Flash Fiction - Everyday

 This was going to be for FlashFiction 2025, but...things happened. So here it is for all to see right now.

“I think I got a good grade today.”

Sybil smiled as she pulled on her jacket. “That’s very good, Luisa. You remember your pills today?”

“I’ve got a reminder set up. A pill a day keeps the lurgy away.”

Sybil nodded, fastened her jacket up. The rest of the students had gone on ahead, going through the doors two by two. There was Alicia, looking all flushed and excited over the prom. Otis still looking a little too plump. Mirabel with her new hairstyle. Elsa holding hands with Suzie. Mark talking with Conrad. They were all in their outdoor clothes now, waiting in line to go home. The bus wasn’t available, so it would have to be on foot.

Outside the school building, the small rad counter on her wrist started clicking. She looked up at the scarred sky.

“Going to rain again today. Best hurry, or use a shelter if it starts.”

“Any shopping needed?”

“Not today. Managed it. But we need to go to the doctor to get our health certificates certified again. Dad’s position depends on it.”

“Well he does have quite the commute. Say, want to come round for a sleepover if it does look like rain? You can call your parents, say you won’t be in due to the rain and you’re staying with a friend. I’ve got the latest Last Phantasm downloaded and all ready to play.”

“That’s great. Oh lord.” Sybil checked her rad counter. “Best be moving. There’s another cloud coming in.”

The rad counter flared again like an incensed rattlesnake. Adjusting their full body suits, Sybil and Luisa began the trek through the irradiated streets.

An Author's Retrospective: Gerry and Sylvia Anderson

 Back when I was a young lad living in Batley, when my storytelling was a mere twinkle in my eye, I was seeing bits and pieces of stuff from a husband-and-wife duo called Gerry and Sylvia Anderson. I had no idea who he was, it was only in my teenage years that I really got how influential he was in a particular sphere; sci-fi storytelling that was very well liked in Britain but seemingly impossible to sell to America as it trod a very fine line between children's television and a more "adult" demographic that most people today would probably called "Young Adult". I think some of my writing has been influenced by some of the stuff I experienced of Anderson's work, so I thought... Hey, why not think back to what I've seen and what I think now. Starting from my first Anderson experience;

*Space 1999: Surprised it wasn't Thunderbirds? So am I thinking about it. My earliest memories of Gerry Anderson's work was Space 1999, the final collaboration between him and Sylvia as they were splitting up as the two series were made. The series I remember best was the second, with the shapeshifter Maya, which means I associated it with a relatively light tone. The first series, which was a lot more philosophical and brutal, I also saw bits of as I think they jumbled the episodes at times. I still remember it fondly to a point, but I'm not sure I'd enjoy having it in my DVD collection. Plus it goes on reruns on live TV a lot.

*Thunderbirds: I remember the very first episode I saw when I was maybe six or seven years old: Pit of Peril, the episode with the Sidewinder military walker falling into an old munitions pit. While some parts of it haven't aged as well as others (mostly-male cast, almost uniformly Caucasian and some stereotypes where they aren't, some cultural hangovers from the 1960s that probably wouldn't be around in the 2050s like smoking), it's on the whole still very strong. I've got the series on DVD and don't regret it. It's still very technically impressive, considering it was all practical effects, puppetry, models, and some forced perspective. It's something I've been watching for pleasure recently, and I don't regret it. I even like the two movies done in that original style, Thunderbirds Are Go and Thunderbird 6, even if they're not the best of the best (one's very slow, the other's a little jumbled, both have shaky writing).

*Captain Starlet (1967): I don't remember exactly which episode of this I saw first, but it was probably one of the ones set in a snowy area. Avalanche? Noose of Ice? Shadow of Fear? Either way, I experienced Captain Scarlet, and...wow. There's a reason this remains more of a cult thing, because it's not pulling punches. It's tense, very current with world events then and at the moment right now, pretty brutal to its characters, and because of this it's probably better known in the UK than anywhere else. The Mysterons are a genuinely intimidating threat, but also not wholly evil as they were attacked first without apparent mercy, so their actions feel understandable. Also, you may have noticed the little date thing. That's because there's two Captain Scarlet series that were created under an Anderson's view.

Stingray: I've not seen a large amount of this series even now, and it remains in that odd little hole where I put stuff that wobbles between camp and genuinely enjoyable (camp needs to be a special kind of camp to interest me properly). Its undersea exploits, doomed romance between male lead Troy and the mute underwater princess Marina, and some very prescient themes regarding environmental damage and Cold War-esque tensions keep it enjoyable. It's just the puppets look rather silly.

