Vol. 7 No. 1, 2017
Total Page:16
File Type:pdf, Size:1020Kb
The Cascadia Subd uction A LITERARY Z QUARTERLY on 2017 X Vol. 7. No. 1 e ESSAYS Daughters of Earth After the Election: An ever- Janet Essley present emotional weight by Anya DeNiro The Second Annual James Tiptree Jr. Symposium: Celebrating Ursula K. Le Guin by L. Timmel Duchamp POEMS Before Helicopter-Heads Arrived by Mark Rich The Firebird’s Revenge IN THIS ISSUE by Sonya Taaffe Continuity Imperative by Bogi Takács BOOK REVIEWS Testosterone Rex: Myths of Sex, Science, and Society by Cordelia Fine Spill: Scenes of Black Feminist Fugitivity by Alexis Pauline Gumbs The Island of Lost Girls by Manjula Padmanabhan Sisters of Tomorrow: The First Write, Speak, Organize Women of Science Fiction Vandana Shiva, Navdanya, India Ask questions edited by Lisa Yaszek and Christina Ora, Solomon Islands Patrick B. Sharp “If your takeaway…is that The Cascadia Subduction Zone sounds really Judenstaat interesting, you’re not wrong—it’s a wonderful journal filled with thoughtful by Simone Zelitch and insightful criticism.” FEATURED ARTIST h Niall Harrison, The Guardian, May 12, 2016 Janet Essley $5.00 Managing Editor Arrate Hidalgo VOL. 7 NO. 1 — 2017 Reviews Editor ESSAYS Nisi Shawl After the Election: An ever-present emotional weight h Features Editor by Anya DeNiro 1 L. Timmel Duchamp The Second Annual James Tiptree Jr. Symposium: Arts Editor Celebrating Ursula K. Le Guin Kath Wilham by L. Timmel Duchamp h 4 $5.00 POEMS Before Helicopter-Heads Arrived by Mark Rich h 2 Continuity Imperative by Bogi Takács h 10 The Firebird’s Revenge by Sonya Taaffe h 11 BOOK REVIEWS Testosterone Rex: Myths of Sex, Science, and Society by Cordelia Fine reviewed by Nancy Jane Moore h 12 Spill: Scenes of Black Feminist Fugitivity by Alexis Pauline Gumbs reviewed by Maria Velazquez h 13 The Island of Lost Girls by Manjula Padmanabhan reviewed by Joanne Rixon h 15 Sisters of Tomorrow: The First Women of Science Fiction edited by Lisa Yaszek and Patrick B. Sharp, with a Conclusion by Kathleen Ann Goonan reviewed by Steven Shaviro h 16 Judenstaat by Simone Zelitch reviewed by Bogi Takács h 18 FEATURED ARTIST Janet Essley h 20 Subscriptions and single issues online at: To order by check, payable to: www.thecsz.com Aqueduct Press Print subscription: $16/yr; P.O. Box 95787 Print single issue: $5 Seattle, WA 98145-2787 Electronic Subscription (PDF format): [Washington State Residents $10 per year add 9.5% sales tax.] Electronic single issue: $3 In This Issue Cover banner collagraph of the Cascadia subduction zone by Marilyn Liden Bode After the Election: An ever-present emotional weight y by Anya DeNiro As a transgender woman and a specu- course, people who have been battling lative fiction author, I’ve been striving to with these kleptocratic and racist forces figure out what might be coming down for a long time, particularly people of the pike from a Trump regime. And color, have been speaking the truth of One thing that speculative fiction is really good at from there, how to both (1) nurture and the matter for an equally long amount is telescoping historical of time. The revelation has always been protect the progress we have already moments from the macro made, and (2) craft forward-looking ongoing, and we need to honor — and to the micro very quickly, solutions that assesses the chaos that is read extremely closely — those stories and this adeptness is a about to come with a clear head. The and voices who have reckoned with this skill that will be sorely “feel” and texture of our current moment brutality already. needed.… is like something from a science fiction More specifically, as a trans woman novel gone off the rails. and author, I’m acutely aware of the lack I don’t think there’s anything new in of published stories out there for other saying this. But it’s a difficult moment no trans and non-binary people (not just as matter how many times it’s said. What spectacle for cis readers, however well- I’ve noticed is the ever-present emotion- meaning). This means finding room and al weight of this Trumpian moment — doing the heavy lifting for trans writ- friends and peers reporting anxiety and ers to reach a full, healthy audience — an difficulty sleeping from the events that audience that is desperate for stories unfold around us. If speculative fiction is, that actually resemble the contours of to an extent, a way to “read through” cur- their lives. The urgency for this to hap- rent events, then how do we read through pen in the age of Trump is stark. Trans what’s happening to us now? people are an easy target (and as usual, i I certainly don’t have any easy or pat trans people of color are going to bear the brunt of this) for