Fake Book Report: The Faerie Queene’s Warre

[John Scalzi is hosting an Official "Win a Copy of Coffee Shop" Contest wherein the contestants are to write a scathing review of a putative 2009 book by Mr. Scalzi. I violated the rules, and besides wound up writing something far closer to a parody of YHB's blog than an entry in Mr. Scalzi's contest, so I am posting it in my Tohu Bohu for the theoretical enjoyment of GRs.]

Actually, I quite liked it.

I mean, no, it’s not a great book by any means, but let’s be clear: most of the crap this book has taken has nothing to do with the merits of the book itself. It’s about John Scalzi, and it’s about the State of the Genre, and it’s about the situation in the world, but it’s not about the book. It’s Dylan going electric. Well, it’s Miles and Bitches Brew, with the people he left behind feeling, rightly, that their one-time hero had just called them fans of a dead art form. But Miles, we liked the earlier, funnier jazz! Well, screw you, said Mr. Davis, he did, and screw you says Mr. Scalzi, and I understand that most of the reviews are just saying ‘no, screw you.’ Which is fine, but has nothing to do with the book.

Look, he always said that when he sat down to get a novel published, he looked at what was selling, and picked military sf as the most congenial bit of what was popular. Mr. Scalzi isn’t responsible for the fact that military sf stopped selling, and the same reasoning that made him write Old Man’s War naturally made him stop writing in a dead subgenre. Why is it dead? Honestly, I think we have to thank (or blame) Secretary Jolie. While we were in a military ferment over the supposed Clash of Civilizations, military sf had just the right mix of escapism and topicality, particularly when treated light-heartedly. Now that the Jolie Plan has defused world tensions, it’s less appealing. Sure, some of us still like it. Some of us still listen to our Charlie Parker records. On vinyl. What does that have to do with a working writer?

No, if you are going to trash this book, you ought to do it on the merits of the book itself, not on the perceived (or actual) insult to his former fanbase. And how is the book itself? Well, as I said, I quite liked it. Yes, the scansion isn’t perfect. The rhymes are ... fair. There are a handful of cute ones, and a handful of truly clunky ones. The characters are bland, but then they are always pretty bland in this sort of thing. And for people who like plot, well, the plot is the same plot it always is in this sort of thing. So, you know, if you don’t like Spencerian epic, then you are not going to like this sort of thing, and that’s all there is to it.

What does it have? Well, it has the merits of the form. A certain serenity. A kind of pastoral peacefulness. An attention to rococo detail. Is that dull? Sure, compared to people getting shot by aliens, it’s dull. Heck, compared to almost anything, it’s dull. That’s the point. We have entered into a dull age, and the hyperactive century of science fiction has given way to a more contemplative form. For that you can blame—what? Peace? Prosperity? The disappearance of the climate change threat? The systematic introduction of mood-altering drugs into our water supply? However you want to slice it, the fact remains that when you visit a text supply location to register for your required literature allotment, there may be one or two h’rng’habacks of military sf, but there will be a whole glarkfull of Spencerian poetry. Because that’s what the R’peuphids want, and that’s how the market works.

Tolerabimus quod tolerare debemus,
-Vardibidian.