Latest Publication: A Priest in Love, A Merman with a Broken Heart

Merman in Hiding is now available on Amazon. 

Priest-detectives Rhys and Lider are currently on Earth. A family of Siphons or merpeople need them to locate a young man, Brae. The family believes Brae was kidnapped by another Siphon family to forcibly resolve a breach of promise suit.

As Rhys and Lider interrogate religious disciples, pharmaceutical representatives, and ex-lovers, they come to believe that Brae's disappearance encompasses something more  irrevocable than a broken heart. 

Rhys and Lider must discover Brae's whereabouts quickly since they are faced with an irrevocable choice of their own--and their future together.

Merman in Hiding is Book 3 in the Myths Endure on Mars Rhys & Lider Detective series. Anubis on Mars and Saint of Mars are available in one volume. The Wolf Boy Returns from Space is currently available as a single book.

The books follow a chronology. They do not have to be read in order.

I thank my brother Eugene here for his sci-fi suggestions. Any "good" science in these novellas (which are mostly story) is due to Eugene. Any dumb science is all on me. 

 

I also want to thank my brother Joe for discussing the philosophical and practical arguments that crop up in the final confrontation scenes at the end of the novella (think nutty psychologists in the early 20th century carrying out entirely unethical experiments). As with Eugene, any of the stronger arguments are due to Joe. Any "holes" in the arguments are mostly due to my characters (since certain characters would make certain kinds of arguments).     

New Fantasy Novel: Hermes & the Hunt for Enkidu

Hermes & the Hunt for Enkidu is now available on Amazon. 

In an attached world controlled by gods, the head gods compete with the gods of agriculture over who should control the rules of death. Hermes works for both sets of gods. When Zeus and Hera order him to find members of a Wild Hunt, he must deliver a solution that satisfies all parties.

An opportunist with no particular moral code--he thinks--Hermes discovers a possible solution in Enkidu, wild man of Sumer. Enkidu would solve all Hermes's problems--except Enkidu is under the guardianship of a ruthless ex-god. Worse, Enkidu would upset Hermes's careful plans, including Hermes's beliefs about himself.  

Hermes and the Hunt for Enkidu is Book 3 of Myths Endure in Maine, a contemporary fantasy series set in a god-controlled world connected to Portland, Maine. The books follow a chronology. They do not have to be read in order.

The first two books--Kouros Underground and Cupid in Captivity--were republished along with Hermes and the Hunt for Enkidu. 

The Laid-Back Detective

On Votaries, I discuss characters from books by "G" authors.

One of those "G" authors is Dorothy Gilman, who wrote the Mrs. Pollifax books, A Nun in the Closet, and The Clairvoyant Countess, one of my favorites.

The Clairvoyant Countess is one of my favorites in part due to Lieutenant Pruden. Lieutenant Pruden is one of those laid-back heroes. In fact, he is quite a bit like Loid from Spy X Family. He is quiet, skeptical, straight-laced but willing to go outside the lines (consult with a clairvoyant). A tad like Hotchner from Criminal Minds but not quite so uptight. For most of my teen years, I was half in love with Pruden.

When I wrote Aubrey, my character Charles Stowe was inspired by Pruden and another Charles: Charles Parker from Sayers' Wimsey detective novels. 

I've covered the attraction of the laid-back hero in a number of posts (see below). Here, I will state that another attraction is the underlying skepticism. Pruden, Parker, and Charles Stowe are open to evidence. They don't make up stories about people and impose them. They go where the clues take them. Their inherent skepticism comes from knowing that where the clues take them might change. They are prepared for their initial reckonings to be wrong. 

For all their by-the-book attitudes, they are actually quite adaptable.

Other Laid-Back Heroes

• More about Loid
• Justin from Secret of Nimh
• Karasuma from Assassination Vacation (with a tribute to Arthur from Inception)
• Yuri from Yuri on Ice!
• Itami from Gate
• Sam Gillespie from Sister Boniface 
• Lieutenant Tao from The Closer and Major Crimes 
• Saitama from One Punch Man
  

Merpeople as Romantic Partners: The Ultimate Unknowables

I mention in my latest taboo post that although bestiality is generally mocked in stories, sex with shapeshifters is entirely accepted--as is sex with mercreatures. 

The story of Kopakonan--which I summarize in my book about medieval saints and lore--like many tales about mermaids and seals has an underlying pathos. My first published short story, "The Birthright," which uses a similar backstory, is more drama than romance.

That is, mermaids have a long history of romance and amorality. Without getting too philosophical, they are fairly perfect representations of the sea: placid on the surface until a storm arises; dark and unknowable beyond the surface. As someone has pointed out somewhere, more people have been to the moon than to the bottom of the Marina Trench.

An instant corollary exists here since romantic entanglements are also unknowable and sometimes risky and often involve a "plunge." My novella Nerites Amid the Stars is possibly the most romantic of my sci-fi novels, and it involves merpeople or Siphons. 

All my couples tend to be "working" couples--that is, they are people who care about researching doctrines or handling parishioners or tracking down antiques or trying to stay employed or helping farmers or managing a restaurant or ensuring fair trade or figuring out sainthoods or investigating crimes. 

Meke and Rill from Nerites Amid the Stars are a diplomat (who discovers he actually likes being a diplomat) and an enumerator (a specialist in demographics). They are also star-crossed lovers, a kind of Romeo & Romeo (without the pointless deaths) who connect after falling out many years earlier. 

