The latest installment in an occasional series on speculative fiction by guest poster patrickg:
Distant Suns: Nuncupatory questions.
Any other writer with Jack Vance’s bibliography (well over fifty novels), and his years of activity, would be a legend in the SF/F field. But Vance, whilst certainly hailed by many as a great writer, is not the kind of writer whose influence is easy to trace. His books are not wildly popular, his advocates live in the periphery of genre and his fans – though devout – are small in number. Why should an erstwhile reader, keen for a richer picture of the f/sf genre delve into this author? Never really ground-breaking, somewhat publicity shy, and curiously unique, Vance is almost an island apart from the continents of mainstream science fiction and fantasy.
This said, it’s an island that can be a nice place to visit, as typified by his Lyonesse trilogy, a kind of Arthurian fantasy he wrote in the eighties. Lyonesse bears many of the trappings from conventional ‘high fantasy’: fairies, trolls, knights both virtuous and dastardly, scheming kings and mysterious wizards. And yet, the treatment of these staples is quite different – especially compared to what was being published at the time. Lyonesse seems both more simple, and more ornate.
For starters, it’s unusual for fantasy of that time to be concerned purely with kingdoms. Usually, of course, the kingdom is at stake, but events typically have a greater world-ending significance (see Eddings, David). Not here: the concerns of the Lyonesse trilogy are thoroughly domestic. Pure Evil is replaced by venality, and Vance also eschews that favourite of world-ending fantasies, the messianic stable boy (see also, Eddings, David). His protagonists are usually kings or queens, wizards or fairies.
You might think that this is Vance’s area of influence. Modern high fantasy is, after all, very much concerned with affairs of the state; your Martins, Hobbs, Abrahams, etc. But the difference here is that whilst it is a focus, it’s not a strong one. Vance doesn’t really seem to care all that much about these empire building events except insofar as they provide interesting opportunities for his characters.
Indeed it’s these opportunities that Vance seems to most relish, deploying his situational chapters with a deft, professional hand, and flavouring them with inimitable dialogue. This is where the ornate comes from; Vance dialogue is an anachronistic, eloquent treat. Even his non-messianic stable boys possess a handy turn of phrase, and he’s not afraid to let the banter flow with an almost theatrical generosity. Vance’s characters speak in a very mannered, yet surprisingly charming way that brings to mind P.G Wodehouse, or even Trollope. A sample:
“Your methods are incorrect. Since I entered the chamber first, you should have dealt first with my affairs.”
The clerk blinked. “The idea, I must say, has an innocent simplicity in its favor.”
It’s unusual to read fantasy or sf where the characters seem to have wandered in from a Wilde stage play. Vance’s fans (a small but very devoted group) would apply that level of praise to his writing as a whole. I do think they’re a shade myopic in doing so. Vance’s writing, make no mistake, is enjoyable. It’s competent, easy to read, descriptive when it needs to be, and curt when not. But these qualities are predominantly in abeyance in fantasy as a genre. Readers with a more inclusive palate will appreciate his qualities with general prose, but I wouldn’t expect to be transported by delight.
A similar observation can be made in regards to Vance’s characters. They are all archetypical, and very straightforward with regards to their motivations and fears. Change is unusual – if someone starts out “good”, they’re likely to stay that way and the reverse holds equally true (in most of his books). It’s not a bad thing, per se – a good meal can be a simple one – but you do get the sense that Vance is utilitarian with his characters and has little interest in surprising the reader, or fleshing out the subtleties. In Lyonesse, Vance also includes a number of very young protagonists. It’s strange – no, I should say, it’s quite retro – to be reading about fourteen year olds talking (like courtesans!) having adventures, falling in love etc. in what is clearly an adult book.
So you’re left with an Arthurian, strangely inconsequential story, almost a romp, with a mannered style of dialogue and young protagonists, filled with fairies, magical objects and enchanted forests. This certainly doesn’t bring to mind other Arthurian-styled fantasy, so heavy it could be considered the emo of fantasy. What it does remind me of, is fairy tales. Particularly the wonderfully told stories of Andrew Lang, best found in the coloured fairy books.
Lyonesse is like a fairy tale on steroids, or perhaps the oaked and matured version of the blunt stuff we drunk in our youth. Reading it was both an exercise in nostalgia and a re-invigoration – Vance is so at-ease with his prose and knowing with his deployment of fairy-tale tropes, it functions successfully both as homage and pastiche. I don’t know how much you would like these books if you don’t like fairy-tales, or prefer a more… sententious kind of a read.
