Yes, it’s an essay about Terry Pratchett’s Discworld, but not as you know it. This one comes from Freyja Stokes, “the first person to complete the Sir Terry Pratchett Memorial Scholarship at UniSA” - ! The focus is on Mrs Palm and representations of sex work. I have read every Discworld novel and I still learned more about the depths of Pratchett’s genius (I did not know what Mrs Palm’s name referenced), as well as about the history of sex work in our world. I hope you’ll find this essay as insightful as I did.
Like the author of today’s essay, the Ancillary series has become a near-annual read for me: lazy summery Januaries when I feel the need for something familiar, I revisit Breq and her quest for personal justice that becomes something much bigger than that. This current essay fulfils one of my ambitions for this journal: to publish an essay that explores this marvellous series. Moth Paulson looks at the question of “justice,” how Ann Leckie presents it in the empire of the Radch and how those ideas reflect contemporary issues in our own world. Even if you haven’t read the series (and I cannot praise them highly enough, but I know time is limited), the ideas examined here are worth reading and thinking about.
I have to admit that I’ve only read a few stories by Premee Mohamed. I’ve enjoyed what I’ve read but I’ve also been pretty freaked out by it: her work shades a bit too much into the horror for me. (Given the number of awards she’s won, other people clearly also agree that she’s a great writer.) Eric de Roulet’s essay presents the ways in which Mohamed explores experiences of imperial subjugation, and resistance to it. De Roulet gives detailed real-world examples of how both totalitarianism and empires work, and shows how Mohamed’s work reflects and examines these. It’s powerful stuff.
I am Australian, and yet I have had the great privilege to visit London a few times - a city I have always been fascinated by.. I have loved it every time. I love its history, and I love the way that it offers itself to storytellers. I’m not saying it’s unique as a city, of course, but it has been used in wonderful ways. In this essay, Tobias Carroll looks specifically at Alan Moore’s most recent novel, as well as those of others within his orbit. The ways in which one town can be used differently is fascinating, plus of course the ways Moore and the others write the city.
My two great loves are science fiction and history; I therefore have a sometimes fraught relationship with alternate history, historical science fiction, and the other variations that Brenda Clough examines in this essay. Sometimes I am a real stickler for accuracy in my history, which can get in the way of enjoying a good story if the author hasn’t been as precise as I would like! Clough’s essay is a wonderful overview of some of the different ways science fiction (as opposed to fantasy) has made use of history; I’m going to be amused by her phrase “wow the rubes” for a long time to come. Also, the essay features discussion of medieval representations of Alexander “the Great,” so that also brings me great amusement.
Should you wish to see me frozen by indecision, ask me to choose between SFF and history. And while I certainly have favourite historical eras and people, the truth is I am a magpie: I can get excited about pretty much any bit of history if it’s presented well. So this essay, which gives a brief survey of some key post-WW2 science fiction authors, was always going to appeal to me. Bring in the different ways that each looks at issues of war and empire, and then also the ways in which they have influenced later writers, and you have an intriguing look at one facet of modern science fiction.
In a past life, when I was a history teacher, I taught geography to young adolescents. I wasn’t trained in it, and I only got by because of a fairly good textbook and exceptionally good colleagues. One thing I found fascinating was the way geographers conceptualise ‘space’ and ‘place’ - words that I, a humble historian, might just bandy around, had greater resonance for those mysterious geographers. And so we have Ben Lockwood’s essay on Ive Grimes’ short story collection. The way she uses space and place, and how Lockwood explores what those mean in Grimes’ fiction, has given me a whole new appreciation for how where something occurs can have enormous significance.
Not along ago I read the four published books in the Saint of Steel series over the space of a week, all because of Alasdair Stuart’s essay (so, be warned). In this essay, Stuart explores the portrayal of grief: how different people respond, the fact that different responses are valid, and the fact that how we grieve changes over time. The Paladins of Kingfisher’s series embody this beautifully - Kingfisher does characters exceptionally well - while also not making this their defining characteristic, as Stuart discusses. He also brings a personal connection to his reading of the series, and to the essay, which adds a particular note that certainly resonated for me.
This month brings us back to Tansy Rayner Roberts’ essays about the men of Terry Pratchett’s Discworld, and we are finally looking at Sam Vibes - one of my very favourite characters. How do you take a man who’s a functioning drunk (he’s not rich enough to be an alcoholic), who believes in his job but can’t do it properly and has little else to live for - and then turn him into a fascinating, human and humane character whose development is worth following? You need to be Terry Pratchett, I think.
As I have previously noted, I am one of those people who has read The Lord of the Rings a lot. However, I’ve never studied it as a text; and because I first read it at the rather impressionable age of 12, I have never sat down and thoroughly interrogated Tolkien’s choices and decisions. To read Nick Hubble’s intriguing essay about Galadriel, then - showing how she fits with the idea of the Fairy Queen, what that might mean for her taking the One Ring, and what her position says about women and elves in Middle-earth more generally - was to look at this text, and this character, with fresh eyes.
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.