You never read the same book twice

I read Shikasta by Doris Lessing this summer. Or re-read it, as it happened. I went through a phase as a teenager where I read as many classics as possible in order to appear ‘cultured’ – like you do when you’re sixteen; Dostoyevsky and other Russian authors, sci-fi and large historical novels among them. I’m sure that the books served a purpose in my upbringing and I would most likely view the world differently if I hadn’t read them when I did, their influence on me profound. However, I’m not entirely sure I understood what most of them were about. I definitely don't remember many of them.

It felt like I was reading Shikasta (Re: Colonised planet 5) for the first time, the familiarity of the Canopus Empire the only indication that I had, in fact, read it. Therefore, I didn’t have the same sense of return and recollection I often have when I read a book again, or the sense of discovery when I realise I’ve remembered some things wrong or misunderstood them in the first place.

It’s not entirely surprising that I don’t remember reading it. Nothing much happens in the book for the most of it, the narrative consists of bureaucratic reports, diary entries and rambling letters, and the protagonist disappears for the last third of the book, existing only on other people’s accounts of him. Nevertheless, it’s a classic for a reason, a book that earned Lessing a Nobel price. It’s not a small or forgettable book, as I discovered on my second reading.

There are two great themes in the book that I’m sure I’ve read differently the first time. There is the spiritual aspect, the idea of reincarnation of souls until they have fulfilled their purpose that must have intrigued the younger me more than it did now. I read a lot about different religions then and the idea of rebirth appealed to me greatly at some point. On the re-read, the idea fell somewhat flat, the romantic in me upset for the souls of Rachel and Benjamin who had to be born over and over again. What must one do to be free of it?

The other great theme, social injustice – gender and economic inequality and racism – probably didn’t interest me as much back then; I had a tendency to find such accounts preaching. Reading the book again, I found Lessing’s ideas noteworthy. I also had the advantage of over thirty years to when the book was written in 1979 to see how the world has changed since. The damage done by colonialism hasn’t gone away, racist and religious intolerance is still ripe, and women aren’t that much better off than they were in the 1970s. The only thing that has improved, at least a little, is the environmental issues and the world isn’t quite as close to ecological disaster as the book predicts.

I have most likely completely missed the idea of the Chinese taking over the world. I read the book around the time the communism fell, so a book predicting a takeover of another communist system has either felt old-fashioned or I haven’t understood it at all. In hindsight, it could be said that Lessing was right. China has taken over the world, little by little, only not through communism but capitalism. The idea in Lessing’s book of Chinese exploiting cheap and starving European labour isn’t all that far from the reality of the modern China either.

The imminent destruction of the world, on the other hand, must have been a familiar notion for a child of the Cold War. It wouldn’t have mattered that the world had changed by the time I read the book, or that in Shikasta it takes place already in the 1970s; the fear of it was a constant companion when I was growing up.

Most importantly, however, I would have considered the premise of the book differently. The idea of an alien race influencing the evolution of human race – and everything else on earth – must have felt intriguing for the teenage me who was binge-reading sci-fi. For the grown-up me, the idea felt fatalistic. Humans are seen only as puppets, unable to make the most of themselves. Worse yet, the idea of the planet Shammat influencing evil in humans takes away our responsibility for everything that is wrong with us, all the things Lessing takes such pains to bring up. Why bother changing when all we need to do is wait for the stars to realign themselves and everything will be well again?

All in all, I’m sure I enjoyed the book far more than the teenager me did. However, I remember reading the second book in the Canopus in Argos: Archives series, of which Shikasta is the first book, so I must have liked it. I find it slightly sad that I can’t remember how I found the book the first time. And I can’t help wondering how many of the books I read then would be different if I read them now. All of them, I’m sure. But would they be better, or worse?

Discovering treasures

I’ve been holidaying for a couple of weeks, hence the gap in posting. I visited my sister, among others, who lives in a small country parish that nonetheless has a nice little library. The library was selling old books with a very reasonable price: one could fill a plastic bag with books for two euros; they provided the bag. Who could resist?

The selection wasn’t huge – it was a small library, after all – but there were, for example, old leather-bound editions of classics. They were tempting, but I knew I wouldn’t read them and I only have so much room on my shelves. So, heroically, I resisted. My sister, a teacher, wasn’t as strong and she filled most of our bag with material she thought she could use in her teaching.

Since the bag was almost full now, it was easier to concentrate on books that I would actually read. So I picked a book I had loved as a preteen, but hadn’t come across since. My best friend had won a copy on some school related competition and she let me read it; I, in turn, borrowed it to my sister who remembered it fondly too. Unsurprisingly, as seems to be the theme of this blog, it was a fantasy book, written especially for – maybe – under-fifteen-year-olds. It’s by a Finnish author Aila Meriluoto and, unfortunately, only available in Finnish.