The title is based on one of the lesser known Greek myths. As Meke reflects:

Siphons spoke of Nerites and Helios. Some Siphons paired Nerites with Poseidon, as did human mythology. But the oldest Siphon tales presented Nerites as a Siphon charioteer in his bipedal state, commended for his quick eye and expert skills as he raced along the shore and into the waves. He fell in love with the sun and drove his chariot into space. In art, Nerites was pictured chasing light rays against a background of stars. Always in pursuit. Like the human Icarus, he would never reach his goal, not without perishing. Yet his love never abated. 

Did Helios love him in turn?

How could he not? 

The passage is a good example of how characters live beyond their authors. My reaction to that story is "Oh, please." 

But Meke is a romantic. He chases Rill across a nine-month voyage by ship to Mars. 

He is also something of an outlier within his own culture. My merpeople or Siphons are a tad like Vulcans: logical CEOs of large corporations who prefer to make marriages based on business dealings. Not given to warm fuzzies. 

But because they are tied to the sea, romance and a sense of the incalculable lurks. 

Defending the Indefensible Relationship: Austen's Mrs. Clay & Mr. Elliot; Richardson's Mr. B & Pamela

On Votaries, I discuss unliked characters who end up with their own books. 

Unliked relationships are a little less likely to be defended. P.D. James did defend Withers in her Death at Pemberley but not because his relationship with Lydia had substantially altered. 

I defend two classic relationships, one negative in the original text; one negative according to later critics.

In Persuadable, Mrs. Clay pursues and married Mr. Elliot. I basically make them low-key grifters who recognize each other's nature. They are attracted to each other, mostly because the people around them are so comparatively boring. 

Interestingly enough, although Jane Austen quite often ruthlessly goes after opportunists, she lets Mrs. Clay do whatever Mrs. Clay does. There's an entirely unspoken acknowledgement that women who marry for money or position or protection are, in fact, saving their skins. She treats Charlotte from Pride & Prejudice coldly but with understanding. 

The second relationship is Mr. B and Pamela in Mr. B Speaks! When Samuel Richardson's book was published, this couple was...think Brad & Jennifer, Taylor & Burton, the Twilight stuff. HUGE. Real churches rang real bells in celebration of the marriage. Sure, Henry Fielding mocked Pamela with Shamela, but most people were totally on-board. Mr. B and Pamelay WERE the eighteenth century's favorite couple.

Now-a-days, we look askance. Mr. B appears to stalk Pamela; he kidnaps her, harasses her, nearly (but doesn't) rape her, plans to fool her with a fake clergyman, and then, finally, marries her. 

However, I think that Richardson is a great example of a guy who thought he was writing one book but got too interested in something else. He gets too interested in the debate/repartee between Mr. B and Pamela. 

Those conversations, when shorn of their eighteenth century verbiage, strike me as something one hears on The Thin Man. 

So I set out to explain and justify that relationship. 

(Persuadable & Mr. B Speaks! will be republished by Aurora & Bob Press in 2025.)

Sir Walter Plays the Lothario

Sir Walter at Home; Mrs. Clay is to the left.

In Jane Austen's Persuasion, Mrs. Clay is trying to snare Sir Walter. When that doesn't work, she snares Mr. Elliot.

Penelope Clay's hopes for this engagement have precedence. Gentlemen--members of the gentry and the aristocracy--did occasionally marry "down." There are even cases of peers marrying courtesans, actresses, and servants. Although Pamela's marriage to Mr. B shocked Richardson's contemporaries, it didn't surprise them. It was improbable, not impossible.

Penelope is certainly not as low down the hierarchy as a servant, but she isn't as high up the hierarchy as, even, Elizabeth is to Darcy. Elizabeth argues, correctly, that since both she and Darcy are products of the gentry, there can be no objection to a marriage between them. (Note, however, that she does not argue, "Darcy can marry whomever he wants!")

Like the wife that warmed King David's bed in old age, Penelope Clay's hope (for most of Persuasion and my tribute Persuadable) has been to catch Sir Walter's interest when he is feeling his age or, more specifically, when Sir Walter is feeling abandoned.

It may seem odd that Sir Walter would experience the empty nest syndrome when his eldest daughters are nearing thirty (rather than going through it earlier), but during the Regency era, people stayed home until they married. This interesting trend has begun to reassert itself in recent years ("reassert" since children staying at home until marriage has been more common throughout history than single people living on their own).

With only one single daughter left, Sir Walter will surely wonder who is going to cosset him in his remaining years. Anne and Will Elliot both correctly foresee how Sir Walter's vulnerability might make him susceptible to the suggestion of marriage; this is not a man who manages well on his own.

If he doesn't marry, and Elizabeth does, he will probably try to move in with one of his daughters.Unfortunately, the daughter he understands the least would likely be the most willing. But Captain Wentworth would no doubt put his foot down.

Excerpt from my tribute Persuadable:

[Penelope and Sir Walter meet in the Camden Crescent residence.] 

“Ah, my dear Mrs. Clay,” he said and gave her his roguish look that made him look about as dangerous as a starling. “You’ve heard our latest news, no doubt. My daughter Anne is engaged to Captain Wentworth.”

She joined him at the head of the stairs and coyly tilted her head. “It is difficult to believe that you, Sir Walter, could have any daughter about to be married.”

She conveniently failed to mention Mary, and Sir Walter blustered in a pleased fashion. He took Penelope’s hand and patted it.

“What will I do when I lose Anne’s comforting support?” he said as if he’d ever shown a preference for Anne’s company.

Anne found her own source of comfort, Penelope thought and felt an unexpected surge of jealousy.