UFO: I didn't even need to think about it when I heard the outro music; this was Gerry Anderson. His first fully live action endeavor, and one of his more serious offerings. Again, like Space 1999, I'm not sure I'd want it as a permanent fixture in my life, but it's something I appreciate. The episodes that stick in my mind are one where an agent is framed for treason and (again reflecting cultural norms of the time) sentenced to death, one where the leader of the UFO organization must choose between his duty and the life of his son, and another where the hostile aliens are first introduced. It has suffered a lot from the episodes being aired out of order.

Captain Starlet (2005): This series was one of the last the male Anderson worked on in any full capacity, and is an oddball of a concept. Combining CGI with motion capture, it's something that I still really enjoy even if its tone is quite different due to playing into more modern character chemistry and drama. It's still got standout episodes (suicide-inducing computer virus, Martian gas making a mine seem haunted, a seemingly-dead astronaut brought back as an agent, a Mysteron defector), and unlike every other Anderson series mentioned so far, it has an actual narrative ending. But once again, often aired out of order, so the story gets muddled.

So, do I still remember these series fondly? Yes. Would I recommend them? Yes, just be ready for some cultural dissonance at times. Were they an influence on my work? Oh absolutely yes. Not every series is a standout, and there are some series that I've only glimpsed (Fireball XL5, Joe 90, The Secret Service) that didn't resonate at all. But I still fondly recall multiple characters as signposts for some characters I would later create. Lady Penelope, Captain Black, Marina, Maya, the fish god of Titan, Destiny Angel, Edward Straker. They live on in the back of my mind. So yes, I don't mind having watched these series at all.

About "The Incident"...

 Warning: This article contains spoilers for much of the media mentioned. Also, may get a little rambling.

You've probably had a moment where you're enjoying a piece of media, and there's a character. They may not be great, they may be someone you like, but they're not hate-worthy. Then they do something. It might be small, it might be large, it might not be acknowledged in-story, but that something makes you LOATH them on a deep and instinctive level ever after. Nothing else that happens will redress that single action, that one misstep, that betrayal. Often this kind of thing is deliberately constructed, but when it isn't, it's more interesting. It shows that perhaps the writers didn't intend for this to happen, but it happened anyway.

For the example that got me thinking about this way too much, I shall have to spoil a key plot twist in Final Fantasy XV, a video game that...has more than its fair share of problems. The central cast is all-male, and one of them is the bodyguard Gladiolus Amicitia. He's...alright. Looks like a bruiser, but actually enjoys a good book. Hopeless at cooking, a swordsman, and has a strong camaraderie with his charge Noctis Lucis Caelum. During Chapter 9 of the narrative, stuff happens and Noctis's childhood friend and love interest Lunafreya Nox Fleuret is murdered. Right in front of him. And another companion, Ignis, is permanently blinded. Weeks after Noctis also lost his father. And he is then shouldered with a god-given destiny he doesn't understand. On a train to their next destination, Noctis is in shock and mourning. And what does Gladiolus do...?

Gladiolus Amicitia takes Noctis by the scruff of the neck, seems about to punch him, heckles him for "moping", tells him to "get over it", and remains some level of antagonistic towards him for...doing what I'd guess at lot of young adults do when they've suffered that level of emotional trauma. This moment, this single moment, made me hate Gladiolus. His attitude is emblematic of an extremely archaic approach to the aftershock of unexpected death and the need to mourn. It's an attitude I can't stomach at any price. No matter how much the game tries to redress this, it doesn't acknowledge that what Gladiolus did is physical and emotional abuse.

For reasons I can't fathom, Gladiolus remains popular among the fan base. For me, I'd have happily seen him die a pointless and painful death, and have another character like Ravus or Iris take his place in the foursome. This action is the stuff that I've seen loads of other characters narratively punished for so many times, but here it's just given a pass. As if the writers are saying "It's okay to physical abuse, heckle and shame someone out of the mourning process". Maybe not the intended message, but that's what it's espousing here, and nothing afterwards seems to contradict it.

Be it noted, betrayals or bad things you see coming from a mile away, or deliberately unsympathetic characters, don't fall into this category for me. Burke from Aliens is a character who seems to be on Ripley's side, but he's Weyland-Yutani, so you know he'll do something questionable at some point. Malvolio from Twelfth Night is a pompous fop who rapidly earns ire by belittling the Fool when he's trying to comfort the countess Olivia, and he's a comedy relief "villain" anyway so he doesn't count.

