Fantastic Metropolis

Gabe Chouinard: I dimly recall reading an essay from Ursula K. Le Guin in which she suggested that sf and fantasy should be reviewed within the crop of mainstream works—rather than as genre pieces—by professionals that actually KNOW what they’re talking about when dealing with a work’s literary merits instead of the current incestuous methods of reviewing. Do you think that fantasy and sf in general, and your books in particular, would benefit from a few changes in current practices?

Matthew Woodring Stover: Well, yeah, I’d like to think they would, but who knows? Most of the stuff in our genre doesn’t deserve consideration as anything other than genre pieces. Sturgeon’s Law: 90 percent of science fiction is crap—but then, 90 percent of everything is crap.

Maybe someday reviewers with real expertise in SF&F will start applying serious critical standards—and writing about them with eloquence and passion—rather than just cheerleading books that happen to amuse them, or that they expect will become successful. But any such transformation has to start from inside: we need to be producing more books that merit serious criticism before we can expect to get any.

I guess what I’d really like to see is less reviewers, more critics. After all, most reviews are really just book reports, wrapped up with a sentence or two on why you should or shouldn’t spend your money on this book. Maybe what we really need is someone eloquent enough to explain to all the Wall Street Journal types why they should be paying attention to SF&F. It takes great criticism to direct the world’s attention to the 5 or 10 percent of our genre (or any genre) that’s actually worth reading.

Gabe Chouinard: Another theme that you return to is the idea of fate, or lack of fate, or what-seems-to-be-lack-of-fate-but-isn’t-really. You don’t really offer an answer to anyone that reads the book, instead leaving people to formulate their own opinions on the matter. I find that intriguing; unlike so many authors, you don’t like to hold hands with the reader. Why aren’t you definitive? How do you resist the temptation to spell things out?

Matthew Woodring Stover: Easy. I hate storytellers who are constantly dictating to me what I should think. It’s why I don’t like Spielberg’s movies, for example, or Oliver Stone’s.

I had people ask me about Heroes Die: “I’m not sure how I’m supposed to feel about Ma’elKoth. Is he a bad guy, or a good guy, or what? Am I supposed to like him or hate him?” My general answer: “You’re not supposed to feel anything but whatever it is you feel. Make up your own damn mind.”

Even Caine himself: his activities and attitudes in Heroes Die made a lot of people—mostly reviewers—uncomfortable. Many of them were disturbed to find themselves rooting for this ruthless, amoral murderer; they were even more disturbed by the lack of moralizing from the author. Some of them even invented a “moral progression” for Caine, to excuse themselves for liking him.

But I’m not a moralist. Just the opposite. My goal is to present a story as honestly as I can; what you think of it, and how it makes you feel, is your business. I’ll tell you what the characters think, and how they feel, but the rest is up to you. My hope is that some readers will take the time to read these books more than once. They might find that these stories hit them differently, a few years from now. The meaning of any work of art depends on who you are when you look at it.

On the subject of fate in Blade of Tyshalle, I’m going to hide behind a quote from Nietzsche: “There is no such thing as free will. There is also no such thing as unfree will. There is only strong will, and weak will.”