She had never desired the middle Elliot daughter’s life with its self-effacement and mildness in the service of others. But she wished now for Anne’s freedom—to be satisfied and respectable and secure. I have such small desires. Can't I have any of them? 

Sir Walter was still patting her hand. He looked genuinely disheartened; Penelope could guess his thoughts. He might have no interest in Anne, but before her engagement she had been available—a spare daughter to look after her father’s needs. Now there was only Elizabeth, and Sir Walter believed firmly in Elizabeth’s ability to marry well.

He was afraid of being alone.

Now’s the time. Penelope should lean in, cover his hand with hers, say, “Oh, Sir Walter, think how much more frightening life is for an unattached woman.”

He would comfort her. She’d put her head on his shoulder. He’d start thinking about his future, about how she could ease his cares.

I’m not a lady, but he’ll convince himself that the merit of his title precludes my lack of one. Sir Walter would put his desire for security above all else.

Doesn’t everybody?

She loosed her hand. She said, “I’m sure your new son-in-law will never place his needs before a father’s.”

She didn’t believe that for a moment. Captain Wentworth was definitely the type to keep his wife by his side. But Sir Walter cheered up and continued on to his bedchamber.

Penelope went to hers, shut the door, and slid to the floor, arms around her knees. From that position, all she could see through the small, square window was blazing blue sky. She might be in any room in any city. She might be in London with Will.

She smiled ruefully. I never thought I’d be such a fool to give up the opportunity to secure a baronet. She knew what happened to women who thought with their hearts.

And yet, Penelope was not like other women. She’d survived a tedious marriage and had two intelligent sons (foisted onto her parents) to show for it. She’d survived interfering neighbors, pushy creditors, and leering landlords. She’d survived Sir Walter and his family.

She could survive anything.

Learning from Fan Fiction: Every World Needs Rules, even Heaven

My Emma Lathen fan fiction is based around Damien Smith (a new character) and John Thatcher (Lathen's detective). The fan fiction starts in heaven: Damien's recent arrival requires that he and John give testimony about their relationship--namely why they should be together. 

Damien, John, and their advocate review each of the cases they worked together to explain how they came to fall in love and then live together despite "lying" to a great many people (in the 1970s) about their relationship. (Neither of them cheated on anyone; Thatcher's wife died five years earlier.) 

That's Part I. 

Part II is Damien and John solving cases in heaven (or, rather, multiple heavens). The cases they solve have to do with people they met during the original cases. 

The premise here is based on my belief that death doesn't actually solve anything (which is one reason killing off a character is a writing cop-out). I get exceedingly tired of the idea that dead people get all noble and sweet-tempered the moment they die. 

Thatcher is younger in heaven.

The aura is the same.

I also don't buy into the idea that once a case is solved on Earth, the dead would be satisfied with the resolution and whisk themselves off to strum harps on clouds. Why wouldn't they take revenge in heaven on people who forced them to "shuffle off the mortal coil" too early? ("I had so many plans! You ruined everything!")

But that position immediately raises the issue: Would heaven let that happen?

I realized that I needed to make up rules in order for Part II to work. 

The Rules

1. New arrivals end up in the heaven/town/region that fits their moral code. They can change heavens. But no matter what heaven they want to settle in, they must go through a "confession" for that heaven (become citizens).

2. The "confession" is not about admitting sin but rather about giving the council (of angels) and the human individual a chance to assess, "Am I in the right place?" 

3. If the confession remains incomplete, the new arrival is at the mercy of other members of that heaven/town/region. The angels cannot protect them.

4. Angels also have agency. Some of them believe in the Mike-Baxter-do-it-yourself-and-learn-the-hard-way approach to moral self-understanding. Some believe more in the social-work model. Some demand that humans earn money to take trains between heavens. Some give out free passes. Some, like Castiel, may even focus entirely on one human or set of humans.

5. The cases that Thatcher and Damien handle in multiple heavens (as consulting detectives) mostly deal with people switching heavens for a variety of reasons. Because these non-citizens have not yet completed their "confessions," they are open to assault by thugs and others. They can't be killed. But they can be kidnapped, stalked, attacked, stolen from, locked up, accused falsely, and otherwise inconvenienced.   

Continuing Story

So Thatcher's now-dead wife, who married him until "death we do part" and always saw herself as somewhat above the whole soulmates' cliche, has discovered that (a) the angels don't care how advanced/down-to-earth she is in her thinking, in part because she no longer is on Earth; (2) soulmates have cache in the heaven she has selected. 

In other words, the reputation that she had on Earth as a smart, practical, "sure I'm faithful but he is only a man, and marriage is about compromise, ladies" wife of a powerful banker--a reputation that was honestly acquired--no longer carries the same weight. 

She consequently detests Damien and doesn't understand Thatcher's consistent low-key refusal to go "back" to what worked on Earth. 

So she hires thugs to take Damien into a different heaven before he finishes his confession. 

Damien was rather sick of the heaven he was in anyway. He wants to be with Thatcher. But he is far happier in Victorian Steampunk with Modern Attitudes heaven than Thatcher's heaven. (His boarding house in Victorian Steampunk heaven is run by a woman who doesn't mind him having a boyfriend but does insist on "no shenanigans before marriage!").

Thatcher tracks him down. Damien finally agrees to complete his "confession," after which he and Thatcher move into the heaven Damien prefers (Thatcher has the easygoing moral code of a guy who can basically end up anywhere). Steampunk heaven is their home base though they are often asked by angels to investigate disappearances and problems elsewhere. 