By contrast, let's look at Ran, Akira Kurosawa's last epic and a film I've only seen once but still love. It's a loose adaptation of King Lear, so not much explaining to do. The main thing the film succeeded in doing was first establishing Ichimonji as someone who was misguided but not malevolent. But as the film wears on, we get a growing increment of events that, for me at least, made his downfall at the hands of his disloyal sons a fitting punishment. When he dies at the film's end, I didn't feel that bad for him. I felt bad for his remaining loyal son Saburo, killed pointlessly. The long-suffering Kyoami, who curses the whole family. The loyal general Kurogare, who sees his master's plans disintegrate due to an act of indirect revenge from Lady Kaede. The young Lady Sue, butchered on the road. The blind Tsurumaru, left alone in a castle ruin waiting for Sue's return. Next to all that, Ichimonji's death seems deserved by the end.

That's a slow-burn variant of the same thing I saw with Gladiolus, although in Ichimonji's case just narrative deserts were meted out. There is also a novel storyline which somehow manages to pull this while also keeping my interest in the character strong.

Jonathan Stroud's Bartimaeus trilogy, of which I shall never stop singing praises because it's an excellent book series, has its main character Nathaniel grow from a relatively innocent boy to a spoiled and arrogant magician. By the third book Ptolemy's Gate, he is actively cruel to his supernatural servants including the djinn Bartimaeus, and has no sympathy for commoners who seek equality with their magician overlords. I deeply disliked him, so when the story SOMEHOW managed to redeem him partially when he freed Bartimaeus instead of torturing him for information as he was heavily persuaded towards, it broke some of the conditioning which made him like this. His actions still aren't fully forgivable, he admits that, and at heart he's still something of a child, but his actions during the climax of Ptolemy's Gate which includes sacrificing himself while saving Bartimaeus are almost like a combined redemption and just deserts for his actions as part of the magician's hierarchy.

I feel like Nathanial's partial redemption is one of a few exceptions to this phenomenon, because I genuinely couldn't find that many off the top of my head. Especially as in most cases I could think of, the story actively acknowledges that what the character has done is...bad. Just think about the actions of Leo in House of Flying Daggers. He goes from a sympathetic officer colleague to a jealous rival, up to attempting to force himself on heroine Mei, turning him from at least semi-sympathetic into a vile creature who suffers perhaps the worst punishment by the film's tragic climax; disillusionment and abandonment.

And in that word, we reach the nub of this strange situation. "Tragic". Each of the narratives I've mentioned have something which is more or less tragic, regardless of whether the story acknowledges it. And if it's the right kind of thing, not some magical whatsit or sci-fi dodad, it hits harder and makes things feel worse when the story doesn't punish it. A friend or lover turning into an abuser? It's scary because it can happen in real life, and as people outside the story we can't intervene. A foolish father and former warlord getting his comeuppance? Fine for him, but what about all the collateral damage. A boy schooled in a cruel and elitist system? Just look at any rich family to see potential examples of THAT happening, without any "commoner" friend or magical companion to whisper in your ear and wake your conscience.

Things like that twist our perceptions of a character, and it's a technique often used in positive aspects to garner sympathy or empathy. But it's rarer for it to be used to make the audience truly hate someone. Rarer still for it to be done on purpose. Maybe I'm reading too much into this, but it's something I can't come back to without thinking about this. One of the books I recently completed has a character inspired by Gladiolus, and... Well, let's just he doesn't get away with what he does.

Short story - Suspended Disbelief

Warning, this short story contains references to and descriptions of violence and prejudice. May be triggering for some audiences, especially right now.

Having your neck broken hurts. Having your neck not break, but instead wrenched and constricted by your own bodyweight so your windpipe and arteries are tightened like the twists in a pig’s guts is far worse. I don’t know why they went for me, why they picked me. They didn’t say much except slurs and insults I won’t repeat here. They just strung me up, and watched. Some of them were even laughing. I won’t lie, I pissed my pants while I was up there. No shame in that, it’s biological.

I might’ve been left up there to rot while they rode away, but something happened. I didn’t die. Not because I’m some crazy strong hunk who’ll break a rope with his own neck, nor because some white guy came along and rescued me. I was still up there, my brain just about ticking over, when a voice spoke. It was a woman’s voice.

“I take it you dislike suspenseful stories.”

I couldn’t exactly turn to look, but I could swear someone had just appeared next to me. I don’t know how to describe it exactly, but... Imagine when someone comes round a door quietly, so it looks like they’ve just appeared. Like that, only there wasn’t any door. Just think air around me and my piss-stained jeans. She did eventually appear, but I couldn’t exactly ‘see’ her. I was nearly dead, and everything was a red haze. I’m pretty sure there were wings there, and something that reflected the sunlight around her shoulders.

