Cloverfield Lane creature design, as envisioned by artist Kurt Papstein.
Elfquest, created by Wendy and Richard Pini, exploded onto the publishing scene in the early 1980s. A graphic novel series about, basically, hippy Native American elves who ride wolves, it took the comic world and SF fandom by storm, kick-starting the indie comic movement while also growing out of the earlier adult comic movement of the late 1960s and 1970s, of which Heavy Metal (Metal Hurlant) was a premier vehicle.
In contrast to Heavy Metal’s male-oriented fare like Den, Elfquest was female-oriented. It was crass, romantic, sexually idealized, and relationship-oriented, owing much to Star Trek, fantasy author Joy Chant, Anne McCaffrey’s Dragonriders of Pern, and the fantasy trend of feel-good utopian clambake sex exemplified by feminist authors of the 1970s like Vonda McIntyre and Dorothy Bryant.
The series begins as the elves of the title, who have bonded with wolves, rescue a member of their tribe from certain death at the hands of humans. As the elves are superior in every way to humans, the humans hate them, and set fire to their forest. The tribe must then flee across unknown lands and eventually wind up in a desert kingdom of dark skinned elves where the unfortunately named Cutter, the youthful chief of their tribe, meets Leetah the healer, and instalove ensues. There’s a scale describing the elves’ sexual pairings: matchmates, lovemates, lifemates, and finally soulmates, which is an instantaneous sexual pairbond. In the story this creates much angst as Cutter pushes for connection and Leetah resists… creating a robust plotline that is still used by fantasy writers today, particularly in the urban genre.
The rest of the series concerns the elves’ efforts to figure out their past (which involves a long-forgotten crystalline spaceship and time travel) while surviving in The World of Two Moons, a Pleistocene-age kingdom where they come under attack from humans, trolls, and their more evil kinfolk.
If this sounds like I am making fun of it, you’re right, but I also acknowledge and respect its groundbreaking influence. Without Elfquest, we might still be stuck with the dreary, leering, and/or nihilistic counterculture comics of the Heavy Metal school.
Now on to the names.
Wolfrider elves have romanticized Native American names that are pretty sounding and evoke a lost age of beings who live in harmony with nature: Moonshade, Joyleaf, Scouter. Never mind that actual Native Americans, whose names when translated into English sound not so poetic: Walking Eagle, Red Jacket, Let-Them-Have-Enough, Little Turtle, Chasing-His-Horse. They are more personalized and eccentric, based on personal characteristics or deeds; they also change, and/or accrue, over the individual’s life.
Need a name for a Rousseau-inspired noble savage character? Or one for Elfquest gameplay? Here’s a list.
They whisper between themselves when you’re not around. Who knows what they talk about?
Easy-to-comprehend diagram of Horror genres. Some changes I’d make:
As I discovered when I read Rowan Jacobsen’s Apples of Uncommon Character, a name can make or break an apple type. Heirloom apples were commonly named after who discovered or propagated them or where they were discovered. Such as Ben Davis, McIntosh, and Rome, which came not from Italy but the little town of Rome, Ohio. Such down-homey names served for centuries.
When the commercial apple industry began to develop names had to become a little snappier to appeal to the mass market. Thus came Red Delicious, Cameo, and Gala.
Modern apples have even catchier names which often sound like cosmetics. SweeTango, Envy, Pacific Rose, and RubyFrost could all be shades of lipstick.
Need a name for a kind of apple? Here’s some randomgenned ones.
Mistress of Rum
Lake Erie Pumpkin
by Rowan Jacobsen
Photographs by Clare Barboza
Bloomsbury, USA, 2014
[Challenge # 18: A book where food, cooking, restaurants, chefs, etc. play a major role. ]
I was all set to read American Pie as my foodie selection for the 2019 challenge, but then I heard of this book, and I just had to read it instead.
Apples of Uncommon Character is a different kind of food book, part history, part field guide, part cookbook, and part coffee table folio, with beautiful, lucid photographs by Clare Barboza. Mainly, it’s a field guide, but not a comprehensive one. The apples within it, a mix of heirlooms, oddities, rarities, and new creations, are not meant to be all there ever were, just ones the author considers outstanding examples of taste, use, and creation. There’s a fair bit of history as well. I never knew that apples originated in Central Asia, in Kazakhstan, in the Tian Shan Mountains and were distributed to the west along the Silk Road. I also learned that apple trees do not breed true to seed. Apples have a very complicated and robust genome and, depending on their parents, vary wildly in fruit size, taste, shape, color, texture, time of fruiting, and keeping qualities. Thus, cultivated apple trees are all clones of the master type, branches cut from the parent tree grafted onto donor rootstock.