* * *

Why Rules Matter

Both Part I and Part II are a fun way to explore the books and various characterizations. In Lathen's first Thatcher book, Banking on Death, the victim is a completely self-absorbed man who is always looking for an angle. He doesn't bother to revenge himself on anyone when he gets to heaven--nobody ever mattered to him that much. (In fact, in my fan fiction, he keeps ending up in heavens that petition to have him thrown out. Eventually, he goes to work for the Borgias and wheedles his way into the good graces of each relative in turn.) 

However, the original book includes his bitter, shrewd, selfish and hysterical mistress, who loathes the man's estranged wife for no very good reason. 

That mistress WOULD try to take out her grief on someone in heaven, such as the estranged wife. Thatcher and Damien would have to figure out who is spreading false rumors about the estranged wife, then track down the culprit and get her removed to another heaven. 

But if everything in these heavens was all sweetness & light--or if everything was "yeah, whatever, it's just anarchy with angels"--then, well, my detectives wouldn't have much to do. 

People have to be able to behave badly for my detectives to have something to investigate. And the problems have to be repairable for my detectives to have long-range goals.

Pacing in Thai BL Series: Good and Bad

Thai BL series are commonly about 12+ episodes long, which means they are often far too long.

A Boss and a Babe presents 6 episodes with solid interwoven plot problems. It then loses momentum, finally paying off the problems in episodes 11-12. Love By Chance 2 has a solid narrative arc for the main characters, Can and Tin, alongside several subplots that could easily be cut. Until We Meet Again, despite a fascinating premise, is the slowest thing I've ever watched in my life. My School President, however, never flags.

 

The difference, I suggest, comes down to pacing around internal pay-offs that relate to a central problem. My School President, the best paced of the four, proposes several regularly-spaced hurdles around the need to keep the band as a club: a new band member, the application to a contest, first try-out, second try-out, the band members' final trip together, graduation. The main problem and character development all relate to these hurdles/events.

 

Likewise, although most of Love by Chance 2's subplots drag, the main plot between Can and Tin doesn't. Can and Tin's courtship arc circles around the issue of trust--Tin's desire to have a lover he can trust and Can's need to make a leap of trust. The mini-payoffs include Tin's disclosure of his family's dysfunctions; Can's announcement to his sister that he and Tin are dating; the interference of Tin's brother in the relationship, which is paid off when Can punches him and Tin then reconciles his brother with his ex-lover. In the end, Tin and Can figure out their dating life.

 

Until We Meet Again is not marked by much. I watched it avidly the first time around. Since then, I've never been able to get through it. It is soooo long. The main premise or idea is that two young men are meeting after they killed themselves in a prior life. Okay. That's pretty fascinating! Except the entire point of every single episode (until the end) is that Pharm and Dean are figuring out that they know each other from a past life. It takes something like four episodes for the beginning of that knowledge to kick in, which is entirely too long to wait for the equivalent of a thesis statement.

 

In fairness, I think the series falls into shaggy dog territory. It is more about the setting and the people and their friends and their lifestyles. That is, it is more about the soap opera than a narrative arc.

 

A Boss and a Babe is odd because it is established as having a narrative arc--in fact, the various plot points are well-presented, believable, and engaging. Gun and Cher's relationship as boss and intern and the potential problems that arise when a subordinate dates a boss is the main focus. Other problems include the theft of programming by Gun's previous fellow company director, Thyme (Thyme's defensiveness is extremely well-rendered: here is a guy who thought he was good enough to go out on his own, only to discover that he needed Gun's acumen and the team's skills); Cher's worries about the brother of the young woman he knew growing up; and Cher's efforts with his friends to win a gaming contest. 

 

And for six episodes, impressively enough, these plot points weave together quite effectively. Until everything gets rather "huh." 

 

And I suggest that the pacing lags due to one basic reason: the lack of regularly-spaced hurdles that relate back to the main issue. 

 

The main issue in My School President, again, is the band staying together as a club. Every episode and episode hurdle relates back to this issue. 

 

The main issue in A Boss and a Babe is that Gun is dating his intern, which causes negative reactions within the company. The issue is raised, then dropped, then raised again, finally addressed, dropped again, then paid off.

 

Take a similar episode in both series. In both My School President and A Boss and a Babe, the main characters head to the beach. In My School President, while at the beach, Gun is tasked alongside his co-leader, Sound, with creating an original song while his band members rehearse. Sound and Gun end up talking about relationships and Gun confesses (only to Sound, at this point) that he is sort of dating Tinn. 

 

In truth, I think the episode is not entirely necessary but it still relates to the overall arc.

 

In contrast, the beach episode in A Boss and a Babe isn't related to much--Cher and Gun's relationship doesn't create problems (as it does later); the stolen programming problem is completely shelved; Cher's "brother" calls him but Cher doesn't need to be at the beach to be called. The scene does pay off some troubles among Cher's friends but the issue is not all that important to the overall arc.

 

In fact, the episode feels rather like an advertisement for Thailand beaches, which, in all honesty, I would consider more forgivable than sloppy writing. 

 

Non sequitur tangents and subplots show up in manga. However, in manga, they don't get in the way. I suspect that many viewers approach these television series with similar expectations and an acceptance of shaggy dog meanderings. And they are wise.

 

But if one is interested in narrative arcs--and how they function--the differences between the two series here go a long way towards explaining the importance of pacing. 

 

Sometimes, 12 episodes truly could be 8.

Bad (as in Boring) Marriage Advice

I intended, a year or so ago, to write a series of posts about marriage advice and where that advice shows up in romantic fiction. 

