrating behaviour.
And I for one will never look at A Christmas Carol the same way again.
This month Tansy Rayner Roberts is back, with an essay about how Terry Pratchett writes about - and deconstructs - fantasy heroes, in an essay which may well change the way you think about modern portrayals of heroes, and especially superheroes, in general. She pulls apart some of Pratchett’s male characters who could potentially fit into the fantasy hero mould… but most of her energy is directed to Cohen the Barbarian, that cranky old man. It’s fair to say I had to go and re-read The Last Hero after reading this essay.
This month’s free essay is longer than the normal SI essay, but Rjurik Davidson just kept on adding fascinating ideas:
Identity as narrative
Time travel’s connection to the experience of, and coping with, trauma
Life as a series of bets - and what it means when your opponent is yourself
Individual history, agency… and time travel
Large-scale history and time travel
… you get the idea. It’s a wild ride through psychotherapy, science fiction and theories of history. Yes, Marty McFly is discussed. We’re also reprinting a short story he wrote for the anthology The Time Traveler’s Almanac, “Domine” - depending on whether you read it before or after the essay, you’ll get a rather different experience.
Lee Murray is a New Zealand author, daughter of a New Zealand-born Chinese mother and a Kiwi-European father. I only mention this because her parents, and her upbringing, are relevant to her simultaneously personal and analytical essay, “The Curse of Culture and Context: Reflections of Madness in Speculative Fiction.” Murray uses examples from Korean, Chinese, Black American, Native American, and Māori writers to think about representations of mental health in speculative fiction. She looks at the connections between personal experiences, cultural expectations, and history, and how these things impact on - indeed, directly contribute to - a person’s mental health.
The essay contains, as may be apparent, explicit discussion of mental illness and the sometimes unhelpful reactions folks can experience. If this is something you’re not in the right space to read, come back to it later.