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Hosted by Tansy Rayner Roberts
6 episodes with Tansy Rayner Roberts
4 episodes with Tansy Rayner Roberts
2 episodes with Tansy Rayner Roberts
2 episodes with Tansy Rayner Roberts
2 episodes with Tansy Rayner Roberts
3 episodes with Tansy Rayner Roberts
2 episodes with Tansy Rayner Roberts
2 episodes with Tansy Rayner Roberts
You've asked, you've waited, and now, we're finally delivering! Welcome to our two-part deep dive on the international best selling Romantasy novels A Court of Thorns and Roses and a Court of Mist and Fury by Sarah J Maas. In this first, spoiler free episode, we touch on our initial reactions to the series, and think a bit about what romantasy is and why it's so appealing to so many readers. Plus, we're joined by some very special guests for these two episodes: our younger siblings! They may claim to have been manipulated into coming on the show, but we're glad to have them both on for this discussion
Puzzlers and previous guests Nicholas J Johnson and Lawrence Leung return to play and discuss Leonard Boyd and David Brashaw's 2015 board game Clacks, based on Terry Pratchett's 33rd Discworld novel, Going Postal. Postmaster General Moist von Lipwig has come up with a plan to prove the Ankh-Morpork postal service is still relevant - a race against the Grand Trunk Semaphore Company! The Grand Trunk has a monopoly on the “Clacks”, a system of optical telegraph towers which transmit messages using patterns formed by a grid of six lights - surely they can beat a man on a horse? But the Grand Trunk knows Moist has something up his sleeve, and they're taking no chances - the fastest and best new Clacks operators will have to prove they're worthy of the job by racing each other first... The fifth (and so far final) Discworld board game, Clacks is the second Discworld design by Boyd and Brashaw's BackSpindle games (following Guards! Guards!). Clacks turns the race at the climax of Going Postal into a logic puzzle where up to four players must use punch cards to turn patterns of lights on and off in a grid, hoping to form another pattern which equates to a letter in Clacks code. It's a race to finish your word (or words) first, either against each other, or as a team against Moist von Lipwig - but sharing the same grid of lights makes this puzzle very unpredictable. Is it Discworldy enough? Does it feel like the Clacks technology of the books? Do you find it fun or funny, and do you prefer it collaborative or cooperative? And what else would you play to get your logic puzzle fix? Join the discussion using the hashtag #Pratchat82. Guest Nicholas J Johnson is an author, magician, educator and expert in deception, who goes by the nickname "Australia's Honest Con-Man". You can find details of Nick's shows and workshops, including his upcoming magic show for children at the 2025 Melbourne Comedy Festival, at conman.com.au, or follow him on Bluesky, Instagram or Facebook as @honestconman. Guest Lawrence Leung is a comedian, screenwriter and actor, known to Australian audiences for live and screen comedy, including the 2015 feature film Sucker, and more recently appearances in My Life is Murder, Aunty Donna's Comedy Cafe and Time Bandits. For all the latest about Lawrence, including his upcoming research into seances and mediums in Victorian Melbourne, visit lawrenceleung.com, or follow him on Instagram at @mrlawrenceleung. You can find episode notes and errata on our web site. We'll be kicking off the new year with one of the few Discworld novels we have left - and why not go large with the longest Pratchett novel of all, Unseen Academicals? We'll be lacing up our football boots and dusting off our mortarboards alongside returning guest Tansy Rayner Roberts! Send us your questions via email (chat@pratchatpodcast.com), or social media. Use the hashtag #Pratchat83.
Recorded live at the Australian Discworld Convention in Adelaide, Karen J Carlisle and Tansy Rayner Roberts join us on stage to discuss short fiction, Death and the last of Terry Pratchett's Discworld short stories, 2004's “Death and What Comes Next”. Somewhere in time and space, a philosopher lies on his deathbed...and Death has come to collect. Only the philosopher isn't convinced he's real, or that any of this is even happening. Will “quantum” and cats in boxes be enough of an argument to dissuade Death from his job? Created for the now defunct Time Hunt puzzle website, “Death and What Comes Next” was written somewhere between 2002 and 2004. At under 1,000 words it's one of Pratchett's shorter pieces of fiction, and contains several jokes he'd go on to re-use elsewhere, as well as a word puzzle which provided a code word for Time Hunt site. You can read the story for free at the L-Space Web, which also hosts fan translations in many languages. Despite its placement in A Blink of the Screen, is this truly a Discworld story? Have you tried to solve the puzzle? How would you challenge Death to delay the time of your passing - and have you thought about what an encounter with the Discworld Death might be like for you? And is Death at his funniest here, or do you have other favourite Death moments? Join the conversation by using the hashtag #Pratchat79 on social media. Guest Tansy Rayner Roberts (she/her) is a Tasmanian author of sci-fi, fantasy, cosy crime and much, much more. Her essay series Pratchett's Women was collected into a book, and her follow up series on Pratchett's men, “Men Who Respect Witches”, can be found at the online magazine Speculative Insight. Her latest novel is a time travel comedy called Time of the Cat, and you can find Tansy online at tansyrr.com and as @tansyrr on social media. Tansy was also a guest on our previous live episode, “A Troll New World”, recorded at Nullus Anxietas 7 in 2019. Guest Karen J Carlisle (he/him) is a writer and illustrator based in Adelaide whose work spans Victorian mystery, steampunk, fantasy and yes, even (mostly) cosy murders. She has some new writing in the works, but her recent “Jack the Ripper thing” is Blood Ties, which you can find via her website, karenjcarlisle.com. You can also find her on Instagram, Twitter and various other social platforms as @karenjcarlisle. As usual, you can find notes and errata for this episode on our website. Next month it's back to the books as we rejoin Moist von Lipwig for Making Money! Send us your questions about the book ASAP using the hashtag #Pratchat80.
It's the final leg of the Long Journey as Joel Martin and Deanne Sheldon-Collins answer our Invitation! Both previous Long Earth guests return to discuss the fifth and final of Terry Pratchett and Stephen Baxter's collaborations, the 2016 novel The Long Cosmos. It's 2070, and a message has been received across the Long Earth: “JOIN US.” Joshua Valienté hears it and gets one of his headaches, but he's still mourning the death of his ex-wife Helen, so he rejects the call to adventure. He goes off alone into the High Meggers, despite multiple warnings that he's too old for this shit. Meanwhile Nelson Azikiwe finds and loses a new family, and goes in search of Lobsang for help. And the Next find that the Invitation is more than two words long, and put into action far-reaching plans to bring everyone together to follow its instructions... The last of Pratchett's novels to be published, The Long Cosmos brings the series to a close. (If you need a recap, see our “The Longer Footnote” bonus episode.) Like the previous book, The Long Utopia, this one also takes place on a relatively small number of Earths - but it has its gaze fairly firmly fixed on the stars above, and wears its influences (especially Carl Sagan's Contact) on its sleeve. Who got their epic first contact novel in our weird parallel worlds travelogue? Is this where you thought the story would go? What would your friends be able to predict about you if they kept a detailed spreadsheet? After five books, is this a satisfying conclusion? Join the conversation by using the hashtag #Pratchat78 on social media. Guest Joel Martin (he/him) is a writer, editor and podcaster now based in the UK. He previously hosted the writing podcast The Morning Bell, and produced The Dementia Podcast for Hammond Care. Joel's previously been on the show to discuss The Long Earth, The Long Mars, The Colour of Magic and The Light Fantastic, making him our most frequent guest. He recommended the 1989 novel Hyperion by Dan Simmons, along with its sequel The Fall of Hyperion. (There are also two more novels in the Hyperion Cantos series.) Guest Deanne Sheldon-Collins (she/her) is an editor and writer in Australia's speculative fiction scene, working for Aurealis magazine, Writer's Victoria, the National Young Writer's Festival, and as co-director of the Speculate festival. Deanne previously joined us for The Long War and The Long Utopia. She once again recommended Pratchat listener favourite, Martha Wells' series The Murderbot Diaries, which consists of seven novels and novellas. The first is 2017's All Systems Red. As usual, you can find notes and errata for this episode on our website. We're off to Adelaide to be guests at the Australian Discworld Convention, where on Friday 12 July we'll be recording a live episode with authors Tansy Rayner Roberts and Karen J Carlisle! We'll be discussing Pratchett's Discworld short fiction “Death and What Comes Next”, and probably more broadly how Pratchett writes about Death (and death). The story is available online at the L-Space Web. We'll mostly be taking questions from the live audience, but you can also share yours via social media (if you're quick!) using the hashtag #Pratchat79.
This month's guest is an accomplished author and a member of the all-female Doctor Who podcast, Verity! It's Tansy Rayner Roberts! Tansy stops by to discuss her writing career, her lifelong fandom of Doctor Who, confusing Australian time zones, and how Doctor Who in 2024 has sparked a newfound love of the show from her kids. Then Tansy presents her Pick of the Month - the original UK version of the hit sitcom, Ghosts! Find out why the show has such staying power and consistency, how its concept has spawned several remakes in different countries, the comedy troupe that powers the series, and much more. Thanks for listening! Email the show --- Support this podcast: https://podcasters.spotify.com/pod/show/doctorwhoandcompany/support
We're talking about Minutes 41-42 of Muppet Treasure Island, in which Kermit gazes at a picture and three pirates nab Gonzo and Rizzo. With special guest Tansy Rayner-Roberts of the Doctor Who podcast Verity! PLUS: A great view of Kermit's wig! Dolphins with feathers? A wholesome game of "Keep the Crutch Away From the One-Legged Man!" Gonzo and Angel Marie are buddies! And the tallest basketball players! Hosted by Anthony Strand & Ryan Roe Guest Tansy Rayner-Roberts Produced & Edited by Ryan Roe Logo by Morgan Davy Movin' Right Along: A Muppet Movie Podcast is available at ToughPigs.com or on Apple Podcasts, Spotify, Google Podcasts, Podcast Addict, Podbean, or wherever you get podcasts!
