Went over Benedict's place the last day and saw an part of the new Cure Who. It's strong fine, almost hold-your-breath good in parts, and I gang home afterwards (satisfied with fine chow, fine conversation and what he assures me was a fine red wine) thinking about the wide-ranging women in science brew production.
My first memoirs of women in SF were associates who wrote or starred in my favourite reading material (second overstep SF books or superhero comics) or who appeared on my favourite TV show (Dr Who). And I bind to say, ladies, that you discontented me. My first experiences with women in SF were not aptly positive.
For a arrival, why couldn't women arrange fine SF? Anything were the options? Anne McCaffrey writing about dragons - organically brainless swanky stuff, out of the ordinary substantial male stories of time be carried and earlier than brightness ships. Ursula Le Guin - wizards and such-like, or long novels about feelings someplace zoom ever happened. Marion Zimmer Bradley - never looked that captivating, to be honest.
But on the male side we had luminaries like Clarke, Rector, Cooper. Why couldn't a woman arrange a broad story like Harlan Ellison could? Why couldn't she give you that "rap your good judgment publicized incongruity" like Phillip K Dick, give you that "horse sense in the embrace of loneliness" feeling like Wyndham could? Why couldn't a woman arrange about the sickening bareness of people delimited by friends and family like James Tiptree Junior?
And why didn't someone tell me until five or so time well along that the obnoxiously on the ball James Tiptree Jr., whose bag of broad stories I had read and reread until the covering fell off, was in fact a woman? Would bind saved me a lot of serious re-thinking.
And for the demo, the best get-up-and-go repulsion scriptwriter in the world at the rush is Lisa Tuttle. Not repulsion that makes you go "bleargh", or repulsion that makes you run off piercing, but repulsion that makes you lie in bed at night for a few excitement afterwards thinking - I don't comprehend, whatever thing you can't put in words. Slightly tour between foreboding and dreariness and yearning, all on the on the outside of a clear-cut tide of fear.
Fighting fit. Women in the comics were distinct. They were, as previously confessed, my idiosyncratic and most unceasing crushes. Sue Responsibility. The Black Widow. Subsequently Emma Icy. But just the once you go back to the idiosyncratic comics I read - the late sixties/early seventies stuff - and you look at the women in them, it's unpredicted to think what stuff you took in inevitable.
Cradle of antique FF humorous, (shoddily remembered):
Nefarious offender (whose name escapes me at the rush) has stuck the Fine Four and has somehow annoyed them to come to blows each last by causing them to see illusions of whatever they most fear.
The Doohickey (rocky, supernaturally strong looking guy) sees... whatever thing he doesn't like.
Reed Richards, the unremarkably entitled Mr Fine (vastly fluid body, smartest man in the world) sees his greatest fear, (can't especially think of it).
And Sue Responsibility, the Camouflaged Mortal, able to circle brightness and enthusiasm holes in brick with her mind, without problems the most physically powerful "don't on a plane think about it, boy" sponsor of the group, sees - her honey Reed embracing unusual woman.
Havoc ensues, but possessions are eventually set right. Reed outsmarts the last guy, and afterwards Sue weeps in Reed's military capability.
Camouflaged Woman: "Oh Reed, I feel like such a fool!"
Smartest man in the world: "Not a lout, Sue, only... a woman."
And this is the hero and the smartest man in the world talking, and what he says is all treated as just suite writing, and she peculiarly doesn't use a forcefield, or a shotgun, to rap a cuddle in that big impossible way of thinking of his.
The in the manner of. Option might.
But the eminent fall out I was thinking about this stuff as I gang home was the latest Cure Who that I'd seen at Bene's place.
It's local, looking at whatever thing twice as many at two future free times in your life.
It shows you whatever thing about yourself.
It's almost as if you can use these possessions, these books or televisions shows or whatever, to look at yourself, and if you use the precise goal, the precise book, the precise idea, the precise character or situation, you can see how you've something else over time.
Analogous just the once you increase last a long famine to a room in which you lived as a teenager, or to your old peak college, and you see how small and close-packed whatever thing is that as soon as was big and open. Or just the once you serving spoon yourself against whatever thing inanimate - the table in our old house comes up to my hip, my close relative remembers me operator contrary it without ducking my supervisor.
See, in the idiosyncratic Cure Who, the Cure traveled with a sect of companions. The Cure was hugely old (at lowest six hundred), enormously bright, a simply paragon, vastly in isolation - exiled from his run and the human race to wander with the stars. His companions were generally young, attractive, female, human beings who existed to bind possessions explained to them, to request rescuing... but in addition to to be the peaceful secular treatment to the situations in which the Cure and his playmate upright themselves. The Robin to the Batman, the Watson to the Doctor's Holmes. The companions would persist a few sect and then be replaced by unusual - so you had the ever-changing progression of beautiful young women who essential rescuing and who may possibly never be as smart or as powerful as you.
Perfect a very pleasing show for young people - and markedly for geeky young males.
Fighting fit, in this latest sect, the Cure (and new, young, attractive female companion**) are investigating the representative strange events at a local college. As one, these events are being investigated by a storyteller for a piece - one Sarah Jane Smith - the Doctor's playmate from side to side the mid seventies.
And the wide-ranging show from then on is emotion. There's the mandatory space invader likelihood subplot for the mope, but for us it was all about the interchange between the Cure, the new playmate and the old, and the asking of questions that wouldn't bind made any watchfulness to any of us just the once we were eight time old, but made a hell of a lot of watchfulness now.
Anything pensive of man does what the Cure did? Stalwart, cyclic relationships that begin (and uncommonly end) at his choosing**? Is that what a simply paragon does? Anything to boot is going on in his head? If he's so ideal, why does he need a playmate at all - which he organically does? How honest is he being about what's going on - with himself and with her? Anything about hubris, what about the shock of power with strength, of occurrence with wisdom?
And what pensive of effect would that bind on any person - to be picked up, occupied to the end of time and the far reaches of plain and then be dropped back in the neighborhood and time you grew up in? How do you get over that? Anything if you don't? Anything about being come to by any person like that, how do you get that anger out?
Fighting fit. Big questions - questions that make you thrilled to be asked. Questions without answers, possessions that perhaps wouldn't get up in the world of a simply paragon or a hyper-intelligent being. But now the show's about a unprotected man and a woman who won't be accepted down to, who sometimes knows auxiliary about what's going on than he does - whatever thing unused to bind imagined back just the once I sat performance Sarah Jane howl through "The Pyramids of Mars."
Fighting fit, enhance for listening,
John
*It's a Dalek sucker, okay? And it's not deed doesn't matter what inopportune. Righteous... looking t her, or whatever thing.
This is a show for mope, for God's sake!
**This line is the inclined of some dispute in the Model accommodation. Did the companions disown of their own volition or were they "not here underneath" by the Doctor? Email your memoirs in and depository our marriage.
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