This said, I tend to prioritise narrative over other qualities in writing, and I found myself willingly swept up in this story. I’ve read a few other Vance books and didn’t find them as quite enjoyable as Lyonesse (but with >50 novels to his name, it’s a bit of a crapshoot). I do find myself wondering, though, as I read his books, that here’s a guy with an output only rivalled by Moorcock or McAffrey – both tremendously influential. Why isn’t Vance considered a cornerstone of the genre, as opposed to a diverting by-way?
Looking at his (published) champions, I begin to get a sense why. Dan Simmons, Michael Chabon, and Gene Wolfe are all on record as ardent fans. Like Vance, these are writers that inhabit the peripheries of the genre – fossickers mining whatever stories happen to catch their eyes and unsatisfied being pegged as ‘fantasy’, or ‘science fiction’, or any number of labels.
With his workman-like dedication to writing with little regard for trends or genre mores, maybe Vance’s influence is more widespread than it initially seems. It is, perhaps an influence that appeals to the misfits; those with an eclectic, and ardent taste to their writing. Not just Simmons, Wolfe and Chabon, but Tim Powers, Kage Baker, Jonathon Carrol and even Connie Willis. Steven Brust also shows flashes of Vancian dialogue in his works. These are all prolific authors with a wide spectrum of books to their names, and I think in some regards it’s too easy to ignore them. Their stories are rarely the ones that race up the bestseller lists like Donaldson, Eddings, etc. Their tales might be epic, but they’re frequently contained in a single book. And they’re hard to pin down. It’s difficult to know exactly what kind story you’re going to get when you pick up a book by these authors, save for its quality.
So whilst Vance might seem a one-off in the canon, I think you could argue he is more representative of the field – the trade – of writing for fantasy and science fiction (or more broadly, the trade of writing full stop). You write what you have to sometimes, what you want more frequently, but more important than a lightning bolt of genius is a regular, affectionate toil that hones your craft which each sentence and, hopefully, sparkles with something unique. Without Vance, we would still have the titans of the field, but would we have the field?
I’ve tried reading Vance’s stuff, but I just can’t get into it. (Admittedly, the last time I tried was at least 30 years ago.)
I liked the many Vance books I have read, although, apart from the Lyonesse trilogy, I am confounded as to their titles – perhaps because I have been a voracious reader of the genre(s) for many years, until my failing eyesight discouraged me, such that I largely stopped recreational reading about 15 years ago.
I found his writing style sufficient to engross and involve me in the worlds he devised, and that for me, is the perhaps most valued criterion by which I judge a writer’s work(s).
I do think that his work is more than “mere” craftsmanship, though, and bought as many of his books as I could find, something which I have only done with writers whose work I regard as a “cut above” the rest (in accord with my admittedly eclectic tastes)
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There was an article in the New York Times magazine on Vance recently:
http://www.nytimes.com/2009/07/19/magazine/19Vance-t.html?_r=1
I found it via this post and discussion thread on Crooked Timber, which makes the point that Vance has a ‘sociological imagination’. He is particularly concerned with status – which is reflected in the lines patrickg quotes.
http://crookedtimber.org/2009/07/17/vance-in-the-nyt/
Great links, Tim. I actually had a truckload in the original piece, but the CMS ate them up. Some of the highlights below:
Great fan pages on Vance: here
and The Foreverness Project, a Vancian explosion of info, “http://www.integralarchive.org/”>here.
I can’t do more links than two or I’ll get spaminated, but I’ll come back later and add some of the others.
David, I think with Vance it very much depends on what you start with, where. I would also say that fans of Hard SF, or hard anything really, will come away from his books deeply disappointed.
My favourite description is from the first link above: “My own belief is that Vance can best be conceived as a tailor of prose, to whom plots are the tailor’s dummies on which to array the wonderfully cut and remarkably colored garments that are his real business. The dummies must be sturdy and shaped well enough to properly hold and show off those garments, but fashioning such dummies is not what his craft is all about.”
Patrick, nice to see this positive and balanced appreciation of Vance’s work.
I think he’s perhaps more ground-breaking than you give him credit for (Lyonesse, although in many ways his best and most accessible work, is his attempt at a Big Commercial Trilogy and not fully representative of his oeuvre). The Dying Earth, although it owes something to Clark Ashton Smith, invented an entire sub-genre, 9and underwote Dungeons and Dragons with its magic system). The Cugel books, with their oddly compelling anti-hero, would also have seemed more innovative at the time than they do now.
I’d also argue that the prose is better than you give it credit for, in that those hardcore Vance fans you mention (of whom I am one!) relish that above any other aspect of his work.
Another aspect of Vance’s achievement which I think is understated is his emotional range. Few other writers in the genre–or out of it–could pull off the frothy Wodehousian comedy of Space Opera alongside the melancholy lyricism of Emphyrio.