This episode of The Power of 3 is one of our longest to date. We connect over three continents as we are joined by the editors of Adventures Across Space and Time: A Doctor Who Reader - Paul Booth, Matt Hills, Joy Piedmont and Tansy Rayner Roberts. And if four guests weren't enough for you, we then chat with Alison Lawson (writer of Big Finish adventure Catch 1782, fact fans!), who was one of the writers in the work. The book is available from in paperback, hardback and epub formats from https://www.bloomsbury.com/uk/adventures-across-space-and-time-9781350288379/ (This episode's guest Doctor Who theme: Jazz-Funk Cover by Andrew Allen)
It's time for some Tales…of the TARDIS, as the Three Who Rule were thoroughly charmed by a nostalgia bomb measuring several megatons with appearances by former Doctors, companions and a Metebelis crystal! There's also a tidal wave of news including SFX magazine's many articles including interviews with RTD, David Tennant and Phil Collinson, novelizations of the three Tennant specials, audio documentaries, Billie Piper returning to Gallifrey One, and our feature look at the new Doctor Who reader Adventures Across Space and Time with Paul Booth, Joy Piedmont, Matt Hills, Tansy Rayner Roberts! Links: Support Radio Free Skaro on Patreon Colourized, omnibus version of The Daleks airing November 23 on BBC Four BBC officially brands the extended Doctor Who universe the “Whoniverse” Tales of the TARDIS dropped on iPlayer November 1, RTD promises bigger plans for it 2005-2022 Doctor Who will not be on Disney+ SFX Doctor Who preview New BBC Doctor Who archive site Covers for the three Tennant special novelizations revealed The Star Beast novelization by Gary Russell Wild Blue Yonder novelization by Mark Morris The Giggle novelization by James Goss Toby Hadoke's Doctor Who report on Newsnight Special Fourteenth Doctor sketch will feature in Children in Need Doctor Who: The Wilderness Years documentary coming to BBC Radio 4 on November 19 Murray Gold: Hitting The Right Notes special coming to BBC Radio Solent on November 23 Doctor Who: The Welsh Connection on BBC Radio Wales on November 23 Doctor Huw on BBC Radio Wales on November 23 Doctor Who edition of Bargain Hunt to air November 23 on BBC One New Doctor Who inflight entertainment channel on board British Airways' flights Billie Piper announced for Gallifrey One Big Finish Doctor Who The Last Day begins Dec 2023 Children of the Circus, audio sequel to The Greatest Show in the Galaxy, available for pre-order Interview: Adventures Across Space and Time Paul Booth Joy Piedmont Matt Hills Tansy Rayner Roberts
We're talking about Minutes 17-18 of The Muppet Christmas Carol, in which Scrooge begrudgingly allows his employees a day off and "One More Sleep" begins. With special guest Tansy Rayner-Roberts of the Doctor Who podcast Verity! PLUS: The challenges of acting alongside puppets! Doctor Who's Christmas Carol! Remarkable puppet tricks! How many syllables are in the word "Christmas?" And how many rats die in this scene? Hosted by Anthony Strand & Ryan Roe Guest Tansy Rayner Roberts Produced & Edited by Ryan Roe Logo by Morgan Davy
Who would want to jockey against a sea of debutantes to win a marriage to a Duke when there’s a library full of books to be read and plenty of good tea to drink? Erika Ensign.
Who would want to jockey against a sea of debutantes to win a marriage to a Duke when there’s a library full of books to be read and plenty of good tea to drink? Host Erika Ensign.
This is another genre-editions only episode, in which we wonder where the heck the Doctor is, are overwhelmed by Harry Potter, and discover just how terrible the genre questions really are. Erika Ensign and Steven Schapansky with Dan Moren, Shelly Brisbin, Katrina Griffiths, David J. Loehr and Tansy Rayner Roberts.
This is another genre-editions only episode, in which we wonder where the heck the Doctor is, are overwhelmed by Harry Potter, and discover just how terrible the genre questions really are. Host Erika Ensign and Steven Schapansky with Dan Moren, Shelly Brisbin, Katrina Griffiths, David J. Loehr and Tansy Rayner Roberts.
Back in April, Liz and Ben attended the seventh bi-annual Australian Discworld Convention, Nullus Anxietas VII! They enlisted fellow convention guest (and friend of the podcast), author Tansy Rayner Roberts, to discuss the earliest Discworld short story: 1991's Troll Bridge! Cohen the Barbarian has led a long life, but his greatest glories and biggest adventures seem far behind him. It's time to tick a few items off his bucket list - starting with facing a troll in one-on-one combat. But when he and his annoying talking horse reach one of the few troll bridges left on the Disc, things aren't as straightforward as they were in the old days... With the Snowgum Films adaptation of Troll Bridge being screened at the convention, it seemed only right to cover the source material in this, our first ever live show! Like a lot of Pratchett's work, Troll Bridge is by turns silly and deep, drawing on the traditions of Tolkien and Howard while at the same time pointing out that their worlds couldn't stay the same forever. Did you find it poignant? When do you think it happens in Cohen's timeline? And is a short story enough for an entire podcast? We'd love to know! Use the hashtag #PratchatNA7 on social media to join the conversation. We'd like to extend our warm thanks to everyone who attended the convention; you all made us feel so welcome, and it was such a special experience to be among so many Discworld fans, speaking on panels and chairing debates and meeting you all! Especially big thanks to those of you who came to be in our first live audience, and to the massive team of hard-working volunteers at Nullus Anxietas, without whom fan conventions like this just couldn't happen. That goes eig- er, one more than sevenfold to Suzie Eisfelder, Lisa Lagergren, Steve Lewis and all the other members of the committee, who organise such a massive undertaking every two years. We hope to see you all in Sydney in 2021 for Nullus Anxietas 7A! We hope to do some more live shows in the future, probably as bonus episodes like this one. Regular episodes will continue to be released on the 7Ath of each month...and in episode 21, coming up next in July 2019, you can find out what Genghiz Cohen did next as we discuss Interesting Times. Show Notes and Errata: Tansy Rayner Roberts is an award-winning writer and podcast host. She's written fantasy novels, short fiction, feminist essays and much more; of particular interest to Pratchat listeners is Pratchett's Women, a collection of essays about the women in the Discworld novels. She co-hosts the podcasts Galactic Suburbia (about sci-fi and writing in Australia) and Verity! (about Doctor Who), and has her own fiction podcast Sheep Might Fly. You can find Tansy on the web at tansyrr.com, on Patreon at patreon.com/tansyrr, and also on Twitter, Instagram and Facebook.Troll Bridge was first published in the 1991 anthology After the King: Stories In Honour of J.R.R. Tolkien, the most recent edition of which was released in 2012. Other authors in the collection include Stephen R. Donaldson, Jane Yolen, Gregory Benford, Emma Bull, Poul and Karen Anderson, Judith Tarr, Harry Turtledove, Karen Haber and Charles de Lint, among others. The story was reprinted in 2001's The Mammoth Book of Comic Fantasy (which also features stories by Neil Gaiman and Terry Jones) and A Blink of the Screen, a 2012 collection of Pterry's short fiction.The short film Troll Bridge by Snowgum Films was adapted for the screen and directed by Daniel Knight, and stars Don Bridges as Cohen, Glenn van Oosterom as the horse and John Jenkins as Mica. It was a mammoth undertaking, especially considering it's a fan film, albeit an extremely polished one: the cast and crew all worked without pay, with production costs paid for by a crowdfunding campaign on Kickstarter. It's currently screening in film festivals and fan conventions around the world, but you can still pre-order a digital,
For our twentieth episode we finish our first Pratchett series! Elizabeth and Ben are joined by writer Dr Lili Wilkinson to discover the final fate of Masklin, Angalo, Gurder and the rest of the Nomes in the 1990 conclusion to the Bromeliad: Wings! (If you need to catch up, you can find Truckers in episode 9, and Diggers in episode 13.) When Masklin arrived in the Store, he learned that the Thing - an ancient artefact handed down for thousands of generations - wasn't just a useless box, but could speak. It warned him of the destruction of the Store, helped him escape with all the Store Nomes in a truck to the quarry, and revealed that Nomes came to Earth from a distant star. Masklin knows the Nomes can't run from humans forever. It's time to find a proper home of their own. So with the help of the Abbott Gurder and explorer Angalo, he's going to sneak onto a Concorde and go to Florida to hijack a satellite so the Thing can talk to their starship and fly them to another planet. Not that Masklin understands what most of those words are... The Book of the Nomes concludes with a rollicking, fast-paced adventure that doesn't shy away from some big questions about identity, religion, philosophy and taking risks to do what's right. Picking up from where we left him at the start of Diggers, Wings follows Masklin, Angalo and Gurder as they travel vast distances, meet their own gods and eventually have a close encounter of the Nome kind. Did you find the ending satisfying? How does the mix of fantasy and sci-fi tropes site with you? Do you wish there'd been more stories of the Nomes? We'd love to hear from you! Use the hashtag #Pratchat20 on social media to join the conversation. Last month we had to delay the release of our live show from Nullus Anxietas VII, discussing the short story Troll Bridge with author Tansy Rayner-Roberts, but it will be released in between this episode and the next one. And speaking of the next one...in July we're visiting a distant part of the Disc and finally catching up with everyone's* favourite inept wizard, Rincewind, as we'll be joined by David Ryding of Melbourne City of Literature to return to the Discworld series with Interesting Times! Get your questions in via social media using the hashtag #Pratchat21. * Well...all right. Ben's favourite inept wizard. Though Catweazle, Ergo the Magnificent and Meredith are all up there as well. Show Notes and Errata: Dr Lili Wilkinson is an author based in Melbourne. She's written a dozen books for young adults and middle grade readers, including The Boundless Sublime (about a girl who gets sucked into a cult), After the Lights Go Out (in which a girl is prepped for the apocalypse by her Dad...and then it happens), and Green Valentine, a romance featuring shopping trolleys, a lobster costume and a whole lot of gardening. Lili also started insideadog.com.au, an online community for bookish teens, and the Inky Awards, Australia's only reader's choice award for YA fiction. Watch out for her new picture book Clancy the Quokka in October 2019. You can find Lili online at liliwilkinson.com.au and on Twitter at @twitofalili.The supersonic passenger aircraft Concorde was a joint project of the United Kingdom and France, and operated between 1976 and 2003 by Air France and British Airways. With a top speed of over twice the speed of sound, it could cross the Atlantic in half the time of other airlines, and boasted luxury service for its passengers. But it was loud, environmentally unsound, and very expensive, so it was never adopted by other airlines, and the planes were eventually decommissioned. The thing about the gap in the plane was mostly true: due to the heat generated by the extreme speeds, the fuselage would expand by as much as 30 centimetres at top speeds. The design accommodated this, manifesting in a gap in the inner wall between segments of the cockpit. One pilot left his hat in the gap deliberately during the final flight of one o...
In our nineteenth episode it's back to the Discworld as we join Death, and meet his granddaughter Susan, as writer and illustrator Fury joins us to talk about the 1994 Discworld novel, Soul Music! Susan Sto Helit doesn’t have time for anything silly – not for grief, not for tiny skeletal rats who are here to inform her of SQUEAK, and most definitely not for this new craze sweeping the disc. But music with rocks in it has other ideas, and doesn’t care who gets swept up in the swell. With her long lost grandfather (the one with the bony knees) missing in action however, Susan has no choice but to take on the family business and try not to *erm* rock the boat. Pratchett is never one to shy away from the big themes and Soul Music packs a lot of punch into a deceptively simple plot. Exploring the complexities of grief, and the idea that family is more than just genetics, the 16th Discworld continues the story from where Mort left off, and introduces us to some new (sadly one-off) names that we quickly grow to love. Packed with more music references and jokes than one could shake a stick with bells at, this is one that was Imp-possible to put down. Got a favourite Discworld band name? Or an idea as good as My Little Binky? We'd love to hear from you! Use the hashtag #Pratchat19 on social media to join the conversation. As mentioned this episode, keep an ear out for our first live show, recorded at Nullus Anxietas VII, where we discuss the short story Troll Bridge with author Tansy Rayner-Roberts! It'll show up in the podcast stream soon. Next month we head to the skies and cling on for dear life as we finish the Bromeliad trilogy with Wings! Get your questions in via social media using the hashtag #Pratchat20. Show Notes and Errata: Fury is a writer and author based in Naarm/Melbourne. Their book, an experimental graphic novel memoir titled I Don't Understand How Emotions Work is available here. You can find Fury's book I Don't Understand How Emotions Work here. The Valhalla Cinema was a cinema in Melbourne which specialised in audience participation films - and in its early days you had to bring your own seats. Opening in 1976, it later relocated to Westgarth and changed names. The Wikipedia entry has a charming story about a rather eventful screening of The Blues Brothers - though we doubt that this was the one that Pterry attended (if, indeed, he attended at all). Look, the French Foreign Legion have a long and storied history, but in popular culture they are the go-to reference of the group you join when you want to get well away from your life. Brendan Fraser's character in The Mummy? French Foreign Legion. Why are denim trousers called jeans? They're named after the city of Genua, where the original fabric was manufactured. Read more about their history here. I know. We hoped they would be named after Gene Wilder too. Rebel Without a Cause is one of James Dean's most famous films and is often credited with kicking off the idea of the teenager. Minder and Arthur Daley is a character from Minder, a British comedy-drama series that ran from 1979 to 1994.Animorphs, first a book series, later adapted into a TV show, followed the adventures of a group of friends who had been given the power to morph into different animal shapes in an attempt to fight back against a secret alien invasion on Earth. Their enemy were the Yeerks - a parasitic species which would occupy the body of a host and control them. Is Sioni bod da real Welsh? According to the Discworld Wiki "Bod Da is Welsh for Be Good, therefore Sioni Bod Da is Johnny B. Goode." 'The Day the Music Died' is the name given to the tragic day where musicians Buddy Holly, Ritchie Valens and "The Big Bopper" J.P. Richardson were killed in a light aircraft accident. It served as the inspiration for this Don McLean song. Both Holly's wife and mother heard the news from media rather than authorities (his wife, Maria Elena,
In which Erika loves “twisted history” and Tansy. Not necessarily in that order. But maybe. Host Erika Ensign.
