Reading – A. A. Rubin

Posted on May 4, 2023 by A. A. Rubin

What I Learned From…Star Wars

One of the most effective ways for writers to improve their craft is to read intentionally. But, what does reading intentionally really mean? To me, when I read as a writer, I observe the way the other uses craft–either on the macro or the micro level, and see if there are any techniques or strategies I can incorporate into my own writing. I don’t always read like this, as it distracts, to some extent, from my ability to fully immerse myself in a story for pleasure, but, reading (or watching or listening, depending on the medium) for craft not only is an important part of my writing practice, but also has allowed me to get something out of almost anything I read, even if it is something which I would not–or do not–otherwise enjoy. It is especially important for a writer to read broadly and outside of their genre, as casting a wide net exposes one to a wider array or strategies and techniques.

In this series of articles, I will write about one element of craft I learned from a specific writer. Of course, in most cases, I learned more than one technique from each author, but for the purpose of this series of articles, I will focus on just one per post.

As with my Rules What Rules series, I will list previous entries at the top of each post, as while I plan on writing many of these, they, most likely, will not be in consecutive posts.

Previous Entries:

Oscar Wilde

Bob Dylan

WHAT I LEARNED FROM Star Wars: Organic World Building

Happy Star Wars Day! The original Star Wars trilogy stands as the pinnacle of space opera and science fiction storytelling. It is a masterpiece in so many ways, has permeated pop culture like few other genre franchises, and it is, along with The Lord of The Rings, is one of my original fandoms. Today, May the Fourth, is Star Wars Day, a day to celebrate the franchise, and as it is also the day on which I post my blog. As I’ve been doing a “What I Learned From…” series recently, it is the perfect day to write about what I learned from the original Star Wars trilogy. It is difficult to pick only one thing. I could easily have written this article about adapting archetypes (monomyth, Oresteia) or how to write successful banter, but I’ve decided to write about world building, as the original trilogy does a masterful job of worldbuilding organically (unlike the prequel trilogy, but more on that later), providing the viewer with enough context and information to establish the verisimilitude of the secondary, fantasy world, without committing the all-to-common cardinal sin of over-explaining and info-dumping.

Let’s look at a few lines from the first movie, what I knew as Star Wars growing up, and you kids now call A New Hope.

In the opening scene of the movie, C3PO worries that he and R2D2 will be “sent to the spice mines of Kessel, smashed into who knows what…”

We'll be sent to the Kessel spice mines or smashed into who knows what. — gif of the preceding quote

C3PO says this as if it’s a bad thing. We understand that even though we, as visitors to the movie’s secondary world, don’t know what the spice mines of Kessel are, what spice he’s talking about, why droids would get smashed there, etc. Presumably, R2D2 knows, but we do not. And yet, the line doesn’t break the action of that opening scene. C3P0 who is one of the most verbose characters in the movie, does not go into a lengthy explanation of spice trade, Kessel, etc, he just mentions it quickly, the way someone in that world would actually talk. He does, however, plant an important world building seed that’s developed later in the movie.

Later, when Luke and Obi Wan are in Mos Eisley to hire a spaceship to take them off of Tatooine, they encounter Han Solo in the cantina. Solo boasts that his ship “made the Kessel run in less than 12 parsecs.”

It's the ship that made the Kessel run in less than 12 parsecs. — Gif: It’s the ship that made the Kessel Run in less than 12 parsecs.

What is the Kessel run? Why is Solo using a unit of distance rather than time to brag about his ship’s speed? Again, we don’t know. But we recognize the word “Kessel” from a previous scene. Obviously, this is something people in world know about. Shady things seem to go on there, perhaps related to the aforementioned spice. The writers have added another layer of depth to the world building without descending into lengthy, boring expository backstory.

Despite the lack of backstory, the viewer never feels lost in secondary world. It feels strange to us, which it should as we are but visitors there, but it feels real. Why? Because that is how real people talk. The characters speak like real, in-world people, not history professors.

To explore this premise further, let’s look at Princess Leia’s plea for Ben Kenobi’s help. She says, “years ago, you served my father in the clone wars.”

General Kenobi, years ago you served my father in the Clone Wars. — Gif of previous quote

What are the Clone Wars? Again, we don’t know. But as viewers, we understand that it was a major war in world, which took place in the previous generation. There is no time in this hurried plea for help to explain the backstory–and there is no need. We all understand what this means. Let’s move the dialogue int our world. In 1977, when the movie came out, it might have read, “years ago you served my father in Second World War.” No one, in this parallel situation would go into a lengthy history lesson about World War II. That type of backstory would seem out of place and superfluous. In this secondary world setting, the writers trust the viewer to contextualize this unfamiliar detail by using their own parallel, real-world experience. The result is what makes the world sound authentic. It makes the world–and the characters–seem more, rather than less because it simulates the way real people speak.

The worldbuilding strategy is consistent throughout the first trilogy. Take, for example the scene in The Empire Strikes Back where Han and Chewie are trying to fix the Millennium Falcon’s broken hyperdrive. Han says: “Horizontal boosters…! Alluvial dampers…! Well that’s not it. Bring me the hydrospanner!”