As you, say, though, Vance is not a writer for those who prefer their SF hard!
Patrickg! You mentioned David Eddings and Anne McCaffrey in this post? Surely the most obvious difference between them and Vance is that one is able to read Vance past adolescence?
If he has a sociological imagination, I should definitely be reading him!
I find Vance one of the most intriguing of SF&F writers because of his longevity and the sheer breadth of genres across which he has written. For this reason, his influence stretches to a wide range of authors.
He was around in the Golden Age of SF, and I find that most of the writers from then (well, they’re pretty much dead now) weren’t that relevant beyond the 70s.
His writing can be very mannered and obscure, but he often (with his characters)takes a 90 degree turn from where you thought things might go next. Hence the point towards the eclectic list of champions hinted at by Patrickg. His depictions of politics and society in alien society are always more well drawn than the technology. Edmund Cooper and a number of other obscure writers from the 60s and 70s used to do similar, but their books can no longer be found in public libraries. More’s the pity.
And even as an older writer he always seemed to remain contemporary. I have thought the same about Jack Williamson at times and Pohl to a degree, whereas many of his contemporaries never made it past modernism (nor did JWH – political snark).
Lyonesse was fun. I’ve kept those for my sons to read and would read them again, though I’ve sworn not to touch any Arthurian Fantasy with a bargepole (it’s like stirring alphabet soup). But for an interesting read, get into his science fiction. If you don’t like the book you’ve chosen put it away and pick another one. He offers that much variety.
Glad to see I’m not the only one who likes Vance, I’ve mentioned him to so many people only to get blank stares!
Correct me if I’m wrong, Tim, but aren’t the Dying Earth books and the Cugel books one and the same? I see your Ashton Smith reference, I also think Dying Earth in particular has strong echoes of William Hope Hodgson’s The Night Land (itself a work much admired by Asthon Smith).
I guess when I say he’s not groundbreaking (compared to some far inferior writers, as alluded to by Chookie), I would argue most of his books were neither the first of their kind, (Dying Earth excepted, kind of, but that’s like 6 out of 70!), nor the template that set the standard tomorrow. His vision is such a singular one it seems other writers (and sadly readers) were reluctant to take up the reins.
Don’t get me wrong, though, Tim. I do enjoy his prose a lot; competent isn’t an adjective I throw around lightly for fiction writers. By way of comparison, I would call someone like Raymond Chandler or Philip K Dick competent, it’s a compliment!
I agree wholeheartedly with you, Roger, though I think there’s still a few writers from that era putting out very good quality work. Le Guin leaps to mind, and for shockingly contemporary you can’t go past Alfred Bester in my book (at least, his first two….
I hear you about Arthurian fantasy. I think in some ways the better high fantasy writers of today (like Daniel Abraham dance with the themes (though not necessarily the symbols) better than those writing in the genre itself. I think T.H White is all there is to know about Arthurian fantasy, and all you need to know!
I should point out to anyone else reading that Tim is not only a novelist himself, but he’s actually written a post on his excellent blog about Jack Vance.
Patrick, thanks very much for your kind link to my blog.
You’re right that the two Cugel books are in the same series as The Dying Earth, but very different in tone. Cugel shows Vance’s black humour at its darkest, while The Dying Earth, probably more influential, has all the shimmering lushness of a writer who’s just discovered how talented he really is. Vance soon brings that tendency towards pyrotechnics under stern control, and his later work benefits from an economy at far variance from his popular reputation for the baroque.
I agree with you that Vance remains a minority taste, when many less talented writers enjoy greater sales and popularity. There are high entry barriers to reading Vance: the sophisticated vocabulary and formal dialogue deter many (and Vance doesn’t always help himself with his sometimes cavalier attitude to plotting); but for those whose pleasures lie in that direction he’s hard to beat.
Patrick, I reckon that Le Guin and Bester are the next decade along from Vance – I’m not going to claim to be soo old, but I read every short story that I could get my hands on from the 30s to the 60s by the time I was a teenager in the mid 70s. Vance was already on my radar then. BTW le Guin and Bester also, but I remember Vance as writing earlier.
I reckon as a writer, he has always looked out at the mainstream genre and thought, “Well, if they’re zigging, I’m going to zag.”
Tim S, yes, his books are mainly entertainments, but what pleasures they are.
Nice to see that I’m not the only person who appreciates Jack Vance. My personal favourites are “Ports of Call” and “Night Lamp”, which is wonderfully creepy. It’s the overall adult fairytale feel of his work and the witty, intricate dialogue that really provides a point of difference. I find most of the high fantasy s/f genre a bit plodding – it takes itself way too seriously.