I started with Gottman, who has actually done studies on what makes marriages work and has challenged a few sacred cows. 

I gave up. 

The reason: even Gottman's books get very samey. 

In fact, most books on marriage are about three or four pieces of decent advice wrapped up in entirely generic language with examples pulled from therapy sessions--and workbook pages. 

The writing--with the exception of the examples--reminds me of AI-generated writing. 

It is not that hard to create AI writing. Here is a made-up passage of a typical marriage advice book:

Of course, good communication starts with honest appraisals. The couple should matter-of-factly and frankly report their reasons for getting upset. Only when the couple can candidly face the true grounds for lashing out can the problem be resolved. 

In short--don't lie. 

Every time I try to read a marriage advice book (because relationships interest me), I start skipping the long-winded passages for the stories (which can be quite insightful). I also conclude that the whole thing could be reduced to a 10-page article and make a stronger impression. 

In any case, my brief foray into marriage counseling books convinces me that my underlying argument for this blog and the romance genre is correct:

The best way to learn about love is to learn about individuals.

Complaint: Pronouns in Manga Translations

Minato corrects Tsuge's use of a pronoun.

I recently came across a BL manga in which the American translators deliberately and consistently mistranslated a term to imply that a character was transgender rather than a cross-dresser. The two terms are not interchangeable. In fact, many gay men (not all, of course, since no "rule" applies to all individuals) will state that they experimented with cross-dressing when they were younger without wishing to give up their male biology (a decision that solidified when puberty hit).

Reviewers of the manga who actually knew Japanese and had read the translation in its original were ticked. They felt (correctly) that the translation was deceitful and disrespectful.

 

I feel the same when American translations insist on using "they" for the singular individual in Japanese manga. 

 

The problem is that "they," especially in American speech, is a generic pronoun that shows up (still) in lazy writing based on poor research:  "Oh, they said this. They think that." The pronoun becomes a kind of placeholder, not that different from the use of "it" in "it is raining." 

 

I am aware that individuals voluntarily apply "they" to themselves. That's a choice. I am pointing out here that Asian speech is rarely so dismissive and rude, even when people are upset.  

Not only do many Asian languages include honorifics, said languages will often use names when referring to people, not pronouns. Consider that in the video clip, Can clearly refers to himself in the third person: "Can will survive." He doesn't even use "I." (The Viki translation uses the third-person reference.)

 

Can is being cute. However, foregoing the first-person pronoun is preferred in many Asian languages. The choice of pronoun, when used, is the speaker's responsibility: how speakers present themselves, not how other people are supposed to react/think about the speakers. Can's mother calls him out for how he refers to himself in her presence.

 

As for honorifics, they are attached to nearly every single acknowledgement of the other person in the conversation--a part of speech, not an off-the-cuff, one-time "sir" or "ma'am" that is then discarded. A failure to use an honorific or the adoption of a more formal honorific is often noted--but the default is to revert to the proper honorific. And the use of honorifics is not one-sided--a speaker not only gives respect when it is due but submits to how the speaker is referred to by a senior or elderly person. Context is everything.

 

Translations that ignore these subtleties may be poor translations. Unfortunately, these days, they may be deliberately arrogant and dishonest translations. 

 

It amazes me how people who claim to love other cultures want to turn all those cultures into being entirely American. The narrow thinking here is astonishing.

That's me. I put the pronoun problem to The Translator. Below is the response:

The Translator: The default in Japanese is to eschew pronouns. No need for the execrable "they." Simply leave it out.

When social status is involved, use titles or honorifics. Your senpai or sensei isn't "you." Say "senpai" or "sensei" where you would say "you" in English. These relationships can continue for the rest of their lives. Even among equals, moving from last names to first names is a big deal. It is perfectly normal to use a third person reference instead of a pronoun.

The nonsense with English pronouns probably comes across as strange to most. There is a small contingent in Japanese society desperate to be as woke as their American counterparts, though this is as yet a powerless contingent, all bark and no bite. The sociolinguistics in a culture as deeply rooted as Japan's swats away such fads like an annoying insect.

Pronoun usage can inadvertently reveal a person's background and create a minefield of manners in the process. Again, another reason to avoid them.

 

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TpmO0nitGVw

Death in BL: The Exception, Make Our Days Count

As I have stated elsewhere, I'm not a fan of death, dreams, and Lady & the Tiger endings. I consider all three cop-outs.

There are exceptions, of course. A recent viewing of a BL drama series alerted me to a case where death might be an acceptable ending. 

*Spoilers (more than already mentioned)*

Make Our Days Count, 10 episodes, ends with the death of Yu Xi-gu, the lover of the main character Xiang Hao-ting.

It still pains my heart (one reason I usually avoid death endings--real life is complicated enough). But I'm not pissed about it, and with death endings, I often am since I feel manipulated. 

Why doesn't the ending annoy me? 

1. The primary protagonist, who changes the most, doesn't die.

The story is Xiang Hao-ting's; he is a tall, friendly, extroverted, glib senior who has learned to tease and maneuver himself out of tight situations. He is quick and quite intelligent but has given up on getting good grades and getting into a university.  He is also inherently fair, kind, and moral. (And carries himself like a young Lou Diamond Phillips.)

The arrival of studious, somewhat frail, and focused Yu Xi-gu changes his priorities, though not his fundamental character. 

One of the best episodes in the series shows Hao-ting's moral growth regarding what he initially considered to be a funny trick. In "revenge" for Xi-gu reporting his "bros" for harassment, he keeps the other boy from attending a final exam--at which point, the severity of what he has done catches up to him. 

