The Mythogenetic Grove

(post)colonial Gothic academia

2017: A Review of the Year in Publication

by on Dec.06, 2017, under (post)colonial Gothic academia, Author News and Updates, The Escritoire

Updated 8 January 2018:

Hello, I like to do yearly review posts rather than merely eligibility posts because I strongly believe that things like accolades and awards are outside of my control. Besides, I’ve been raised to be a very proper lady and though I always failed and disappointed elders while growing up — there’s still a lot of those imperatives hiding inside me, telling me not to push myself forward too much. But it’s become an industry norm so I decided to capitulate and make this a bit clearer for everyone. I would be very happy indeed if nominated, yes. So thank you if you’re nominating — I don’t know you, and I don’t know if you will but if you do, <3 <3 <3

I don’t really think it would happen so I’d be quite contented with more readers. I say this every year, and it’s true every year.

Anyway, before I get into my rambling holistic review of the year, here’s what I have published in 2017. I have three eligible works of short fiction, and I think the IF may be eligible for *some* things but I’m not sure what so I’ll let you decide if you liked it enough ūüėÄ

Fiction

  1. Prosthetic Daughter in Clarkesworld (Issue 125),¬†February 2017.¬† (SF: time-travel cyberpunk space opera, eligible for Hugos, Nebulas, SF thingies) — placed in¬†Nebula Reading List.
  2. Reversion in Clarkesworld (Issue 131),¬†August 2017. (SF: planetary romance, space opera, eligible for Hugos, Nebulas, SF thingies) — placed in¬†Nebula Reading List, Tangent Recommended Reading List (2 stars)
  3. When The Night Blooms, An Artist Transmutes: A Three-Act Play in The Dark (Issue 31), December 2017 (Gothic/dark fantasy/horror, eligible for Hugos, Nebulas, fantasy and horror thingies) — placed in Charles Payseur’s Recommended Reading List.
  4. Bungalow Sari One (Twitter Interactive Fiction/poll story), on Twitter, December 2017. (Gothic/science fantasy/Horror, ???)

Poetry

  1. Jean-Luc, Future Ghost, in Uncanny Magazine (Issue 14), January 2017. (SF, eligible for Rhyslings)
  2. Tinwoman’s Phantom Heart, in Strange Horizons (Fund Drive Special Issue), August 2017. (SF, eligible for Rhyslings)
  3. Spice Islands, in Uncanny Magazine (Issue 19), December 2017. (not SFF)

Reprints (not eligible!)

  1. Auto-Rejection: An Outro¬†(2016) was reprinted in Lackington‘s Summer Issue, 2017. Edited and improved version with a slightly tweaked ending because I felt I needed to make the irony more overt.
  2. Tower of the Rosewater Goblet¬† (2016) was reprinted in Shirtsleeve Press’s Event Horizon anthology for people who were eligible for the Campbell Award for Best New Writer.

Note: I’ve also recommended some of my favourite short fiction, novelettes, novellas, and novels by others in 2017 here.

My Personal Review of 2017 in Writing

2017 has been good to me in some ways, not so good to me in other ways. I’ve written 14 new stories thusfar, inclusive of 1 new novella. I finally finalised Watermyth, the first novel of the Cantata of the Fourfold Realms and started querying it. I then started working on Rosemirror, the second novel of the sequence.¬†I’ve had some publications and good reviews.

On the academic front, I jettisoned my Helen Oyeyemi monograph (for now) because a chapter I wrote was published in Telling It Slant, a Helen Oyeyemi collection (Sussex Academic) — and that collection overlaps too much with my PhD research on Oyeyemi. Therefore, a great deal more work needs to be done before I can make a monograph I’d be happy sending out to publishers. Instead, I started work on my Malaysian Genre monograph and have done quite a bit on it thusfar and am fairly confident about sending out a proposal. I have also embarked on exciting new research collaborations, and am working on new articles and research ideas.

Things I like about 2017

I’ve managed to get coveted acceptances at both The Dark and Beneath Ceaseless Skies. It’s been my most prolific year in terms of poetry publication — and I’m not really very prolific where that’s concerned.¬† All up, I had three poems published in professional poetry venues — two in Uncanny Magazine as one of their solicited poets for Year Three, and one in Strange Horizons for their Fund Drive Special. I also wrote a blog post for Strange Horizons. I also can’t get over the fact that I had TWO Clarkesworld publications this year: which means I’ve had FOUR Clarkesworld publications, and have been in at least one issue yearly since 2015. I like numbers and I like continuity so this pleases me a lot. I’ve been more low-key in promoting my stories this year as this is my post-Campbell year but this year a lot more random readers have reached out to me to tell me they liked my stories. This means a lot to me and I’m really grateful/humbled people are reading and recommending my works.

Apart from that, my short story Auto-Rejection: An Outro was reprinted in Lackington’s Magazine, with an improved ending, and a gorgeous illustration by Pear Nuallak.

