Category Archives: Author
Above is the link to my book. Don’t you just love the cover …
This list is not in order of preference.
1/ Anne McCaffrey
I read ‘The White Dragon’ when I was nineteen, and have been a McCaffrey fan for ever after. I think the Pern books are great, but it is her ‘The Tower and the Hive’ books that I probably love the most.
2/ Ursula k. Le Guin
Every Le Guin book is something to treasure, but my favourites are her fantasy EarthSea series and her feminist Science Fiction classic The Left Hand of Darkness and her post-colonial/ecological Science Fiction classic The Word for World is Forest. Her short stories are gems.
3/ Jennifer Fallon
The Tide Lords is my favourite series, but it is hard to pick just one stand-out book in her bibliography. You always have fun when reading any of her books.
4/ Terry Pratchett
But he’s a fantasy author, you all protesting. May I direct you to the Long Earth series … written with Stephen Baxter.
5/ Vonda N McIntyre
If you haven’t read Dreamsnake or The Moon and the Sun, race out and read them right now, or I just can’t talk to you.
6/ Judith Tarr
I reread A Wind in Cairo at least once a year (it is a fantasy book). Tarr has had a long and prolific career, and writes both Science Fiction and fantasy.
7/ R A MacAvoy
Tea with the Black Dragon is one of my very favourite books of all time, but I love all her books. She is another author who can write both fantasy and Science Fiction books, with elegant ideas and enchanting prose.
8/ Diana Wynne Jones
You might be surprised at Diana Wynne Jones inclusion on this list. You can’t tell me that Howl’s Moving Castle, or A Tale of Time City, aren’t partly Science Fiction as well.
9/ China Tom Miéville
Okay … he has written books that can be considered part of the Steampunk oeuvre. However, most of his books aren’t in the Steampunk genre, but written in something he likes to call Weirdpunk. Most of his books defy genre definitions. And if that won’t entice you to read something of his, may I recommend Embassytown.
10/ Sean Williams
He is a New York Times bestseller. Go read the Twinmaker series, and thank me later.
And Lucky you! I’m making an extra recommendation: Elizabeth Ann Scarborough. Read Songs from the Seashell Archives Quintet and her Science Fiction collaborations with Anne McCaffrey.
Her beautiful golden hair was gone. Pa had shaved it close because of the fever, and her poor shorn head looked like a boy’s. Her blue eyes were still beautiful, but they did not know what was before them, and Mary herself could never look through them again to tell Laura what she was thinking without saying a word. – Laura Ingalls Wilder “By the Shores of Silver Lake”
This image of a shorn Mary Ingalls stayed with me for years. In a lot of Victorian-era novels, you read of girls with a fever having their hair cut, as their hair was ‘draining their strength’. Anna Karenina has her hair cut while she has a fever, and it marks the change in her fortunes from respectable woman to ‘hysterical’ mad woman. There is the dramatic hair cutting scene in Jane Eyre, with poor Julia made to cut off her natural curls. The various types of symbology relating hair is a goldmine for a writer.
Because long hair was the fashion for the 19th century, the cutting of a woman’s hair was a big deal. It was shocking to see a woman with short hair, as glorious long hair symbolised a woman’s youthfulness, femininity, and health. It would only be cut off for illness, including ‘brain fever’ or madness, or as a terrible punishment, because it was physically destroying her beauty and femininity. It could have a greater impact as seeing a woman today with her head shaved bald. This was why Anne Shirley, from Anne of Green Gables, was kept at home after she cut her hair after the dreadful dye experiment. This was why Jo from Little Women was making such a great sacrifice when she cut her hair to make money for her mother’s trip to see Jo’s father. Both Anne and Jo regretted the loss of their hair, their ‘one beauty’.
As she spoke, Jo took off her bonnet, and a general outcry arose, for all her abundant hair was cut short.
Your hair! Your beautiful hair! Oh, Jo, how could you? Your one beauty. My dear girl, there was no need of this. She doesn’t look like my Jo any more, but I love her dearly for it!