Because his family is well-off, he has options, he doesn't care what university he gets into and therefore doesn't care about exams, Hao-ting makes the (unfortunately not implausible teenage) leap that the "trick" is not that big a deal. 

But Xi-gu needs perfect grades to get a scholarship--to get into a top university--to get a good job, so he can rise out of a lowerclass income. His parents are dead, and he doesn't want to be a burden on his aunt. The issue here may not be entirely comprehensible to Americans, but in a country where debt can follow generations, the parents' death is an emotional and financial burden on Xi-gu, who is living alone. 

Hao-ting attempts to make up for what he has done even before he begins to fall (completely) for Yu Xi-gu.

2. The story belongs to the living.

That is, the story is run by the "bros." 

Again, the translation to "American" here may lead to confusion, especially since some BL stories include actual (step)brothers, who use "bro" as the designator--plus older adults of non-blood are often referred to as "auntie" and "uncle." 

Hao-ting has a group of approximately four to five unrelated-by-blood friends, a group into which serious-minded (with a delightful penchant for grand-dad jokes) Xi-gu is eventually admitted. The romance is the vehicle by which the group's friendships are tested and revealed. Hao-ting is one of two young men in the group who form romantic partnerships with other men. 

The friends' acceptance is not--thankfully!--accomplished in a lecturing, are-you-now-properly-tolerant? way. In fact, one of the remarkable things about the series' writing is that the young men remain fairly typical young men in terms of behavior and insight. That is, they don't suddenly become profound, self-reflecting, intuitive thinkers overnight (the described transformation occasionally happens in BL with high school characters). The series ends with them because that is where it began. 

3. The characters age. 

Episode 10 mostly takes place 6 years in the future. Hao-ting has gone on to university and is about to transfer to Stanford (yup--that's Stanford in the U.S.).  He is still in a great deal of emotional pain, in part (and the psychology here is quite insightful) because he has tried to recapture what he lost (he dates or befriends a young hiker he met who resembles his past love--the younger man has an entirely different personality from Xi-gu). He can't recapture the past. He never will. Even if one accepts life after death, that eternal life will never be the life one might-have-had in mortality. Loss is real. Grieving is natural. 

In fact, the makeup or grooming here is remarkable. The actor, Wayne Song, honestly looks 6 years older. The "bros" have also aged. Sun Bo, though he grooms himself much the same (unlike the others), has greatly matured. He is now the wise man of the group; as a teen, he was sweet and goofy and hot-headed (though also thoughtful and good-natured). As an adult, Sun Bo continually reaches out to his lover's family to create a reconciliation; he also kindly and quietly and straightforwardly comforts Hao-ting at the end. 

4. The death is foreshadowed.

It is a random accident. And I am well-aware that random accidents happen all the time in real life. 

However, when they occur in fiction, the "a-ha, death happened when you least expected it!" event more times than not feels lazy and manipulative: the writer couldn't figure out where to take the characters next so decided to kill one off and have everyone grieve. Ready-made three to four extra chapters or 20-minute graveyard scene.

In this case, there are several indicators of what is coming (I was still surprised--but not shocked):

• Yu Xi-gu is cute, incredibly thin, and not entirely healthy. In fact, for a few episodes, I thought I might learn that he had a debilitating disease. 
• Yu Xi-gu often talks to his dead family on the rooftop of his building. He alone survived an accident (and dies when hit by a car). Like the marvelous Sweets from Bones and John from Person of Interest, the implication is that he got a few extra years lease--but it was going to run out. 
• Death is discussed verbally and hinted at visually. In, I believe, episode 9, Yu Xi-gu is seen talking to a mentor about his relationship with Hao-ting on a grassy lawn (near a resort). In the next shot, Yu Xi-gu is alone--the implication is that he is remembering the conversation. But later, the implication is that he is in heaven, remembering the conversation. 

The symbolic indicators are not heavy-handed. The focus is on the plot and character development. 

 

All four points illustrate a difference from death endings that use death as easy plotting and cheap shock to achieve supposedly uncontestable profundity--rather like celebrities who preach their noble opinions while taking money from countries and institutions that promote the exact opposite of what the celebrities claim to believe--as if the adoption of a  "profound" ending will excuse bad writing any more than the adoption of spoken labels will excuse bad choices. 

Make Our Days Count, despite a few unanswered threads, is superb writing.  

The Romance of Merfolk

I recently published Nerites Amid the Stars, the fourth book in my Myths Endure series. 

Myths Endure is a set of books, mostly based around M/M romances, that are connected thematically but not chronologically. They don't have to be read in order.

Nerites Amid the Stars tackles politics and Mars and merfolk--which got me thinking: why are merfolk such a staple of romance? Especially if one expands merfolk to include Selkies and Odysseus's sirens?

It could all come down to the unruliness of nature resembling the unruliness of love. Whatever the "we have a theory; therefore we control nature, and it is nice to us" environmentalists like to believe, nature inevitably proves humans wrong about, well, everything.  Volcanoes are an obvious case. 

The ocean specifically is a constant reminder of nature's deep abiding indifference to human endeavor, no matter how many dances of adulation the humans perform. 

Inviting. Cold. Warm currents. Alluring. Changeable. Dangerous. Embracing. Deep. Shallow. Full of life. Full of death. Curious. Nostalgic. Calm. Stormy. Fun.

The ocean has it all! 

My merfolk are more about self-control than randomness--they respect nature and know exactly how out-of-control it can be. But even love stymies them.