The book was also a walk through the past for me, as it listed some of the favorites I grew up eating on the East Coast: Winesap, Jonathan, Spy. My mother would take me to the local farmers market on Sunday afternoons and I was given the liberty to pick whatever apple basket caught my fancy. Many times it was the Jonathan, which I liked because of its round shape and red color… so bright the pigment sometimes bled into the snowy white flesh. I also liked McIntosh, and another type, Gravenstein I think it was, so huge it completely filled up my child’s hand like an oversized baseball. I never picked the Golden Delicious, I didn’t like it, or the Red Delicious, which receives a well-deserved drubbing in the book for its lack of taste.
Other apples I remember from upstate New York: Cortland and Empire with their ciderlike taste. As it turns out, unknown to me both Geneva and Ithaca have long been hotbeds of apple research and development.
The apples are divided by the author into summer-fruiting, dessert (eating out of hand types), baking, keeper (apples which will keep well over the winter in a farmstead’s root cellar) and cider brewing types. This was a revelation for me also, as I always thought an apple was just an apple. But the mix of starches and sugars in an apple’s flesh, as well as the thickness of its skin, is what delineates its commercial use. Some span several categories. The author gives marketing information about each apple, like where it was grown and for what market, and how popular it became.
And apple types do move in and out of popularity. In the late 2010s sweet, crunchy apples are all the rage: Honeycrisp, Gala, and Fuji. Some varieties like Red Delicious and Cameo are on their way down, and others, like Ambrosia and Jazz, on their way up. And, sadly, there are some varieties that appear only for a single season, can’t prove their marketability, and disappear. Green Dragon, where are you?
As I read on the author was revealed as something of a food snob, or just a very devoted apple foodie, to put it more kindly. Living on a farm, with friends in the apple business, he is privy to the taste of hundreds of apple varieties us mere mortals can only dream of, which makes, for those whose apples come from the supermarket, the book a vicarious read and perhaps a useless one, as I don’t think taste can be conveyed in words the way touch and sight can. “When you bite into it, there is a fleeting salvo of something rich and fruit, then the blast of sharpness arrives with a classic apple nose. At the end, your lips feel etched in acid.” I mean, like, huh? That’s a lot of fluffy nonsense.
Still, it was a lively and enjoyable read. I will never look at apples the same way again.
by Tanith Lee
The Silver Metal Lover is perhaps Tanith Lee’s best known novel after her three Flat Earth books. It may be the most beloved. Though an abiding Lee fan I was immune to its charms for many years until finally deciding to read it last summer. The cover art had connived this resistance. It’s…unfortunate. Don Maitz may be a wonderful artist but his version of Silver, the android lover of the book, is awful, resembling a liquid metal Terminator in a blood-colored hag wig and a weird, bemused, tremulous expression on his melting face. Eek!
Two later editions and their covers. Both are more in keeping with the character, though in the left version he seems to have a freakishly small head on a too-burly neck, and his clockwork eye, described in the book as a symbol of his artificial nature, gets lost. The version on the right, though less Renaissance-like and without sfumato, rightly captures his bland, optimistic nature, though in the story the mechanics of his left arm were not exposed like that.
(The DAW paperback, though, has Lee’s own artwork on the inside, which is a plus.)
Anyway, back to the book.
It wasn’t a romance per se, but an examination of the idea of romance on an everywoman, 16-year-old Jane. Like the heroine of Twilight she isn’t meant to be an actual teen but a stand-in for the reader, intelligent and aware, who is embarking on her first adult romantic and sexual experience. Jane lives in a world of unlimited luxury and wealth but restricted opportunity, created through artificial insemination to give mom the experience of raising a child. Jane is kept on a loose rein in that she has anything she desires materially, as well as questionable friends and social activities, but remains jobless and underage, economically dependent on her mother as well as being her mother’s analytical object. Jane has frenemies who are similar rich, bored, warped youth, but no real human connection aside from mom, and that one is questionable. Her mother’s control extends even to her appearance – Jane takes special drugs to foster a “Rubenesque” look with curly dark hair.
The story begins when Jane, who is lending some emotional support to a young actress friend on audition, comes across a lifelike robot strolling through the city with a guitar serenading passersby. He’s one of a new generation of robots who as well as being extremely lifelike are able to imitate human artists: musicians, actors, and dancers, crossing a barrier hitherto thought to be restricted. Jane becomes obsessed with him. She HAS to have him. But being under legal age she can’t buy a robot, and doesn’t have enough allowance to anyway. So she connives, through her slightly older friends, to buy him by proxy, and gets the money by selling off all the belongings given to her by her mother. She absconds to the big mean city to live with Silver (so she names him) in a mean little apartment and find out what love and desire are all about.
