(Not sure
whether it’s right to write about Dorina and Dory as two different characters
when we still know so little about Dorina, but anyway, here goes)
When
reading Fury’s Kiss for the first time, there were these passages that
frustrated me immensely. I can see why Dory naturally assumed that it was
Dorina attacking her in her own mind – she’s only ever “seen” Dorina that one
time at Radu’s estate, plus some jumbled memories from before the divide – and then
there’s the waking up surrounded by bodies thing… But I didn’t wanna believe
Dory. Because those few glimpses we get from Dorina’s POV just don’t fit the
picture of the bloodthirsty maniac that Dory has of her other half. Sure, she’s
good at what she’s doing, which in the situations we see her in is mainly
fighting, and also killing when necessary (no one to mourn there, though). But
so is Dory herself, and Louis-Césare, and loads of other characters.
Dory fears
Dorina based on very little actual proof, namely on her surroundings when
waking up and on what’s probably nothing more than hearsay. I doubt that Dory
has ever talked to anyone who met Dorina and lived to tell her about it except
for Mircea, and of course Dorina doesn’t react all too well to him as he is the
one who imprisoned her in her own head (with good cause, insists my inner
Mircea fan, but does Dorina know that?). And even given his, and later
Louis-Césares, scant experiences with Dorina under very stressful
circumstances, they don’t think she’s irrational, or cruel, or bloodthirsty, or
any of the things Dory assumes about Dorina. Just… good at what she’s doing…
So I wonder, as Dory was so spectacularly wrong about Dorina based on little
evidence, what was/is Dorina’s take on Dory based on pretty much nothing at
all?
Dory
speculates on this at some point, but given the situation she was in at that
point and her generally skewed perspective on this, I doubt that her views are
all that accurate. This is going into speculation territory fast, so let’s see
what Dory thinks are Dorina’s feelings about the person she shares a mind with:
“Maybe she
hated my weakness, my humanness, as much as I hated her vampire-ness […]
Maybe instead of a crawling bug, she viewed me as a more insidious kind – a leech,
taking her strength, her energy, her prowess, and squandering them.”
First of
all, Dorina doesn’t seem as preoccupied with Dory as vice versa. She doesn’t
think at all about her alter ego, which for me is something that contradicts
Dory’s assumption that Dorina has nothing but contempt for her. When Dorina
takes over their body for her nightly trips in search of the angel child, she
shows no sign of hate or anger at Dory for being handed a damaged body. She
just… rolls with it, I guess. Which she’s certainly capable of. So that
speaks against Dory’s theory that Dorina views her as something “usurping” her
body and then giving it back broken because she’s so utterly incapable. I’m not
sure how aware Dorina is while Dory is in control (although I think there must
be something subconscious going on because she fights harder to get out when
they are in danger?), but it doesn’t seem to be enough to always know what Dory’s
up to and why, so she can’t know what Dory does with their body while she’s
absent. She doesn’t seem to be too interested, either, never makes an effort to
get an explanation for the situation she’s been put in. So I think indifference
would be a better description for Dorina’s attitude toward Dory than contempt
or hate. And then there’s the fact that in Fury’s Kiss, Dorina always brings
back their body before the night is over, although she’s not technically forced
to, not being bound by the sun cycle and all. So maybe I’m over-interpreting
this, but I think it shows that Dorina tries not to mess up Dory’s life too
much and sees Dory’s goals as important, too.
“Living a life
no master vampire would have considered for so much as a moment, with no
family, no servants, no respect.”
We know
that Dorina does want a family, which is why she tried so hard to rescue the angel
child she found at the beginning of Fury’s Kiss. We also know that she tends to
look down on others, regardless of their race, and that she’s especially
suspicious and to a degree contemptuous towards vampires. But I think Dory gets
it wrong here. Dorina wants a family not/less for the prestige and power that
it brings, but because she’s lonely. Those times she comes out, she never has
the opportunity to form bonds with anyone, and most of the time she’s locked up
inside her head, so no chance at finding someone to belong with. I don’t know
what kind of power the child might have had, but it’s obvious that she doesn’t
try to find it because of what it might do to improve her status. She does it
because she feels protective, and because she hopes there might finally be
someone who doesn’t freeze in terror at the sight of her (and is therefore weak
and unattractive to her), treats her with contempt or threatens her with
imprisonment or worse.