The book Vihreä tukka (Green Hair), published in 1982, tells a story of Eintel, a girl with a green hair her grandmother dyes and covers with a scarf so that no one in the country with an oppressive regime would find out she has some fairy blood in her. She thinks she’s the only one of her kind in the world, but then discovers the fairies. 

It’s a very lyrical and beautiful fairy-tale, a story of acceptance and a romance too; Eintel falls in love with a fairy boy. Fairies are the good creatures in the story; Eintel's human world is that of fear, so it surprised me to later learn that in general fairies are considered creatures that can’t be trusted. The influence of the book was so strong, long after I’d forgotten the story itself. I look forward to reading it again, to find out if it’s as good as I remember.

We got other books too. My husband found The Space Merchants by Fredereik Pohl and C. M. Kornbluth, which it turned out we already had, but he didn’t mind. And I bought Jack Kerouac’s On the Road, though I can’t really say why. Because it was there, perhaps. Maybe I’ll even get around to reading it one of these days. But for now, I think I’ll read some Jude Devereaux I also got, because – hey – it’s summer.

Five books to get you to read SF

Damien Walter prompted his followers on Twitter to share books that would get people who don’t like SF to read it, with the added incentive that the best would get a mention on the Guardian. Who could resist?

I haven’t really tried to persuade people to read books they don’t care about. I constantly share reading recommendations with likeminded people, especially on the Urban Fantasy Fans community on G+, but converting SF haters has never been on my agenda. I’m not a convert myself, as readers of this blog may have noticed, having read SF very much from the beginning in various forms, so I don’t have the book that convinced me to offer either.

The assumption behind Walter’s prompt was that SF has become mainstream enough to get people who don’t usually read it interested in trying it out. They simply need a book with which to start. The assignment is somewhat vague, but I’m assuming that he means adults set in their reading habits; children tend to be more open to try different genres. I’m also assuming certain acceptance of SF in general, otherwise the idea of SF being mainstream would be void: “So you like True Blood? Why don’t you try reading the book.” Or: “You know, as ‘exciting’ as the Total Recall remake was, you might find the original short story to be better.”

The world is full of great SF in many different subgenres and the potential books to recommend to the hypothetical initiate too many to count. Some limiting criteria are therefore needed.

• The books can’t be too overwhelming. If the initiates feel like drowning with their reading, it won’t make them pick up another. Some of the suggestions Walter received included space operas that will take even a dedicated SF fan some digesting so offering them as the first read seems counterintuitive to me. Which leads to:
• The books should be relatively short reads. It’s much easier to get a reluctant reader to pick up a short book than a huge tome. Think of a gateway book that will lead to longer series.
• A classic isn’t necessarily the best book to start with. On the other hand, a book becomes a classic only because generation after another reads it. Choose wisely.
• There’s more to SF than science fiction and there’s more to sci-fi than hard-core technology orgies.
• Just because I love a book doesn’t mean everyone will. But there’s no point in recommending books I wouldn’t read myself just because I think I ought to recommend something better.
• Just because a TV series or a movie is popular doesn’t mean the book it’s based on is suitable reading for a novice. Or a very good book.

Following my criteria, I can leave out some books. The Lord of the Rings may be the classic introduction to fantasy for countless generations and the movies based on it have undoubtedly helped to make SF more mainstream. But an easy read it isn’t, nor is it short. Likewise, in sci-fi, there are some names brandished as ‘must reads’. Asimov may forever have his place in sci-fi canon, but his books don’t necessarily make for ideal first reads.  

Here’s my list. I’ve already written blog posts on the first three if you want to find out more about what I thought of them.

Ursula LeGuin: The Left Hand of Darkness

I wanted the list to have one book with space, faraway planets and aliens. LeGuin’s book has all that. It’s a relatively short book with important themes that are universal so should transcend the genre. And it’s definitely a classic. Moreover, it’s an interesting read.

Philip K. Dick: Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep

Another sci-fi classic, this one more technology oriented than LeGuin’s book. I wavered between this and William Gibson’s Neuromancer, but chose this one because of the movie. If one is trying to lure another to reading SF, a good movie with a better book behind it should make the transition easier. Reading one Philip K. Dick novel can easily lead to reading more of his work and from that, the path is open.

Terry Pratchett: Guards! Guards!

For fantasy, I went with Discworld. There are some epic fantasy series that I’ve enjoyed a lot, but since they tend to be those huge tomes that never end, they got discarded. Discworld is a brilliant fantasy universe, the books are short and funny, and the best of them are good commentary on our world. Any of the books in the long-running series would do fine, but the original Guards trilogy is my favourite.