I couldn’t speak, but I’m pretty sure I ‘thought’ to her. You an angel?

The reply held a smile. “No, and no devil either. I’m here to make a proposal. I take it you do not wish to remain for the next five weeks up there?”

What d’you think?

“I think a cowboy like you, just minding his own business while he went to another herd, did not deserve to become the guest of a necktie party. What would Lucas say if he saw you now?”

I didn’t know what to think about that. Lucas had a wife at his ranch, but during our drives together, we... Well, it happened in those days. We’d do our thing to survive, to stay sane, to be close together. But...well, I didn’t wanna linger on it. I was about to die, so might as well enjoy whatever this hallucination was. The shape in the red haze seemed to be turning to look directly at me.

“Not a pretty sight now, but you were comely once upon a time. I can see that, as I can see elements of your memories while your brain continues to function. You may be comely again. Would you here my proposal?”

Why not? Not like you’re real anyway.

“Oh ye of little faith. The proposal is simple. You get to live out your natural lifespan, in exchange for...serving me.”

If my blood hadn’t already been bursting my brain, I’d have felt it rising. My people had fought to break free of those white bastards in the south ten years before, and seeing another white bitch making another offer... But... Wait, was she white? I couldn’t tell through the haze of pain. She didn’t seem to be any skin colour I’d known. Not White, not Black, not Mexican, not Chinese. Not even anyone from the Chickasaw or Seminole or any other tribe I’d met while herding the cattle on their drives. The woman’s voice pushed through my brain again.

“Let me see, what is the date now? Ah yes, in the current human calendar, it is 1871 July 23. You will be an agent for us until 1971 July 22.”

Agent? You don’t look like no agent.

“Ah yes, the double negative. An interesting linguistic quirk, sadly demonised by speakers of so-called ‘proper language’. You see, our presence on your world is naturally very limited, and requires us to use local help and knowledge to aid in our own issues. In exchange for agreeing to this service, you shall not only be restored to full health, but you shall ceased to age for the duration of your service, you shall have more than adequate funds, and access to our private resources.”

It was too good to be true. What’s the catch?

“Well...you will be unageing. You will outlive everyone else around you. And you must perform a certain mission for us. And it may not always be pleasant.”

So you’re really just a driver.

“If you wish to use such a colloquialism. There is no compulsion to accept the offer, that is not our way. You must do so in full knowledge of what you must accept. If you wish to stay up there and die, we shall not gainsay your choice.”

Her meaning was clear. If I didn’t say yes, she’d leave me swinging. If I said yes, she’d let me down, but I’d be tied to her for a century. Hell, I wanted to tell her to go to hell, but...

Where do I sign up?

“There is nothing to ‘sign’. But you will feel a slight bump.”

The figure moved, produced something. There was a flash of light, then I dropped to the ground. I was about four feet up, and I’m pretty sure something broke. Then I was rolled onto my front, and then... I don’t wanna describe the pain I felt in that moment, so I won’t. Just put it this way; Jesus had it easier.

When my vision cleared, I was still lying on the ground. My hands were still tied with some kinda twine which cut my skin, and I felt that bloody noose round my neck, but it was loose. I wasn’t slowly strangling to death under my own weight anymore. I wasn’t hanging anymore. And over me...

I kid you not, I almost pissed my pants again. The figure over me wasn’t a devil, but it sure wasn’t no angel. It was as if a snake had kids with an eagle and both parts hadn’t torn each other apart. Scaly skin, six pairs of wings, the kind of face I’d last seen on a cut-up body at Gettysburg, and hands more like scorpion claws than anything I’d want stroking me. But that voice... I hadn’t noticed how beautiful it was when I was dying. It looked small now, hovering in the air, some strange light that wasn’t the sun dancing around it.

“Contract has been established, revival achieved. Revival, standard, so no additional time to compensate. What name should I use for you? Not your own, but a name that is how you will be referred to by me.”

I thought. Well, I’d cheated death, I guess. I hadn’t done it myself, but I’d taken the chance. Now I’d have to live with what I’d done. Like...

“Spider.”

The thing looked at the object it held again. “Spider. A reference to Anansi. Trickster deity common among the peoples of West Africa. A suitable code. Very well, spider. I leave you with a first gift.”

