I don't know whether I need to get out more, or to stay in more and catch up on my reading.
For years I've despaired about SF and fantasy as genres enslaved by industrial publishing. The names of authors and titles washed past me; I ignored them, assuming they were just more wretched examples of franchise pizza masquerading as Italian cuisine.
It took the pre-release PR of the film version of Philip Pullman's The Golden Compass to stir me from my pastoral torpor. After seeing the movie trailer, I dug out a copy of the book at a nearby library. I'd managed about 60 pages of the first Harry Potter novel before going into a coma, so I didn't have high hopes for yet another well-hyped Brit fantasy.
Now I'm maddened by having to wait until tomorrow before I can get to a bookstore to buy the whole trilogy. All I can do tonight is grade papers and feel sorry for myself.
I'm also maddened by the thought that Pullman's been around for years: The Golden Compass appeared in 1995, and it's taken a dozen years for me to catch up with him.
If you're already a Pullmanite, you know what I'm talking about. If you're not, you have a hell of an education ahead of you. This is a writer of superb literacy who regards children (and seniors like me) as a serious audience ready to grapple with huge issues that make us turn the pages.
The title of the trilogy is His Dark Materials—a quotation from Milton's Paradise Lost, which is one of the greatest science-fiction epics of all time. Shame on me for not remembering the line from my undergraduate reading.
Pullman drags the blind poet into the age of quantum physics and makes him comfortable there. Then he proceeds to lambaste the poor old guy, and two millennia of religious tyranny, while telling a story that will shut you up and keep you hyperventilating from first page to last.
It's amazing, ironic, and strange that a kids' fantasy trilogy should deal with truly life-and-death issues, while genteel "mainstream" fiction worries about trivia. The irony is especially sour in that the trilogy's been out for years, but only the movie has triggered a hostile response from sincerely stupid Christians who think Pullman is a menace.
For good studies of that response, see this article in the Los Angeles Times, and this one at BBC New Online.
For writers of science fiction and fantasy, Pullman offers a hope of escape from Tolkien's elves and dwarves. Yes, you can write fantasy in clear, concise, vivid English. Yes, you can create your own world instead of being a sharecropper in someone else's. Yes, you can confront life, death, and the meaning of both without breaking into giggles or purple prose.
But part of Pullman's genius is that he never lets you relax. As soon as you think Lyra Belacqua and her daemon are finally safe, he tightens the screws even more. To match his kind of writing, you're going to have to work harder than you ever dreamed. The only consolation will be that if you can write as well as Philip Pullman, but not like him, you have written very well indeed.
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