The audience has no idea what those things are, and yet the dialogue rings true. If a mechanic asks for a socket wrench, he can presume his assistant will know what a socket wrench is without an explanation of how it works or what it’s used for.

Similarly, Vader’s reaction to finding out that Luke had constructed a new lightsaber in Return of the Jedi follows the same world-building strategy.

I see you have constructed a new lightsaber. — Gif: I see you have constructed a new lightsaber

Your skills are complete. — Gif: Your skills are complete

The construction of a new lightsaber is, as we can glean from the context of the dialogue, a key milestone in the training of a Jedi, and yet there is no discussion of how one would construct a new lightsaber, what rank this would bestow on Luke, etc. Both Vader and Luke would know this information already and would not need to explain it to each other. All the audience needs to know is that in constructing a new lightsaber, Luke has reached a new level of Jedi skill, a level which has impressed Vader. Anything beyond that takes the audience out of the story.

When someone says, “let’s take the car to the movies,” they don’t go into a lengthy explanation of the workings of the internal combustion engine. It is, in fact, likely, that most people who drive a car have little idea how an internal combustion engine actually works. They do not go into a long polemic about the fossil fuel or climate change (They might give a throwaway line about gas mileage or a brief, glib comment about the extent to which their hybrid is or isn’t saving the earth, but that’s half a line of dialogue at most). They don’t explain the history of the car from the model T to the present time. So why would we expect characters to do similar things in a science fiction setting? The ship will “make .5 past light speed.”

She'll make .5 past light speed. — gif of previous quote

How? it doesn’t matter. In a world where FTL travel is the norm, no one would need further explanation. .5 what? There is no unit of measurement. Well, that’s how people really talk. “She’ll go 0-60 in 6 seconds.” There’s no need to say miles per hour. Everyone understands the context.

Star Wars is often criticized for it’s lack of scientific explanation, especially by fans of a certain other popular sci-fi franchise. Yet, I would argue that this makes it a more authentic, more believable world. As soon as you offer an explanation of technological marvel, you both take your reader/viewer out of the world, and give then something to nitpick and start an argument which you can’t possibly win. Yet, doing the worldbuilding obliquely, allows you to drop in the necessary world building information–and even layer it richly–without breaking the spell of verisimilitude by taking your audience out of your secondary world and giving them a change to question their suspension of disbelief It is both effective and realistic.

Notice, too, that this world-building strategy is affected in normal dialogue throughout the movie. None of the lines quoted above are the most famous, most quoted, most meme-able lines in the movie, yet they serve an important, world-building purpose. By integrating the world-building in this fashion, the writers keep the audience in the fast-paced action and fun. The world-building dialogue is like an invisible force which binds the Star Wars galaxy together.

Many later entries in the Star Wars franchise show the other side of the coin. They get bogged down in exposition and explanation, explaining the spice trade, or the way to construct a lightsaber. They try to flesh out the causes of Clone Wars, and codify the method of Jedi training. The prequel trilogy, which has sometimes been criticized as CSPAN for the Imperial Senate–is especially bad in that regard. It abandons the highly effective world building strategy described above, and loses both the fun and the verisimilitude of the original. The effectiveness of the original strategy can be seen in the contrast.

Enough negativity, though. Today is a day of celebration of all things Star Wars.

As writers–especially writers of speculative fiction–verisimilitude and the willing suspension of disbelief are essential to the success of our enterprise (are we allowed to use that word on star wars day?). We should use the original Star Wars trilogy as a paradigm for effective, organic world building which allows us to create rich, secondary worlds without breaking the spell of action and story.

Happy Star Wars Day. May the fourth be with you!

Remember, the Force will be with you always. — Remember, the force will be with you, always.

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Posted on April 27, 2023 by A. A. Rubin · 2 Comments

What I Learned From…Bob Dylan

As with my Rules What Rules series, I will list previous entries at the top of each post, as while I plan on writing many of these, they, most likely, will not be in consecutive posts.

Previous Entries:

Oscar Wilde

WHAT I LEARNED FROM BOB DYLAN: focus on the General Rather than the Specific When Writing Social Criticism

There’s a strong argument to me made that Bob Dylan is the defining poet of his generation. As the only popular singer to win the Nobel Prize in Literature, he has achieved success both in the popular and critical arenas. Dylan came to prominence in the 1960s and was a major voice in the anti-Vietnam war movement. He is, perhaps, best known for his protest songs, which despite being written ostensibly about that war, have lived on long after the war in Vietnam was over, and which continue to inspire change-makers and poets alike years after they were written. While there is much that any poet can learn from Bob Dylan, from his expert characterization, to his use of biblical and literary allusions, to his ability to craft unique and whimsical phrases, it is the enduring legacy of these songs, Dylan’s ability to write evergreen poems about about a specific current event, which I wish to focus on today.

So why do Dylan’s songs still resonate? I would argue that is because he writes about the event of the day generally rather than specifically. Let’s look at Blowin’ in the Wind, which is, perhaps, his most famous protest song.

