My Belated DragonCon Blog; or The Unexamined DragonCon is Not Worth Visiting

I had good intentions. 

I was at DragonCon.  I had my laptop.  I had wireless (after I paid the $10.00 for twenty-four hours at the Sheraton).  I had my schedule highlighted and color coded.  I was going to do lots and blog the heck out of it.

Of course, none of that happened.

Day 1 . . . well, I don’t really remember everything I did.  There was that Babylon 5 panel I had planned on going to, but it got booted because of the Shatner/Nimoy thing.  From there, things sort of just took on their own strange existence.  All the color coding blended into one  . . . blended color.  There was so much to do and so little time to do it.  Should I try to do it all in one big miserable, marathon of a time?  I could have, and in years past I would have.  But that was then.  So, that’s when the revelation arrived.  Echoed in my mind was that famous line you always hear somewhere during your educational experience: “the unexamined life is not worth living.”  DragonCon 2009 proved to be, for me, the kind of situation one needs to jog the flotsam and jetsam of the mind.

So, I did some reflecting.

This was my umpteenth time at DragonCon.  This year, however, I was carrying around forty plus years and a five year old.  Things were different.  Not worse.  Different.

During previous years, I did the dashes from panel to panel, wandered the walk of fame, fought through the dealers’ room, danced around the exhibiters’ hall, and strolled throughout the art room.  I used to do it all in those four days.  I was a fan of action.

Well, I’m still a fan.  I’m still active.  I’m just more careful with my time.  This year, I learned that the time I was willing to devote to my fannish activities was not the same as in days of yore.  I remember hitting the walk of fame with a fist-full-o-cash and stopping by the table of anyone I recognized from a TV show or film from my youth.  Not this year.  Sure, there were found memories as I walked around, but there was only one I stopped to get: Bruce Boxleitner.  Why?  Babylon 5 entertained me, it moved me, it made me think.  I was willing to invest the time and money because of everything Mr. Boxleitner had given me with his contribution to my favorite TV show of all time.  Oh, don’t fret, I know Peter, Claudia, Tracy, and Stephen were there – I got them several DC’s ago.  This was Boxleitner’s first visit.  Maybe his last.  I couldn’t pass it up.

The same went for Mr. Patrick Stewart.  I stood in line a good hour and a half.  Willingly.  Five or six years ago, I would have done the same thing for Shatner and Nimoy, even though I really don’t care for the original Trek.  They are icons, and their contribution to science fiction is immeasurable.  But now, I had something else to do.  I almost went into hypothermia jumping into the pool with my little girl.  I quickly climbed out, but sat and watched her have a good time.  At that moment in all of history, that was what was important to me.

When Mr. Stewart spoke, my cousin Steph waited two or three hours to get in the hall.  I passed.  I would have liked to have been there, but I new I could watch it on closed circuit TV.  Anyway, I wanted to get in line for Gene Wolfe.  His signing began just as Stewart was finishing.  Mr. Wolfe is one of the greats.  I expected a huge line and was willing to wait.  I got there an hour early and was probably the tenth one there.  Steph stopped by to check on me after Mr. Stewart’s panel, by the way.  When I looked at the line there was maybe forty people, so yeah, I could have gone.  No, I don’t have any regrets. 

I also struggled to stay awake to check out Abney Park Friday night (Saturday morning actually).  Fantastic!  They are such an awesome live band.  Better, I think, live than recorded – which to me, is the sign of a great band.  Anyway, the next morning, there was something I had colored in on the grid, but when I woke up snuggled up to the misses and the little one, well, it doesn’t get much better than that.  We had breakfast and back to the pool we went. 

So, what’s the point, you ask? 

Well, it came down to an either or for me: I could have either done it all (and blogged) or I could have just enjoyed the moment.  I enjoyed the moment. 

You know what?  I can’t wait to go back.  I’m sure it will be different still, but watching my daughter discover the wonders of fandom is worth lots more than any autograph or panel.  Besides, the whole idea of conventions was to bring the like-minded together.  You still get that at a lot of the little cons, and I’m sure it’s true to some extent at DragonCon, but anymore DC, to me, feels more like a commercial event.  I’m not saying I don’t like it.  I will go back, but when I go back, I will be enjoying it in my on way, on my own terms, and on my own time. 

Who’s Afraid of the Big Bad Wolfe?

I have a confession.