As everyone exclaimed, and Beth hugged the cropped head tenderly, Jo assumed an indifferent air, which did not deceive anyone a particle, and said, rumpling up the brown bush and trying to look as if she liked it, “It doesn’t affect the fate of the nation, so don’t wail, Beth. It will be good for my vanity, I getting too proud of my wig. It will do my brains good to have that mop taken off. My head feels deliciously light and cool, and the barber said I could soon have a curly crop, which will be boyish, becoming, and easy to keep in order. I’m satisfied, so please take the money and let’s have supper.”
“Tell me all about it, Jo. I am not quite satisfied, but I can’t blame you, for I know how willingly you sacrificed your vanity, as you call it, to your love. But, my dear, it was not necessary, and I’m afraid you will regret it one of these days,” said Mrs. March. – Louisa May Alcott
With hair seen as a woman’s ‘crowning glory, it isn’t hard to imagine that hair was something of a Victorian obsession. I’ve mentioned hair jewellery before, but it is worth mentioning again. Hair was often used to create keepsakes, particularly of the deceased. Locks of hair were given out for friends and family to treasure, often at the request of the dearly departed. Or the living would give up a precious lock to create a love token.
Hair was a large part of a woman’s public persona, which was another reason why cutting it short was so shocking. When women started bobbing their hair in the 1920s, it was a public signal of their freedom from the restrictions society had placed them in. When Victorian women criminals entered prison, their hair was shorn, it was claimed for reasons of ‘cleanliness’, but it was also the quickest way of shearing away a woman’s confidence, making her docile and compliant to the prison’s discipline. Women fraternizing with the enemy had their head shorn as punishment, ruining their allure and making their shame public. Shorn hair was a very public way of highlighting a statement (or showing you were a bit over enthusiastic with the curling iron and have burnt off all your hair).
In my own Steampunk narrative, my main character has unfashionable red hair … and a calm and rational temperament. Alice is a deliberate break from the stereotype of the short-fused Scottish redhead, but her hair is long and glossy. I am toying with the idea of her deliberately cutting her own hair as part of a disguise. It will need to be a much more emotional scene than if a girl was to cut her hair today. But I can use the cutting of her hair as a symbol of cutting away her restrictions within a Patriarchal society.
If you are a Steampunk Enthusiast, I also have a site on Facebook where I share articles and images: https://www.facebook.com/SteampunkSunday
We all know that Mary Shelley is one of the mothers of the Science Fiction, but being a woman writer, poet and/or author was never an easy road to travail. Mary was lucky to get her work published under her own name. Other women authors took a different route to publication, and offered their work up under masculine nom de plumes. I have chosen to share a short observation of four of the finest, and why they chose to take on the mantle of masculinity.
George Sand, the alter ego of the Frenchwoman Amantine-Lucile-Aurore Dupin, was one of the original rebels who became just as famous for her celebrity as for her books and memoirs. She made her literary debut in corroboration the writer Jules Sandeau, when they published a few stories in collaboration, signing them ‘Jules Sand’. Her first published novel, Rose et Blanche (1831), was also written in collaboration with Sandeau. The very the next year she published a solo literary effort, Indiana, under the pen name, George Sand.
As George Sand, she underwent a transformation, becoming something of a scandal; which did nothing to harm the sales of her books, by the way. She began wearing men’s clothing in public, which she justified by claiming the clothes were far sturdier, more comfortable, and less expensive than the typical feminine outfits of her era (I believe her claims wholeheartedly). In addition to being comfortable, she favoured masculine clothing for its ability to gain her access to places generally not frequented by other women of her era. Sand also took to smoking cigars in public, at a time when fashionable women didn’t smoke. To top off all this, she had numerous affairs with other famous writers, painters, and musicians; her most famous being a ten year relationship with Frédéric François Chopin.