“I wondered how
she’d felt about [dhampirs not having status]. How she’d liked having even baby
vampires look down on us, watching them insult us, denigrate us […] knowing
that we – that she – were perfectly capable of destroying the lot of them.”
Here’s
something that Dory might have gotten right because it’s something that they
share. Dorina surfaces when she senses Louis-Césare acting disrespectfully and treating
her as if she was weak, and is placated by his apology and gesture of
subordinance. Dory gets angry, too, when vampires don’t treat her as the very
capable and potentially dangerous person she is, like when she went to see
Mircea and slammed that arrogant guard through a wall. They both hate it that
they’re treated the way they are by vampire society, and they both react
accordingly, although Dory naturally assumes that Dorina’s reaction is way
worse than her own. So, the starting point for this assumption is probably correct,
but her conclusion is not. Again, I’m guessing, but as is evident from the end
of Fury’s Kiss, Dorina not only doesn’t seem to hate Dory, but develop some
kind of tentative… respect, maybe? for her other half. They cooperate when
fighting Lawrence (which is a survival necessity, yes, being of one body and
also mind, more or less) and instead of trying to subdue Dory, or in any other
way even making contact with her, Dorina vanishes after the fight, maybe
mourning her own losses. There’s no hate or contempt there, just a profound
feeling of being estranged. Which, considering the last five hundred years,
seems like a good starting point to try and move toward each other again after
being cut off from half their selves for so long.
Ride the Storm Book Review: I received an ARC (advanced readers copy) from Karen Chance in exchange for writing a spoiler free review and that’s going to be difficult let me tell you because this book is 608 pages of non-stop action, plot twists and fantastic dialog! When this book comes out on August 1st don’t buy one copy, BUY TWO; you’ll need them because this book is so good you wont be able to put it down even for a minute! Your children will run amok, you’ll burn dinner two nights in a row, the dog will stare forlornly at you from next to his leash and your husband will wonder if you’ve finally lost your mind because you will bump into walls walking with the book in front of your face; you’ll trip over shoes and toys and forget to eat because you cant stop! You have to find out what happens on the next page!! And that second copy? you need it for when you inevitably take the book to the bath tub after the children are in bed and you drop the first one because NO! THAT DID NOT JUST HAPPEN!! 😀 Karen Chance is a Master wordsmith and proves it once again with book 8 in the Cassandra Palmer series. Her writing just gets better and better. If there were a Senate of Authors, Chance would be the Consul. Her words are that powerful; the action scenes so intense you’ll find yourself leaping up from the couch or pacing frantically around the room as you devour them because you can feel them right down to your bones. You just know if you don’t move, leap right along with them, do SOMETHING they might not make it! Like one of Cassie’s visions you are sucked in and jerked along for a 600 page tornado ride that sucks everything from the first 8 books up in its maw and spins them wildly, throwing everything you thought you knew in a whole new light and nothing will ever be the same, and you’ll love every minute of it!!!! The only thing I can say is Bring on Book 9!!!! After riding this Storm I can’t wait for MORE!!!!!
Posted on goodreads bc Amazon would not let me for some fucking reason. So, *ahem*….
Bought ARC through Read the Pixels event.
Absolutely great book. Let’s start there. This is the second half of the previous book that, due to length, the publisher forced Ms. Chance to break in 2. Ride the Storm is over 600 pages, not a quick read. Whereas the last book set up everything with only a few bits of plot resolved, this book went forward in leaps and bounds. It was fast paced and detailed. There is betrayal and heartbreak, revelations about her parents and others in her life. We meet new characters that may forever change the dynamics Cassie has with the Circle and Jonas. New allies are picked up along the way and Cassie puts in motion ways to protect her old ones from “friendly fire”. I absolutely loved this book…..BUT it does take a while to get several big story arcs concluded. There were a few times that I felt there were extra pages and details that seemed superfluous to the point while reading I had wished the author was able to combine one of two events so to trim down a hundred pages. Overall a good 4 out of 5 stars. It would have been 4.5 out of 5 but the small cliff hanger at the end (set up like the ones in the early books) was annoying especially since it relates to one of the main story arcs that had only partially resolved. The ambiguity made me want to grind my teeth.