The song begins with a series of rhetorical questions:

How many roads must a man walk down
Before you call him a man?
Yes, ’n’ how many seas must a white dove sail
Before she sleeps in the sand?
Yes, ’n’ how many times must the cannonballs fly
Before they’re forever banned?
The answer, my friend, is blowin’ in the wind
The answer is blowin’ in the wind

The song, which everyone knows as a protest song, does not mention contemporary issues at all at the beginning. The first question is a question of maturity. The second, is a biblical allusion to the Noah story. It is only the third question which addresses war specifically, and even here, it is a general question about war, not a specific question about a specific war. Imagine you were listening to the song for the first time and without context. You might not yet know what the song was about. Yet, if you were attending an anti-Vietnam war rally, you would immediately associate that last question with the (then) current conflict.

Looking back at the verse, the first two questions, which invoke maturity (1) and the bible, which is a source of morality (2), frame the third question which addresses the social issue about which Dylan want his listener to focus. A mature, moral person would recognize the futility of war in general, and the amoral nature of the specific was which was going on at the time Dylan performed the song.

The second verse is structured in the same way as the first, but Dylan varies the types of questions he asks:

How many years can a mountain exist
Before it’s washed to the sea?
Yes, ’n’ how many years can some people exist
Before they’re allowed to be free?
Yes, ’n’ how many times can a man turn his head
Pretending he just doesn’t see?
The answer, my friend, is blowin’ in the wind
The answer is blowin’ in the wind

The first question in this verse resembles the first question of the first verse. It is a general question. This time, however, he moves to a specific social issue in the second question. The third question, continues on the theme of the second by implicating not just the oppressor, who is called out in question 2, but also the “neutral” observer, who while they don’t oppress others themselves, also don’t challenge the oppressor. Again, a listener in the 1960s would associate the second and third question with a contemporary issue of the day, in this case, the civil rights movement, but, like the first verse, Dylan chooses not to name the issue or those whom he criticizes explicitly.

Even though the structure of this verse is the same as the first, the content moves in a different way. Like the first verse, this one begins with a general question which establishes a context. In this case, the context is time. Oppression has been going on for a long time, both in the general sense and in the specific sense which Dylan implies from his own social context. The second question moves to the specific social criticism, in this case oppression. The movement between the first and second question does not happen until the third question in the first verse. Here, it happens one question sooner. The third question, however, makes a different type of movement. Dylan turns the question directly to his listeners. Even though it’s still stated generally, Dylan’s audience, who, likely, would not consider themselves pro war or oppressors, may recognize that they are not doing enough to fix these social issues. Thus, the third question acts as a call to action.

Let’s look at the third verse:

How many times must a man look up
Before he can see the sky?
Yes, ’n’ how many ears must one man have
Before he can hear people cry?
Yes, ’n’ how many deaths will it take till he knows
That too many people have died?
The answer, my friend, is blowin’ in the wind
The answer is blowin’ in the wind

Once again, the verse is structured in the exact same way: three questions and the refrain. But this time, Dylan masterfully connects the themes of the first verse with those in the second. The first question, once again, seems to establish a general thematic context. Though it mimics the first question in the other verses structurally, in this case, it also echoes the last question in the previous verse, which continues the theme of blindness. It is implied, in context, that the blindness is willing. The second question continues the theme, switching from seeing to listening, but with the same implied message.

The third question makes a new kind of move. It masterfully connects the themes of the first verse and the second verse with one simple question. When he sings “too many people have died” does he mean in the war or because of oppression? It does not really matter because the answer is really both. Too many people died in the war. Too many people also died because of their civil rights were abused. Moreover, there were civil rights issues with the Vietnam war as well. All of these issues are connected. The same type of person who does not see–or hear–one will not see or hear the other. This criticism also applies, perhaps most strongly, to those in charge, whose policies and lack of empathy lead to each issue.

While the song as a whole is a scathing piece of social criticism, it does not refer specifically to any current social issue. There is no mention of a specific war or a specific type of oppression. The listener at the time would have recognized the specific, current events which inspired the song, but, because Dylan did not mention them explicitly, they are relevant to many other similar situations throughout history. Thus, Dylan effectively writes social criticism about the issues of his day while also writing a timeless poem which has lived on long after that specific war ended. (The civil rights issues, unfortunately, are ongoing). His material has an evergreen, timeless quality which transcends the events about which he was writing.

There is a strong temptation to write about those issues which make us most angry, and to write about them specifically, and, there is a value in doing so for sure. But, as Dylan shows, it is often more effective to address theme generally and trust one’s audience to understand the point one is trying to make. Dylan wrote many other songs which fit this paradigm, notably Masters of War and The Times They Are a’ Changin’. While he wrote songs which addressed specific events of his day, the are (with the exception of Hurricane) not among those which are considered his greatest hits. And yet, despite his tendency to write generally, Dylan–and his songs–were very clear about where he stood on the issues of the day.

This lesson can be seen in the work of other writers as well. It is the reason why 1984 is a better novel than Animal Farm, for example, and it is a large part of why Shakespeare’s tragedies are considered his greatest plays.