I was also quite excited when Clarkesworld got a review in Kirkus Reviews in February because Prosthetic Daughter was up so by proxy I indirectly finally got into Kirkus Reviews. Hey, I’ll take it, man. Other indirect things: Lightspeed’s People of Colour Destroy Science Fiction (2016), edited by Nalo Hopkinson, Kristin Ong Muslim, Berit Ellingsen et al. won the British Fantasy Awards. OMG! As some of you already know, Morning Cravings is in that anthology, which means a Sesen story is in an award-winning anthology. Fourteen year old me is still doing cartwheels inside my head!¬†Another Sesen story, Tower of the Rosewater Goblet (2016) made it into the Locus Recommended Reading List so that was another awesome validation for me in 2017, even if I didn’t wind up being nominated for the awards.

Apart from that, I didn’t get published much in 2017 in comparison with 2016 which was quite epic (and exhausting!)

But all the stories I had published, have now placed on recommendation lists! Three for three is not a bad thing at all! I am really grateful that both Reversion and Prosthetic Daughter have now been placed on the Nebula Reading List.¬†¬†When the Night Blooms, An Artist Transmutes: A Three-Act-Play is also now in Charles Payseur’s excellent year-end recommendation list, while Reversion made its way into the two-star category for Tangent Online’s annual recommended reading list!¬†I’m not really super-optimistic that they’ll go further than this — I’m just happy to be on a list where more people will read them ūüôā

Thank you, from the bottom of my faulty heart. I appreciate everyone who read, recommended, accepted, and published my works.


Stats for people who like these things, according to the submission Grinder for 2017:

66 fiction submissions (give or take a couple I may have forgotten to log)
4 fiction acceptances. (1 acceptance from Clarkesworld + 2  from The Dark + 1 from Beneath Ceaseless Skies)

I tend not to log my poetry submissions. There may have been 5-6. I got 2 poetry acceptances in 2017.

 

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On Authorship

by on Feb.17, 2017, under (post)colonial Gothic academia, The Escritoire

I’m creating this post as a kind of place-holder to explain why on my bibliography I no longer list the editors of the publications¬†that have my stories in them.

I initially¬†listed all of their names because I’m very proud and honoured* to be working with those editors — and to keep track of which editor pulled which story of mine out of slush.

But this pride has turned to consternation as some mind-boggling sorts take it to mean I am not the sole author of my works. I’ve seen places where authors are attributed alone while I am attributed along with my editors. Now, this is patently ridiculous. Even the one story that got a revision request in my oeuvre was still revised with my having full autonomy over the story. Alas, this also meant a huge typo got through, but that’s fine, mistakes happen. When I work with some editors, it’s mostly hands-off — as in they give me the permission to make whatever changes I may need to make (typos etc, very few). Some editors do have a more active hand in that they would suggest a different phrasing, or suggest I change a transition between scenes (actually, only one editor has done this and this was early on in my career). But mostly, my stories are my own and while there is always dialogue and constant communication with my editors (I think communication is very important in all working relationships), I remain the author of my texts.

Now, I wouldn’t have to spell this out if I weren’t an Asian woman from a developing country in the Global South. It irks me that I have to do so. When I was working on my PhD dissertation on Helen Oyeyemi and Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie, it really had me spitting blood to read an academic article that insinuated that when authors like Oyeyemi and Adichie thanked their editors it’s because those editors were ghostwriters. I never actually thought the same situation would befall me. I really should have made the correlation.

This is naturally in response to an extremely bad faith review that decided to credit my work both to me and the editor in charge of the magazine. I suppose in their mind it was unimaginable that one not from the first world had anything of value to say.

I am generally quite phlegmatic about the various interpretations to my works, even the wrong-minded ones. Mostly, I giggle at them. But I take aspersions cast upon authorship very seriously indeed. I also pity people who are so insular, with worlds so narrow and shriveled up that they cannot imagine that people outside of that world have the capacity and competence to create, and to articulate. But I suppose that was the thrust of my PhD dissertation as well — articulation, and how we are stymied every time we raise our voices, by these forces, these imperialistic forces** that assert themselves in the most appalling of ways.

*okay, okay, more like, star-struck!

** to be clear, I actually even had a Malaysian ask me “how much of that story did you write and how much of it was your editor’s work?”

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On Not Being a Revenant: At The Crossroads as a (postcolonial) Gothic Scholar

by on Dec.13, 2016, under (post)colonial Gothic academia, The Escritoire

Hello! The Escritoire is a blog category that I’ve been meaning to use for quite some time, a place to write about my process as an author. I’ve decided to expand on that to write about my process and challenges as an academic as well. This is only the first of what I hope will be a series of posts. And this one is more general because it’s an introduction.

I call myself a postcolonial Gothic academic. What does that entail? Are my priorities, for instance, different from those of Gothic academics from the first world and the Northern hemisphere?

Not automatically, I’d declare. We all come from the same place of loving literature, all that is spooky, and sublime. What propels me towards Gothic literary scholarship is the same thing that propels me towards being an SFF author with Gothic roots and propensities. It’s in the stories I read, it’s in the philosophies and literary criticisms I devour as though they were page-turning thrillers. It is fueled by a sepulchral fascination with my own night-terrors, my fears and paranoias.

