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Adam Roberts is the author of a growing number of science fiction novels, short stories, essays and other writings. This site contains not just his blog, but everything you could ever want to know about everything Adam has ever published. And more...

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By Adam Roberts | August 14, 2007
Categories: Chitchat

Been away.  Back now.  Big pile of papers on the welcome mat when we turned the key and tried to swing the door, making it hard to open more than a sliver.  Most of this pile was free newspapers, fliers, junk mail and the like.  Some was more substantial material that needs dealing with.  I've also been spending the day slowly getting a sense of the enormity of pile of outstanding emails I now must process.

The holiday enabled a certain amount of thinking; reflection, and specifically self-reflection, being a needful thing from time to time for a writer.  Or for anyone.  In part I have been pleasantly digesting some of the reactions to Headless (you can read them, below) and in particular the Deathray review and some of the reader comments posted (you can read them directly below) pendant to the sentiments expressed therein.  This is what I've been thinking.  My last three novels, Snow, Gradisil and Headless, are all--I can see, now--desert novels.  A desert of water ice; a desert of orbital vacuum; a desert of the soul; and in all three cases the concomitant mental and emotional sensibilities, and aesthetics.  In a way these three novels represent a sort-of trilogy, a thematic trilogy; and they are accordingly and necessarily rather barren.  I can hardly complain if people find this offputting.

What are the words that Robert Bolt put in the mouth of King Faisal in conversation with Lawrence, T.E., CB, DSO?  These: "I think you are another of these desert-loving English: Doughty, Stanhope, Gordon of Khartoum. No Arab loves the desert. We love water and green trees.  There is nothing in the desert. No man needs nothing."  One of the things that I love about that movie is the way we believe in Lawrence's love for the desert, the way it is never seen as mere romanticised orientalism, or topographic idealisation.  He knows what the desert is, and nevertheless craves it.  What sort of man craves nothing, anyway?  What's wrong with water and green trees?  (I summarise, in brief, the aforementioned reviews/discussion).  I could say, of course, that it is almost always a mistake for a person to try and write too violently against their own grain.  Doughty, for an instance, was an odd writer, creatively strange, stuck in weird ruts of his own that other people found rather baffling, ornate, clever, desertstruck ... what would it have benefitted him if he'd been persuaded by contemporary reviews not to be so odd?  I'd say Nick Gevers (below) gets it right with Headless, as far as the book's oddity is concerned.  There was a New Weird, briefly.  Any chance of a New Odd?

Then my ponderings took another direction: my next Gollancz novel, Swiftly, is not a desert novel at all.  It is, on the contrary, and in a rather peculiar and exaggerated manner, a novel about fertility.  Certainly about fertiliser, in Rabelaisian (or at least Bakhtin's version of Rabelais) mode.  My forthcoming Solaris novel, Splinter, starts in a desert, but very quickly smashes it up and replaces it with something again rather aggressively fertile.  It might seem a little belated on my part, only now to be seeing larger patterns in the way my books are coming out.  But then again, writing is a balance between what the writer plans and what emerges, in aleatory or at least subconscious tension with the Apolline planning.  Perhaps there's some tectonic shifting happening under my very own feet, and I'm only slowly becoming aware of it.  Maybe, and without directly informing me, my creative imagination has had enough of deserts for the time being.  Maybe there will be some explosive growth, elephants bursting out of the Narnian ground and so on.  Who can tell?

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5 Comments to-date;

5 Responses to “Back”

  1. Octavo Says:
    August 15th, 2007 at 10:55 am

    Why 'deserts' then? I take it from your post that you've only recently realised it and therefore didn't consciously plan it that way, but why do you think they've been a recurring theme? Is it because you enjoy focusing on your protagonists' internal conflicts more than their external ones, or has it just 'happened'?

  2. AdamR Says:
    August 16th, 2007 at 2:59 pm

    I think King Faisal says it best. Which, I appreciate, is a rather evasive answer to your question ...

  3. Birgit Kraus Says:
    August 16th, 2007 at 7:55 pm

    Quite true, Adam, it’ll always be “desert” – for you (if you want to be authentic); and for me too. But it can be desert alive (in an alternative light). So that the uncertain snow shines like sand.
    Nothing wrong with a desert rose; nothing wrong with proper “science” “fiction”, proper “space-craft” “fiction”, or a properly “crafted” closet “tree”. Technically OK, artistically good. As long as it isn’t just wooden closets, as long as you don’t forget the “tree”.
    Note the sweet little rocket tree, Gradisil page 7; for the vertical movement towards the sky ...

  4. Birgit Kraus Says:
    August 17th, 2007 at 7:53 pm

    My "tree" always implies the "Poe Tree" (poetry, Dichtung); you know that, Adam - but for Octavo's sake, lest he start thinking he's talking here to a bunch of idiots.

  5. The Wise Man of the Desert | A Study of the Hollow Earth Says:
    November 11th, 2013 at 5:11 am

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