Back when I was writing my first novel, I had a discussion with an editor (who shall remain nameless, except to say that she is not my editor), who was holding forth on the virtues of “invisible prose.” The last thing she wanted from writers, she told me, was anything that made the reader stop, for any reason at all.

And I couldn’t believe I was hearing this! Why not? Why not be stopped in your tracks by beauty? Isn’t that what happens in real life? And aren’t we glad when it happens?

I can only think that she hadn’t encountered truly beautiful prose, only pretentious attempts at flowery language. Or only overblown prose that says nothing but how clever the author thinks s/he is. Or even, perhaps, beautiful prose when it wasn’t the right moment for beautiful prose (there are times when the story doesn’t want or need it).

Sure, sometimes you just want to get lost in a ripping good yarn! But to require every story to be nothing other than a ripping good yarn makes no sense.

If you want invisible prose, why not eliminate the prose altogether — go watch TV!

But I think that’s the issue with that editor. She wanted the TV watchers to read her books.

“Sometimes I have encountered phrases of yours that are so beautiful, so breathtaking, that they throw me out of the story. I have to stop to digest the words, internalize them, try them on for size and color, and hang them on creatures or places in my head. Only then can I dive back into the story.”

I can only agree and add that, for me, reading Valente is like eating. Slowly. One glorious mouthful at a time. I HAVE to slow down, otherwise I’ll miss something tucked away in a sound, or a rhythm, or an image.

So I read every paragraph (sometimes every sentence) three times. Once to “meet” the beautiful unknown. Twice to be sure I didn’t miss anything. (I usually do!) And thrice for the sheer joy of it.

I’ve read both Mieville and Gaiman and find Catherynne’s work infinitely superior. And I LIKE Mieville and Gaiman! Her handling of mythological themes in “The Orphan’s Tales” and “In The Cities Of Coin And Spice” is simply mind-blowing.

There are many things I enjoy about good writing. What is most enjoyable to me, is exactly what I enjoy about Valente’s writing, namely, it opens up new ways inside of me to experience the REAL world and people. New ways of paying attention.

Will return with more loot after my next foray!

And just to be all self-congratulatory, I’d like to point out that I wrote that post about all the love before I reached the point in the book where the characters started talking directly about love…

And I do wonder too about what happens next with the humans coming to Pentexore…

Well, trilogy, yeah…

Now that I’m finished with the book, I’m trying to make out what the theme is. I do that with books I really enjoy, so I can get as much pleasure out of them as possible.

Hagia keeps intimating that bad things are going to happen because of John. Yet, as you reminded me, the funeral was a big to-do. So if the theme is about religion corrupting a functioning society, that doesn’t match up.

Maybe the theme is about the power of myth, or the relation between myth and reality? I’m still thinking….

New subject:
[SPOILER AHEAD, I'LL LEAVE SPACES]

I find it interesting that in Hiob’s time, he hasn’t met any of the non-human people. Apparently everyone’s human. So where have they gone? The trees are still sprouting things like books, so the magic or whatever is still there.

There are also hints in Hagia’s writing that humans are coming to their lands and that will change things big-time. What is that about? Armies, pilgrims, or both?

http://yuki-onna.livejournal.com/615326.html

So, continuing my previous thought….

Gaiman taps into existing mythology, and in Habitation of the Blessed Valente does also — so, that’s one similarity, at least for this book. I haven’t read all of Valente’s books yet, so I don’t know if that’s an ongoing theme in her writing. I’ve read three (well, two and 3/4) books of hers, and one of them (Palimpsest) does not relate to existing mythology at all…

But there is something that Gaiman and Valente seem to share — and by the way, I also find it in Jonathan Carroll’s work.

It’s going to be tricky to talk about, because as soon as I say the word, people will bring all sorts of previous associations to it; and some might dismiss it for what they think I’m saying, and some might think I’ve gone all gooey and sentimental — which, if you do, then I’m failing to communicate it well…

But this is it: Love.

In Gaiman’s work (I’m thinking American Gods, Anansi Boys, and the Sandman comics) he’ll definitely put his people through the ringer, sometimes through absolutely horrific experiences — But behind it all I get this sense of a great and benevolent love for people themselves. And, you know, I’m having a very hard time identifying how exactly he accomplishes this.

But I get a similar sense from Valente’s books. Definitely in The Girl Who Circumnavigated Fairyland, and Habitation of the Blessed. Less so from Pailmpsest, but that might just be me. (And not because of all the sex in Palimpsest. I have no problem with all the sex, actually — but that’s a discussion for another time.)

As unpleasant a person as Prester John is (early on), I’m ready to love him, because all the people around him will(remember, we have, quite early on, the scene of his funeral, where everyone mourned). And I already love Hiob (I loved him from the first sentence), and Hagia. And Imtithal — what’s not to love there? She’s made of love.

But this goes beyond specific characters. I get the sense that behind it all, Valente has this great love of people, and the world, and a great joy in witnessing all the permutations of world and people.

I wish I knew how Valente and Gaiman and Carroll manage to get that across. Carroll, as a matter of fact will absolutely shred his characters… and yet, and yet, there’s all that love.

And — you know what? That paragraph, that I just wrote, right above? Just as I wrote that, I figured it out:

You get it across by not getting it across. By not doing anything. You get it across by being that way yourself, and just writing your story. And it comes across, all by itself.

That’s it.

Those are interesting comparisons…

LeGuin — Stories as a way of understanding a culture, as in Always Coming Home, now that you point her out to me. I hadn’t thought of that before. But also, of course, A Wizard of Earthsea. And the stranger coming into a strange culture and finding it incomprehensible but learning better, as in The Left Hand of Darkness.

China Mieville — Yes, but I think that the resemblance there is more cosmetic than deep. He does have wild sights, and uses wild language, which Valente also does, but differently. But where they most resemble each other is that they’ve each adjusted the language to “embody what it indicates”, as in the Houseman quote, above.

Neil Gaiman — Yes, but not in the obvious way… well, actually, in the obvious way too, but the less obvious way is much more interesting. And I want to expand on that, but oops! Have to get to the library before the bookstore closes, so I’ll expand on it later.

Not wishing to leave you on a cliff-hanger here, but the bookstore closes at 2PM. And I have to put on, you know, clothes. Else society would object.

(PS. “Gone with the Wind meets Transformers” — I WANT TO SEE THAT MOVIE!)