May I introduce you to the Handheld Press?

hp-vert smallLast week I became a company director, of the Handheld Press, because I’m going to publish books. I’ve been working flat out for several months, doing two jobs at once. Setting up a publishing company takes a lot of administration, as well as starting work, right away! on the first books. I’ve done pretty much every other job in publishing apart from actually BE a publisher, so the editing and the planning now feels entirely natural and normal. ‘Twas not always so.

On a Friday in March, a friend with whom I am editing an academic book, with me in the scary tough editor role, told me (possibly as an affectionate gibe) that I should set up my own publishing company. I spent the weekend muttering ‘nah …..’, ‘well ……’, ‘maybe ……’, ‘but what if ……..’, ‘and I could do …….’, ‘that’d’be a way to do …….’ and ‘what do you think about …..’. The consensus was clear: move ahead cautiously and see what was involved. I knew immediately what I wanted to publish (reprints with proper introductions, scholarly research passions, and science fiction), so I started talking to friends in the business, and friends in business. But the first thing to do was to work out, and then buy, the domain name.

The name Handheld Press took a few days to decide, while I was furiously busy doing other tasks. I’d write down names as they occurred to me, cross them out, take out bits and make new names, cross them all out and start again. Everyone I’ve told the name to has liked it instantly, so I hope it will work for everyone. I wanted the name to suggest tactility, because my books will be books you can hold in your hand, as well as in a handheld e-reader. It also suggests being led by the hand to new and wondrous things, and the pleasing sensation of an object big enough and the right shape for the hand, but not too big, unwieldy or ill-formed. Handheld Press was also a second choice: I really wanted Handheld Books dot co uk, but that domain name had gone, and the only trace of it online was something a little dubious. Handheld Press dot com is a small engineering business in the USA selling metal stamping gadgets. I doubt we’ll interfere with each other’s business. Handheld Press has the advantage of being a press, that can make more things than books. I began to talk to printers.

hp-horizBy the end of March I had added translations from Dutch to my now pleasingly eclectic set of Handheld lists, because I know a translator from Dutch who immediately sent me pages of reprint suggestions to consider, and I have a lot of Dutch and Flemish friends with their own ideas. A month later I was briefing a relation by marriage who just happens to be a typographer and brand identity specialist, because I needed a visual identity and some kind of typographical design to set up a website. Without a website I wouldn’t be able to register at Companies House, and no-one would take me seriously without one. One month and several conversations later Andrew delivered a beautiful brand identity, and I was in business. Website, Twitter, Facebook.

By May I had signed up with the Real Jobs scheme at my university’s design department, and I now have an earnest and impressively focused student designing me a book series. It’ll take time, because this commission is part of his degree portfolio, but I need the time: I have four books and their introductions to edit and proof before I can drop them into layout. (It was around this time that I began recalling everything I ever learned from the designers in English Heritage’s publications department, where I spent some very formative years.) I also have a Handheld Research title ready to publish, but for that I need a proper contract, and a letter of agreement for the reprint introductions. Time to talk to lawyers.

I’m looking for freelance designers (I have a lovely collection of beautifully designed business cards). I also need authors, and they are remarkably easy to encounter. Every conversation I have seems to yield suggestions for books, many of them definitely pursuable. I’ve set up proposal forms for Handheld Classics, Handheld Research and Handheld Translations on the website already, such has been the demand. I’m reading a novel right now by an author I met at a conference, that might be the first title in Handheld Modern.

hp-only smallI’m pleased with the suggestions I’ve had so far for adding to the Handheld Classics. I haven’t pushed the Translations very much yet, or the Handheld Research, because these will take more time and careful planning, though some ideas have been coming through spontaneously. But now I want to read proposals for Handheld Modern, on the modern world and the future. I want to be told about stories by and about the peoples and identities who get told ‘we’ve already got one of those’. I want to hear about feminist science fiction, memoirs of suburban love that dared not speak its name, and stories from countries I’ve never been to, that might not even exist.

