You're an Orphan When Science Fiction Raises

You’re an Orphan 68 10.2478/abcsj-2020-0017 You’re an Orphan When Science Fiction Raises You JENNI G. HALPIN Savannah State University, USA Abstract In Among Others, Jo Walton's fairy story about a science-fiction fan, science fiction as a genre and archive serves as an adoptive parent for Morwenna Markova as much as the extended family who provide the more conventional parenting in the absence of the father who deserted her as an infant and the presence of the mother whose unacknowledged psychiatric condition prevented appropriate caregiving. Laden with allusions to science fictional texts of the nineteen-seventies and earlier, this epistolary novel defines and redefines both family and community, challenging the groups in which we live through the fairies who taught Mor about magic and the texts which offer speculations on alternative mores. This article argues that Mor’s approach to the magical world she inhabits is productively informed and futuristically oriented by her reading in science fiction. Among Others demonstrates a restorative power of agency in the formation of all social and familial groupings, engaging in what Donna J. Haraway has described as a transformation into a Chthulucene period which supports the continuation of kin-communities through a transformation of the outcast. In Among Others, the free play between fantasy and science fiction makes kin-formation an ordinary process thereby radically transforming the social possibilities for orphans and others. Keywords: adoption, Chthulucene, community, fairy tales, fantasy, genre, intertextuality, kin-formation, orphans, science fiction Morwenna Markova, raised by her reading at least as much as by her extended Welsh family, is the epistolary protagonist of Jo Walton’s Among Others (2010), a fantasy novel built on the intellectual underpinnings of the science fiction and fantasy literature Mor so passionately reads. The action of this coming-of-age narrative occurs chiefly throughout an academic year, as Mor journals and reads herself 69 You’re an Orphan into terms with her difficult past and a found family. Through Mor’s reliance on science fiction, Among Others extensively defines and redefines both family and community, arguing for the restorative power of agency in the formation of all such groupings. Following warnings to the reader and a prefatory flashback to an incident from several years previous, fifteen-year-old Mor’s journal begins in September 1979, recounting the day before her newly-met father would drive her off to boarding school. Daniel Markova had abandoned Mor and the rest of her family when she was still an infant. Having had no contact with the family in the intervening years between his departure and the novel’s opening, Daniel has effectively orphaned his children and is a complete stranger to Mor until she meets him in 1979. Worse, Liz, mother to Mor and her twin sister, is a magician but not entirely sane. Mor thinks of her mother as a “dark queen,” such as J.R.R. Tolkien’s Galadriel forecasts she would become were she to take for herself the power of the ruling ring (Walton 60; Tolkien 473). Less fantastical descriptions of Liz Markova note her general inability to engage with the soi disant real world, including a numerological approach to deciding her daily attire, leading to “wear[ing] her wedding dress to go shopping [or] a winter coat in July” (73). For much of their childhood the girls would be raised by the extended Phelps family, chiefly their mother’s sister and their maternal grandparents. This taking in left Liz’s inability to parent un-discussed and un-addressed; instead, the family continued a precedent of multiple generations’ standing: taking in nieces and nephews to supplement absent, dead, or inattentive parents. As is common in urban fantasy, being able to see magical beings or to use magic oneself is not available to everyone; in this novel, children, with their malleable beliefs, are more likely to recognize the magic around them. This and the family’s reluctance to address Liz’s psychological and moral unsuitability as a mother keeps the family from helping Mor and her sister protect themselves effectively against Liz’s use of magic: Mor and her sister are the only ones who recognized Liz’s magic alongside her madness. The girls rely instead on guidance from the fairies living in the ruins of industrialization on the hills around their town.i This guidance had been substantial. By the November before the novel begins, Mor and her American, British and Canadian Studies / 70 sister had successfully been able to use the fairies’ guidance to stop their mother from working to bind significant magical power to herself; in doing so, Mor’s sister was killed and Mor was lamed. Following Mor’s recovery from her injuries, she runs away, completing her orphaning as