A snap, of fingers or claws, and I felt the twine round my wrists snap. There was a thud, and the thing...walked through the door. Again, that’s the only way to describe it. It was bloody hot, so I pushed myself up and made for the shade of the tree those White bastards had used as a gallows. I looked at where I think the thing had dropped whatever it was, and saw a small object. A parcel loosely tied with the same kind of twine that bound my wrists.

Well, there wasn’t nothing else to do. Pulling that noose off, I settled down and unwrapped the parcel. It was a note, wrapped round a small wad of money. $500. I swear to you, I’d never seen that much in my life before all in one place. I guess it took a few seconds for me to realise my mouth was flapping like an undone fly. I got that money deep into my pocket, then looked at the note. My Momma had taught me to read, and the writing was clear.

‘Go fifteen miles south of here to the town of Long’s Rest. Go to the local saloon and speak with the bartender. When she asked what you would like, say “A Fae Special”.’

I folded it. There was no doubt, I was alive. Or maybe I was some ghost and I’d be walking around spooking people for God knew how long. But if I was alive... Better alive and walking around than left hanging, or buried by the roadside or tossed in a creek.

Walking fifteen miles is no joke, and my boots weren’t the best. But I got there, found a one-horse town that probably hadn’t seen any action since some lost 49’ers came through way back when. Ultimately, it was a simple job finding the saloon, pushing my way inside, seeing no-one around, seeing the Chinese bartender wiping down some spill that looked to have a trace of something other that whiskey or water in its contents. She looked directly at me, and what I’ve heard called a stage smile spread over her face.

“What can I get you?”

I almost ran, but I managed to get the words out. “I’ll have...a fae special.”

The change in expression on her face was a bit frightening. Her smile remained the same, but her eyes went cold, flicking from side to side. Then she gave a signal with her hand to ‘come with me’. Her voice was still the same.

“I think we’ve got some of that in the back. But there’s some crates on it, mind helping move them?”

“Sure.”

There wasn’t anyone in the place to stare at us as she led me round into the small storeroom. There was a bucket of lye there, and the air inside the place was really dry. Wondered why, given where we were. She motioned to close the door, and when I did she immediately rushed forward and pinned me.

“Who sent you?”

I didn’t know how to answer. Glad I didn’t have to. That voice came again, the female voice, this time hovering behind the barkeep.

“I sent him, Wan’er. So you need not be suspicious.”

The woman turned, and I saw what she saw. The same thing I’d vaguely seen above me when I’d been cut down and brought back. It...looked like a human. I don’t know what else to say. It had two legs—they bent the wrong way—two arms—they ended in those claw things—other things—either too many or too small—and a head that looked like a crab got stitched together with a dried-up herring. And its wings looked more like those crazy things Le Bris created.

The woman Wan’er turned and bowed her head. “Apologies. But I can’t be too careful these days. You know the kind of thing that’s round around.”

“I know.” The thing looked at me with its three eyes. “I am glad you decided to trust me. Or perhaps it was mere curiosity that led you here.”

“Call it curiosity.” I glanced down at myself. “Sorry about this.”

“I have had far worse enter my saloon.” Wan’er walked to a large barrel and pulled the front away, showing the shelves inside. “You’ll need new clothes. I’ll get rid of the old ones.”

The thing, still hovering, turned slowly to look at me directly. “By the way, we have a number of methods for...detailing matters. But we have no means of reading minds. I would know your name.”

I couldn’t stop the smile creasing my face. “The name’s Dallas. Dallas O’Key.”

Wan’er, who’d gotten a fresh set of clothes out, turned. “What kind of a name is that?”

I’d already died once, so it didn’t feel like much to tell the story. I won’t give you the version I told them. I’ll give you the brief version. And the truth. My Mama was working in the south on a plantation. One night, one of the drivers got horny and took her. I appeared nine months later. She called me Kwaku because I was born on a Wednesday. The driver knew I’d come from him, and he called me Dallas O’Kay. Must’ve thought I was an okay kid. He called me Dallas after where he was from. My first memory was the driver beating me and Momma with his whip.

My next clear memory was seeing the guy’s corpse beaten up during a breakaway, and getting away while my Mama distracted some of the other drivers. I never saw her again, but I remember a gunshot. After that, I lived how I could. Did some things I’m not proud of, but before any conservative crapsack suggests anything, that’s not why I like guys. I always did. It’s nothing unnatural, it’s just who I am. It’s why I liked Lucas, why I slept with him when we were running our cattle drives. The others didn’t care much, just wanted us to be quiet about it. There’s plenty you can do quietly at night in your bed.

The thing stared at me with its three shining silver eyes. “Your names are nice.”

“Better than what the driver called me.”

“Which was?”

“Shitbag.”