Handheld Press is going to be about stories. You can Follow me on the website blog, and I hope you’ll stay with the journey.

 

Three disappointments for the dud pile

I’ve had a bad run of books I didn’t like and books read for work rather than pleasure recently, so all I can offer this week are these three pallid specimens. I’ll try to crank up my enthusiasm next week. It’s the end of term, holiday reading is beckoning, I have hopes of something marvellous waiting for me when I pick up the very next book from the pile.

RussellKaren Russell, Swamplandia!

I love Karen Russell’s short stories, in St Lucy’s Home for Girls Raised By Wolves, and Vampires in the Lemon Grove, which I reviewed here, so I bought Swamplandia!, her novel, and have been putting off reading it for over a year. I took it all the way to Hawaii and brought it back unread. Not a good sign. So I went and put myself on a train with nothing but this to read and made myself get through it. It’s not great. Her imagination is stupendous, and her eye for compelling detail creates marvels, but this novel is a short story that has grown beyond its natural capacity for wonder. And I was not entranced: I was bored by halfway through. The central premise of an alligator park in a Florida swamp is solid; Ossie’s romance with a ghost is extremely odd; the story of Louis’ swamp-sailing life in the 1920s is a beautiful short short that might have been published somewhere else first, it is so polished and self-contained. I was completely unconvinced by the Chief’s obsession with keeping the park on, and by Kiwi’s passive endurance. Ava the narrator is of course a star, but the red Seth is unused and wasted, like a glowing ember snuffed out by Gothic monstrosity. Too many details, not enough story.

WelshIrvine Welsh, Trainspotting

Another novel I put off reading until I absolutely had no choice. I inherited a Modern Scottish Fiction course from a departing colleague, and so I inherited all the novels he had carefully chosen and a course outline he had refined over the years.  Miss Jean Brodie, A Disaffection, Morvern Callar, Lanark, Keep Breathing, they’re all there. And lurking like a malignant toad at the back, was Trainspotting. I read the first half in a gobble of desperation, like a really bad medicine, and felt ill. It vastly enlarged my vocabulary for drug addiction and a truly astonishing collection of words pertaining to the body and its functions, humours, liquids and solids, but did I enjoy it? No. I hated it. I admire its technique and innovation, but I was counting the hours until I could put it back on the high shelf. I wrote my class notes. Reread bits. Cautiously took a peek here and there through the remainder of the novel and read some of the shorter chapters. Revised my class notes. Took the class through the first seminar of the week, and felt some hope. They liked the novel, some of them really liked it, so they did more of the talking than usual. Emboldened, I finished the chapters I’d not read, and we tore through the second session. I had had the brainwave of getting the class to put the book on trial, and my obliging lawyer sister found me Section 5 of the Public Order Act 1986. That went down well, with some strong defences of its scatology, misogyny and the glamorisation of violence. Now I never need read the bloody thing again.

NivenLarry Niven, Ringworld

I’ve been meaning to read Larry Niven for years, so I scooped up a copy of Ringworld, hoping for technological wonders. Foolish me. I’d forgotten that the only Niven story I’ve read was ‘Cloak of Anarchy’, which had the futuristic technology I craved, and the slightly dystopic enclosed society, and also the naked girl walking through a park with her cloak hovering behind her, unafraid of sexual assault because of the police surveillance. And then the surveillance stopped, and oh look, assault begins. Ringworld (as far as I read) doesn’t have the assault, but it does seem to revolve around an old man’s seedy, leering gaze on a very young woman’s body in and out of various anonymous and uninteresting parties, and frankly I could not be bothered. Several alien characters, who seemed like tedious blokes in alien suits for all the difference they exhibited in their behaviour or perceptions, exasperated my tolerance for tired 1970s fantasies until I just had to fling Ringworld on the floor. It went to Age Concern last week, and they’re welcome to it.

