Shaken & Stirred

Thursday Hangovers

• I can never resist stories about things like aerial photos revealing strange circular designs all over our planet.
• A wonderful, wide-ranging (the Moomin books, Jack London, and on and on) essay by Matthew Battles about what being feral means. I'll filch only an aside for here, and encourage you to read the whole thing: "(A few years ago I was looking at one of Caldecott’s books in the company of Maurice Sendak; we were examining the concluding illustration in a tale about a little boy lost in the woods, a towhead fetally curled in a clearing while animals regard him beneficently from amidst the trees. The forest creatures came to wish him a good night’s sleep, the caption read. “Yes,” muttered Sendak. “Or perhaps they were ready for dinner.” Part of what makes Sendak one of our great artists of the feral is his ability to hold sentiment and nutriment in equal regard.)" See also: Maurice Sendak interviewed at NPR.
  
• Edward Gorey's letters and illustrated envelopes. Must get a copy of Floating Worlds, stat.
• This essay by Norman Sunshine about not being able to take his partner to the Emmys in 1976 made me tear right up.
• The NYT talks to André Leon Talley: "The downside of being around all this nature is that twice I have had a bat fly into my bedroom, having slipped in through the cracks of the screened window. I do not wish this experience on anyone. Nothing is more unpleasant than running screaming down the stairs, lying awake until dawn on the sofa, waiting for pest control to show up, only to hear, “Oh, it could be in your blanket or sheets, or behind a mirror.” (Once, a bat was found snoozing in the bathtub.)"
• Malinda Lo asks, "What does authentic mean anyway?"
• The brilliant Elizabeth Knox talks about why she writes fantasy (and has some perceptive things to say about Ms. Holly Black's Curse Workers trilogy, too): "But if I’m asked the question ‘Why do your books have to have angels and vampires etc…’ when I’m in a happy and expansive mood, I might just point out that, for human beings, the real world is made of facts, and stories. The world is how it is, and it’s how it feels; and how it feels is as interesting as how it is. Then, for myself, I’ll say I write fantasy because 1) I love writing fantasy, and because 2) Fantasy gives me freedom." (Also, huge and loud YAY to another Southland book; if you haven't read the Dreamhunter Duet, well, DO. And all her books, really. They're all wonderful. I just especially want more people in YA to read the Dreamhunter books. Oh, and there's a great new story set in the same world in Kelly and Gavin's Steampunk! anthology, which'll be out soonsoonsoon.)
• Finally, I love this sentiment that Ellen Kushner shares from Delia Sherman: "I hate to whine . . . but whining is an important part of my process." Me too, Delia. Me too.