Writing Problem: Modern Jargon

I was recently quite disappointed with a new M/M romance by an author that I generally trust. She has written a number of books I enjoy and even admire. 

The book was ostensibly historical--but was, actually, an alternate world, which used modern jargon. 

However approved, terms like "gender" and "they," as a reference to an individual who ducks biological designations, are jargon. 

The result: the book felt incredibly dated. I gave up.

It was a curious experience since I've read other books that use both terms and didn't come away from my reading with the same reaction. I've determined that the difference comes down to something that Jane Austen--to use a worthy example--manages in her books: she uses references, vocabulary, and very occasionally slang in her novels. Yet, they don't feel dated.

The references and vocabulary and slang are appropriate to her characters. Similar to Stephen King's cussing blue-collar Mainers, the dialog doesn't feel forced. It is how people talk (in comparison, I've read literary pieces full of swear words that felt completely hammed-up). 

In one book, where critical thinking jargon such as "gender" and "they" appear, the alternate world is actually our world--post-COVID (which event is cleverly used)--in the omegaverse (a world where men bear children). The terms are used by characters who would in fact use them. In context, they point to a complex political and media reaction to an unexpected bonding outcome. 

In another book, the terms are actually not used though the concepts are addressed. Since the concepts are addressed from within the character's historical perspectives, they come across as natural reflections rather than belabored, pushy preaching. 

The same differences occur in Star Trek: TOS. The episodes that take place within the Star Trek universe, even though they reflect modern concerns, come across as natural extensions of that milieu and those characters. 

But the episodes that deliberately try to comment on the modern world come across as dated--even when amusing.

"Charlie X" works. "The Way to Eden" is painful.

"Turnabout Intruder" raises questions while remaining truthful to its premise. "Wolf in the Fold" (which I personally like) fails. 

"Space Seed" is excellent. "Return to Yesterday" is fun and less painful to watch than "Assignment: Earth" but still dated.  

"The City On the Edge of Forever" is fantastic, despite referencing peace movements in America--contemporary to the writing of the episode. 

When story takes precedence, story adequately carries theme and perspective. When it doesn't, the entire edifice falls apart.

Good Writing & Mysteries: Rex Stout

Like romances, mysteries--especially "pulp" mysteries--can come in for unfair criticism. 

I'm not a huge Rex Stout fan, but the reason has nothing to do with his writing. I simply prefer the A&E version of Nero Wolfe, which, like Bertie & Wooster, appears to be perfectly rendered. 

I have read a few Rex Stouts and Archie Goodwin's voice is one of the strongest on record. As many mystery aficionados point out, Archie is as much a detective in his own right as Nero Wolfe though with a radically different approach and personality.

And The League of Frightened Men is a fantastically well-written book. 

As the book reaches its denouement, Archie gets knocked out with sleeping pills. This is not an unusual circumstance in action-mystery books. Rex Stout's writing stands out here because he keeps to first-person yet entirely places the reader in Archie's position. It is not always easy to describe tragedy when people are enduring it and it is even more difficult to explain shock since the point with shock is that people are not thinking clearly. 

The passages of Archie reviving are not only superbly rendered, they are poignant. Archie revives and naturally finds himself at loose ends. But he is a survivalist at heart and manages to crawl to the telephone. But he isn't entirely sure what he is doing except trying to reach Nero Wolfe. Even more remarkably, in keeping with Archie's usual voice, he doesn't try to explain himself or his circumstances. The reader gains an image of a young man at loose ends curled up on the floor beside a telephone table desperately trying to reach the most fundamental safety he knows:

It looked so far away that the desire to lie down and give it up made me want to yell to show I wouldn't do that, but I couldn't yell. I finally got to the stand and sat down on the floor against it and reached up for the phone and got the receiver off and shoved it against my ear, and heard a man's voice very faint. [He contacts Fritz who tells him that Mr. Wolfe has left to look for him.] I was having a hard time holding the phone, and it dropped to the floor, the whole works, and my head fell into my hands with my eyes closed, and I suppose what I was doing you would call crying. 

At one point, after help arrives, Archie tries to find his leather case, given to him by Nero Wolfe. He can't find it and he begins to cry again, behavior that he never exhibits in other, even more charged, circumstances. The relation of events is stark, and Archie never excuses himself. He isn't explaining. He is delivering the frustration and out-of-sync behavior of a man under duress.  

Great writing!

New Novel: Cupid in Captivity

Billy doesn't care that he was kidnapped by a fellow student, even after an unofficial investigation identifies his abductor, Jonas. Billy protects Jonas through high school and into adulthood when they both embody a great deal more money. Billy resolves problems for the wealthy elite. Jonas is a renowned photographer. Yet repercussions of that earlier deed persist, demanding retribution or reenactment.

With hints of satire and myth, the story of Billy and Jonas attests to the unanticipated and unique links that arise and survive between human beings, links that last for years and transcend labels.

Can the captor and captive fall in love? Why shouldn't they? Who gets to decide? Impacted by media, societal, and legal expectations, these two soulmates call for an unanticipated, transformative resolution.

Available on Amazon.

The second novel in this series, Ithax's Offspring on Mars, will be released in April, hopefully on April 12, 2021, the first day that a human--Yugi Gagarin--entered space. 

The books are not related by genre or characters. They range from suspense to space sci-fi to contemporary fantasy. However, they are thematically related. They satirize human attitudes that attempt to label and categorize events and personalities at the expense of experience, transcendence, and individuality. 

Romance is larger than petty politics.  

New Mystery Novel! Clasp: A Donna Howard Mystery

Thanks to Eugene for the excellent cover!