As writers, we should aspire to write our social criticism is evergreen ways. We all dream of writing work that lasts. While many factors go into whether a piece will resonate beyond its era some in our control and some not, emulating Dylan gives us the best chance at writing social criticism with a lasting legacy. And, Dylan’s example proves that writing generally does not detract from a poem’s effectiveness as social criticism of specific, current issues.

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Posted on April 13, 2023April 13, 2023 by A. A. Rubin

A Thought About Age and Poetry After Seeing Bruce Springsteen and the E Street Band During National Poetry Month

This past Sunday, I saw Bruce Springsteen perform for the 15th time. He is my favorite musical act, the best live performer I’ve seen, and one hell of a poet. Over the years, I’ve taken inspiration from him in a myriad of ways, from his skill adopting the voice of different characters, to his unique ability to stay in the right side of sentiment with out crossing the line into sentimentality, he has taught me so much about the craft of writing story and poetry. As I watched another incredible performance on Sunday with an E Street Band that sounds as good or better than it did the first time I saw him, I came to another realization: we need more poetry from older poets.

The creative industry in general trends younger. Everyone looks for The Next Big Thing, and much of the media coverage related to debut albums and novels, under-a-certain-age lists, etc., and while I get the appeal of the prodigy, there are subjects about which young people are not generally equipped to write well. Listening to this concert, I was struck by how much Springsteen’s later work—especially the songs from his crisis albums, The Rising and Letter to You—spoke to me. The song Ghosts, for example, stands up to anything else in the show, and is, in my opinion, the best song about the effects of the pandemic.

Springsteen is an especially good example of what an older poet offers. He has had a long and sustained late-career renaissance, which started with The Rising, his 9/11 album. While there was always depth and political meaning in his songs—even when they were nominally about cars and girls—but his later work has a depth and maturity that speaks to me as I get older. Thunder Road and Badlands remain both timeless classics and great poems. They have a timeless quality and bring the house down every time he plays them, but the guy who wrote those isn’t the same guy who now discusses the issues of the day with Barack Obama.

I still love the songs I grew up with—and seeing a favorite act perform the songs I grew up with is always going to be a highlight of this type of show, but hearing the music of an artist who continues to grow as I grow adds to the experience.

In a way, it’s a shame that only artists like Springsteen who were successful in their youth get to have an audience for their mature work. I wish we got to read more debut poets who’s writing has matured after their youth.

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Posted on March 23, 2023March 23, 2023 by A. A. Rubin · 2 Comments

What I Learned From…Oscar Wilde

As with my Rules What Rules series, I will list previous entries at the top of each post, as while I plan on writing many of these, they, most likely, will not be in consecutive posts.

What I learned From Oscar Wilde: How to Write Witty

The defining trait of Wilde’s writing is his wit. While he certainly does other things well (Dorian Gray, for example shows how a great high concept can elevate an otherwise conventional story), if you ask the average reader about Wilde’s writing, the first thing they are likely to mention is his clever wit. For this reason, Wilde is one of the most quoted writers. His short, sentence-long witticisms often appear on posters, t-shirts, stickers, and memes. As a writer who has been accused of wit (see my stories here and here for examples) I am especially interested in dissecting Wilde’s technique.

In general, Wilde’s wit works depends on subverting the reader’s expectations by finding a cliched phrase or idea, then changing the second half of the of phrase in an unexpected or ironic way. It relies on the reader’s prior knowledge of a common phrase or societal convention, and the way the sentence is constructed syntactically to make the ironic turn.

Let’s look at a few examples:

“I have the simplest tastes. I am always satisfied with the best.”

“A gentleman is one who never gives offense unintentionally.”

“A good friend will always stab you in the front.”

“The only way to get rid of temptation is to yield to it.”

On a syntactical level, Wilde’s sentences set up an expectation in the reader’s mind. When he write, “I have the simplest of tastes,” he sets up the expectation of a second half that espouses frugality; “A Gentleman is one who never gives offense” seems like the kind of advice Polonius would give to Laertes, and one would expect more of the same type of banality; “A good friend will” is beginning of a cliché involving being stabbed in the back, etc.

The second half–or in some cases the end–of each line flips that expectation on its head. “The only way to get rid of temptation….is to yield to it. The end is completely unexpected. It not only subverts the conventional wisdom, but also reveals the emptiness of the common phrase and, therefore, it criticizes a societal norm, in this the repressive Victorian culture of Wilde’s time, as well. The other quotes work by the same principal: A good friend never would stab you in the back, they would stab you in the front! A gentleman never gives offence…saving for when he intends to.

Many famous witticism follow Wilde’s example. Dorothy Parker’s “You can lead a horticulture, but you can’t make her think,” and Yogi Berra’s “Nobody goes there anymore it’s too crowded” are both examples of this technique as well.

To write a witty quip like Wilde, I would start with a well-known cliché. Let’s take (because it’s the first one I thought of as I was writing this) “The grass is always greener on the other side of the yard.” Next I would find a dramatic context in which to use the cliché, preferably one which alludes to the meaning or message which the cliched phrase is trying to teach us.