I highly recommend this book to read especially if you were upset about the lack of resolution in the previous book.
***Mild spoiler below****
This book will nearly resolve the love triangle. I say nearly because the small cliff hanger at the end implies complications that may hinder her choice. It may not be what you expect or what you hoped for.
Ok, so this is helpful…of course for those of us who have been waiting a long time, we kinda knew most of that. Given that Karen has been diligently plugging away at the publisher for a long time…I would have been shocked if it was LESS than 600 pages. And given that Karen isn’t sure of publishing another one…well the cliff hanger is gonna suck! No, honestly…
Apollo and Artemis – the golden twins; children of Leto and Zeus. Both defended their mother’s honour when Niobe, the daughter of Tantalus, boasted of having more and better children than Leto. The twins killed Niobe’s children, leaving her to weep eternally.
Artemis and Apollo remained close to each other always. Both siblings would become associated with the skill of archery, and they enjoyed hunting together. Artemis grew to become the virgin goddess of the hunt, of wild animals, and of childbirth and Apollo was the god of music, prophecy, healing, and youth. He never married, but he was by no means a celibate. He fathered more than a dozen children by at least nine different partners (his most famous courtship was that of Daphne who, rather than submit to him, chose to transform herself into a laurel tree).
Hey, I thought this might be a little relevant #Karen Chance Fans
For me, the Holocaust is a real emotional thing. I had no grandparents growing up, but we spent lots of time in our apartments in Miami in a Jewish enclave, I guess. It was a gated community on North Miami Beach with three towers, a little convenience store, a restaurant and pool, and Dock slips for boats. And so my babysitters were retired Jewish retirees, most of whom were holocaust survivors. I was 2 or 3, the first time I heard of the Holocaust. I was spending the night with the Fusses, whom I called Grandma and Grandpa Fuss. I had taken a number and written numbers on my arm, to be like them. I didn’t understand why it horrified these two Holocaust survivors. I still remember the tears pouring down Grandma Fusses face as she scrubbed my arm with a sponge from the kitchen. Eventually, I learned their story. Two people who were the only survivors of their families who found love after the camps. I heard about their parents and siblings who died in the camps. I remember that one of their sisters was a ballerina. She was a teenager when she went into the camps and she ade it through the initial separation because a guard thought she was beautiful. As an adult, I know what that meant but as a child I remember thinking it was so beautiful that she gave the food to her sister. He would take her to his office and have her dance for him. She would come back with extra food for grandma Fuss and cry herself to sleep. She never made it out of the camps. And though it hurt, Grandma Fuss to tell me that story, she did it in whispers and with tears. She told me it was my job to remember her sister, the ballerina, always and forever a teenager. I was in 1st grade before I thought of it again, in a meaningful way. I went to school in our temples basement in Dunwoody, Georgia. and one Monday we didn’t have school. Over the weekend someone had broken in and defaced desks, couches and chalkboards with swastikas. I saw that symbol and remembered Grandma Fusses tears. And I knew that it was evil and I was hated. I never understood what those teenagers were thinking as they painted a symbol of hate or scratched it into surfaces. I am shocked and horrified at the news today that Hitler never gassed his own people. I know that is not true. I am one generation removed from the survivors. Their children were my parents generation. As we remember our flight from Egypt this week, so too do Jews remember the Holocaust. Last year, Elie Wiesel , a Holocaust survivor, and Nobel Laureate author, died. He has many quotes…too many to list about why Jews wrote down their memories for my generation and forward. Read his Nobel speech, or even just the quotes that come up on google. We remember the generation lost. All 6,000,000 of them. Men and women, Mothers and Fathers, Children and Artists, Brothers and Sisters. But I want to be real here. These are the approximate numbers: Number of Deaths Jews: up to 6 million Soviet civilians: around 7 million (including 1.3 Soviet Jewish civilians, who are included in the 6 million figure for Jews) Soviet prisoners of war: around 3 million (including about 50,000 Jewish soldiers) Non-Jewish Polish civilians: around 1.8 million (including between 50,000 and 100,000 members of the Polish elites) Serb civilians (on the territory of Croatia, Bosnia and Herzegovina): 312,000 People with disabilities living in institutions: up to 250,000 Roma (Gypsies): 196,000–220,000 Jehovah’s Witnesses: Around 1,900 Repeat criminal offenders and so-called asocials: at least 70,000 German political opponents and resistance activists in Axis-occupied territory: undetermined Homosexuals: hundreds, possibly thousands (possibly also counted in part under the 70,000 repeat criminal offenders and so-called asocials noted above) But, Hitler never used chemical weapons on his own people https://www.quora.com/Why-should-we-never-forget-the-Holocaust
Happy Passover from the White House. Sean Spicer claims Hitler “didn’t use chemical weapons on his own people.” Uh, GAS CHAMBERS anyone? Or are we reading Richard Spencer’s history books now?