Clasp

Buried inside a cache of relics from Medieval England, the ghost of a young boy knows only that he must protect these holy treasures. But as his era recedes into history and the relics scatter hither and yon, all he can do is rage against the collectors of the last remaining object, a silver spoon.

Centuries later, he encounters Donna Howard, an antique appraiser who can speak with spirits. Donna's research convinces her that a sixteenth-century skeleton recently discovered in England is the boy's remains. Now, in order to free himself from the spoon, the boy must confront his own murder.

The fourth novel in the Donna Howard mystery series again brings the past into the present, with themes of identity and choice playing out alongside the problems of messy history and tangled human relationships. Even when the crime is five hundred years old, Donna is determined to solve the case. 

Clasp is a romance in the oldest sense of the word: adventure, medieval arguments and accessories, ne'er-do-wells, polite ghosts--as well as less polite ones.

The Donna Howard Series 

Sensible Donna Howard researches the provenances of art and antiques. Unfortunately, she occasionally also stumbles across a murder that can only be solved with her unique (and sometimes regrettable) ability to see dead people from the past. Aided by opinionated friends and secretive family members (not to mention demanding significant others), Donna Howard coolly uncovers solutions to historical and contemporary mysteries, no matter how daunting or vexatious.  

The books in the Donna Howard series proceed in chronological order, but each novel can be read on its own.

Dating Tropes: Is Friends to Lovers Entirely Believable?

In the previous post, I discuss lovers who discover they are also friends.

What about the friends who discover they want to date? Is it believable?

Beauty and the Beast is supposedly the quintessential example of this: friends followed by passion. However, with few exceptions, nearly every "Beast" I've seen or read about is bursting with animal magnetism (quite literally): it's never entirely believable that Beauty felt nothing until she said, "I do."

There's a writing problem here. In contemporary romances, the reader starts thinking, "Seriously, these two friends NEVER thought about the possibility of dating? It just kind of struck them NOW?"

It's an attractive notion, in large part because it allows for a narrative arc while explaining away the lack of a prior relationship. (If the couple did previously throw out the idea of dating, it is difficult to shake the unsettling notion that one friend is now settling or taking advantage: All my other relationships stank. You'll do.)

However, there are a few narratives with this approach that work:

Yup--This is before they became a couple.

Chandler and Monica: Yup, I found their relationship believable for several reasons. For one, they met each other during Monica's teen years. Chandler's few extra years in age and Monica's self-consciousness over her weight established Chandler in the role of "Ross's college friend," and roles can be quite powerful. They are good friends when the show begins AND (from a writing point of view) the writers prepare us for their eventual relationship. It was a surprise but not a total surprise.

Beauty and the Beast does work--it just doesn't work as effectively as romance lovers like me like to believe.

Orlando and Jonti from Cochrane's Cambridge Fellows Series: Orlando is a kind of Sheldon figure. It takes awhile for his body to get on board with his mind.

One variation of friends to lovers is "Not friends but knew each other because you're my best friend's younger sibling" (see Monica and Chandler)--I'll save that trope for another post.

Bronze Devil: Interview with a Translator, Part III

The Bronze Devil

3. Edogawa often breaks the fourth wall (Dear Reader). This is common to a great deal of manga, in which even a somewhat self-contained story will include a tiny note from the mangaka, off to the side in a panel, about how the character feels about being a character in a manga. Of course, these types of asides are also fairly typical of a certain era and genre, such as E. Nesbit’s children’s fiction. Do Japanese authors break the fourth wall more often than western authors? Is it an ongoing staple of the fiction? Or does its popularity rise and fall as it does in the West?

Serialized fiction like manga and light novels are still popular in Japan. By its very nature, serialized fiction creates an ongoing relationship between the writer and the reader. In the manga and anime Bakuman, about the creation and publication of a manga series, the manga artists constantly receive feedback from their readers, on whom their careers depend. I think this encourages the manga artist to engage in ongoing interactions with the audience. Social media long before the Internet.

Though in terms of Japanese authors in general, I don’t know if they break the fourth wall more often than western authors. 

 4. The chapter title for Chapter 6 is “Strange, Weird, and Bizarre.” The words have similar meanings in English but different connotations. That is, each word evokes different emotions and imagery. How important is connotation in Japanese? Connotation can rely heavily on cultural “insider” status, so a word like “slob” can mean something very different (and negative) to Greg’s mother in Dharma and Greg as opposed to Dharma’s parents. Does connotation carry such impact in Japanese fiction? Non-fiction? 

The Japanese expression in the chapter title is kiki-kaikai (奇々怪々), which is defined in the dictionary as: “very strange, fantastic, amazing, bizarre, freakish.” I covered all the bases. Though I think “strange, weird, and bizarre” is a good way of summing up the sense of the phrase.

Broadly speaking, I’d say there is more denotation in English and more connotation in Japanese (although there’s plenty of both in both). So much meaning in Japanese rides on the social context and the social status of the speaker relative to the setting and to the audience. 

Consider all the consternation that occurs in romances about whether to attach an honorific to a name. Or to address someone using a first or a last name. And when it comes to expletives, the same exact word can be translated quite differently depending on whether a child or adult is speaking and who they are speaking to and whether honorifics are involved. 

5. Is another Edogawa translation coming? 

For now, I’m working on Hills of Silver Ruins, a Pitch Black Moon. At over 1600 pages, it’s going to take a while. I may return to Edogawa after that. 

Thanks for the interview! Explore The Bronze Devil more here and here.