Off the top of my head:

“Mr. Wilde,” I said, “Mr. Rubin seems to be jealous of your fame and success.”

“That is to be expected,” Wilde replied. “The grass is always greener on my side of the yard.”

Perhaps it’s not perfect, but I think it illustrates the point. The second character–Mr. Wilde–subverts the cliché by changing the second half of the phrase to something witty and unexpected. In an actual story, I’d choose a cliché that matched the dramatic situation, theme, or context of the larger story, but I this example is sufficient to illustrate the point.

I hope that you can use this technique in your own writing, and I encourage you to read widely and with a purpose so that you can continue to build your writers toolbox.

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Posted on February 16, 2023 by A. A. Rubin · 2 Comments

In Praise of the Fantasy Novella

The fantasy genre is not exactly known for brevity. Its shelves are populated by long book and longer series, full of magic, intrigue, and immersive worldbuilding. Many of the top authors in the field routinely release books which clock in at 1000+ pages, and these books only tell one small section of a larger story. George RR Martin’s still incomplete A Song of Ice and Fire series takes up more space on my shelf, for example, than all of Kurt Vonnegut’s books combined. Fans of the fantasy genre–myself included–love immersing ourselves in a long series, and it gives me great joy that at least one popular genre encourages reading longer works.

And yet, it is often difficult to get new readers into the fantasy genre precisely because of the thickness of the average fantasy novel. I can’t count how many times I’ve tried to recommend a favorite book or series to an interested potential reader only to have them hesitate because they weren’t sure if they wanted to commit to 1000+ pages, much less many 1000+ page books (unless, or until HBO or Netflix picks up an adaptation). As a fan of the genre, and as a writer, I found this exceedingly frustrating, but, with time, I came to accept it as part of the reality of being a fantasy fan.

Recently, however, I’ve read a number of fantasy novellas. During my reread of Ursula Le Guin’s Earthsea books, I came across “The Finder” in the collection, Tales of Earthsea. While the story, which focuses on the founding of the School at Roke, is part of the Earthsea cycle, it, in my mind, stands on its own as well. Like many of the stories here, knowing the larger story of the Earthsea cycle enhances the reader’s experience, but it is not necessary to enjoy the novella on its own. “The Finder” is one of my favorite fantasy stories. It focusses on smaller characters and tells a personal, coming of age story tinged with magic and filled with wonder. Clocking in at exactly 100 pages, it is an excellent introduction to Le Guin and her most famous fantasy world.

Fine, you might say. That’s Ursula Le Guin. Even her novels are short. She can do in 200 pages what might take Patrick Rothfuss or Brandon Sanderson a thousand. Fair point, but there are wordier writers who wrote fantasy novellas as well.

The version of JRR Tolkien’s The Children of Hurin which is included in The Unfinished Tales clocks in at a mere 92 pages. I recently reread The Unfinished Tales before watching The Rings of Power (since it includes a lot of second-age stories), and I was reminded of how much I like it. Without spoiling the story, it’s a classic love tragedy that reminds me a bit of Romeo and Juliet with a Dragon. While the Tolkien estate has released a longer, “complete” version, which is just over 300 pages, the 90ish-page version reads like a complete story to me. Much like the Le Guin story, this story occurs many years prior to The Lord of the Rings, and, as such, it stands on its own and one does not need to have read the more famous trilogy to “get” this one.

Similarly, George RR Martin, who, if anything, is more wordy than Tolkien, wrote a series of novellas about a hedge knight named Dunk and his Squire, Egg. While these stories have been criticized by fans, that criticism stems more from their frustration that Martin has written them instead if finishing his main series rather than from any criticism of the actual stories. The novellas themselves are fun, and would make a perfect introduction to Martin’s world for somebody who might be reluctant to commit to reading the thousands of pages of the main series.

This year, I will be seeking out more fantasy novellas, both as a means of introducing new readers to my favorite genre and as quick visits to worlds I love.

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Posted on January 19, 2023January 19, 2023 by A. A. Rubin · 2 Comments

The Best Books I Read in 2022

January is almost over, so I’d better post this before it’s too late! I’ve long wanted to do a “Best Books I’ve Read” post, but in past years, I’ve hesitated because, since my reading taste is so varied, it makes it difficult to compare books to one another. Still, as an avid reader, I want to recommend my favorites, especially since many of the books I enjoyed last year are less well-known than those you might find on other, similar lists.

Overall, I read 65 books last year, which was more than I read in 2021, though I read slightly fewer pages. Many of those books were 19th central novels, as I was doing researching for a major writing project. Related to the same project, I also reread all of the original Sherlock Holmes series, and, because of the Netflix adaptation, I reread the entire Sandman comics series as well. Many of the Holmes and Gaiman books would have made the list if this was the first time I was reading them, but I decided not to include them below. Also, while I thoroughly enjoyed each of these chunks of my reading list, it meant that I didn’t get to read as many contemporary books or books about writing craft/the creative life as I usually do. I intend to read more of these in the coming year, as well as to read more diverse authors, more poetry, and more non-fiction in the coming year.

I’ve divided the best books I’ve read into categories below to help you find what you’re most interested in reading.