This is what happens when you elect white nationalists and the alt. reich to run the country.
My absolute favourite in the series has to be the revelation at the end of Hunt the Moon. It suddenly made everything fall into place and make sense, and rounded off a topic both highly relevant to the plot and very important to Cassie.
“My power wasn’t some alien thing, I thought, watching the sky in wonder. It wasn’t borrowed from another or stolen from a better candidate. There was no better candidate; there never would be. It had flowed away from Myra as soon as it saw me, like the tide when the moon comes out. Because it was mine—it was mine; it knew it was mine.” – Karen Chance, Hunt the Moon.
The revelation had such a cathartic, enlightening effect (literally enlightening too, note KC’s pathetic fallacy in relation to the Moon in the scene), and as Cassie’s thoughts summarize, she has finally understood her place in the world, accepted her role as her own, and found herself. Such an amazingly pivotal moment, coming so surprisingly late in the series (book 5!), it really raises huge questions as to what other major bombshells the series has in store.
I view the whole series as Cassie learning who she is. i don’t agree with all the romance people who see the triangle and root for one person or the other. Cassie is who I root for. And Cassie has a completely unique viewpoint. And as Cassie grows into her own, she going to keep making choices that make people mad. But in this book she realizes, finally, that it isn’t about the party or the dress, or even who her mother is. Its about her. Its about finding that one place to stand. If you die, you die. But Cassie is the Pythia. Period. End of Report. F*ck everyone else. and we see more of that in the later books…I can’t wait to see what happens next. And I totally root for Cassie when she says that she isn’t releasing anyone from their pledges and no one is dying for her damn it!
“And, at the moment, some fuzzy blue stains that glooped along until they hit the mantel. And then flowed along its massive carved shelf until they fell off the other side. I blinked at them for a moment, and then wobbled over. They hadn’t waited. By the time I got there, they’d traversed the entire length of the room and disappeared. But before that, they’d gotten a little clearer for a moment. And instead of random blobs, they’d formed themselves into a vaguely person-shaped thing, with a distinct head, torso, and a couple smaller bits that might have been arms or tentacles. I supposed the former was more likely, but considering where I was, I wasn’t ruling out the latter. But here’s hoping , I thought, and stuck my head in the fireplace. Or, more accurately, through the fireplace, because the bastard wasn’t really there. It shouldn’t have surprised me—what does a vampire really And now that I thought about it, I vaguely recalled the consul vanishing into one the last time I was here, when she’d thought I was too out of it to notice. Like I had just done. It took a moment for my eyes to adjust to the dark, and then to notice that I was standing in a corridor, surrounded by a wedge of hazy light. It was coming from a filmy ward over the surface of a square opening in the wall. The fireplace, I assumed, which was apparently just for camouflage. I could see the whole room from here, including the bed, which was creepy. But not as creepy as another light monster coming my way. What is this, Grand Central? I thought, staring stupidly at the haze for a second, which was getting rapidly brighter. And then I stumbled quickly in the opposite direction. It wasn’t exactly a run, because running into utter blackness isn’t fun, and I wasn’t really up to it right now anyway. The best I could manage was a shuffle, with a hand on the wall for balance. But at least there was nothing to trip over, because nobody had bothered about decoration in here. It was just a concrete floor, cold against my bare feet, and an equally cold blank wall. Or it was until a reddish light started coming toward me from the other direction. I turned around, but the purple light monster was still there and still coming up strong behind me, judging by the way shadows were jumping on the ceiling. Well , s hit , I thought, backing up, trying to get a wall behind me. Which would have worked better if there had been one there. But my reaching hand found only air, just my ears registered a difference in the echo. I was standing in front of another opening. my head spinning, so I didn’t see much as the blobs passed by outside. Just flickers of different colors strobing in through the opening for a second. And then they were gone and everything was dark again. Except for something that