On this episode of Be the Serpent, we're discussing OT3s (One True Threesomes). After all, it's twentygayteen, people! Give us more polyamory in canon media! Our tentpoles this week are “The Rundown Job” (Leverage season 5, episode 9); “Always Starts the Same, with a Boy and a Girl”, by lightgetsin (White Collar fanfic); and “Didn’t Know How Lost I Was”, by Annakovsky (Star Wars fanfic). What We’re Into this Week Mother of Invention edited by Tansy Rayner Roberts and Rivqa RafaelThe Beast’s Heart by Leife ShallcrossCity of Lies by Sam HawkeBannerless by Carrie VaughnAda Harper’s A Treason of Truths1688: A Global History by John E. Wills Jr.The Adventure ZoneThe Chinese drama Guardian Other Stuff We Mentioned A Conspiracy of Truths by Alexandra RowlandSpiders GeorgLeverageThe Raven Cycle by Maggie StiefvaterWhite CollarStar Wars: The Force AwakensStar Wars: The Last Jedi Mirror Empire by Kameron HurleyUrsula Le Guin’s story “A Fisherman of the Inland Sea”SedoretuBlack Sails For Next Time Nothing! Next the Episode 20 Extravaganza! Catch up on your TBR pile and preorder A Conspiracy of Truths! Transcript: The transcript of this episode can be found here, lovingly crafted by Sara, Neharika, and Millie.
In today's episode of Signal Boost, Elizabeth talks to Dr. Tansy Rayner Roberts, writer and editor extraordinaire, about 12th Planet Press's robot creation anthology, Mother of Invention, which Tansy co-edited with Rivqa Rafael! The two discuss a bit of Tansy's experience as an editor, how much she enjoyed going through the Kickstarter progress, what the […]
Tina Valentina may not be Lois Lane, but without Lois and Vicki and April and Cat and Trish and so many more, there’d be no Tina. And without Tina, there’d be no Friday. And without Friday, we wouldn’t have this delightful superhero comedy romp. Disclaimer: Erika podcasts with Tansy on Verity! Host Erika Ensign.
Special Intro: Hugo award winning author Tansy Rayner Roberts from Tasmania Film at 11: Robin Williams: Come Inside My Mind (2018) Book IT: How Music Works (2017) by David Byrne Scroll With It: Filmmaker Bears Rebecca Fonté sits down with Steve to remember how it all started. The full interview is available to our patrons at http://patreon.com/toomuchscrolling. Support the show to get access to this bonus content. (recorded 14 July 2018) Show Notes: http://bit.ly/tms72418
Frankentastic, a regendered reading of Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein by Tansy Rayner Roberts. This podcast was a stretch goal for the Kickstarter campaign to raise funds for Mother of Invention, a fantastic anthology of science fiction, artificial intelligence, feminist robots and more. Mother of Invention will be coming from Twelfth Planet Press in 2018.
Special Intro: Neve McIntosh -- Madame Vastra from Doctor Who Film at 11: Adventures of Rocky and Bullwinkle (2018 on Amazon) BookIT: The Creature Court (2018) by Tansy Rayner Roberts Scroll With it: Alphabet presents its Google I/O 2018 this week and the AI at I/O is ok. Join us in reading Renee (2017) by Jessica Eise. Send your questions for the author and we will discuss it in depth on May 22, 2018. Show Notes: http://bit.ly/tms51518
Frankentastic, a regendered reading of Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein by Tansy Rayner Roberts. This podcast was a stretch goal for the Kickstarter campaign to raise funds for Mother of Invention, a fantastic anthology of science fiction, artificial intelligence, feminist robots and more. Mother of Invention will be coming from Twelfth Planet Press in 2018.
Tansy and I continue our discussion, this time moving on to food in books (both childhood classics and Tansy’s own stories), food in space, and food in history… Part 1 of my interview with Tansy A Trifle Dead, written under Tansy’s nomme de plume Livia Day Jane Brocket: old blog and new blog I can’t find … Continue reading Acts of Kitchen: Tansy Rayner Roberts #2
In which Tansy and I discuss children’s birthday cakes and Tansy’s penchant for ignoring recipes. We went on to discuss other things, too, which you’ll hear in the sequel interview next week! Tansy’s blog The Pritikin Diet
Frankentastic, a regendered reading of Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein by Tansy Rayner Roberts. This podcast was a stretch goal for the Kickstarter campaign to raise funds for Mother of Invention, a fantastic anthology of science fiction, artificial intelligence, feminist robots and more. Mother of Invention will be coming from Twelfth Planet Press in 2018.
Frankentastic, a regendered reading of Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein by Tansy Rayner Roberts. This podcast was a stretch goal for the Kickstarter campaign to raise funds for Mother of Invention, a fantastic anthology of science fiction, artificial intelligence, feminist robots and more. Mother of Invention will be coming from Twelfth Planet Press in 2018.
Frankentastic, a regendered reading of Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein by Tansy Rayner Roberts. This podcast was a stretch goal for the Kickstarter campaign to raise funds for Mother of Invention, a fantastic anthology of science fiction, artificial intelligence, feminist robots and more. Mother of Invention will be coming from Twelfth Planet Press in 2018.
Frankentastic, a regendered reading of Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein by Tansy Rayner Roberts. This podcast was a stretch goal for the Kickstarter campaign to raise funds for Mother of Invention, a fantastic anthology of science fiction, artificial intelligence, feminist robots and more. Mother of Invention will be coming from Twelfth Planet Press in 2018.
Frankentastic, a regendered reading of Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein by Tansy Rayner Roberts. This podcast was a stretch goal for the Kickstarter campaign to raise funds for Mother of Invention, a fantastic anthology of science fiction, artificial intelligence, feminist robots and more. Mother of Invention will be coming from Twelfth Planet Press in 2018.
Frankentastic, a regendered reading of Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein by Tansy Rayner Roberts. This podcast was a stretch goal for the Kickstarter campaign to raise funds for Mother of Invention, a fantastic anthology of science fiction, artificial intelligence, feminist robots and more. Mother of Invention will be coming from Twelfth Planet Press in 2018.
Frankentastic, a regendered reading of Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein by Tansy Rayner Roberts. This podcast was a stretch goal for the Kickstarter campaign to raise funds for Mother of Invention, a fantastic anthology of science fiction, artificial intelligence, feminist robots and more. Mother of Invention will be coming from Twelfth Planet Press in 2018.
Frankentastic, a regendered reading of Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein by Tansy Rayner Roberts. This podcast was a stretch goal for the Kickstarter campaign to raise funds for Mother of Invention, a fantastic anthology of science fiction, artificial intelligence, feminist robots and more. Mother of Invention will be coming from Twelfth Planet Press in 2018.
Frankentastic, a regendered reading of Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein by Tansy Rayner Roberts. This podcast was a stretch goal for the Kickstarter campaign to raise funds for Mother of Invention, a fantastic anthology of science fiction, artificial intelligence, feminist robots and more. Mother of Invention will be coming from Twelfth Planet Press in 2018.
Frankentastic, a regendered reading of Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein by Tansy Rayner Roberts. This podcast was a stretch goal for the Kickstarter campaign to raise funds for Mother of Invention, a fantastic anthology of science fiction, artificial intelligence, feminist robots and more. Mother of Invention will be coming from Twelfth Planet Press in 2018.
Editors’ Intro: Lynne M. Thomas and Michael Damian Thomas, with Erika Ensign and Steven Schapansky Short Fiction: "Pipecleaner Sculptures and Other Necessary Work" by Tina Connolly, as read by Stephanie Malia Morris Short Fiction: "How To Survive An Epic Journey" by Tansy Rayner Roberts, as read by Erika Ensign Poetry: "Apathetic Goblin Nightmare Woman" by Cassandra Khaw, as read by Stephanie Malia Morris Interview: Tina Connolly interviewed by Shana DuBois Want to join the Space Unicorn Ranger Corps? You can find new science fiction and fantasy stories, poetry, and nonfiction every month in Uncanny Magazine. Go to uncannymagazine.com or subscribe to the eBook version at weightlessbooks.com or amazon.com. This podcast was produced by Erika Ensign and Steven Schapansky. Music created by Null Device and used with permission. Copyright © 2017 by Uncanny Magazine
Frankentastic, a regendered reading of Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein by Tansy Rayner Roberts. This podcast was a stretch goal for the Kickstarter campaign to raise funds for Mother of Invention, a fantastic anthology of science fiction, artificial intelligence, feminist robots and more. Mother of Invention will be coming from Twelfth Planet Press in 2018.
Frankentastic, a regendered reading of Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein by Tansy Rayner Roberts. This podcast was a stretch goal for the Kickstarter campaign to raise funds for Mother of Invention, a fantastic anthology of science fiction, artificial intelligence, feminist robots and more. Mother of Invention will be coming from Twelfth Planet Press in 2018.
Frankentastic, a regendered reading of Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein by Tansy Rayner Roberts. This podcast was a stretch goal for the Kickstarter campaign to raise funds for Mother of Invention, a fantastic anthology of science fiction, artificial intelligence, feminist robots and more. Mother of Invention will be coming from Twelfth Planet Press in 2018.
Frankentastic, a regendered reading of Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein by Tansy Rayner Roberts. This podcast was a stretch goal for the Kickstarter campaign to raise funds for Mother of Invention, a fantastic anthology of science fiction, artificial intelligence, feminist robots and more. Mother of Invention will be coming from Twelfth Planet Press in 2018.
Frankentastic, a regendered reading of Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein by Tansy Rayner Roberts. This podcast was a stretch goal for the Kickstarter campaign to raise funds for Mother of Invention, a fantastic anthology of science fiction, artificial intelligence, feminist robots and more. Mother of Invention will be coming from Twelfth Planet Press in 2018. THIS WEEK: Victoria recounts the history of her happy childhood, her obsession with outdated ancient sciences, and how it all led towards her inevitable doom. She’s just so cheery like that.