Best Book I Read Last Year Overall: Fables, by Robert Louis Stevenson

This lesser-known Stevenson book is a collection of short fables, which while they play off of traditional fables and fairy tales, are subversive in their intent. These stories, which vary in length, criticize people who blindly follow societal and religious conventions, flipping the traditional purpose of the instructive fairytale on its head. They are also read really modern for a book written so long ago, with some stories, like “The Person’s of the Tale” where characters from Treasure Island debate morality during a “break” between two chapters, bordering on the post-modern. The stories, as you might imagine from a master like Stevenson, are beautifully written, and I found the anti-groupthink message particularly relevant given the current social and political climate. There is also, an excellent podcast, Evening Under Lamplight, where Robert Louis Abrahamson reads and discusses each of the fables. He covers Stevenson in season 3, and if you are a fan of audiobooks, this may be the best way to consume Stevenson’s Fables.

Best Poetry Book I Read Last Year: Baseball Haiku: The Best Haiku Ever Written About the Game, edited by Cor Van Den Heuvel and Nathan Tamura.

I picked this one up on whim from a free giveaway table, in the snow, outside of a baseball card shop in Cooperstown. The store was about to close for the season, and was giving stuff away. This book includes a selection of both Japanese and American Haiku about baseball, including Jack Kerouac’s first haiku (super cool) and haiku by many historical Japanese masters. The poetry is excellent, but what really sets the book apart is Van Den Heuvel’s introduction which is, by far, the best introduction to haiku I’ve read. I learned so much both about the technical craft aspects of writing haiku and about the history of haiku in each country from his essay, and the information and analysis he provided enhanced my enjoyment of the poetry that followed.

Best Novel I Read This Year For The First Time: Daniel Deronda, by George Elliot

I read this book as part of my above-mentioned research. I was searching for a compelling female character from the second half of the 19th Century who survived until the end of her book (harder than it sounds, btw), and this book features two of them (no spoilers). Though I went into it for research purposes, I ended up really enjoying this book. It’s a big book, which we might expect from Elliot, and unlike her other books, it is set close to the time period in which she wrote. It reminded me of a Jane Austen book, but one which featured a double plot with a twist, similar to a Charles Dickens novel. If that’s your type of thing, you should check it out. It is also one of only two “classic” British books with a fair and sympathetic depiction of Jewish people, which I appreciated as a person of Jewish descent (the other being Ivanhoe). More so than other book in the canon, it gets the Jewish parts rights. The research into Jewish history and culture is impressive and accurate, which only added to my enjoyment.

Best Independent/Small Press Book: Dark Black, by Sam Weller

The first thing you will notice about this book is how beautifully it’s put together. Each of the gothic horror short stories is accompanied by a hauntingly exquisite black and white illustration. Beyond the presentation, the stories work. They are deceptively sparse, but linger long after they’ve been read. Weller is Ray Bradbury’s biographer, and clearly, he learned something from the great master’s early, gothic work.

Best Comic/Graphic Novel (Non-Reread Division): Barbalien–Red Planet, by Lemire, Brombil et al.

While this book is part of the Black Hammer universe, Barbalien is basically a self-contained story which you can read without having read the rest of the Black Hammer books. It is an original take on a superhero comic, and deals with the AIDS crisis in the 1980s. It deals with weighty issues like persecution against the gay community without being preachy, and somehow tells an entertaining story while dealing with a big, dark societal issues. The art is retro as well, right down to the number of panels on each page, which fits the story well. I always try to read at least one book from the New York Public Library’s Best Books of the previous year. (I started 2023 with the ambitiously original My Volcano, by John Elizabeth Stintzi), and Barbalien was a worthy selection on the 2021 list.

Best Non-Fiction Book: Dinosaurs in the Attic, by Douglas J. Preston

I’ve been going to the American Museum of Natural History essentially since I was born. I know the museum like the back of my hand, and still enjoy going there. I picked up this book in the gift shop the first time I took my kids back to museum after the pandemic. It is essentially a narrative history of the museum’s founding and early history, and it not only taught me about the museum’s past, but made the experience of going to the museum after I read even more enjoyable. The sections about dinosaurs and gems are particularly good, but I also enjoyed the smaller anecdotes, such as the story of the chimpanzee whose stuffed body sits near the third floor bathroom outside of where one of the current temporary exhibition galleries lets out. That monkey used to run around the museum offices and ride its tricycle through the city!

Book That Helped My Writing Craft The Most: Tolkien: Maker of Middle Earth, edited by Catherine Mcllwaine

The books which help my writing most aren’t always books about writing. A couple of years back, it was a book of interviews with the painter Joan Miro. This year it’s an exhibition catalog.

I often purchase the exhibition catalog when I particularly enjoy a show at a museum. Often, these books, while they are good reminders of the show, are, ultimately, disappointing, as something is lost in terms of scale and texture when the art is translated from the wall to the printed page. This is not an issue in this book, however, as the Bodleian traveling Tolkien exhibition this book is based on consists of largely of Tolkien’s manuscripts, letters, and ephemera. Tolkein’s watercolors and drawings also translate well to this format because they are generally on a smaller scale and do not rely on texture and brushstrokes as much as, say, a Van Gogh or a Jackson Pollack. Thus, this was one of the best exhibition guides I’ve read.