I am forty-two years old. I have been reading science fiction and fantasy for at least thirty. In all that time, I’ve read many of the classics, I’ve loyally followed several authors, and I’ve read much stuff of questionable merit. In all that time, however, I have never read anything by Gene Wolfe.

Oh, I knew about him and read much about him and his work. Now that I think about it, that may have been the problem. I’d always heard how his works were “literary” and defied the genre in which they were published. There’s also lots of discussions concerning allegory and religious symbolism, particularly within the volumes comprising The Book of the New Sun. None of this scared me. I’ve read Moby Dick, for crying out loud. And then there’s the use of archaic and exotic words, again mostly within The Book of the New Sun. That didn’t frighten me, either. I’ve read Stephen Donaldson’s The Chronicle of Thomas Covenant the Unbeliever – twice. (Yes, I had to keep a college-level dictionary in hand both times.)

I still don’t know what kept me away, unless maybe, it was the “mythic” reputation that surrounded Wolfe’s works. When I’d mention reading any of his stuff to anyone, I would either get a firm “I love it!” or a sudden, almost overwhelmed wash across the poor soul’s face and a half-whispered “couldn’t do it.” It’s not dissimilar to talking about tomes like Moby Dick or The Fountainhead. At one point, about 10 years ago, I bought a used copy of The Shadow of the Torturer. As a fan of SF & F literature, I felt an obligation to try to make it through the book. I had done the same thing with Moby Dick in college. As a Lit. major, I felt I had to read it. After three attempts in about twice that many years, I finally did it and loved it. I felt the same about The Fountainhead. I finally broke down and read it. I quite enjoyed it as well. I don’t know what became of the Wolfe book. I lost track of it on my shelf, and it ultimately vanished entirely from my collection.

I never read it.

Life went on.

Every year, I try to attend two or three SF & F conventions, and one of my favorites is DragonCon. I get giddy with anticipation as the days draw near when they begin releasing their guest list. This year . . . Well, you don’t even have to guess whose name I saw first on the initial list. Let’s just say that when I saw it, I felt something that could only be compared to shame. Then I asked myself how I could call myself a true fan having never read works that have won the World Fantasy Award, the Nebula, the Locus Award.

So I began.

I ordered a second-hand copy of Wolfe’s The Shadow of the Torturer, the first volume of The Book of the New Sun. I’m now over halfway through it, and I love it. I more than love it. It’s one of those books that I look forward to picking up again. I become so absorbed in the tale of Severian, the torturer, I forget that I’m actually reading. Before I had finished the third chapter, I was at my computer ordering the rest of the books.

The language in the book is fluid – like prose poetry at times. And the archaisms do not interfere with the work at all. (Okay, maybe in the first chapter when you’re not used to them.) While reading Donaldson, the words interrupted the flow of reading at times; they seemed more like added speed bumps than part of the road. Not so with Wolfe. If anything, the words add to the atmosphere of the piece. It’s almost as if you can feel the inexorable doom of the world while the red sun hovers in the sky.

Severian’s world is in our far future, yet you can’t help but feel you’re reading a medieval romance. There’re guilds and halberd-carrying guards and walled cities. Occasionally, however, some sort of ship will fly over. There’s talk of traveling among the stars, but that was long, long ago. The distinction between technology and magic no longer exist.

But what’s most remarkable to me is the narrator/protagonist, Severian. He’s a dishonored torturer, who is forced into exile beyond the only world he’s ever known. He is definitely not a typical hero (or anti-hero as today’s trends seem to favor). Besides being a torturer, he’s down-right unreliable. At the beginning of the book, he tells us that he has a perfect memory. Shortly thereafter, however, he states that he is insane. And then he seems to forget when he has told certain information. In one discussion, he even contemplates the fact that lies become truth over time.

So what’s the truth in this story? I don’t know, yet. I may never know, but that’s okay because that’s a powerful message in itself. The tale itself is beautiful and beautifully told. Sometimes that’s enough.

Anyway, I can confidently say that I will finish Wolfe’s wonder-filled The Book of the New Sun, and I’ve a feeling I’ll be reading more, too, like the Books of the Long and Short Sun, the Soldier series, and the Wizard Knight duology. I’m just sorry I waited so long to begin. Gene Wolfe is deserving of every bit of his praise and then some. So, take my advice: there’s nothing to be afraid of.