Twelfth Planet Press Presents: Frankenstein Meets Mother of Invention in this regendered reading of a SFF classic. === Welcome to Frankentastic, a regendered reading of Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein by Tansy Rayner Roberts. This podcast was a stretch goal for the Kickstarter campaign to raise funds for Mother of Invention, a fantastic anthology of science fiction, artificial intelligence, feminist robots and more. Mother of Invention will be coming from Twelfth Planet Press in 2018. Meanwhile, make a cup of something hot, sit back in your futuristic space chair, and enjoy a classic read with a 21st century twist. Because, yes, the mother of science fiction was a teenage girl stuck in a lake house, inventing a genre to win a game against her trashy boyfriend and his terrible friends… THIS WEEK: Roberta sets off on a dangerous arctic mission, and agonises over her lack of a best friend. Come on, Roberta, the universe isn’t going to send you a new BFF on a random floating iceberg… oh, wait.
This time around it's musicals. Tansy Rayner Roberts and I go from the rootin' tootin' (not much rootin') western action of Calamity Jane (1953) with Doris Day, Howard Keel and Dick Wesson to the darker musical, Bob Fosse's Cabaret starring Liza Minnelli, Michael York and Joel Gray. It's a long one this time but we had a lot of fun with it. Tansy's web site is tansyrr.com - and she has a Patreon campaign there that you should donate to. Support this podcast via Patreon too.
Appeared in 2012 (Twelfth Planet Press) Tansy Rayner Roberts is a Tasmanian writer of speculative fiction. Her Creature Court Trilogy is published by HarperVoyager featuring shapechangers and flappers. Tansy is also one of the three voices of the Galactic Suburbia…
Lamia Victoriana by Tansy Rayner Roberts The poet’s sister has teeth as white as new lace. When she speaks, which is rarely, I feel a shiver down my skin. I am not here for this. I am here to persuade my own sister, Mary, that she has made a terrible mistake, that eloping as she has with this poet who cannot marry her, will not only be her own ruin, but that of our family. My tongue stumbles on the words, and every indignant speech I practiced on my way here has melted to nothing. The poet looks at me with his calm, beautiful eyes, and Mary sits scandalously close to him, determined to continue in her path of debauchery and wickedness. I cannot take my eyes from the poet’s sister. Full transcript after the cut: ----more---- Hello! Welcome to GlitterShip Episode 24 for March 15, 2016. This is your host, Keffy, and I'm super excited to be sharing this story with you. This is the last story for the first year of GlitterShip! We launched last April, and although our episodes have not been quite as regular as originally planned, we've managed to settle into a 2-per-month schedule. Coming up on April 5th, we will have our FIRST GlitterShip original story, and will continue with one original and one reprint every month. GlitterShip is currently funded through the end of year 2 (through the end of March 2017) but will be looking for funds to continue the show for a third year -- and hopefully more! If you like what we do here, please consider adding a dollar or two per month via our Patreon page, at http://www.patreon.com/keffy. You can also donate directly via Paypal at https://www.paypal.me/keffy or the Donate button at glittership.com/donate I'm working hard to catch up on the first year's Kickstarter rewards, including the Year 1 anthology. There will be an update for Kickstarter backers by the end of the month. I also ran a listener poll for the stories that were podcast during 2015! The winners were: 1st Place: "Sooner than Gold" by Cory Skerry (Episode 9) 2nd Place: "How to Become a Robot in 12 Easy Steps" by A. Merc Rustad (Episode 1) 3rd Place: "Seventh Day of the Seventh Moon" by Ken Liu (Episode 15) Thank you to everyone who voted! Our story today is "Lamia Victoriana" by Tansy Rayner Roberts. Tansy is a Tasmanian author of science fiction and fantasy. She is a co-host on two podcasts: Verity! and Galactic Suburbia. "Lamia Victoriana" was published as part of Tansy's short story suite Love and Romanpunk, and was previously reprinted in the Mammoth Book of Gaslight Romance. Lamia Victoriana by Tansy Rayner Roberts The poet’s sister has teeth as white as new lace. When she speaks, which is rarely, I feel a shiver down my skin. I am not here for this. I am here to persuade my own sister, Mary, that she has made a terrible mistake, that eloping as she has with this poet who cannot marry her, will not only be her own ruin, but that of our family. My tongue stumbles on the words, and every indignant speech I practiced on my way here has melted to nothing. The poet looks at me with his calm, beautiful eyes, and Mary sits scandalously close to him, determined to continue in her path of debauchery and wickedness. I cannot take my eyes from the poet’s sister. She is pale all over, silver like moonlight. The pale twigged lawn of her day dress makes her skin milky and soft. I have never seen such a creature as her. ‘If you are so worried about my reputation, Fanny, then come with us,’ urges Mary. ‘Be my companion. I know you have always longed to see the continent. We are to Paris, and later, Florence.’ Her deflowering has rendered her more confident than I have ever seen her. She glows with happiness and self-satisfaction. ‘You may have relinquished society’s good opinion, but I cannot countenance such a thought,’ I say. But the poet’s sister arches her neck and says, ‘Come,’ and I am lost. Within a week, it becomes obvious that they are not human. The poet and his sister enter rooms so silently it is as if their footsteps are swallowed by the very air. When we leave hotels, one of them speaks softly to the owner, and we leave without money or promissory notes changing hands. Language is their coin, and they buy every trinket with a pearl from their tongues. I wonder, is someone somewhere keeping track of the cost of this life of ours? Mary is immersed in her poet. At meal-times, she gazes fiercely at his hands, as if the way that his fingers toy with the silverware or hold a wine glass are in themselves a great work of art. She sighs about hunger or thirst, but does little to assuage such desires. I eat, but the food tastes like ashes, such is my fear. I should not have followed my sister. Her fate should not be my own. I tell myself I chose this path because of my terror of what Father would do to me if I returned without Mary, but the truth is, I came with them because the poet’s sister asked me to. On the ninth day, she kisses me. I am distracted by my latest letter from home. The paper is clutched tight in my fist and my first concern is passing by the poet’s sister in the passageway without our skirts getting tangled together or my hip pressing unduly against hers. Unexpectedly, she turns to me so that our bodies are aligned in that narrow space and gasps her mouth against my own. I drink her in, for a moment of perfumed air and warmth, and then she is gone, her laughter spilling against the walls as she moves, so fast, so fast. Gone. Mary cups her hands over the slight swell of her belly, admiring her new curves in the mirror. “I am greater than I was, Fanny,” she tells me. “The world is greater than it was.” “You are foolish in love,” I tell her, snipping off the end of my embroidery thread. Love. Is that the fluttering feeling in my bones when the poet’s sister looks at me? Am I a greater fool than my sister? “Admit it,” says Mary, tugging the silk of her dress out so that she can imagine how she will look when she is more months round. “Paris is beautiful.” Paris. Paris is chocolate and pastries that we do not drink or eat, though it sits prettily before us at meal-times, in perfect china vessels. Paris is expensive frocks that my sister and her poet cannot afford, persuaded from fancy shops with quiet, forceful words. Mary buys me a travelling dress, of sturdy linen and wool, with a jaunty hat. The colours are violet and black, as is proper for a widow rather than an unmarried chaperone. I wonder whom it is that I am supposed to be mourning, but I rather like the way that I look in the costume. On the train to Florence, I stand at the window, gazing at the winding ribbon of Italian countryside. This, this is the world. I am free of the dust and the smallness of Father’s house and our street in London. I feel as if I could fly. The poet’s sister brushes against me in the narrow cabin, and then again, so that I can tell it was not done by accident. Her fingertips linger on my waist as she steadies herself against the bunk. “Shall we join Mary and my brother in the dining carriage?” she asks. I shake my head, not willing to say aloud that I cannot bear another meal of artifice and elegance at which nothing is eaten. They all enjoy the ritual, but it only serves to remind me of what we have lost, and what we have left behind. It unsettles me that such a vital human need has been lost to us. Hungry. I am so very hungry, and yet I cannot swallow even a crumb. “Well then,” she says, and tugs down the stiff blind that shuts out the light. “We are alone.” The travelling dress comes apart so easily, as if it were designed for this. A button, a lace, and I am unpeeled. Her hands are cold against the heat of my skin, and her mouth fits against my neck perfectly. My mind is overwhelmed with her fingers, her palms, the soft mound beneath her thumb, and the whisper of my chemise as it gives way to her. I do not notice the bite until she is so deep inside me that there is no return, no escape, just heat and taste and the rocking pulse of the train through every inch of my skin. For the first time in days, in weeks, I am sated. Finally, I understand what I was hungering for. To be food. Later, much later, there is a whistle. The train has stopped. I am lying dizzy in the lower bunk, my body wrapped in the languid arms of the poet’s sister. “We’re here,” she says, and slides over my inert body to dress herself. I watch as her white skin disappears into layers of fabric, of stockings and stays and damask. When she is her outer self again, she turns her attentions to me, drawing me to my feet and dressing me as if I am a doll. She even combs my hair, playing the lady’s maid. When I speak, it is only to say, “So quiet.” Where is the bustle of the other passengers, the calls and urgent conversations, the mutterings as they embark or depart? “All the time in the world,” she says softly, and powders my face. Every apartment on the train is empty as we pass. But no, not empty. If I look too closely, I can see a hand here, a foot there, a fallen lock of hair. She catches me looking. “My brother was hungry,” is her only explanation. We meet Mary and the poet on the platform. They are bright with colour, delighted with themselves. Several porters come forth to carry our trunks, but they all have a dazed look about their eyes that proves the poet has already paid them with his dulcet words. “I know we shall love it, here in Florence,” says Mary. “It is a most accommodating city,” agrees the poet, with a satisfied smile. We have been in Florence only three days when someone tries to kill us. He is a most unassuming looking gentleman. The poet’s sister and I are wandering the city markets, choosing furnishings and flowers that will look splendid in the new house that her brother is buying for us. He spends his days going from place to place, searching for the perfect villa, while Mary plans the garden where her children will play. The assassin lunges out of the shadows, a rope knotted in his hands, and wraps it around my lover’s throat. She is caught unawares, but he does not expect me to savage him with the fine brass door-knocker I had been admiring on a nearby stall. Blood pours from the wound on his head as I hurl the knotted rope away, cooing over the ugly bruises on her throat. “Do not concern yourself, Fanny,” she says in a beautiful rasp. “No one shall destroy us.” “You are not one of them,” the man gasps, holding his sleeve to the wound. “Do not let the lamia take your will and your life from you, Frances Wolstonecraft.” I shiver that he knows my name. Or perhaps it is that other word — lamia. I do not know what it means. “Come near us again,” said the poet’s sister. “And my brother will kill you.” She takes my hand, and we run away together, through the market. “Who is that man?” I ask at the supper table that night. The poet, his sister and Mary all look at each other as if I have said something unpleasant, a truth not to be named aloud. “Why does he hate us?” I persist. Am I the only one not to know the secrets of this new family we have formed? I am not a child! “He is an old enemy of my kind,” the poet says finally, shifting his wine glass one precise inch to the left, so that the candlelight makes a prettier pattern of ruby shapes on the tablecloth. “He hates us for being. That is all. His name is Julius. He is not important.” “He was so strong.” I can still remember that look in his eyes, as if my lady were some kind of monster. “We are stronger,” says the poet’s sister, and squeezes my fingers with her own. From Florence, we travel to Switzerland, determined that our plan to live together in all happiness and beauty shall not be spoiled by the horrid man, Julius. I wonder sometimes if he was sent by our father, if the poet only wished to spare Mary and I from that awful truth, that our own family would rather see us dead than happy. We have