gleamed to the far right of the room, displacing a tiny bit of dark. My eyes fixed on it, and after a moment, it came into focus. It was a candle. I felt my spine relax, and I let out a breath I hadn’t noticed I was holding. It was sitting on a small table by a bed. The bed was big and old-fashioned, with a canopy and curtains to close it off from the cold—and the consul’s spy tunnel, I assumed. It was the sort that had gone out of style with humans when things like central heating came into vogue, but had retained its popularity in the vampire community due to offering added protection from the sun. Of course, that wasn’t needed here. A windowless room inside a vampire stronghold was about as far from sunlight as it was possible to get. But the bed was there anyway. So it probably belonged to one of the older vamps, who tended to be more traditional. And who probably wouldn’t be thrilled to wake up and find a dhampir looming over him or her. I paused, because the last thing I needed was another fight. And if whoever was in there was old, they were probably also powerful and well rested and I…was not. So it might not just be inconvenient. I should go back to bed. kill him for five centuries and had usually ended up dead instead. He was fine and I didn’t even know that this was his room and he was fine . I moved closer. What the hell, feet? I thought, but the feet didn’t comment. Except to send up happy signals about the squashiness of the rugs and the smoothness of the wooden patches in between them. Which were brief because it looked like somebody had mugged a caravan in here, with a dozen priceless rugs scattered carelessly around. But at least they muffled my steps, not that I was worrying about it by the time I got halfway across the room. Because along with fine leather and old books and the faint smokiness of the candle was an even fainter scent. Dark and musky and piney and— “Mircea.” He was lying on his side, pale and cold and white, and for a second, my heart stopped. Until I told myself not to be stupid. He was a vampire . And when they rest, they don’t always bother to keep up appearances. Especially if they need their strength for other things. But I didn’t breathe again until I bent over him, and brushed fine strands of loose, dark hair off his face. And saw beautiful pale features, which unlike mine had been cleaned up. And vampires don’t waste time on corpses that aren’t going to rise again. So if he was here— could repair anything to do with the mind. Couldn’t he? I glanced around. It would help if he had eaten, but if so, dinner had already departed. I frowned at that. What if he woke up hungry? What if his mental abilities were impaired after everything that had happened? Why the hell was nobody here? The guy was a goddamned senator. Didn’t he rate a nurse? I glanced at the door, and thought about raising some hell, even if it got me kicked back to my room. Or into a cell, more likely, because no way was Marlowe just letting me walk out of here. The number of guards had said that much. But, of course, Mircea did rate a nurse, he rated a whole roomful of them. So if he was alone, it was by choice. But I still didn’t like it. What if that thing was still around here somewhere? What if it attacked him again? Only it wouldn’t, would it? If Radu was right and it hadn’t been Dorina, then it was almost certainly someone with a vested interest in my not recalling what happened on that pier. And that meant if it came back for anyone, it would be me. I felt my lips draw back from my teeth slightly. Good. It would save me the trouble of having to track it the hell down. Because I would. The son of a bitch had hurt Mircea. And nobody got to do that but me. I stared at him a moment longer, but he wasn’t looking real conversational. I shoved my hand through my hair, then cupped it on the back of my neck. The muscles were so tense there, it felt like I could flick a thumb against my nape and hear it twang. Like feel like leaving, even though there was no reason to stay. Mircea was already in a healing trance, judging by the fact that he hadn’t woken up as soon as I came in the room. He didn’t need medical help, beyond what he could give himself, and as for mental… Well, whatever abilities I had were locked up with my other half, and she wasn’t talking. But I still didn’t feel like going anywhere. Mircea’s hand slipped off the sheet, to the mattress at his side. I started to pick it up, to put it back in place. And then I stopped, my fingers hovering a few inches above his. Even in a healing trance, something like a touch might wake a master. In fact, on some level, he was probably already awake, at least enough to have identified me as not posing a threat. But a