“That is a somewhat inappropriate name. Even by the standards of your species.”

“Yeah, no shit. Well...” I grinned, stretched. “Guess I’ve got a job now. What’s the pay? Or is $500 all I’m getting?”

“Our pay is quite suitable. $500 per year.”

I’m pretty sure my jaw dropped again. Don’t know if you’d think much of $500 a month, but back then, it was a bloody fortune. You were lucky to get $10 a month, I think the highest you got paid was $50 for one job. The creature looked hard at me.

“It is not merely for luxury. You need the means to purchase supplies, potentially bribe people, and pay rent for any accommodations you need to stay inconspicuous.”

“And I’m doing this...why?”

“You shall know. When the time comes. When we can walk among you without concern. Until then, do as you please.” A pause, then the creature continued. “And, so you know, you may call me Idiya.”

With that, the creature vanished. Just like before, just ‘walked’ through something that made it just vanish. I was left alone with the woman Wan’er, who was getting other stuff I’d need. A hat. A small gun. I felt the money there again. Well, first I was getting myself a new horse, then I was riding off to find somewhere safe. Maybe find Lucas again, let him know I was fine. And then... Well, as to what I ended up doing, that’s to come.

Coming relatively soon: Author Talks Season 3

Long title, I know. But this has been a while coming. I've had to rethink and re-evaluate how I want to do this. I'll leave earlier more ad-hoc episodes up if only for comparison's sake, but I want to switch to a more scripted and less chaotic style. There are a number of concepts that have rattled around one way or another for the next set of episodes for my one-person podcast where I talk about things, and occasionally read short stories. I don't know exactly WHEN the new episodes will start appearing, as it will take longer due to needing to actually write and research the things. But I want to start getting them out by May/June this year, and between six and twelve episodes if everything goes to plan.

Here's a preview for anyone interested of a few things I'll likely be talking about or doing.

*The romanticizing of terrible futures: This is a bit of a potentially hot topic now, with Russia being Russia, China being China, and America becoming something horrible. Mech wars. Dystopias. Cyberpunk. Grimdark. Aren't they supposed to be a warning, not a template?

*Looking back at my writing journey from scribbling in an exercise book to...being published. Yikes.

*A short story from one of the classic older authors. I've done Lovecraft, Wells, Porges. Might try someone else now.

*Research books. They are important, and they aren't necessarily all non-fiction. Battle Royale anyone?

*Something of mine. Maybe a sample from an upcoming work, perhaps one of my pieces of short fiction. Depends.

*A writer and fan's perspective deep dive into a fictional universe I have deep knowledge or direct experience or. Or maybe more than one to compare and contrast. Whichever, expect both praise and critiques.

Want to check out the rest of Author Talks? I'll link the Spotify and YouTube versions below so you can dip into terrible sound quality, stuttering, adlib things, and for several episodes a fountain of bloopers.

https://open.spotify.com/show/1Fwq88YhRd0NYz6pZAnK9Z#login

https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLCPsNUSX2K2ZMvfhlx3HIWZNYyoU0mQ5G

My Favourite Women in Fiction

It's Women's History Month, and many others are far more qualified and important in talking about the women of history who stood out and continue to inspire, especially in times when social freedoms and qualities are or are attempted to be walked back by wannabe kings. But one thing I think I can comment on is the women I encountered in my life through fiction, the women who left an impression on me. These are the figures who influenced by taste towards including either female leads, or having women in prominent/dominant positions, or having a large female representation in the cast.

This list isn't comprehensive, it's meant to be scholastic, it's a day late for International Women's Day, and I'm just one bisexual white British man with opinions. I'm not the final say, and shouldn't be, and I'm not in a position to speak about minorities outside liking some characters in fiction who belong to them. I also know my taste in fiction is occasionally more mainstream than it should be. Want to know more about writing female characters from a female perspective, please check out Emily Inkpen, who is creating a series of articles on her blog about writing female characters, including the pitfalls men fall into (I admit, I've probably stumbled into them myself)

So, without further ado, my list in no particular order.

• Kathleen "Kitty" Jones: The third protagonist of Jonathan Stroud's Bartimaeus trilogy, introduced in the second book The Golem's Eye, Kitty helped elavate this series from an enjoyable romp to a solid favourite. After seeing the oppressive control of magicians first-hand, and having the ability to negate their power somewhat, Kitty becomes a keystone in the growing conflict between magicians, their djinn slaves, and commoners. She is a standout, though I won't say how much as that's spoilers.