A little recap: C L Moore and Anne McCaffrey

mooreHello, 2017. Look, I’m jet-lagged, I’m about to set up house in a different country to where I currently live, and I start a new job next week. I’m a bit distracted. Please amuse yourself with these short reviews written for the SF Ruminations series on short stories by female sf writers published before 1969: C L Moore’s ‘No Woman Born’, and Anne McCaffrey’s ‘Lady in the Tower’. I’ll be back next week when I’ve got the internet working.

Science fiction and speculative fiction from Iraq

iraq100I really like the concept of Iraq + 100. Stories from a Century After the Invasion. In 2013 Hassan Blasim and his collaborator Ra Page, the founder of Comma Press, asked well-known Iraqi writers to write speculative short stories envisioning Iraq in 2113 or thereabouts. The Introduction and Afterword are persuasive about the artistic ambitions of this project, and give a proper sense of political and humanitarian rage at the destruction of Iraq by the British and US-led coalition, in 2003. As time has moved on, new predators have emerged in Iraq, so several of the stories feature deeply-felt responses to the atrocities of ISIS/ISIL/Daesh. This is an anthology about what it’s like to write fiction about the future in a present that no-one wants.

Hassan Blasim by Ahmed Al-Nawas
Hassan Blasim by Ahmed Al-Nawas

There is nothing hopeful about these visions of a future Iraq. It’s impossible to quantify how science-fictiony these stories are, but their defining characteristic is anger at the present, and a recurring sense that little is going to change in 100 years except the need to look back at this time. In that context, these are not particularly good science fiction stories, but I don’t think that’s important. In how they tackle problems of an unknown future that will somehow relieve the discomfort, injustice or the tyranny of the present, they are very like early Anglophone science fiction of the late Victorian and Edwardian period, especially that written by women. They show strong signs of an emerging artistic tradition.

Zhraa Alhaboby
Zhraa Alhaboby

Early western male sf writers focused on technological advances and ignored everything else about society, or they railed against feminists and the horrors of sexual equality. Early female sf writers from the west also focused on technology, and how it would alter their lives for the better (rather than for war, which was often the male response), but they also wrote about changing society for the better, creating social equality, and doing away with injustice. That is the common factor with these Iraqi stories, by men and women both. Hassan Blasim remarks in the Introduction that ‘Iraqi literature suffers from a dire shortage of science fiction writing’. In both content and impetus, Iraqi writers have used sf in this collection to express their fears and anxieties about the present, by changing them for the better through speculative fiction, or by digging into their nature to find out what needs to be fixed.

Hassan Abdulrazzak
Hassan Abdulrazzak

The stories most aligned to modern sf are ‘Kuszib’ by playwright Hassan Abdulrazzak, with its really remarkable combination of alien eroticism and humans treated as meat; and ‘Najufa’ by Ibrahim al-Marashi, which envisions a modern and roboticised Islamic society, in and out of the mosque, in a totally climate-altered world. Other stories use a futurised society to retell the story of Scheherazade (‘Baghdad Syndrome’ by Zhraa Alhaboby), and the story of the 2013 invasion through time travel (‘The Corporal’ by Ali Bader’). There is an unsettling recurrent image of eating human bodies, in ‘Kuszib’, in ‘The Worker’ by Diaa Jubaili, also a story of a giant automaton, and in ‘Kahmarama’ by Anoud, which rages against the commodification of women by charlatan imams. For the strongest story of speculative invention glazed with horror I’d give the prize to ‘Operation Daniel’ by Khalid Kaki, in which transgressors are incinerated and archived into a glittering chip, to be attached to the robes of the Venerable Benefactor and tyrant, Gao Dong. This is the only story that reaches beyond the familiar Iraqi-US binary, and envisions a different cultural player in the future.

All these stories are about punishment and transgression. This is not a collection for comfort reading, and the stories are certainly not contemplative visions of a calm and perfect future as seen from a suburban armchair. But they’re vigorous, and exploratory, and represent a new way of writing about present-day problems by authors who really know what suffering and destruction mean. For that reason alone, this impetus should be nurtured.

Iraq + 100. Stories from a Century After the Invasion, edited by Hassan Blasim (Comma Press 2016), ISBN 9 781905 583669, £9.99