Sand was to write of Chopin, “I must say I was confused and amazed at the effect this little creature had on me … I have still not recovered from my astonishment, and if I were a proud person I should be feeling humiliated at having been carried away …”
George Sands was born in 1804 and died in 1876, so all of her writing output was during the Victorian era. She was -and still is – known well in far reaches of the world, and remembered for both her outrageous behaviour and her sublime writing. Her masculine nom de plume was well known to belong to a woman, and I believe she saw her George persona as a way of tossing aside the restrictions place upon Aurore, rather than trying to hide her identity as a woman author.
“And, of course men know best about everything, except what women know better.”
― George Eliot, from Middlemarch
This is very different to the strategy of another ‘George’, George Eliot. Mary Ann (also Marian, Mary Anne – she used alternative spellings as it suited her mood) Evans used a masculine pen name to ensure her works would be taken seriously by the literary community, as most female authors were stereotyped as only writing lighthearted romances.
However, she did live a somewhat unconventional life, though no where near as scandalous as George Sand’s escapades. Mary Ann Evans met the philosopher and critic George Henry Lewes in 1851, and by 1854 they had fallen in love decided to live together, even though Lewes was still married to another woman, Agnes Jervis. Evans and Lewes considered themselves married, with Evans calling herself Marian Evans Lewes, and referring to Lewes as her husband, and they lived together for twenty years until Lewes died. Mary Anne remarried in 1880. Even though she legally married John Cross, society was shocked because she was twenty years younger than Mary Ann by marrying a man twenty years younger than herself, and again changing her name, this time to Mary Anne Cross. She died in that same year.
Her pen name strategy worked for her, because she was and is considered one of greatest English novelists of all time, thanks to novels like The Mill on the Floss and Middlemarch. Throughout her career, Eliot wrote a politically astute narratives, like a Victorian-era Harper Lee, presenting the cases of social outsiders and small-town persecution. She was (and is) well regarded for the sophistication of her character portraits. She was a popular author in Victorian times, and remains so to this day.
Most of us know the romantic history of three Brontë sisters, all with ambitions to be writers, and all three decided to use masculine pen names. In May 1846, Charlotte, Emily and Anne self-financed the publication of a joint collection of poems under their assumed names of Currer Bell, Ellis Bell and Acton Bell. The women then went on to solo careers as Victorian-era writers.
Averse to personal publicity, we veiled our own names under those of Currer, Ellis and Acton Bell; the ambiguous choice being dictated by a sort of conscientious scruple at assuming Christian names positively masculine, while we did not like to declare ourselves women, because — without at that time suspecting that our mode of writing and thinking was not what is called “feminine” – we had a vague impression that authoresses are liable to be looked on with prejudice; we had noticed how critics sometimes use for their chastisement the weapon of personality, and for their reward, a flattery, which is not true praise.
– Charlotte Bronte
All three ended up famous, though poor Anne is somewhat overshadowed by her two sisters. Sadly, none of the sisters survived middle age, with Charlotte living the longest by achieving 38 years of age. The most scandalous thing they ever did was publish books under nom de plumes, but their legacy lives on. One can’t help but wonder what masterpieces might have been written if they had lived into their seventies.
As a writer, I have a pen name, Lynne Lumsden Green, but only as my own name is so common I needed something to make it unique. I haven’t any urge to take on a masculine nom de plume, but if I had to face the same attitudes as Sands, Eliot, and the Brontë sisters, I would probably be using Lyndon instead of Lynne. But gender stereotyping lingered on well past the Victorian era.
“It has been suggested that Tiptree is female, a theory that I find absurd, for there is to me something ineluctably masculine about Tiptree’s writing.”
— Robert Silverberg
Alice Sheldon, who wrote under the name James Tiptree Jr, was a Science Fiction writer who kept her gender identity a secret until her death in 1987. She often wrote about gender and sexuality in her work, so it is a shame that she felt only a masculine persona would gain publication and recognition. I dedicate this article to her memory.
As a Steampunk enthusiast and writer, I feel it is my duty to read books by Victorian writers, to get a feel for the era from people who lived in it. Four of these women are the backbone of English literature, along with Jane Austen, and George Sands is considered one the greatest writers of her time. They shook down the walls of the Literature with their talent.