• Tehanu/Therru: I couldn't not put an Ursula le Guin character here, and she's amazing. A child who is taken in by Tenar after being horribly scarred by an abusive family, Tehanu's journey through her titular book at The Other Wind is one of self-actualisation and recovery from trauma. I could put her adoptive mother Tenar in here as well, but Tehanu gets extra points for also being a dragon. Even the debabably terrible Ghibli film based on le Guin's books manages to create a more than serviceable Tehanu.

• Ursula Morrow: A recent find from Gareth Powell's Future's End that was a lovely surprise. She's a great character, snappy yet not invulnerable, and dealing with several issues at once in a way that doesn't feel overly dramatic or silly. There is also the AI character Chris who presents as female, but I chose Ursula as she is the lead, and she is very much the one in control of things by the end of the story.

• Queen Elizabeth I: Yes, she's a historical figure, but the version played by Glenda Jackson in Elizabeth R is more than a little fictionalised, despite the series avoiding some of the regular traps surrounding her and Robert Dudley. Not all, but enough that isn't not egregious. As played by Jackson, Elizabeth is a presence, a forceful character at once liberated and burdened by her position as head of church and state. I find myself unconsciously comparing other fictional or fictionalised queens to this portrayal.

• Buffy Summers: An obvious pick, and again an old one. And sadly from a writer whose reputation has gone downhill in recent years following revelations about his behaviour and character. But I'll still say Buffy's someone who was part of my culture growing up, and the one I engaged with the most. Xena was also around at this time, but it was Buffy I connected with. I also saw most of the final season, which left me with a solid impression of a woman who grits her teeth and does what is necessary in the face of a seemingly impossible threat.

• Romana: Another oldie, sorry. But an oldie I adore. A Doctor Who character explicitly created as a foil and equal to the time-travelling alien, Romana (full name, Romanadvoratrelundar) is my favourite companion in the whole series. She does fall into the distressed companion trope a few times sadly, but she also has the brains and wit to not sit quietly or whimper about it. She often escapes on her own, or saves the Doctor, and having someone who can return the Doctor's technobabble shot for shot is something the recent series has...sadly lacked. The Doctor needs someone who won't stand being talked down to again.

• Yú Xiùlián and Yù Jiāolóng: I couldn't pick between these two lead women from Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon, probably the archtypical modern wuxia. The central emotional conflict of the film revolves around these two, the role of women in both Qing Dynasty-era and modern Chinese society, and their respective attitudes towards the men in their lives. Both are tragic in different ways, but they were also incredible examples to me of women who struggled against a system in contrasting ways: Xiùlián with calm and quiet determination, Jiāolóng through brash and open rebellion.

• Catwoman: I just adore her, and if I ever get the chance, I'd love to write a Catwoman story of her just doing her own chaotic-good thing. I've got four versions that stick in my mind and are something which brings a smile to my face. The 1960s version played by three different actresses--Julie Newmar, Lee Meriweather, and the glorious Eartha Kitt--is pure unadulterated camp. Michelle Pffeifer's version from Batman Returns is certainly something, but not a favourite as she's a bit too dark. Halle Berry's 2004 version is...an acquired taste, like her film, but she's a lot of fun. And Ann Hathaway's version in the third of Nolan's Batman films is the one bright spot in a very dull film--if only she didn't have the most forced Batman romance ever.

• Adèle Blanc-Sec: I admit, I've never encountered the original comic version, only the interpretation that came from Luc Besson in his 2010s movie. Again, unfortunately, another product from a problematic creator. But I have to honestly say, I really like Adèle, portrayed with suitable verve and spunk by Louise Bourgoin. She is still feminine by the standards of her character's time, but with an added touch of devil-may-care and couldn't-give-an-F that elevates her above the standard protagonist for this kind of adventure. Not perfect, but worth a watch, and a favourite for good reasons.

• Lightning: I came to the Final Fantasy series by way of the movies, with my first game exposures being the divisive Final Fantasy XIII and the wider Fabula Nova Crystallis concept. This was once an unpopular opinion, but I really like Lightning. She's not a perfect character, but she was deliberately written that way. She's quick to anger, withdrawn, pushy, but ultimately admits and seeks to atone for her mistakes. Her evolution across three games from stoic soldier to penitent divine warrior to saviour of the world is an arc I found engaging and enjoyable.

• Zero: A character from the niche Drakengard series who...might raise eyebrows. She is a foul-mouthed ex-prostitute and criminal who is revived by mystical forces to destroy humanity. She grudgingly works against this assigned fate, though due to how the story is told, she initially comes off as a psychopath hunting down her sisters and slaughtering anyone in her way. She is also caustic at best and abusive at worst to her companions. But beneath the F-bombs and casual talk of sex, there is a real depth to her, and her attitude is one I actually really like. A refreshing breath of foul-mouthed yet good-hearted air.