The reason it is on this list, however, is because of the scholarly and biographical articles which are included in this volume. Tolkien is my favorite writer, and the reason started writing myself, but I still learned a lot about his life and about his group The Inklings while reading this book. Moreover, there were articles which directly affected the way I approach my craft. These articles explored Tolkien’s use of language. I wrote about one of them here.

Well, that’s my list. What were some of your favorite books you read last year? Let me know in the comments.

Posted on November 29, 2022November 29, 2022 by A. A. Rubin · 2 Comments

Seven Books To Get To Know Me

The hashtag #7BooksToKnowMe is popular right now. I’ve decided to participate, but as usual, I’ve overthunk things. Rather than, as I’m sure was the original intent of the exercise, just listing seven books I like or that sum up my taste in reading, or, as many people seem to be doing, listing my seven favorite books, I intend to address the prompt as it is written. What seven books would help someone who didn’t know me, get to know me better. That list would be different from my seven favorite books, although their would be some overlap, because the list of my favorite books would include multiple books in the same genre (or even subgenre), while the list of the books to get to know me would be specifically chosen to showcase different aspects of my personality.

I have not included books directly related to the works I’m currently writing. While Sherlock Holmes and Edgar Allan Poe have dominated my reading list recently, and while I love them both, I am not sure that would make the list once the projects on which I’m working is over.

This list is also a snapshot. Books that would have appeared on this list at other points in my life, like On The Road, The Watchmen, Wuthering Heights, Through the Looking Glass, A Storm of Swords, and The Three Stigmata of Palmer Eldritch are not on this list. The books on this list might not be if I did this again a year from now, or even tomorrow.

With that preamble out of the way, here are my seven books to know me:

Dune, by Frank Herbert: I first read Dune when I was in the 11th grade at the recommendation of my history teacher, Dr. Stone. I had asked him for a college recommendation, and he agreed, but wanted to meet me during a free period to get to know me outside of the class. He asked me what I liked to read, and when I told him I liked science fiction, he was flabbergasted that I hadn’t read Dune. It was, by far the greatest book recommendation anyone has given me. I read it and immediately loved it. I ended up writing one of my college application essays about it (in those days, there was no common app, and I wrote a total of 13 essays for the 11 schools to which I applied).

Over the years, Dune has influenced nearly every aspect of my life. The philosophy of the book influenced me greatly at a time when I was figuring out the type of person I wanted to be, but in addition to that, lessons from the book affected other, less-obvious aspects of my life, ranging from the way I played basketball (not responding to a trash-talker unnerves the trash talker in any sport), to the way approached martial arts matches (to many lessons to list individually, but the Fremen made me a better fighter.) I still keep a file of Dune quotes all these years later, and with every re-read, I find more to add.
The Hobbit, by JRR Tolkein: The Hobbit is the book that made me want to be a writer. I ordered in from the Scholastic Book Club in 7th Grade, and, while I was reading it, I thought, “hey, maybe the games I play with my castle Legos are actually stories people would want to read.” It is also a smaller story than The Lord of the Rings. The fate of the world isn’t at stake (at least we don’t yet know it is when we’re reading it). It concerns the fate of one group of dwarves and one particular hobbit. In my own work, I tend toward the small stories rather than the larger ones.

Tolkien became my favorite writer, and The Lord of the Rings (which Tolkien thought of as one book) would be my desert island book, but if the point of the exercise is to get to know me, then The Hobbit is the one to read.
Shoeless Joe, by WP Kinsella: This is the book that Field of Dreams is based upon. It is, in my opinion, better than the movie, and I love the movie (it’s the only movie which made me cry). The book is about baseball, and about fathers and sons. It reminds me of my father, who gave it to me before he passed. Much of my relationship with my father was based around sports, even when our fandom was a metaphor for other things which we may have been more reluctant to discuss. Sports have played a huge role in my life, and I have my father to thank for that too.
Daniel Deronda, by George Elliot: Speaking of traditions and how they’ve influenced me, this is the book which addresses the traditions in which I was raised most thoroughly and most sympathetically. My reading tastes tend to the classics, but I was always bothered by the way the books–even the ones I loved–addressed Judaism. From Dickens, to Shakespeare, to Pyle, the negative stereotypes and outright slanders present in so much of Western literature always bothered me. There are a few books with sympathetic Jewish characters (Ivanhoe comes to mind), but none offer the depth and perspective of Elliot’s novel, which includes both religious and secular Jews, and addresses each character authentically without ignoring the prejudices which existed in society.
Dirk Gently’s Holistic Detective Agency, by Douglas Adams: I considered putting Good Omens on this list, as it introduced me to both Terry Pratchett and Neil Gaiman, two of my favorite authors, and two others whose books would be on my list of favorite books, but when I think about–and the fact that I’m rapidly running out of space on this list–I wouldn’t have read Good Omens if I hadn’t read The Hitchhikers Guide to the Galaxy. So why not just put Hitchhiker’s Guide on the list? Well, the thought did cross my mind. Adams introduced me to the dry, British wit and humor which has been such an influence on my life. But, he wrote other books too. Choosing a deeper cut in itself reveals an aspect of my personality. Moreover, I am running out of space, and I haven’t mentioned the Romantic poets yet. As this book features Coleridge, it will have to stand in for them as well.
Slaughterhouse 5, by Kurt Vonnegut: Kurt Vonnegut is another author who has been hugely influential on both my worldview and my writing. Slaughterhouse 5 was the first Vonnegut I read. I always admired his writing, which is simultaneously literary, speculative, and humorous. Some people say that Terry Pratchett does for fantasy what Douglas Adams did for science fiction. I have sometimes said that I hope my writing will, one day, have a similar relationship with Vonnegut’s.