When I teach my Masters in Literature course on Gothic Literature in Popular Culture and Media, I tell my students that I am drawn to this topic because I am afraid, and I want to know why I’m afraid. That inquisitiveness about the darker aspects of the human psyche informs my fiction-writing as well. I am not always political. I am more inclined towards exploring the intimate minutiae of human nature, the ways in which we screw up, the things that influence us, the things that draw us against our better nature.

And one of the things I love about Gothic literary criticism is that it gives me an apparatus within which I can explore the intersections between the supernatural and the personal, the gruesome and the sublime. Also, some of the best written literary scholarship out there are by Gothic scholars, displaying an intimate understanding of the written word coupled with the complicity of psyches that wallow and delight in the manifestations of the Night and all it brings.

And yet — as a South East Asian, I have often felt alienated by this tradition as well. Why is that? Well, I don’t think people automatically set out to make me/us feel alienated, to be fair. But most of Gothic scholarship is centered on the west, and even when it looks outwards, that centrality is still set in place. We write from the margins, we are studied in the margins. There’s this kind of possessiveness about the Gothic I’ve encountered during conferences as well, a kind of hostility that I’ve experienced (but will not expand upon on this blog).

In that most famous tract on the postcolonial Gothic that I problematised in my PhD dissertation, the ontology of the postcolonial Gothic is linked to loss, of never being able to return to a point of origin. The Gothic Other then, should revel in her state of being, a state of loss — content only to be a revenant.

In one of the comments made by a PhD examiner, she asked me to make very clear that I understood that the supernatural elements I was studying were psychological “vehicles” and to make the Lacanian slant clearer. I acquiesced of course — but here’s the thing…

Here in South East Asia, horrors stalk us everywhere. In corridors. In our dreams. We may have relatives who are yogis, or who are witch doctors. We have tales about saka, and bunian, and pontianak and penanggalan. These stories aren’t “metaphors” of colonial subjugation, or of our loss of culture. They don’t exist to be picked apart by western apparatuses as manifestations of our collective psyches.They are part and parcel of our world, our unempirical superstitions. And while as a scholar I take the stance of empirical distance — choosing to study these aspects of literature from an analytical and psychological point of view, I know that when I take out the trash after 8pm, I shouldn’t look left or right. I know I am saying prayers under my breath. I know the fine line we walk. A fine line we talk about unempirically and without irony. Yes, even in academia. And we’re not talking about it because we want to analyse our psyches. We’re talking about it because we know that the buildings we inhabit have a culture, a history, and sightings that only idiots wouldn’t respond to with caution.

Are they somehow psychic manifestations? Are people all collectively deranged? I suppose to the West it would seem like it. I am far more empirical than most in these parts and do take quite a few things with a pinch of salt. But I have seen and experienced too much not to be careful even so.

These are the things that distance me from the hallowed halls of Gothic academic scholarship in the first world. Things I don’t write about as a scholar but which I address in my fictions. We have stories about the bunian in my estranged maternal family as well. What did I do with those stories? I turned them SFnal, created an entire empire from the stories and the night-terrors I inherited.

The freedom I do not get as an academic, I expand into my fictions. But as an academic I ask different questions. I cannot ask the same distant questions as an academic in the first world. Yes, I delight in all of those early Gothic writings. Yes, I have read Burke more times than I care to admit, and I’ve been a huge Romantic since my teenage years when I read Shelley, Byron, Wordsworth and Keats more times than I care to tell you. I read Coleridge when I was eight years old. This has been my whole life, this sad colonial legacy that grew into a passion and inquisitiveness for the Gothic spaces around me (although some would declare that only English spaces are Gothic spaces, forgetting that the philosophical, literary and theoretical roots and influences of the Gothic come from Europe and to a certain extent, the Middle East).

The colonial mansion I grew up in, the low-cost homes built in the 80s and the 90s we lived in, post-parental divorce were so Gothic and looms so large in my dreamscapes that I’ve written more than one story about it. My land is teeming with ghosts, revenants and stories. And yes, we use different words for it. Not “sublime” or “Gothic” or “revenants” but the experiences are cognates to those distilled in the theory books that I read.

I will always cherish and be grateful to the canon and body of Gothic literary scholarship for the apparatus they provided so I could explore my fears, desires, and understand better not just these tales, but how I react to them. But the apparatus is limited. The apparatus is made to study US. We need to study and understand OURSELVES. And here’s the crossroads I am at as a Gothic scholar. One I’ve been at in the past two years since leading two research grants which diverge into genre and gothic — both from Malaysians and from the African Diaspora.

It’s a crossroads of which I am painfully aware every time I teach the Gothic and ask students to tell me about their own fears, their own stories, their own perspectives.

We are not revenants, walking without souls. We are not monstrosities, condemned to forever exist in the marginalia of eurocentric Gothicised discourse. We live, we breathe in an air made thick with nightmares but we belong wholly and solely to ourselves. And this is what I bring with me on the next step on my journey as a postcolonial Gothic scholar (and author).

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