our house of dreams, finally, in the midst of such green splendour, and a good distance outside the town where prying eyes might seek to spoil our circle. The poet and Mary visit the town often, to buy pretty trinkets, and to slake their thirst. When they are gone, it is as if the house is ours, only ours, and the poet’s sister and I can finally love each other as we long to. She needs no drink but what she takes from me, in sweet drugging kisses that make me feel alive. Mary’s child is born; a perfect silver nub of a creature with bright eyes. She is hungry, so very hungry, and nuzzles her constantly, sucking, biting, clawing at her for food. She hires a nursemaid from the town, and then another, but the babe’s thirst is too great, and for a while it is as if we are constantly digging graves for the scraps left behind. Left unsaid is our belief she will not survive. We will have to move again, and soon, but we have been so happy here. It pains us to speak of leaving the garden, the egg-shell drawing room, the balcony that looks out over the valley. We stay too long. I am awoken from a deep befogged sleep against the body of my beloved when I hear a scream in the night. The baby makes so much noise that I am content at first to ignore the interruption, but then there is another, and the shattering of glass. The poet’s sister sits up in bed, shining and glorious in her white nightgown. “Him,” is all she says, and then she is up on her feet, hair streaming behind her, teeth gleaming in the darkness. He has come for us. The downstairs parlour is alight as we come down the stairs: flames crackle up the curtains and blacken the wooden walls. My beloved gasps as she finds the body of her brother in a pool of silver blood, his body pierced through the heart and his head lying some distance from his neck. “Fanny!” Mary screams, and bursts through the flaming doorway like an angel, bearing her child wrapped in a sage-green blanket trimmed with ivory lace. “Take her,” she begs, placing the wailing bundle in my arms. I stand there, immobile as Mary and my beloved turn back to the smoke and the flames, ready to avenge the death of the poet. He — Julius, slayer of lamia — walks through the wall of flames with his sword held high. It is a short sword, and bronzed rather than steel. How odd, the things you notice at such moments. My sister bares her teeth, as sharp as those of my beloved, and they swarm him. I do not want to watch. I flee, through the kitchen, where I grab the only weapon I can find, a kitchen knife, and spare cloths for the baby. Then I run out of the house, my niece crying in my arms, down the hill, away from the beautiful house. I feel it minutes later, the death of my beloved. It is a blossoming pain in my chest, as if someone has carved out my heart. I do not feel Mary die; we have no such connection. But my tears fall for them both. I run and hide, but the baby is hungry and she will not stop crying. Finally I press her mouth again my upper arm and she suckles deeply, her own teeth finding the vein and drinking in great gulping swallows. I shall have to wind her afterwards, and the thought is almost enough to make me burst with laughter. Too late. I should have silenced her minutes ago. He is upon us. I hear him treading the crisp grass nearby, and the rasp of his smoke-filled lungs. “Frances,” he says, as if he still thinks he has an ally in me. “Give me the child.” The baby’s feed is not as delicious as that of my beloved. It hurts, though there is still a satisfaction in it, in knowing that I am food, that I am needed. Little Mary. Mine now. “No,” I say, quite calmly, though he is standing not far from me, and he has a sword. I do not think he will hurt me. For some reason, he does not believe I am one of the monsters. I keep the knife hidden in my skirts, so that he shall not see that I am able to defend myself. “Listen to me, Frances. I have tracked these creatures for years. They were the last, the three up there in the house.” My family. Tears rush anew down my cheeks, and I cannot wipe them away without disturbing the babe. “There is only that one,” he continues. “When it is gone, the world will be safe. One less monster to ravage families, to destroy the lives of innocents such as yourself. Lamia who are born rather than made are the most powerful, the most dangerous. I have worked for centuries to weaken these creatures, and if this one lives to make more of its kind, it may be centuries more before they are wiped from the face of the earth.” The baby releases me with a gasp and leans against my breast, breathing deeply. She is asleep. My niece, the perfect silver child. My daughter, now. He cannot even acknowledge that she is a ‘she’. “No,” I say again. “You can go home, Frances,” he says, in a soothing voice. “Home to your father, to your old life…” The thought of it makes me shudder. “No!” I scream, and run at him with the knife. He does not expect it, even now. He thinks I am food, a docile milk cow, with no reason to defy him now that my lover and sister are dead. I catch him in the neck, and he twists badly, falling down the hillside onto his sword. I do not think he survived. How could he, a blow like that? After months of standing asid, as my sister and the poet killed for food, I have become a murderer myself. Perhaps the murderer of thousands, by keeping my little Mary alive. The blood of my body will not sustain her forever. But I have learned that the lamia power of persuasive words is mine to share, if I hold the baby close to my skin, and that has been enough to get us from train to train, from country to country. We will travel as far as we can, to a land so distant that another Julius can never find us. She will grow, my darling daughter, and she will feed. Some day, perhaps, she shall make me another lover to replace what I lost. We shall be a family, all together. She shall live, my little Mary, long after I have gone, and live, and live. I am not sorry for it. END
Je me souviens by Su J. Sokol There are nine police cars. I count them again just to be sure and because counting usually calms me. Arielle watches to see if I’m freaking out, asks if I want to leave. I tell her I’m OK but she's not reassured so I give her a sexy smile. If she would kiss me now, I’d have somewhere pleasant to channel my beating heart. She leans towards me and I see that she’s used her superpowers to read my mind again, but then another police car arrives, drawing her attention away. Now ten police cars face two hundred and thirty-six demonstrators. We are peaceful, banging pots and chanting slogans. Our numbers include children, old people, commuters on bikes, dogs wearing red bandanas. A cop is speaking through a bullhorn but no one can hear him because of the clanging and chanting. Will they arrest us now? My heart beats like the wings of a falcon, trying to escape the prison of my chest. Full transcript after the cut. Hello! Welcome to GlitterShip episode 23 for March 1, 2016. I'm your host, Keffy, and I'm super excited to be sharing this story with you. I'm extending the period for responses to the GlitterShip listener favorites poll until March 5th. You can find a link in the transcript for this episode at GlitterShip.com GlitterShip Poll Our story today is "Je me souviens" by Su J. Sokol. Su is an activist, a cyclist, and a writer of interstitial fiction. A former legal services lawyer from New York City, Sokol immigrated to Montréal in 2004 where she works as a social rights advocate. Her short stories have been published in The Future Fire and Spark: A Creative Anthology. Her debut novel, Cycling to Asylum, was long-listed for the 2015 Sunburst Award for Excellence in Canadian Literature of the Fantastic. "Je me souviens" was first published in 2012 by the Future Fire and was recently republished in TFFX, the The Future Fire's tenth anniversary anthology. Our guest reader today is Leigh Wallace. Leigh is a Canadian writer, artist and public servant. You can find her latest story in Tesseracts 19: Superhero Universe and her art at leighfive.deviantart.com I've also been asked for trigger warnings in the past. This story does contain references to police violence and anti-gay torture. Je me souviens by Su J. Sokol There are nine police cars. I count them again just to be sure and because counting usually calms me. Arielle watches to see if I’m freaking out, asks if I want to leave. I tell her I’m OK but she's not reassured so I give her a sexy smile. If she would kiss me now, I’d have somewhere pleasant to channel my beating heart. She leans towards me and I see that she’s used her superpowers to read my mind again, but then another police car arrives, drawing her attention away. Now ten police cars face two hundred and thirty-six demonstrators. We are peaceful, banging pots and chanting slogans. Our numbers include children, old people, commuters on bikes, dogs wearing red bandanas. A cop is speaking through a bullhorn but no one can hear him because of the clanging and chanting. Will they arrest us now? My heart beats like the wings of a falcon, trying to escape the prison of my chest. I tell myself that this is Québec. They will not put a black bag over my head. They will not throw me in the trunk of one of their cars. They will not burn me with cigarettes after beating me. No, this doesn’t happen here ... I am pretty sure. They have granted me permanent residence and have even hired me to teach their children math. So I will stay here and demonstrate for my students. The police open the trunks of their vans. I’m concentrating on my breathing, on not blanking out, when a little ball of energy in a red cape flies into my legs. “La policía, they are here to catch the bad guys, Papa?” he asks me, his speech the usual jumble of French, Spanish and English. Before I can speak, Arielle answers. “No, mon petit chéri, this is not why they’re here today.” Her face is an eloquent mix of amusement and sadness. “I will catch them, then! But first Papa must fly me home so I can eat my supper.” “C’est correct? Can we go home now?” Arielle asks me. I shrug, hiding my relief, and lift Raphaël high over my head. I run full out towards our home, fast enough so that his cape flies out behind him and fast enough that my own need to run is satisfied. Our four-year-old superhero has come to the rescue. The next morning, despite a sleep fragmented by nightmares, I’m energized, thinking about being a part of something important again. This was not my first demonstration in my new home, but the first of this kind—spontaneous, focused, a little confrontational. And joyous. Even more so than the mass manifestation when our numbers first surpassed 250,000. That day, I stood at the overpass by rue Berri, Raphaël on my shoulders, watching the street below swell with a current of demonstrators wide as the Rio Grande. I’m good at counting, my eyes instinctively grouping people into hundreds, thousands, tens and hundreds of thousands. Surely they must listen now, I thought. Surely they will see the beauty, the rightness of our cause! Our euphoria was short-lived as we watched the news and listened to the lies about our goals, our numbers. Last night, with our pots, with our “casseroles”, we banged out our anger and turned it into music. I am proud, too, that les casseroles, “los caserolazos”, are borrowed from the political traditions of my own people. Now, standing at the front of my high school math class, I feel strong, in control. Numbers—they do not lie to you; they do not let you down. I explain the first problem, my eyes scanning the classroom, counting students. Someone is missing. When I’m presenting the second problem, Xavier stumbles in, limping slightly and with his left eye blackened. I don’t ask him for his late pass nor for his homework. I even let him read whatever it is he’s awkwardly hidden behind his math textbook. A large oval bruise on his upper arm is already aging, turning from black to green. As I answer a student’s question, my mind goes through a familiar set of choices: the police, youth protection, the directrice of the school ... When the authorities were called in last time, it did not end well: denials and threats of legal action by his politically connected family, followed by unexplained absences. I ask Xavier to remain after class is over. He approaches my desk, giving me a sullen look from under his long hair. There seems little point in asking him what happened, so instead, I ask him what he’s reading. He hesitates, then shrugs and places it in my hand. “C’est une bande-dessinée. A ‘Comic book’ in English.” “I am not anglophone,” I say. “Yeah, but you’re not from here, are you?” He says this like I might be from Mars or some other planet. “Why do the people in the bande-dessinée have the heads of animals?” I ask. “Are they superheroes, these animal-headed people?” “I’m not ten years old. I don’t believe in superheroes.” “I would like to help you, Xavi.” “I don’t need anyone’s help. And I can’t stay. There’s a student union meeting. To vote on the strike.” Enthusiasm has replaced his precocious cynicism. But then I watch him limp away, a sense of helplessness making my own limbs feel heavy. The end of the day finds me in the teachers’ lounge. Luc joins me, compositions from his students clutched in his big hands. I gaze up at my best friend and he quickly drops down beside me. “Qu’est-ce que tu as?” he asks, reading me as always. “Xavier came into class today all beaten up. I don’t know what I should do.” “If you suspect something ...” “It