legislative rollbacks answers. All I really have are processes, 1 daily practices, different constellations of basic rights and fear mongering, all to of mindfulness and activism. One thing make transgender and nonbinary popu- that speculative fiction is really good at lations appear as subhuman. One only is telescoping historical moments from has to see how quickly LGBT culture the macro to the micro very quickly, has been brutally suppressed (though and this adeptness is a skill that will be it still, amazingly, thrives in the mar- An apocalypse is not just a sorely needed as we tend to ourselves, gins and shadows) in Putin’s Russia in moment of destruction — it to our most vulnerable populations in the last few years to realize that it can is also a revealing, and our happen here as well. These aren’t just global skein of capitalism our neighborhoods, and for people with stories, then — these are potential life- has certainly had its whom we can make common cause half- lines for trans and non-binary people in intentions laid bare.… way around the globe. We need to use situations that might feel hopeless and these critical thinking and writing skills fraught with violence against them. So to make connections in a variety of ways; these lifelines need to be written, they and moreover, make sure that these con- need to be distributed, and they need nections are coherent in their own right. to be actually found by the readers who An apocalypse is not just a moment Anya Johanna DeNiro need them. This all requires an ecosys- of destruction — it is also a revealing, and is a writer who lives in tem of readers, reviewers, publishers, and our global skein of capitalism has cer- Minnesota. Her work writers, trans and cis, who are committed tainly had its intentions laid bare with has appeared in Asimov’s, to making this happen. Strange Horizons, One this alliance of white nationalists and Story, One Teen Story, the usual cavalcade of plutocrats that Persistent Visions, and has gained traction in 2016. The Re- elsewhere. She is currently publican Congress, for example, isn’t writing young adult novels particularly hiding the desires to gut the with young trans women ACA, Medicare, and Social Security. Of as protagonists. n Before Helicopter-Heads Arrived Mark Rich Before helicopter-heads arrived whatever pictures took shape we walked dull pavement, shared space in among the seeming disconnections. with slowed cars, and then made traffic I had read so many bold-font bold lies be our own, alone. Our feet that each newspage word claimed avenues and intersections reflected on my deadened eye, and their crumpled wrappers, wheel-scraped coins, not eye on word. Sweet soporifics and worn-short city grasses, green in cracks. wafted around sofa, bed, and desk. We spread ourselves as lightly as we could, Always, a plastic table-muse with bending knees beneath breasts heavy revived old tunes, to drone them dead again. with but single heart apiece When friends said, “Walk with us, from all that beat within and help us fill our city’s streets,” this many-hearted beast I humored them and their small gathering, that, salamandrine, had crawled forth this day. then found myself within a milling, For fire, some say gunfire, massing flow — and lost myself in thoughts had brought about its birth. that played between those round-about. To rhythms set by footfalls I floated like twig caught and turned murmurs passed between us, by stream-eddies. I woke to how sharing struggles taking in our undirected shiftings, back and forth the news. Soapboxers called out antidotes and to and fro, might alter scores to morning buzzbox toxins on tally sheets and balances in ledgers, that fat wallets paid even when such truths, or otherwise, to have sleek whitemasks kiss into our ears. behind high-rising steel and glass facades, H Long banners rippled soft percussion, had been filed in secrecy, at each breeze-touch. Hand-scrawled sealed with bureaucratic earwax, 2 placards flapped. Words stitched us and, in public, overlooked into this unlikely quilt in smiling ways by those who oversee. that crept with unexpected life. Our motions, if commencing in in-common thoughts, may write upon the world, A patchwork piece, I entered a space if only in ink shoe-scuffed onto black roads. where senses unmoored. A mist rose, While we learn from indecisive strayings, for a heartbeat. Just behind me when a moment coalesces I heard doors close — not that any forms our small, separated strengths loomed near save walking ones like mine. combine and concentrate. Yet in that passage, in that throng, And what abides, and can be called abiding? a girl appeared, as through a doorway, Only what coheres lone but seemingly unlonely.