The novel is long and lush, and the romance is only a part of it. As with all Lee novels there’s a lot more going on the background, all of it picturesque: this future earth has acquired an orbiting asteroid that creates periodic earthquakes, robot labor has created a population of poor and unemployed, and the line between human and robot itself is growing thin with the introduction of Silver’s brethren the Golder (? I guess they all had to match) and Copper series of robots, indistinguishable from humans save for the metallic coloration of their skin. Silver himself has humanlike but silver-toned skin and auburn hair, described poetically by the author but still somehow not an appealing palette of coloration. When Jane’s mother cuts off her allowance he suggests they both make a living as street buskers, where Jane discovers she has a fine voice and musical talent of her own. Silver’s talent also extends to fixing up their hole-in-the-wall apartment; as a robot, he is devoted to and “in love” with whoever owns him. Jane’s conflict, along with her becoming her own woman, is to figure out if his love for her is real, or just part of his sophisticated programming. As the story progresses, it leans to the former.
Their idyll is intruded upon by real life when Jane’s frenemies, who she has depended upon to buy and keep Silver, become jealous and set out to make mischief, leading to Silver being repossessed by the company who made him, and who will destroy him for being too lifelike and flawed.
I don’t cry when I read books, but boy did my heart receive a wringing at the book’s end. The book was uncompromising as it hurtles toward tragedy and revelation, saying much, much more about new love, first love, than any number of contemporary romance novels do.
All of this was sort of muddled together in a continuous stream, like a player-piano roll, told by Jane in first person after the adventure has passed. While not hard to keep track of, it was perhaps too complex and wandering for what the story wanted to be. It’s like the author couldn’t help herself from creating embellishments and trills on the fly as typewritten pages cascaded out of the typewriter one after the other in marathon all-night sessions. (I’ve read that this was really how she wrote.) I could have done, for example, without the many interludes showing Jane’s poisonous friends: a pair of malicious twins, an “oh, snap” bitter gay boy, and an addlepated actress wannabe. They got in the way and weren’t that interesting to me. Though I did enjoy reading the prose about them, as I always enjoy reading Lee’s writing, they weren’t necessary for the direct cut to the heart the story wanted to be.
Put it this way. As a reader, I enjoyed it, as a writer, I wanted more streamlining. But also as a writer, I can’t help but admire that straightforward, stream-of-consciousness technique that accommodates new ideas on the fly.
I also wish young female readers were as in love with this as that crapfest Twilight. They should have been.
You WILL Look at me! You WILL be totally under my control!
The first roller coasters were not called roller coasters at all. They were known as Russian Mountains and were created in Portugal, not Russia, from mounds of ice piled up by Russian refugees from wars of Ivan the Terrible in the 1600s. To this day, in Spanish-speaking countries, roller coasters are still known as montaña rusas. Later in history, when wheel-and-track roller coasters finally showed up Russia, they were called Amerikanskie gorki, or American mountains. Confused yet?
Take a look at the wooden coaster above. In the early days of coaster building, contractors had no idea about the effects of G-forces on the human body or the stress it put on cars and tracks. Cars tended to fly off and humans receive whiplash and other injuries. Ghoulishly, these only added to a coaster’s popularity back then. The two long curving tracks at the left were no-nos, as was the s-shaped curve at the far right. If they didn’t burn down (a common fate for wooden coasters) they were demolished after safety concerns led to regulation.
Modern roller coasters are hyper-engineered for safety, yet they are also reaching the limits as to what is possible with current engineering. Tempting fate, their names are full of danger: Steel Dragon, Millennium Force, Nemesis, Storm Runner. There’s also a trend towards movie tie-ins, such as Superman: the Escape and Batman: the Ride. IMO these aren’t as evocative and instead render confusion. Who would Superman want to escape from, and why? And though Batman certainly had some heart-pounding pursuits in his batmobile, batcopter, batsled, whatever, what else occurs on his amusement attraction to make it unequivocally his? Does the Joker jump out at random moments? Do batsignals flash in the sky? Without knowing the full itinerary, I’ll stick with Steel Dragon, thank you.
Looking for a coaster? Here’s some randomgenned ones. One or more of them are tongue-in-cheek.
Into the Abyss
Calligraphy follows shapes and spirals. A shell (caracola) and a pear.
A lively looking butterfly with personality.
What does it mean?