is beyond suspecting. I know what’s happening and it’s not just beatings.” “Are you sure of this?” he asks. I simply look at him. He knows about my past. Not just the torture but the rapes as well. Luc was able to get this information out of me even when the tribunal could not. “Don’t worry, Gabriel, I have friends at youth protection. We’ll find a way to help him.” I feel a little reassured. I move closer, so that I can lean against him. He lets me, even puts his arm around my shoulder. Some of the darkness leaks out of me. If Arielle were here, she would be happy, seeing how I can still take comfort from other men. She was my lawyer at the refugee hearing and accepts me as I am. She tried to prepare me for their questions, but I failed her. On such and such a date, they asked me, had I been tortured for my political crimes or for the crime of being queer? It seemed important to be precise about this, but I was confused. Maybe I was tortured for the former and raped for the latter. The fear of disappointing the officials, of making them angry, made my words flee. Perhaps that’s why, in the middle of the hearing, I blanked out. “I should go home,” I say to Luc. “To cook supper. Arielle is counting on me.” “How is Arielle?” “She is good. We had very hot sex last night. Do you want to hear about it?” I feel happy thinking about this while leaning against Luc’s shoulder. It was when Arielle and I made love for the first time, on the floor of her office, that I realized she had superpowers. I hadn’t been sure before, even though she’d rescued me from the hearing. Arielle might even have won my case, but instead, she found a way to spare me the pain of testifying. She offered to marry me, explaining it in logical, lawyerly terms. She’d just gone through another in a series of unreliable roommates and untrustworthy boyfriends. She wanted someone who shared her political values to also share, on a longterm basis, the household expenses and cooking. And one other thing. She wanted a child. Luc tells me maybe another time, after a few beers. “Will we go somewhere that has ‘Maudite’ beer?” I ask him. “I like the picture on the label, of the flying canoe, la chasse galerie.” “Speaking of which, I have that book for Raphaël. Of old Québecois tales, including a few chasse galerie stories.” He hands me a large volume, the edges soft with use. “It’s beautiful,” I say, running my fingers along the expensive binding. “My parents gave me this collection. Keep it as long as you need it.” “Merci beaucoup mon cher ami,” I say, kissing him on both cheeks and then once on the lips for good measure. He accepts my shows of affection with his usual aplomb. That night, I tell Raphaël my own version of a chasse galerie story. “Once upon a time, men were chopping down trees deep in the winter forest. They were sad because they missed their children and partners.” “Where were they, Papa?” “In another forest ... planting trees to replace those that had been cut down. So one day, the men boarded a magic canoe to visit their loved ones.” “Were they superheroes?” “Claro que si. They could mix their powers together into one big superpower. That’s how they made the canoe fly. But there was a super villain too, and he ... he sprinkled forgetting dust into their eyes so that they could not remember who they were, and their canoe started falling down to the earth.” “Oh no! What happened?” “Flying Boy came to the rescue. He brought the boat down safely and used a magical washcloth to wipe the forgetting dust out of the men’s eyes.” “Was Flying Boy wearing his red cape?” “Yes. And now it’s time for superheroes to go to sleep.” “Papa? Why did the super villain make the men forget things? Why is he bad?” “I don’t know. Maybe a bad thing happened to him, something he needed to forget. Good night Flying Boy.” “Good night, Papa.” I tuck him into bed, trying to ignore a growing darkness. I make myself think of the night Rapha was born. The moment I held him, I knew he’d been gifted with strong powers and that it was my job to protect him until he was old enough to use them safely. This responsibility is what has kept me from ending my own worthless life. Arielle is watching the nightly update about the strike. There’s a late-breaking development about a student who’s in critical condition after a cop's plastic bullet struck her in the eye. I pull Arielle onto my lap and hide my face in her curls while counting to myself. Maybe Arielle will use her powers tonight to make me forget things that strike and burn and tear into tender flesh. On Facebook, I learn that this week has been declared “une semaine de résistance” for secondary school students. Our school votes to go on strike, but staff must report to work as usual. I stay in the teachers’ lounge, not wanting to be alone, but I’m restless, so I go down the hall and stand at the entrance. At nine o’clock, the police arrive in full riot gear and declare the students’ picket illegal. They open their trunks and pull out shiny yellow vests and canisters of malevolent substances. I walk back into the teachers’ lounge. “We should be out there,” I say to the others. A debate ensues but many teachers are missing, still in their classrooms. “I’ll get them,” Luc volunteers. He turns to me. “Stay here until I get back.” I wait for a while, then go to the front entrance again and see the beginnings of trouble between a group of students and the riot cops. Just then, Luc appears. “Venez dehors! Nos étudiants se font embêter!” he shouts to the others. I run outside and Luc catches up to me, his hand closing around my upper arm. I pull him with me as I throw myself between the students and the riot police. We’re shoved but keep to our feet and Luc is saying “Calmez-vous, calmez-vous,” making eye contact with each of the cops in front of us, patiently explaining that we are teachers, a French teacher and a Mathematics teacher, and that we must all remain calm to set a good example. After a few tense moments, more teachers come outside. We join hands, forming a barrier between the students and the police. The students chant slogans like “Education is a right” and “À qui nos écoles? À nous nos écoles”. Luc pulls L’Étranger from his back pocket and begins reciting from it. I spot Xavier, a courageous smile on his face. By the end of the morning, almost all of my colleagues have joined us and the police have retreated to their cars. I grip Luc’s hand tighter and think about kissing every single teacher standing with us. With these heroes beside me, I feel invincible. The next night I have a beer with Luc at a café on rue St. Denis. I finish five ‘Maudites’ and am feeling a nice buzz from that. I told Arielle I’d eat something with Luc. I can’t lie to her so I steal a handful of his fries. He offers me his burger but I shake my head, too keyed up to eat much. “Shouldn’t we be going?” I ask. “The manif is scheduled to begin at 21 hours.” “It’s not like the theatre, my friend. We don’t have to be there when the curtain rises. You sure this is alright with Arielle? There’s more risk being arrested at night.” “I have promised to be careful.” At Parc Émilie-Gamelin, I’m in my element. It’s hot for late September. A thick darkness envelops me. There’s an aura of unpredictability that I appreciate because deep down, I’m an optimist who believes that whatever happens next has got to be better than what we already have. My lips move to the chants. An anarchist marching band playing circus music draws me in deeper, to where the park is filled with magic. Luc introduces me to people he knows. After a while, I wander off as he gets into conversation with one of his ex-girlfriends. There’s a group of men wearing dark clothing on the fringes of the manif. They’re rowdy and loud and exude a dangerous energy. I’m drawn to them. I also want to run from them. I find myself a couple of metres closer to the group, though I don’t remember deciding to approach them. In fact, I remember deciding the opposite. My feet are taking more steps in their direction and I can’t make myself stop. The men are carrying something in their hands. Their eyes flash yellow in the darkness. I’m terrified and mesmerized as I come closer still. One raises his arm with a look of gleeful malice. Someone grabs my shirt from behind. “Câlisse de tabarnak,” Luc shouts. “Can’t I turn my back on you for a minute?” My collar is bunched up in his fist as he guides me, not gently, out of the park. “Who are those guys?” I ask. “They looked like skinheads with hair.” “Agents provocateurs or just assholes. What difference does it make? You know to stay away from them.” “They have evil powers. I couldn’t pull away.” “You’ve had too many beers. It’s time to go home.” I leave with him, but I know I’ll be back. I’ve found another activity where it feels right that I’m still alive. I count through the list in my head: Taking care of Raphaël, teaching my students, making love, going to manifs. I’ll just have to be careful to avoid the super villains. If our collective actions succeed, it may even give me back some of the life force stolen from me when I was a teenager. Arielle and I are watching the news. She’s become a news junkie in the same way that I’ve become a junkie for demonstrations. “Our government makes me ashamed to be Québécoise,” Arielle says. “The real Québec is in the streets, marching and chanting and demonstrating. Come out with me more. You would feel better,” I tell her. She touches my cheek. “You reassuring me. It should be the other way around.” Of course the police violence and new repressive laws frighten me. But conditions in Québec, politically and socially, are still better than in the country where I was born. It’s for this very reason that whenever things become worse here, I feel nauseous, like the world is spinning in the wrong direction. “Let’s go together to the nude manif tomorrow. It will be fun. I can put fleur-de-lys pasties on your nipples.” She smiles and I know I’ve convinced her. The next day, Arielle calls me at school to say that they’re concerned about Raphaël at the garderie. He’s telling everyone that he’s a superhero and trying to fly off tables and playground equipment. They’ve asked for a meeting. “I can go, Arielle.” “They’ve asked that I come, specifically.” “That is sexism.” “No, it’s more that...” “What?” “It’s because of what you told Raphaël, last time this happened. That he needed to wait until he was older to use his superpowers. And to only use them when they’re needed.” “Are you angry with me?” “No, not angry but ... We’ll talk more later. Are you still going to the manif?” “Yes.” “There’s usually less police violence at the nude ones. You’ll be careful?” “Of course. I love you.” Without Arielle and Raphaël, the apartment feels a little sinister. It’s better in Raphaël ’s room where I can sense him in his toys and artwork. I hold on to one of his superhero figures and draw strength from that. Next, I enter our bedroom. I wrap my arms around Arielle’s pillow and breathe in her familiar odour. Feeling stronger, I go to the shelf in the back of my closet and find the box that I haven’t opened since my uncle smuggled me out of my country. I take out the red cape, red feathered mask and calf-high red boots. The cape against my nose, I smell the streets of my childhood and adolescence. My mother sewed this costume, but she did not bring me up to believe in superheroes. My parents were university professors. Both were politically active, proud of my work for the student newspaper and tolerant of my sexuality. Their openness and support encouraged me to finally tell what my uncle did to me. No, my parents did not believe in superheroes. Nor did they believe in super villains. Just because you don’t believe in something doesn’t mean it can’t kill you. They never should have gone to the police. My uncle was too powerful. Their so-called car accident left me without protection, with thoughts of vengeance like cold ashes in my mouth. I hold the costume in my hands, remembering when I wore it so proudly. It was after “los casserolazos”, after the occupation, and after the kiss-in, but the taste of my classmates’ lips was still fresh in my memory. The superhero demonstration was the last one before I was taken. Like me, only parts of the costume survived, but maybe some traces of the powers that were stolen from me remain in the material. I shove it into a bag and head for my bike. I’m marching down rue Ste-Catherine wearing my cape, my boots, my mask and nothing else. The breeze feels good on my bare skin. My boots protect my feet and my mask protects my identity. It’s almost like having the power of invisibility. Everyone is friendly, many people talk to me. Some take my picture. I know I’m good looking but I take no pride in this. I did nothing to earn my looks, yet, it’s something I’ve had to pay for, repeatedly. “Excuse me,” I say to the person who’s chatting with me.