Thursday Hangovers

• If you want to change your life, read Kim O'Donnel's newest column at USA Today and make some sofrito: "Inebriated by the sofrito perfume, my human dinner companions gathered around the stove like hungry dogs. They lapped up every last bit and begged for more the next day. I couldn't argue with them; The sofrito turned the ordinary into the extraordinary. It was the ultimate flavor zipper-upper, and I started to understand the possibilities for soups, stews and sauces, just like I learned how to use mirepoix (a combination of onions, carrots, and celery) in cooking school." I admit to being one of the humans in question, but, seriously, this is the most delicious thing ever.
• Gavin posts the cover for the next in Lydia Millet's middle grade series (which I still need to read the first of). It be gorgeous.
• Oh, and because I keep forgetting, there's a new issue of LCRW out--I'm still making my way through it, but LOVE the Carol Emshwiller and Joan Aiken stories (and it also has a new installment of Dear Aunt G, of course).
• J.L. Bell points to and comments on a discussion of why monachies are so popular in children's fantasy (and, well, I'd say broaden that to high fantasy as a whole, really). He adds an interesting thought I can't remember seeing as part of this conversation before (and which wouldn't apply to fantasies written for adults): "That’s because those fantasies don’t replicate the larger democratic society in which most of their readers are living. They reflect the smaller, more dictatorial societies of family and school, with rules set by “self-selected group of elites, often with special powers,” called adults." Check it out.
• Speaking of conversations, the one about GLBTQ characters in YA fiction centered around a guest essay at Genreville has turned into a bit of a hot mess. Regardless, I highly recommend reading the posts it sparked by Scott Tracey (one and two), Malinda Lo (who did a hero's work putting together those pie charts), and Sara Ryan. These are discussions we should be having.
• "The Dark Side of the Placebo Effect: When Intense Belief Kills" at the Atlantic.
• At Slate, Kara Jesella writes about Tavi Gevinson's new online mag for teen girls Rookie (which I have intense love for thus far) and how feminism and teen fashion have become more comfortable bedfellows. While at the NYT, Marisa Meltzer writes about girls embracing "grandma chic." (For reference: Y'all will remember how I feel about Sassy, and Jesella and Meltzer's fab book about it .)
• Laura Lippman talks about her new book, The Most Dangerous Thing, at Omnivoracious; found this bit especially intriguing: "I’m married to a writer, a good one, David Simon. We don’t talk about writing as much as people might think, but we have often discussed how to take an initial idea, the obvious idea -- angry father compounds son’s tragedy through his senseless rage -- and “flip it.” When I wrote the 4th of July chapter for The Most Dangerous Thing, I flipped it – and found myself staring into the tragic heart of the book."

Friday Hangovers

Where is the sun? Will it ever return? In the meantime, a few links.

• The revolution will not be searchable, but it will provide you with a robot chat friend.
• Janni is doing a poll about editorial experiences.
• Matt Ruff points to a series now on Hulu called Charlie Jade that sounds promising.
• Kate Elliott on beginnings, something I always find devil hard.
• Ellen Datlow on cliche (and offensive) depictions of older women in fiction.
• I'm pretty sure I've linked this before, but it was mentioned at the Millions and, really, it never gets old: Literary Pets.
• Sara Gran gives "Seven Pieces of Advice to a Young Writer."
• A great piece by Maureen Ryan on the scarcity of women writers in TVland. (Related: High five to Parks & Recreation. Also: Another good piece by Ryan on Felicia Day and "The Guild.")
• Take a look at trends in fall YA fantasy covers over at the Enchanted Inkpot.
• I loved The Magician King SO much. And I love this video for "I Wanna Be A Magician." 
• "Ancient Sea Jelly Shakes Evolutionary Tree of Animals."

Have a great weekend, my lovelies.

Guest Post: Lewis Shiner on "Tango: The Dance"

I first discovered Lewis Shiner's work years and years ago now, when a mutual friend gave me a copy of his short fiction collection Love in Vain. I immediately added him to my Favorite Writers list, and tracked down his novels. One of the things I love about Lew's work is that while everything he writes is immediately recognizable as his, I never know what to expect from the next novel or story. His latest novel, Dark Tangos, just out from Subterranean, is no exception. This tightly-strung thriller set in Buenos Aires sends recently-relocated techie Rob Cavanaugh on a journey filled with brutal political realities and undeniable romance, and it's highly recommended (and not just by me; Booklist gave it a starred review). I recently interviewed Lew about it, and today I'm thrilled to host his fascinating post about the dance in question.

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Most people in the US have an idea of what tango looks like. That idea comes from Hollywood, and it looks a lot like this famous scene from Scent of a Woman:



I've just published a novel, Dark Tangos, that has tango at its heart, but it's nothing like what Pacino is doing in the video. My novel deals with tango the way it's danced in the nightclubs of Buenos Aires--arguably the most romantic dance in the world. Given Gwenda's ongoing interest in romance in literature, she was kind enough to give me space here to talk about dancing tango.