If you understand those last two sentences, you are probably my type of person.
The Tao of Gung Fu, by Bruce Lee: My martial arts practice has been a major part of my life. I’ve been practicing since I was 8. I am drawn to the philosophical aspects as much as to martial practice. The Tao of Gung Fu includes Bruce Lee’s best essays about martial arts and Taoism, and should be essential reading for anyone who practices martial arts.

Looking back on this list, I feel like it’s a failure. While the selections do reveal aspects of my personality, I am remiss to have left out Ursula Le Guin, Charles Dickens, Gaiman and Pratchett, Poe, Marlon James, Colum McCann, Antoine de Saint-Exupéry, and so many others. While it’s an incomplete picture, hopefully it does, indeed, help you know me better.

Now it’s your turn. What are the seven book to get to know you better?

Posted on November 15, 2022November 14, 2022 by A. A. Rubin

News and Notes: My Story in Ahoy! Comics, Sci-fi Anthology, We Suck at Comics Kickstarter, Into That Darkness Peering

It’s been a busy month, so here are some notes on all the projects I’ve been a part of recently.

My story, “The Big Cheese” was just released this week in Billionaire Island: Cult of the Dog #1 from Ahoy! Comics. It is backing up a mark Russell story, which is pretty cool. Get it at your local comics shop.

There are still two days left to support the We Suck at Comics kickstarter. The anthology from Wayward Raven includes three of my stories, “Freedom,” a 2000AD-style science fiction story (illustrated by Tyler Carpenter), and two episodes of Sir TweetCivil, a Monty Python-esque spoof of Twitter (illustrated by Alexander Sapountzis). The anthology also includes stories by Mark Frankel, Jeff Rider, Johnny C, Sebastian Bonet, Joel Jacob Barker, and cavalcade of indie comics all-stars.

The When All That’s Left is Stories dystopian science fiction anthology is now available for free download on Amazon. My story, “The Bartleby Initiative,” is included in the book, alongside stories by 11 other writers from the Twitter writing community.

My gothic horror collection, Into That Darkness Peering, illustrated by Marika Brousianou, is still available on Amazon. It is a beautiful book, and would make a perfect holiday gift for the goth in your life.

For those of you on the platform, I have joined Mastadon. Follow me there for new

Posted on October 4, 2022October 3, 2022 by A. A. Rubin

On Illustrated Poetry, Nick Offerman, and Following Your Dreams

The great Nick Offerman offers this gem of advice in his memoir: Paddle Your Own Canoe: Not everyone will like the cut of your jib, but many others will. One simply needs to seek those others and somehow trick them into buying tickets to your production of Gangsta Rap Coriolanus.”

This colorfully worded sentiment goes against much of the advice offered to aspiring creatives, which involves things like chasing trends, researching the right key words and hashtags, and writing to the market.

While I would never advise a creative not properly research the market, there is, too, a value, in making the weird thing you want to make, market and trends be damned. Make the weird thing. Find your people. Create your own market.

I found Offerman’s words particularly inspiring as I read them just as I was preparing to release my book Into That Darkness Peering, a collection of gothic horror poetry and flash fictions, written by me and illustrated by Marika Brousianou.

This book, which just came out last week, is comprised of fully-illustrated, stand alone pieces. It is an illustrated book, but not for children. It is not really a straight poetry or fiction collection, but it’s not a graphic novel either. I was really hard to choose categories and key words for it on Amazon and Lulu.

What it is, is really cool. It came out beautifully, and, yes, it is the perfect time to release a book of gothic horror tales. right on time for Halloween.

I’ll drop a few sample images at the bottom of the post, and if you want to check it out, the book is available on Amazon in print and electronic formats. It is also enrolled in Kindle Unlimited, so you can read it for free if you subscribe to that service.

It may not be gangsta rap Shakespeare, and I may not be Nick Offerman, but I hope you, my own band of miscreants and weirdos, will give it a chance and buy it.

Posted on September 26, 2022September 26, 2022 by A. A. Rubin

Book Release: Into That Darkness Peering

Into This Darkness Peering is now available for purchase on Kindle and Kindle Unlimited.

The book includes 32 gothic horror poetry and micro fiction nightmares, written by me and fully illustrated by Marika Brousianou.

Order here, or add it to your KU library.

Print editions coming soon.