“I have to stop here.” On the side street under a circus canopy stands a man wearing a red kerchief who has the dark eyes and quirked smile of my country of birth. He’s holding a six-inch tall toy polar bear banging a miniature pot with a tiny, perfectly formed wooden spoon. The bear is wearing the flag of Québec as a cape. “How much, monsieur?” I ask. “Just take it, hermano.” “I couldn’t.” “Yes. It is for your child. Take it.” I hold the bear, sensing in its erect posture and soft gaze a power to protect. I look up to thank the man, wondering how he knows about Rapha, but he’s gone. At home, I give Rapha his gift. I let him turn it on so that he can hear the pot banging, a sweet, high pitched clang clang ... clangclangclang. I tell him to keep it safe because of its magic, then kiss him goodnight. That evening, on Facebook, I see the first photo of myself at the nude manif. In the next couple of days, more photos follow, including one where my back is to the camera as I look over my shoulder. I’m holding up the toy polar bear with its flag-of-Québec cape. My other fist is raised as well. This is the photo that goes viral. Wednesday, I arrive at school early and, uncharacteristically, so does Luc. He comes into my classroom with a copy of a popular glossy magazine in his hand. He slaps it onto my desk. “Please tell me this isn’t you.” I look at the cover photo—a close-up shot of me at the manif, fist in air, my more private parts artfully photo-shopped. It’s difficult to answer him, the power of his verbal request at odds with the truth. “He’s wearing a mask,” I finally answer. “You can’t tell, for sure, who he is.” “Je n'en reviens pas. You can’t be that stupid.” I hang my head thinking, ‘Yes I can.’ He hears my thoughts. “Écoute, you’re going to be called into the directrice’s office this afternoon. Don’t say anything. Let me handle it. D’accord?” At the meeting, Arielle is there too. They sit on either side of me, protecting me as they answer concerns about propriety, judgment, reputation, regulations. My head is pounding from the force of the words in the room. I try to count how many hours of sleep I’ve had this week. If I strung those hours together, would it be equivalent to one full night’s rest? In the end, I’m told that I’ve gotten off lightly. I get to keep my job, without even a warning in my record. But I cannot come to work for ten days. The first day is without pay and those following are sick days for me to rest and “find my equilibrium”. I am not to give interviews. Still, the news is full of information about me—that I am a teacher with a four-year-old son, that I am a refugee which, strictly speaking, is not even true. But this is the excuse used for why my school is not identified, nor my name used. The real reason is that Arielle and Luc have created a shield of partial invisibility. Nevertheless, there are photos of me—far away, obscured, fully clothed. And quotes in support of the movement and against police violence, not attributed directly to me but said to be “summaries of my position” as communicated to “friends”. I learn that the fact that this message comes from a teacher who is also a political refugee and father has earned me, and the movement, “a great deal of new popular support.” Arielle tells me that this has earned me a lot of enemies too—principally, the government and the police—and insists that I lay low for a while. I try to do as Arielle says. For the first forty-eight hours, I actually do not leave my bed. Arielle suggests I start seeing my therapist more frequently. Luc comes by with offers of bike rides, soccer games, a film. The problem is that I am not teaching, not with my students. When Raphaël is at the garderie, I feel useless. Finally, I tell Arielle that I must go out. The next day, I participate in three separate demonstrations and a teach-in. Afterwards, I go to a public assemblée générale. The meeting is held in Parc Lafontaine where, just metres from us, a woman in black fishnet tights and stilettos is being taught to wield a whip by a huge bald man in leather. Every few minutes, I’m distracted by the sound of the whip cracking accompanied by a sharp burning pain on my back, but when I look around the assembly, no one else seems bothered. It occurs to me that I may be the only one who can perceive these two super villains. I leave and, biking very fast, attend four different “casserolazos” before heading to the night manif. When I return home, Arielle asks me what I’ve been up to. I tell her everything, which of course I must do. She insists that we both stay home the next day. It’s a good day. We make love, nap, drink red wine. I feed a little off her life force—I cannot help myself—but I don’t think it hurts her because she’s so strong. In the evening, I put Raphaël to bed while she listens to the news. She’s turned the volume low but I can tell there’s been a report of some super villainy. I know this by the staccato rhythm of the words, the erratic, fractured images. As I enter the living room, Arielle turns off the television. I walk towards it as though to a cooling corpse. “What happened?” She hesitates. “Some arrests, police violence. There were ... injuries.” I know that I’m to blame. I either caused it or ... or maybe if I had been there, I could have lured the evil towards me. “I’m going to the demonstration tomorrow,” I tell Arielle. “Gabriel—” I cut her off, steel myself against her power. “Please,” I say, putting my fingers on her lips. “Please,” I whisper again. She sighs. “Then I’m going too.” On the way to the demonstration the next morning, we drop Rapha off at his friend’s on avenue Mont Royal. He’s disappointed that he can’t come, but we tell him to watch for us, that the march will pass right by this street. After last night’s events, the mood at the manif is somber. The numbers of police and the way they are armed seem more a provocation than a way of keeping the peace. Nevertheless, the demonstrators remain positive. I march between Arielle and Luc in a bubble of safety. Something in the mood still doesn’t feel right, though. I’m glad that Rapha is safe at his friend’s home. It’s after crossing St. Laurent that I realize that super villains are threatening the demonstration. I can see them, just off to my right, but whenever I turn my head, they’re gone. Arielle asks me what’s wrong, so I mention my nervousness for the students. Luc thinks I mean our students and says that Xavier and other kids from our school might be marching with the youth contingent behind us. He offers to try to find them for me. Now there is only Arielle beside me. This is the moment when I must leave. I kiss her hard on the lips and make a run for it. I find them easily, instinctively, the evil calling out to me. I can taste the violence in the air as it draws me closer. Suddenly, I see Xavier and my panic mounts. Everything happens at once. An arm is raised. People are running. A canister bursts in the air. Riot police appear from nowhere, weapons already in hand. Arielle calls me from a distance, Luc’s head and shoulders appear above the crowd. The mass of humanity is rumbling and reforming. Xavier’s eyes meet my own. “Run!” I yell to him and his friends, and they do. The next instant, the first matraque cuts across my hip, taking my legs out from under me. My head hits the pavement. Everything goes dark. I remember. We were all standing under the night sky, a mass of students dancing in our superhero costumes. The evening was hot and full of motion, my arms tight around the shoulders of my two best friends. We sang and danced while we waited for the government to finally see that we were their children and that the things we fought for were good and right. I was almost too happy, too excited. Almost, I was a little bored. My two friends agreed to leave with me and we found our way to my old home. Someone had placed a new lock on the door I used to enter. I was seeking my parents’ ghosts, hoping they were watching over us, yet I did not heed this obvious warning from the dead. I smashed the window, my parents’ murder a shard in my heart. We were inside, kissing. I went from one set of lips to the other, my hand under the girl’s superhero skirt, the other rubbing the boy through his superhero tights. It was all very innocent—cuddles and caresses, seeking warmth in the ruins of my childhood home. I thought about returning to the demonstration, guilty about convincing my friends to follow me to this dark and sad place. This was the power I had—to make people love me, to make them see my love for them, to make them follow me, heedlessly. And still, It might have been alright, if I hadn’t taken off my costume. My eyes snap open. The cop’s face is snarling above me. “It’s you, the magazine star. Let them take your picture now,” he says, punctuating his words with a blow across the chest. I taste blood in the back of my throat. They arrived with their guns, pulling me from my friends. The beating began at once, the force of the blows seeming to flow from an exterior power. I fought back at first, scanning the street outside for help. When my uncle stepped forward from the darkness with a look of anticipation about to be satisfied, I stopped fighting. “Run!” I yelled to my friends. And they did. I don’t want to fight back this time. But my body doesn’t listen. It’s trying to stand. The next blow takes me and I’m down again, the pain exploding behind my eyes. I look up, hoping they’ll finish me off quickly. It’s then that I see Rapha leaning over his friend’s balcony, the little bear clanging away in alarm, my son’s mouth a big “O”. Pain. The stench of death and decay. In the prison, my only comfort was that my friends were not also taken. I balanced this against my agony. Snatches of sleep are brief, dreams of warm lips and smooth limbs. I began to imagine that I could see my friends flying over the prison in their costumes, planning to save me. I waited for rescue as minutes/hours/days became lifetimes endured. My uncle always came after the pain, speaking to me of loyalty to government and family and God, his hands on my body, gentle as a poisonous eel. I could no longer hear my own cries, could no longer fight. They’d stolen my life force and I was fading. I finally realized that my friends’ superhero powers must have been stolen as well. That this is why they never came for me. Raphaël has climbed over the balcony railing. With horror, I realize that he’s seen me. I sense Arielle’s presence coming nearer, Luc’s as well. My death is coming too, but not soon enough. I will still be alive to see my child jump from the balcony. “Rapha!” I cry as he becomes airborne, his cape flying out behind him. The police baton is raised again. I close my eyes and wait for it. I’m flying through the air, holding on to Raphaël. We’re moving very fast above the streets of Montréal. Am I dead yet? I don’t want Rapha to be in a place of the dead. “No,” I moan and realize that, after all these years, I can hear my cries of pain again. “Shh,” a familiar voice says. “Ça va aller. I’ve got you.” Luc’s face is above mine, his arms carrying me swiftly through the streets, the crowd opening before him. If I could, I’d ask him to care for Raphaël in my place. My hand rests against Luc’s chest, his shirt wet and sticky with my blood. I try to touch his lips with my fingers so he can read my mind, but my fingers reach only his chin, slipping down again on its rough wetness. My hand drops to my own mouth. I taste salt, feel Luc’s chest heave with his sobs, with the strain of carrying me and running. I press my hand against his heart and he runs faster. In the ambulance, Arielle holds my hand. Her voice cradles me. “Lâche pas, Gabriel. Lâche pas.” Hope hurts more than giving up, though, and I don’t think I can take any more pain. Then she puts my hand on her cheek and I feel her tears. I absorb the salt through the tips of my fingers and hold on a little longer. Awareness slips in between longer periods of confusion. I see the friends from my student days beckoning me to dance with them. I see them pass the missing pieces of my costume to Arielle and Luc who hold fast with their powers of reason and strength, of goodness and loyalty. Above them all is my precious Rapha, flying and free. I remember now how he jumped from the balcony, landing squarely on the policeman’s back, how he passed his red felt square across the cop’s eyes, and how the man backed away from me in shock, as though only now seeing what he had done. I wake and wake again. Luc or Arielle are always beside me holding tightly to my hand. When I ask for Rapha, I am told not to worry, that he's fine. I sleep and heal. On a day when my head is clear, I open my eyes to Arielle sitting beside my hospital bed with Rapha on her lap. He clutches a newspaper, on the front page, a photo of his exploit, his red cape flying out behind him. The headlines reads: Boy superhero leaps to the rescue. Negotiations resume, student leaders hopeful. “What happened?” I ask. “It’s a long story,” Arielle says. “What did you think you were doing?” “My students were in danger. I saw Xavier, told him to run.” “Well he ran and found Luc, which probably saved your life.” “Papa,” Raphaël whispers. “Maman made me promise not to fly anymore until I am grown up. I said d’accord but only if you come back to life.” “Well I have, so you must do as you have promised.” “I also promised not to tell any more newspaper people about how I can fly. And about the magic forgetting dust.” “Forgetting dust?” I ask. “Yes. Like you told me. I used the red square to wipe it from the policeman’s eyes. And I said the magic words.” “What words, Rapha?” “Je me souviens.” END Dedicated to student and teacher superheroes everywhere. "Je me souviens" was originally published in The Future Fire in 2012. This recording is a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivatives license which means you can share it with anyone you’d like, but please don’t change or sell it. Our theme is “Aurora Borealis” by Bird Creek, available through the Google Audio Library. Thanks for listening, and I'll be back on the IDES OF MARCH with "Lamia Victoriana" by Tansy Rayner Roberts.