First, a few definitions. What you see in Scent of a Woman, True Lies, and Rudolph Valentino movies is variously known as American Tango (ignoring the fact that Argentina is part of America too), International Tango, or Ballroom Tango. Valentino basically invented it for the movies in the 1920s, and ballroom dancers codified a set of patterns for the sake of competitions--the head snaps, the cheek-to-cheek extended-arm promenades, the spins that yank the follower in and out like a yo-yo.

Argentine tango itself is divided into two schools: show tango and salon style. Show tango is generally performed in open embrace, to make room for lots of fancy footwork, including kicks and leg wraps. This is what is most commonly taught as Argentine tango in the US, again because there are defined moves to build a curriculum around ("This month: Ganchos!") and because the dance is so dramatic. Here's a great example, from Sally Potter's The Tango Lesson:


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The skill level here is indisputable, but I have to ask, where is the romance? This looks more like a stylized kickboxing match than a makeout session. (You can also see Robert Duval pursuing this style in Assassination Tango.)

Finally, there is salon tango, more specifically, milonguero style tango. Milongueros are the old guys who hang out at the milongas, the tango dances in Buenos Aires, generally dressed in cheap suits with an open collared shirt. These guys have been dancing tango since they were kids; maybe they did the showy stuff when they were young, but now they have pared tango down to its essentials. They always dance in close embrace--one long, gentle, sensual hug.

My favorite teachers in the US are Ney Melo and Jennifer Bratt, who completely understand the milonguero style, based on many months in Buenos Aires, learning it from the masters.  Here's a video where they're performing for a small group of students to "Poema," one of the most beautiful of all tangos:

None of this is choreographed. Ney is leading all the steps, spontaneously, in the moment, and Jennifer is responding to his leads and embellishing in the spaces he leaves her--though, obviously, they both know the song really well. Notice the pauses, the changes in energy as the music changes, the way they never break their embrace, as if they can't bear to be away from each other for even a second.

Ney never leads with his arms--everything comes solely from his chest.  And all the steps must fit to the stringent rules of the dance. To say that this is harder than it looks is an understatement of epic proportions. My protagonist explains early in the novel:

"Tango, at some level, is simple. There are only three steps: forward, backward, and the so-called open step to the side. The lead comes from the torso. The arms, relaxed, merely extend the torso and add clarity. The hands are still.

"The steps come only at specific intervals in relation to the music. On the beat, or tiempo.  Double time, or doble tiempo, and half time, or medio tiempo. Then there is contratiempo, the skipping heartbeat of the habanera rhythm, the African ancestor who will not be denied, da-dum dum dum.

"Yet for every rule, tango finds a loophole. The leader can pivot the follower, or himself, before taking any of those three steps. Leader and follower do not have to step at the same time, or in the same direction, or take the same number of steps. The complexities multiply exponentially until hope of mastering even the bare essentials of the dance recedes into an improbable future."

Part of my protagonist's journey involves his experiencing the terrible violence that is part of Argentine history, especially the Dirty War of the 1970s (see post at Chasing Ray later this week). But part of it involves his growth as a dancer from someone who is just walking through a series of learned moves to someone who is actually interpreting the music. Given that tango music is so often about betrayal, loss, and doomed love, the two journeys are inextricably entwined.

In fact, writing Dark Tangos took me to a new level of understanding of tango--seeing it in light of Argentine history let me finally see both inevitable sadness in the music, and the triumph implicit in the very act of dancing to it.

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Visit all the stops on Lew's blog tour this week:

Mon 9/5	"Big Idea: Justice"
	John Scalzi's Whatever
Tue 9/6	"Tango: The Dance"
	Gwenda Bond's Shaken and Stirred
Wed 9/7	"Tango: The Music"
	Ron Hogan's Beatrice
Thu 9/8	"The Bare Necessities: Inspirations"
	Rebecca Joines Schinsky's Book Lady's Blog
Fri 9/9	"Old Fears: A Short History of a Dirty War"
	Colleen Mondor's Chasing Ray