she has been abandoned by her father, has lost her sister, and hopes to escape her mother. Her family has ceased to be family for her: “when I needed someone, somehow that net of family that I counted on to be there for me, the way you might bounce down on a trampoline, disappeared, and instead of bouncing back I hit the ground hard” (46). Instead, she is taken into state care during the summer and ultimately delivered to a father she has never known, whose wealthy half- sisters now expect Mor to embrace the boarding school experience they had enjoyed in an English countryside that feels utterly alien to a girl raised in Wales. None of Daniel Markova’s family acknowledges that Mor has now also lost her country. Nor do they substantively step in to raise Mor but rather throw her to the responsibility of the school. In school she becomes Morwenna Markova, losing all of the names she had used, no longer being known by her grandfather’s surname (Phelps) or called by the nicknames (Mo and Mor) she had shared interchangeably with her sister. Despite attempts to distinguish them, like colour coding their clothes or, more sadistically, setting dogs at them to watch for Mor’s sister to show fear, Walton’s narrator clearly treats both herself and her sister as having been an interchangeable set, while both lived (14, 256). Now as the surviving half, she partly erases her sister and partly reinscribes her by assuming her name. Thus, Mor participates in the picaresque disguise tradition on which the eighteenth-century orphan novels build strategies for self-definition. Nina Auerbach ascribes to these orphans’ schemings and to their changing social statuses a “capacity for perpetual rebirth, [a] continual ability to shuck off the past and begin life anew, a lonely freedom appropriate to a being who is without a past to begin with” (398). However, for Mor, keeping her sister alive turns out to complicate the final disposition of her sister’s soul. Summoned back to the Welsh valleys for Halloween by the fairies, Mor is taught to gather oak leaves to help the past year’s departed cross over; she clings too long to her sister that night and her sister misses the window despite having one 71 You’re an Orphan of the oak leaves that served as passes through the darkness (87-90). Much later, Mor will instead help her sister to become one of the fairies, assisting her into a new kinship group (297). Cast into the care of a school rather than the fairies, Mor places science fiction, as a growing literary archive and as a community of readers and writers, in the parental role. As Maria Holmgren Troy, Elizabeth Kella, and Helena Wahlström observe, in literature female orphans frequently “aim […] to form bonds with people around [them] and to find, or perhaps create, a home” (16). In Mor’s case, she looks to her reading in the genre, the wisdom and creativity of its authors, and the analyses of fellow fans to support and develop her maturing worldviews. It is this kin-community, along with the fairies, that establishes for Mor a family against which her mother stands as a dangerous outside opponent, reaching in to strike against Mor. Because Mor’s past and present are marked by the instructions she has taken from both science fiction and fairies, Among Others puts the line – however blurry – between fantasy and science fiction in play. One frame through which to consider this is Arthur C. Clarke’s “laws” about predicting what will become scientifically possible, laws that run up against what he characterizes as a “failure of imagination” (20). While affirming that these failures often happen because “breakthroughs” by “their very nature […] can never be anticipated,” Clarke’s backhanded comparison of the science of the future to magic points to how few people understand the inner workings of their technological tools and toys (20, 24). Turned around, Clarke’s laws would seem to think of magic as the kind of thing that works – in narrative – by natural laws.ii Mor treats her magic as potential technology, and her method in a somewhat systematic investigation of magic as she has experienced it is twofold: she not only practices experimental magic (by extrapolating from what she has learned in interactions with the fairies back in Wales) to attempt spells that accomplish her own ends, but also considers how her magic might conform to rules, either those of the physical universe or those of the books she has read. In this experimentation and consideration, she discovers “why people don’t write real magic books. It’s just too difficult to put words around it” (126). Here she finds herself in a dilemma similar American, British and Canadian Studies / 72 to that of quantum physicists working to articulate real circumstances in terms of counterintuitive behaviours and probabilistic realities.

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