Neil Gaiman: American Gods

As an introduction to UF, Neverwhere would probably be a more popular choice. And while it’s the book that first introduced me to the genre, I actually like American Gods better. It’s longer than other books on my list, but well worth every page. It’s also the only book that I have successfully recommended to someone who doesn’t read fantasy, though the result was them reading more Neil Gaiman, not more fantasy in general. But that’s a positive outcome too.

Jim Butcher: The Dresden Files

I must recommend the entire series, because the books should be read in order and they’re all good. Dresden Files has everything that makes urban fantasy great, with a good mix of mundane and mythology, monsters and humans and themes that are important regardless of the genre. They’re action packed and fun, and the quality of the writing has remained constant throughout the series, which isn’t always given in UF, so it has a good chance of becoming a classic eventually. More importantly, they are easy to read so if one is to pick up an UF book for the first time, this one will sweep them away.

As a bonus, I’ll throw in Harry Potter. If it got boys to read for the first time, it should get an SF virgin hooked too.

My list doesn’t necessarily contain the best or most valued books there are in the genre. But they are an easy introduction to different genres, styles and themes that make SF. Besides, I like them all. How about you?

Lessons in life in children's books

The importance of reading as a child was made clear by the new British Children’s Laureate, Malorie Blackman. She told in an interview how her father thought reading fiction was useless and how she read it despite, learning, as she said, “more about people and relating and communicating with other people through fiction books than I ever did through non-fiction.” When I shared the interview on Twitter, one person told me that he had learned about black culture for the first time through Blackman’s books. And those lessons had stuck. A child’s mind is very flexible and impressionable so what we read as a child makes an impact for life. If we’re lucky, the impact is positive, the lessons learned those that make us better people.

There wasn’t any racial diversity in my country when I was growing up so there wasn’t literature for children about it either. Instead, children’s books addressed social issues like growing up with a single parent, though I was an adult before I understood that aspect of those books. Nevertheless, the lesson learned; I can’t remember ever wondering why some of my friends didn’t have two parents.

Some books taught me about empathy, for example. At seven, I read a series about a girl who had to face the horrors of two wars between Finland and the Soviet Union (1939-44). She had to twice leave her home village on what eventually became the Soviet side of the border and relocate among people who didn’t really want all the refugees they now had to deal with. While written especially for children, it was heavy reading for a small girl. However, I learned immensely from those books and three decades later, when reading about refugees of any war, the books and the emotions I felt when reading them still return to me.

One series is above all else, however, when it comes to learning about being different and accepting people as they are: the Moomin (1945-1970). Their author, Tove Jansson (1914-2001), was a member of two minorities. She was a Swedish-speaking Finn (about 10% of population in her youth) and she lived in a same-sex relationship at the time when they weren’t acknowledged socially or legally. She was also an artist. While the cultural elite in her youth consisted mostly of the Swedish-speaking Finns, giving her slightly better chances at becoming an artist, it still wasn’t an easy career choice for a woman.

Moomins were first created as a diversion from the horrors of the war, which explains some of the tone, although the characters got their inspiration from Jansson's family. They are trolls with big snouts and pretty tails who live in the Moomin Valley, a peaceful place away from everything. Their big house is always open for friends and a wide cast of characters visit them constantly, each quirkier than the other. Everyone is accepted as they are, the scary ones included, and even the silliest find understanding in the end. The lifestyle of the Moomin family is rather bohemian; they head on adventures on a moment’s notice and show fondness for good Whisky. They’re anarchic too, defying authorities at every chance.

Despite the idyllic settings, the Moomin books aren’t exactly light reading for children. From the more easily understood lessons like ‘always be kind to others’ they stretch to handling natural disasters and the end of the world. I was especially impressed with Comet in Moominland, which I read when I was about seven. In it, a great comet threatens the Moomin Valley, the tone of the book that of immediate doom as the comet comes nearer. There are portents along the way, and even the cover is scary. It didn’t surprise me in the least to learn – as an adult – that the book is thought to be a commentary on the atomic bomb. As a child of the Cold War, the fear I experienced reading the book was the same I felt about the nuclear threat. The book allowed me to process that fear.

The Moomin books were written at a time when books for children could handle truly difficult issues, like death. Nowadays, the trend is different. When the Moomin characters were turned into a Japanese animation in the 1990s, everything controversial was cleaned away. The series is beautiful – and lifeless. If it’s the first encounter one has with the Moomins, one will never learn all about them. And while the animated series most likely creates a beautiful childhood memory, it won’t teach you the life lessons the books do. Moreover, it won’t make you grow as a human. Luckily, the books are still there.

Here's a snippet from the animated Moomin series. You can find most of them in English on YouTube.