touch might set off alarms, might make him wonder if he’d identified correctly. And I didn’t want that. Mircea often managed to run circles around me in conversation even when I wasn’t about to fall over. We needed to talk, about a lot of things, about a lifetime of things. But this wasn’t the time. And then there was the fact that this was…nice. Odd, because I could never remember being with him without having my hackles up, without being tense and guarded and watchful. I had, of course; that scene in Venice proved that. But it had seemed almost…surreal. That girl with her bare toes and her candy-thieving ways and her obvious adoration of her equally adoring father…it just…I couldn’t… I pulled my hand back. wasn’t an expression I’d seen very often. Or ever, actually. But then, maybe he’d never had much to be relaxed about. I wondered what it had been like for him, in those early years. For someone trained his whole life to be the leader, the provider, the protector, to suddenly be unable to do any of those things. To be a prince without a country, or a treasury, or an army—or even a body he could understand. Because his exile had come at the same time that he’d been dealing with this whole new existence that had been foisted onto him. He’d gone from having everything to having nothing, almost overnight. And yet, somehow he’d managed. And in Venice, of all places, which had been a snake pit of vampire intrigue, back in the day. And not only managed, but taken care of others at the same time. I won’t always be weak.… And he never had been. He never— I swallowed and blinked back tears. God, I didn’t know what the hell was wrong with me. That attack must have messed me up more than I’d thought. Then I decided to hell with it and leaned over, placing a soft kiss on his forehead. And heard a softer sound behind me. I turned abruptly, because I hadn’t heard the door open. But it must have, because dinner was waiting on the threshold. Tonight’s tasty morsel was young and pale, with messy blond curls and unsettling bright blue eyes. They looked a little unfocused, like she was looking both through me and at me at the same time. She was a little creepy. She was also useless right now. “He doesn’t need you,” I told her, clutching at my sheet, which what he needs.” She just stood there, her mouth hanging open. I thought there was a chance that she might be a little slow. “You can go,” I repeated. “Vamoose, amscray, make like a tree. Do you get it?” “Yeah.” The voice had gone flat, cold. “I get it.” And then the next thing I knew, I was sitting all alone in the middle of a field filled with mud and some very startled cows. Who weren’t half as startled as I was. I got up, slid on a cow pie and went back down, landing in a puddle and splattering mud everywhere . And somewhere far off, like an echo of an echo, I could swear I heard someone laughing. The fuck ?” #Karen Chance, Fury’s Kiss
So, this may make me unpopular BUT…I don’t know who I want to see together. There are plenty of reasons to hate both the men in Cassie’s life. They are each manipulative. And Pritkin, well he’s actively trying to kill her for a really long time. And then trying to sacrifice himself for her, because he doesn’t know how to live without her. Mircea isn’t always perfect and there is some hidden conspiracy involving the pythian court. But Cassie wouldn’t have made it through all the trials and tribulations of being Pythia without BOTH men. And Mircea loves her. He send her lots of family members and despite the power dynamic being fluid, he is always supportive. And when he finds out all the stuff that’s been happening–well vampires don’t do fear well. And yet, he loves her and doesn’t apologize for it. Pritkin may get there, but he isn’t used to living at all. Mircea has been the one left behind-by his mother, and by Dorina’s mother. He has struggled to raise a child alone and with no help. So he tries to protect Cassie, is that so bad? But he also keeps her out of the political shit too. He hasn’t turned her over to the consul, or ordered her away from Vegas.
And I gotta be honest, even when Pritkin is “sacrificing” for Cassie its pretty self serving. And yet…He’s got that tragic hero vibe. But I think Mircea gets a bad rap. He is off trying to keep Cassie safe by staying away. Cassie and Mircea could be a power couple. I just don;t know where I want it to go…
The bolded sections represent quotes from the criticism he received. All the z-snaps are in order.
Your characters are unrealistic stereotpyes of political correctness. Is it really necessary for the sake of popular sensibilities to have in a fantasy what we have in the real world? I read fantasy to get away from politically correct cliches.