News! News! News! So much news this week, from Vines of P-Cap playing guitar to Series 9 rumours, royal honours, convention doings and undoings, and (fake, but awesome) Doctor Who LEGO video games! The mind boggles! “But what else, you fiends?!” you declare, and for you, beloved listener, we also have Verity’s own Tansy Rayner Roberts with us for a commentary on "Dark Water", the penultimate Series 8 showstopper featuring water, darkness and more! Check out the show notes at http://www.radiofreeskaro.com
[We regret to advise that there is some questionable audio for the first five minutes or so of this episode due to an unnoticed fault somewhere in the recording equipment. We sincerely apologise and ask that our lovely listeners persevere regardless. Thankfully, it doesn't last for long.] This episode of The Writer and the Critic was recorded live at Continuum 11: Southern Skies -- the Melbourne speculative fiction and pop culture convention. In keeping with tradition, the special guests on the podcast were the convention's Guests of Honour, Tansy Rayner Roberts and R.J. (Rebecca) Anderson, who each recommended a favourite novel to talk about. After introductions and some entertaining banter concerning Doctor Who fan fic, chocolate-mousse-filled cronuts and secret author identity crises, the discussion moves on to the books. Rebecca's pick was The King of Attolia by Megan Whalen Turner (15:40) while Tansy chose Growing Rich by Fay Weldon (59:20). Fans of Fay Weldon might also be interested to know that the 1992 mini-series of Growing Rich is available to view in full on YouTube. You're welcome. If you'd skipped ahead to avoid spoilers, it's safe to come back at 1:31:30 for final remarks. For the next episode, Kirstyn has chosen The Godless by Ben Peek while Ian is recommending The Book of the Unnamed Midwife by Meg Elison. Read ahead and join in the spoilerific fun!
On this episode of The Writer and the Critic your hosts, Kirstyn McDermott and Ian Mond, open with a short discussion of the Hugo Awards and other matters. Inevitably, there are puppies. Sorry. The discussion centres around the following websites and online articles: "Some comments on the Hugos and other SF awards" by Eric Flint Chaos Horizon by Brandon Kempner "Blogging For Rockets" and others posts on Not A Blog by George R. R. Martin File 770 by Mike Glyer Thankfully, they then move on to talking about books! On the slab this time around are The Well by Elizabeth Jolley (18:50) and Clade by James Bradley. (57:50). This obituary of Elizabeth Jolley in the New York Times as well as this interview with James Bradley in the Sydney Morning Herald are both mentioned. If you've skipped ahead to avoid spoilers (or puppies), it's safe to tune back in at 1:46:40 for final remarks. In June, The Writer and the Critic will be recorded live at Continuum 11: Southern Skies -- the Melbourne speculative fiction and pop culture convention. As has become traditional, the special guests for the podcast will be the convention's Guests of Honour, Tansy Rayner Roberts and R.J. (Rebecca) Anderson, who will each be recommending a favourite book to talk about. Tansy has picked Growing Rich by Fay Weldon while Rebecca has chosen The King of Attolia by Megan Whalen Turner. Read ahead and join in the spoilerific fun! And if you'll be at Continuum 11, we'd love to see you in the audience!
It's still Christmas, darn it! And the Doctor Who series isn't over yet! At least that's what I'm trying to convince myself, by inviting National Public Radio's Petra Mayer and Doctor Who: Verity!'s Tansy Rayner Roberts over to 2MTL to talk one last time about Last Christmas, Steven Moffat and Clara Oswald.
Deborah Ross AKA Deborah Wheeler and Connie Wilkins AKA Sacchi Green join me to discuss the Lambda Awards ceremony.Deborah was nominated for Collaborators. The Lambda Literary review is here. Connie won for Wild Girls, Wild Nights: True Lesbian Sex Stories. The Lamba Literary review is here.The interview is very pleasant, but it does mention Marion Zimmer Bradley. In the interim between recording the interview and today, there has been a lot of online discussion of Bradley and her role in enabling abuse and abusing children herself. This is a very fraught emotional topic for many people in the SF, SCA, and QUILTBAG communities because many people looked at her as a role model and influence, and loved her books and/or or made their first sales to her. Here are some links collecting responses to the whole thing. Please note that the materials about MZB and her ex-husband, Walter Breen, are extremely disturbing. Proceed with caution, especially if rape and abuse are trigger topics for you.*Rape, Abuse, and Marion Zimmer Bradley is a links roundup and response by Jim C. Hines, who is a rape crisis counselor. *Silence Is Complicity is another links roundup and response by Natalie Luhrs, who has been actively calling out bad things in the SF community for quite some time. *On Doing a Thing I Had to Do is a post by Janni Lee Simner, an author who made her fist sale to MZB, and who has decided to donate her proceeds to RAINN. *Rachel Manija Brown's post is a personal response from someone who has been abused about the importance of making this visible. *Regarding the Marion Zimmer Bradley Abuse Story is Deborah's personal response, apologizing for an earlier tweet.While I do think it's important to acknowledge all of this, the podcast episode itself is only a tiny bit about MZB, and mostly about The Lambda Awards, and other awards and projects. Here are the episode specific links:*Here's the picture of Connie winning her Lambda Award. *Here's a picture of Cecilia Tan and Mary Anne Mohanraj (in the red sari Connie and Deborah both admired) at the Lambdas.*The Nebula Award winners list. Congratulations to Ann Leckie, Vylar Kaftan, Aliette de Bodard, Rachel Swirsky, Nalo Hopkinson, and Samuel R. Delaney!*Congratulations to Sarah Pinsker for winning the Sturgeon Award! *The Bisexual Book Awards winners are here. Congratulations all, especially Cecilia Tan, Laura Lam, Malida Lo, and Zan Christensen!*The Ditmar Awards were announced at Continuum in Melbourne. Congratulations all, especially Kirstyn McDermott, Sean Wright, Tehani Wessely, David McDonald, Tansy Rayner Roberts, and all of the Galactic Suburbia and Galactic Chat crews!*Jim C. Hines's Continuum GoH speech. *Congratulations to Cecilia Tan and Mary Robinette Kowal for winning RT awards!And finally, two currently active IndieGoGo campaigns you might like to contribute to:*Gears for Queers is the San Francisco Steampunk community's fundraiser to support the GLBT National Help Center. There are 12 more days to order awesome steampunk items and support a good cause. *Interfictions Online is fundraising to bring us all more excellent interstitial content. They have 19 days left in their campaign, and are working towards some exciting stretch goals.
Loncon 3, the 72nd World Science Fiction Convention, has announced the nominees for the 2014 Hugo and Campbell Awards. As is our practice, this week we have a special episode of the podcast devoted to discussing the awards and all of the wonderful nominees. We are very grateful to John De Nardo (of SF Signal) and Tansy Rayner Roberts (Galactic Suburbia and Verity) for joining us for what we think is an interesting conversation. We would also like to thank all of our listeners for nominating Coode Street for our third consecutive Best Fancast Hugo Award. We could not be happier, or more grateful. As always, we hope you enjoy the podcast and we'll be back next week with more! Other links: Larry Correia and the Sad Puppy Hugo slate.
In collaboration with Twelfth Planet Press and recorded live at the beautiful Embiggen Books in Melbourne, The Writer and the Critic is delighted to present a special podcast dedicated to the critically acclaimed Twelve Planets series of short story collections. Join host Ian Mond as he interviews Twelve Planet authors Deborah Biancotti, Narrelle M. Harris, Deborah Kalin, Margo Lanagan, Rosaleen Love, Kirstyn McDermott, Tansy Rayner Roberts, Lucy Sussex and Kaaron Warren, along with publisher Alisa Krasnostein. It's a fun, informal conversation which -- and this is how you know it's not an official Writer and Critic episode -- goes for less than 50 minutes! You're welcome. The Twelve Planets are twelve boutique collections by some of Australia's finest short story writers. Varied across genre and style, each collection will offer four short stories and a unique glimpse into worlds fashioned by some of our favourite storytellers. Each author has taken the brief of 4 stories and up to 40 000 words in their own direction. Some are quartet suites of linked stories. Others are tasters of the range and style of the writer. Each release will bring something unexpected to our subscriber's mailboxes.
This month's episode of The Writer and the Critic sees your hosts, Kirstyn McDermott and Ian Mond, discuss the results of the recently announced Ditmar and Tin Duck Awards and dissect the almost inevitable Great Ditmar Controversy of 2011 that exploded onto the interwebs soon afterwards. For those interested in reading further, Kirstyn has blogged about the issue here and here. The books up for discussion on the podcast this month are The Resurrectionst by Jack O'Connell (chosen by Ian ) and Oryx and Crake by Margaret Atwood (recommended by Kirstyn ). Ian mentions a review by Andrew Wheeler when speaking about the O'Connell novel and Kirstyn vaguely remembers this online argument while arguing an Atwood tangent of her own. For those wishing to avoid spoilers and skip ahead, discussion of The Resurrectionist begins at 30:00, while Oryx and Crake starts around 47:00. They then turn their attention to a book which was recommended by one of their lovely listeners -- Tansy Rayner Roberts. Or maybe two books. Or possibly one book which has had a run-in with a guillotine: Black Out and All Clear by Connie Willis. Ian steals his best lines quotes extensively from this review by his new Bestest Twitter Friend, Jonathan McCalmont. Ian also gets very, very frustrated and swears quite a bit. The discussion of Blackout / All Clear begins at 1:09:09 Check back in at the 1:27:15 mark for some listener feedback and final remarks. Next month The Writer and the Critic will hit the road once again to record their first episode live in front of an actual audience at Continuum 7 in Melbourne! Their very special guest will be the brilliant and awe-inspiring, Catherynne M. Valente, who has picked Embassytown by China Mieville for Ian and Kirstyn to read. Ian's recommended book for June will be Among Others by Jo Walton, while Kirstyn has chosen Full Dark, No Stars by Stephen King. Read ahead and join in the spoilerific fun!
In last week's episode Gary and I discussed the work of the late Diana Wynne Jones. Our discussion raised comments from several people that we'd not done justice to Jones, and so we invited Farah Mendlesohn (author of Diana Wynne Jones: Children's Literature and the Fantastic Tradition) and author and critic Tansy Rayner Roberts to join us to discuss Jones' work, legacy and place in the science fiction and fantasy field. We'd like to thank both of them for joining us in the pod.
In this episode, Alisa Krasnostein, Kathryn Linge, Tansy Rayner Roberts and Alexandra Pierce discuss the works of Justin Larbalestier. First up is her young adult non-fiction, her new novel 'How to Ditch Your Fairy' and the 'Magic or Madness' trilogy. Please note there are spoilers for HTDYF between 10:05 and 15:45. We also discuss her non-fiction feminist works 'Battle of the Sexes in Science Fiction' and 'Daughters of Earth' from 30:00 and includes discussion of the books, feminist science fiction, James Tiptree Jr, the James Tiptree Jr Award, fandom, academia, and tentacles.
In this episode, Tansy Rayner Roberts and Alexandra Pierce discuss 'New Amsterdam', by Elizabeth Bear. Published by Subterranean Press, 'New Amsterdam' is a collection of six linked short stories featuring mysteries, a crown sorceress and investigator, and vampires.
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