Servant of the Underworld by Aliette de BodardOne of the very first fantasy books I read was Patricia McKillip’s The Book of Atrix Wolfe. Though it is an utterly beautiful book with a heartrending plot, it exemplified much of what slowly started to bug me about fantasy: the setting and plot devices tend to be utterly European, drawing from traditional fairytales (and in particular from a strong Celtic tradition, as is evidenced by the figure of the Fairy Queen, and that of her husband, leader of the Great Hunt). Over the years, as I delved deeper into the genre, I realised that most settings were faux-European (especially faux-Celtic, rendered with varying degrees of skill and accuracy by various authors). Coming, as I did, from reading a variety of mythological books and historical mysteries, among which non-Western cultures were at least equal to medieval England in terms of pre-eminence, this seemed to me rather sad, and failing to do justice to the great variety of human culture across the globes and the time periods.

Fortunately, one of the other books that I read early on was Ursula Le Guin’s Earthsea Quartet, which, not content with reversing the race dynamics (her heroes are brown-skinned, the evil invaders distinctly Aryan), also drew heavily on Polynesian cultures as well as on Asian philosophies (the ending of A Wizard of Earthsea in particular has always struck me as exemplifying the yin/yang dichotomy). When I started writing fantasy some years later, I wanted to step away from the traditional faux-European culture that seemed to be the backbone of most secondary world fantasies (though this has changed in the last decade, it has done so very slowly).
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Theft of Swords by Michael J. SullivanHello,

My name is Michael J. Sullivan and I’m the author of the Riyria Revelations. This series has been picked up by Orbit Books for a fall release and I’ll be back after Aidan’s honeymoon to tell you more about that. In the meantime, he asked if I would do a guest blog so that you all have something to read so you don’t go into withdrawls. I have a morning ritual that involves coffee and reading articles on my ipad. The day after the George R.R. Martin A Song of Ice and Fire debuted on HBO, I read a few reviews that really got my blood boiling. I wrote a blog boast entitled “Song of Bias and Prejudice”, but since I’m still a relatively new, and unknown author I don’t think many people saw it. In any case I think it is appopriate for the audience so I though I’d take this opportunity to share. I hope you enjoy. Here goes…

When I was in eighth grade I was caught with a copy of Tolkien’s The Fellowship of the Ring in shop class, by another kid. This “kid” who I will refer to as “Richard,” because that was his name, had been my best friend in sixth grade. Richard had just moved to the area that year and didn’t know anyone, and I adopted him when he was shunned by everyone else. After settling in however, Richard traded me for a better, cooler, best friend the following year. One of the ways he endeared himself to his new circle was by using what he knew, from our best-friend-years, to belittle and humiliate me, which always plays well to a group of twelve-year-olds trying to establish themselves as superior to anything. So when he found me reading a book, his eyes lit up with new potential.
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Songs of the Earth by Elspeth CooperI was in hospital recently (my gallbladder and I were in the middle of an acrimonious break-up) and as you do, I got chatting with my fellow inmates.

‘So, what do you do?’ asked the woman in the opposite bed, in the pink bunny slippers.

‘I’m a writer.’

‘Oh!’ Her eyes lit up. ‘Romance, is it?’

‘Er, no.’

‘Crime?’

I wouldn’t mind Val McDermid’s sales, I thought. ‘Actually, I write fantasy.’ I held up my copy of The Name of the Wind. ‘Like this.’

My interlocutor peered at the cover, but obviously didn’t recognise the name. ‘Is that like that Twilight, then? All vampires and werewolves and stuff?’

‘Not really. It’s more sword and sorcery.’ In the face of her blank expression, I fumbled for the one name I was sure she would have heard of. ‘Lord of the Rings.’

The shutters of indifference came down with a near-audible clang. ‘Oh. Stories for boys.’

I did try to explain, but apparently because I didn’t write about oversexed earls in pursuit of fluttering virgins, or ghastly Yakuza executions in grim grey cities, I was now off the lady’s literary radar. What she would have made of the longsword hanging up in my office I do not know.

The doctor who came to draw some blood asked me the same question, in a hearty, take-your-mind-off-what-I’m-doing-with-this-needle voice, whilst prodding my inner elbow for a vein.

‘So, what do you do?’

‘I’m a writer.’

‘Historicals?’

‘No, fantasy. Ow.’

‘My son’s into all that whatchamacallit, Assassins’ Creed, on his X-Box. I’ll get some gauze to wipe that up.’

A year previously, I’d had a similar conversation with my publisher. She’d just had a meeting with the fiction buyer from Waterstones, and the author gender vs target readership issue had reared its ugly head: boys won’t buy books written by girls, and it can affect sales by as much as ten percent – the horror! My publisher and I even went so far as to toss around some gender-neutral pen names like Alex Cooper before she decided that female was the new black for fantasy writers, and that was that.

Clearly, the publishing industry is well ahead of the curve here; for the rest of the population, fantasy is just not something that girls do. It is still perceived as a very male-dominated genre, the province of geeks and gamers and lank-haired Lurches in Slipknot hoodies. The likes of Jemisin, Downum, and Cashore have not yet penetrated the wider public consciousness. Meyer has, Charlaine Harris has, but we can’t all have big-budget TV shows and movies and enough with the damn vampires already! You’re giving us girls a bad name.

I was rather hoping that the Game of Thrones mini-series would start a few more cracks in the genre glass ceiling; if anything it seems to be reinforcing it, but that’s another issue, being debated elsewhere by minds more articulate than mine.

So, a question for the floor: if a woman tells you she’s a writer, do you assume that because she’s a woman, she won’t be writing about sharp edges, harsh realities? Does the gender of the author alter your perceptions of a book as you’re browsing in the store, and make you more likely to pick it up, or less?

If you’re at all familiar with this blog, you’ve probably realized, by now, one thing: Aidan Moher does not like my covers. Not since the discovery of the hooded man has Aidan Moher despised so thoroughly a creature. Perhaps this is something to take pride in: that man standing in water has overtaken hooded man as most despotic cover criminal. But I could not take heart in this, my friends. Not when I knew I had wounded Aidan so.

Admittedly, this was tragic news to hear when I first discovered it. It took some time, but I did heal. It took even more time to recover from when he kept raising giant, blown-up prints of Black Halo’s cover on my lawn and setting them on fire, but even then, my commitment to restoring my honor with Clan Moher did not falter.

And then, joy of joys, he delivered me this terse, brusque invitation to do a guest blog for A Dribble of Ink. And thus, a child of opportunity was vomited forth from the womb of fate, cleaned by the doctor of second chances and delivered squealing into the heaving bosom of mother friendship to nurse at the teats of–

Well, you understand where I’m going with this, anyway.

So this blog post, Aidan, is my wedding present to you. Inspired by the elegant simplicity of the Criterion Collection series of DVDs, I create, for you, a re-imagined set of artistically tasteful covers. May I present…the Moher Collection.

Black Halo by Sam Sykes

Tome of the Undergates by Sam Sykes
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Tomorrow, I’m off to get married. In consideration of this momentous occasion (and my temporarily altered priorities), I’ve invited a few of my friends to keep you busy while I’m gone. So, enjoy. I’ll be back before you know it.