God, yes! If there’s one thing fantasy is just crawling with these days it’s widowed black middle-aged pirate moms.
Real sea pirates could not be controlled by women, they were vicous rapits and murderers and I am sorry to say it was a man’s world. It is unrealistic wish fulfilment for you and your readers to have so many female pirates, especially if you want to be politically correct about it!
First, I will pretend that your last sentence makes sense because it will save us all time. Second, now you’re pissing me off.
You know what? Yeah, Zamira Drakasha, middle-aged pirate mother of two, is a wish-fulfillment fantasy. I realized this as she was evolving on the page, and you know what? I fucking embrace it.
Why shouldn’t middle-aged mothers get a wish-fulfillment character, you sad little bigot? Everyone else does. H.L. Mencken once wrote that “Every normal man must be tempted at times to spit on his hands, hoist the black flag, and begin slitting throats.” I can’t think of anyone to whom that applies more than my own mom, and the mothers on my friends list, with the incredible demands on time and spirit they face in their efforts to raise their kids, preserve their families, and save their own identity/sanity into the bargain.
Shit yes, Zamira Drakasha, leaping across the gap between burning ships with twin sabers in hand to kick in some fucking heads and sail off into the sunset with her toddlers in her arms and a hold full of plundered goods, is a wish-fulfillment fantasy from hell. I offer her up on a silver platter with a fucking bow on top; I hope she amuses and delights. In my fictional world, opportunities for butt-kicking do not cease merely because one isn’t a beautiful teenager or a muscle-wrapped font of testosterone. In my fictional universe, the main characters are a fat ugly guy and a skinny forgettable guy, with a supporting cast that includes “SBF, 41, nonsmoker, 2 children, buccaneer of no fixed abode, seeks unescorted merchant for light boarding, heavy plunder.”
You don’t like it? Don’t buy my books. Get your own fictional universe. Your cabbage-water vision of worldbuilding bores me to tears.
As for the “man’s world” thing, religious sentiments and gender prejudices flow differently in this fictional world. Women are regarded as luckier, better sailors than men. It’s regarded as folly for a ship to put to sea without at least one female officer; there are several all-female naval military traditions dating back centuries, and Drakasha comes from one of them. As for claims to “realism,” your complaint is of a kind with those from bigoted hand-wringers who whine that women can’t possibly fly combat aircraft, command naval vessels, serve in infantry actions, work as firefighters, police officers, etc. despite the fact that they do all of those things– and are, for a certainty, doing them all somewhere at this very minute. Tell me that a fit fortyish woman with 25+ years of experience at sea and several decades of live bladefighting practice under her belt isn’t a threat when she runs across the deck toward you, and I’ll tell you something in return– you’re gonna die of stab wounds.
What you’re really complaining about isn’t the fact that my fiction violates some objective “reality,” but rather that it impinges upon your sad, dull little conception of how the world works. I’m not beholden to the confirmation of your prejudices; to be perfectly frank, the prospect of confining the female characters in my story to placid, helpless secondary places in the narrative is so goddamn boring that I would rather not write at all. I’m not writing history, I’m writing speculative fiction. Nobody’s going to force you to buy it. Conversely, you’re cracked if you think you can persuade me not to write about what amuses and excites me in deference to your vision, because your vision fucking sucks.
I do not expect to change your mind but i hope that you will at least consider that I and others will not be buying your work because of these issues. I have been reading science fiction and fantasy for years and i know that I speak for a great many people. I hope you might stop to think about the sales you will lose because you want to bring your political corectness and foul language into fantasy. if we wanted those things we could go to the movies. Think about this!
Thank you for your sentiments. I offer you in exchange this engraved invitation to go piss up a hill, suitable for framing.
Here follows is a non-comprehensive list of historical female pirates and sailors, women of color first:
Ching Shih (1775-1844): controlled south China seas, had 80,000-man fleet at her disposal, outlawed rape, extorted retirement package from the Chinese government.
Sayyida al-Hurra (1482-1562): Pirate queen of Morocco who bedeviled Portuguese and Spanish fleets after being kicked out of Spain by Ferdinand and Isabella in her youth.