• Lara Croft: I've saved her for last as I did a whole video on her and uploaded it onto my YouTube channel on her fictional birthday last month. Lara isn't perfect; she's got a lot of archaic elements attached to her character, has suffered from being created by and managed by men for a chunk of her lifetime, is highly sexualised in a lot of her marketing, and she likely doesn't reflect much of the pushes for diversity present today. But she's the one who made me fall in love with games as a story medium, and solidified my love of women in fiction. Video linked below.

A honourable mention goes to the female incarnation of Commander Shepherd. I didn't want to include this in the main list, still not sure why, but I think this for me is the definitive Shepherd. Yes, she houses several problematic American military stereotypes, but Jennifer Hale's performance and the overall writing quality lift her up to a pedestal her male counterpart can't hope to touch. Also (as shown in the image above) Nilin from Remember Me. I really like her, but there are some SERIOUS issues with her writing that constantly undermine what she was trying to be.

"Liked it, wouldn't experience again."

 In my review of Future's Edge last week, one of the compliments I paid was that it was a book I would want to re-read, rather than one of those I would read once, but never really pick up again either in a hurry or ever again. And that led me indirectly to remembering other things I had read, watched, played, listened to once but never again. Similar to my list of sci-fi movies, I'll go through bits of media I've experienced and thought "liked it, wouldn't experience again".

*Alex Rider series (2000-?????): This is an instance that could have gone in my "saw film first" post, as I saw the rather bonkers Stormbreaker film, wondered what Anthony Horowitz's original book was like, and have loathed the film since because...reasons. But ultimately I don't think I'll ever be returning to or re-reading these titles. They have a place for me in my formative reading, and the third novel Skeleton Key is one I recall fondly (also pretty dark, read with caution). But I suffered burnout when I was bought the next three novels after Skeleton Key, when they became...large. By the time I reached the opening fifth of Scopia, I dropped the series and haven't returned. I may well be part burnout, part changing tastes in my habits of reading.

The Roman Mysteries (2001-2009): Caroline Lawrence's series, while principally aimed at children, was a very fun read for me. The Thieves of Ostia was one of my first exposures to a realistic depiction of the Roman world that wasn't extremely grim and bloody. I still remember the second book The Secrets of Vesuvius vividly, contrasting the reunion of a fractured family against the destruction of Pompeii in 79 CE. I finished The Twelve Tasks of Flavia Gemina and started The Enemies of Jupiter before feeling I was growing tired of it. It wasn't just that I was growing up and my fiction tastes were changing, but that getting two books out of order, The Sirens of Surrentum and The Beggar of Volubilis, put me off as this is a series you need to read in order. Again, like the Alex Rider books, it was a combination of factors.

*The Fly (1986): I was FAR too young when I first saw this classic body horror, and the bit that's always stuck in my mind is the final fifteen minutes or so, when the scientist undergoes his final transformation into a disgusting human/fly hybrid, and (dancing around spoilers here) makes a desperate attempt to continue living. Unlike the 1958 film which I've seen multiple times, with both being based on a 1957 short story by George Langelaan, David Cronenberg's film otherwise feels very flat compared to other roughly equivalent sci-fi horror titles like Alien or Predator or even The Thing from what I've heard. It holds little interest for me beyond the incredible practical effects in that final quarter hour, and I have little to no wish to rewatch it in full. I can see the "good" bit on YouTube if I want.

The Big Country (1958): There are very few "Westerns" that I actually like (the Support your Local duology, Hallelujah Trail and select Eastwood titles are those I do). Most Westerns immediately turned me off for reasons I couldn't pinpoint for years. Those reasons are ultimately to do with the racial, gender, sexual and historical propaganda the medium continues to peddle in most instances. Not all, but most. The Big Country feels like the exemplar of what I don't like about the medium, outside most of the John Wayne corpus. It's just so long, and so...generic White America. I know that's harsh, but it's also true. I get the appeal, and there are some standout bits, but generally....eh. If this is supposed to a definitive Western, I'll go find a non-definitive one.

Dishonourable mention goes to Avatar, which against my better judgement I saw more than once and I wish I hadn't because it's...not good. Heck, I wrote a whole book in my Cluster Cycle explicitly as a deconstruction of its premise and structure. Plenty of people seem to love it, but as we're seeing in America, just because people shout about something a lot doesn't mean it's a good thing.