IGMS Issue 10 Read online

  She let out a gasp. Keenan let out a sigh, figuring he was about to get a lecture on the importance of a balanced meal. That didn't seem fair, especially when he was sitting next to Howard, who was wearing half a cupcake on his face.

  But Mrs. Ferule didn't mention fruits, vegetables, or nutrition pyramids. Instead, she snatched the plate from the table. "Keenan, that's fabulous!"

  He spun around in his seat. "Huh?"

  "I've tried and tried to get my classes to understand art. I was sure I'd failed. But this - Keenan - this is true art."

  She rushed to the front of the room and put the plate on her desk.

  "That's not art," Keenan said. "That's my lunch."

  Mrs. Ferule ignored him and continued to gush with enthusiasm. "Look at the majestic sweep of the strokes, the simple yet complex use of pure white against a textured field. You have the boldness of a young Picasso, and a style that could rival Van Gogh. Brilliance! Genius!" she shouted.

  "Lunch . . . ?" Keenan said, his stomach rumbling.

  "I must tell the world!" Mrs. Ferule grabbed the plate and dashed from the room.

  Keenan leaned out the art-room window and watched Mrs. Ferule skitter across the street to the KDDA TV building. A moment later, she rushed back, followed by a camera crew from the six o'clock news.

  The room filled with people. Someone thrust a microphone in Keenan's face and started asking him questions that didn't make any sense at all. He made up some answers, but he had no idea what he was saying. It didn't matter. The reporters seemed happy.

  More people showed up - this time from the newspaper. Then a group from the local radio station crammed into the classroom.

  Keenan heard the principal boasting to them about the school's dedication to the arts.

  There was no telling how long the excitement might have lasted, but one of the reporters shouted something about the bank being robbed and everyone raced out of the school and zoomed down Broad Street toward the center of town. Keenan checked the room. Mrs. Ferule was nowhere in sight. Neither were the crackers. Far down the hall, he heard her saying something about taking this treasure to the museum.

  Someone tugged at his sleeve.

  "Can I have your autograph?" Howard asked, holding out a pen and napkin. "I never knew anyone famous before."

  "Only if I can have half your sandwich," Keenan said. He still didn't understand art, but he'd already learned that fame was nowhere near as satisfying as food.

  InterGalactic Interview With Harry Turtledove

  by Darrell Schweitzer

  * * *

  Harry Turtledove is the great master of the Alternate History story, which is now as firmly associated with him as robot stories were with Isaac Asimov. He published his first two novels under the pseudonym of Eric Iverson in 1979, but probably came to many readers' attention for the first time with the Basil Argyros series published in Isaac Asimov's Science Fiction Magazine, which later became the book Agent of Byzantium (1987), although he began to publish very prolifically immediately thereafter. He has won the Hugo award for the novella "Down in the Bottomlands" (1994). He has won the Sidewise Award twice for alternate history, for How Few Remain (1998) and Ruled Britannia (2003). He was even named an honorary Kentucky Colonel at Rivercon in Louisville KY in 1998. At this writing, his most recently published book is The Man With the Iron Heart.

  SCHWEITZER: How did you turn out to be a fiction writer and not a historian? Which came first, the desire to write fiction or the degree in Byzantine history?

  TURTLEDOVE: The desire to write fiction came first. I have the degree because I was an sf reader. I found a copy of Sprague de Camp's Lest Darkness Fall in a secondhand bookstore when I was 14 or 15, and got hooked trying to find out how much of the story was real (most of it) and how much he was making up (very little, it turned out). After flunking out of Caltech at the end of my freshman year, I ended up earning the Byzantine history degree at UCLA . . . and my dissertation ran a year later than it might have, because I was working on the first novel that sold at the same time, and also on the piece that became my first short-fiction sale (to David Hartwell's Cosmos, which expired before the story saw print, though I did get a check).

  SCHWEITZER: So, did your fellow graduates regard you as the guy who broke free and got to do something more fun? Or did they figure you had made a frivolous use of your education?

  TURTLEDOVE: I'm still friends with a couple of the people with whom I went to grad school. Another guy bailed out of the program after getting his master's to try to make it as an opera singer. He didn't, but he met his wife while performing in a musical, so he figures it was worthwhile -- he ended up in the computer world. My buddies are bemused, but they're pleased I found a way to make a living at least partly related to what I studied.

  And what goes around comes around. I was speaking about how I researched my straight historical novel, Justinian (with the H.N. Turteltaub byline -- old H.N. looks a lot like me, poor sap), at a Byzantine studies conference at UCLA around the turn of the century, and after I got done this grad student came up to me. He said he got interested in Byzantine history through my alternate history, Agent of Byzantium. So, just as de Camp warped my life all those years before, I messed up this fellow's. Writers can be dangerous people.

  SCHWEITZER: How do professional historians regard alternate history fiction?

  TURTLEDOVE: Well, what historians call "counterfactuals" are popular these days. The real historians have realized that looking at what might have been can help illuminate what really happened and why it happened. I don't mean to sound disrespectful -- mm, maybe I do, a little -- but to me "counterfactuals" are like alternate history without characterization.

  SCHWEITZER: You wrote as Eric Iverson for a while. Why was that?

  TURTLEDOVE: Back at the end of the 1970s, I sold my first sword-and-sorcery novel to Belmont-Tower Books, and the editor there renamed me: she said no one would believe Turtledove, which is my real name. I kept the pen-name for a while, as I was also publishing some academic nonfiction, and I thought having one name for each might be useful. Then I sold the four books of The Videssos Cycle to Lester del Rey. He said that if I wanted to be Iverson, he wouldn't buy them -- he claimed people would remember Turtledove much better. Since I had exactly no leverage, I yielded. It's worked out all right, but I may be the only writer in captivity to have his pen-name and his own name imposed on him.

  SCHWEITZER: Did you always assume that you'd write fiction based on history, or did that just work out that way? For example, I thought as a teenager that I would be a proper science fiction writer and write about spaceships and time-travel and the like, and that is not what has happened at all. The desire to write was there before I really found my subject matter. Was it that way with you?

  TURTLEDOVE: When I was 14 or 15, my sf was full of spaceships and post-atomic-war futures. I've done regular sf professionally, too, in a couple of novels and quite a bit of short fiction (I've got a 22nd-century novelette under submission right now). But the first novel I finished -- I must've been 16 -- was an (unpublishable) alternate history, and the larger part of what I've done since has dealt with history one way or another ever since.

  SCHWEITZER: A friend of mine stubbornly refuses to read alternate histories at all. His objection is that the change made by the author (so-and-so didn't win the battle, somebody died prematurely, or whatever) is arbitrary, and this leads to a whole series of equally arbitrary changes, particularly involving famous people. He then cannot escape the sense of the story being transparently made up, and cannot get involved in it emotionally. How would you answer this?

  TURTLEDOVE: Fiction is not about the created world. Let me say that again: no fiction is about the created world. Fiction is about the world the author lives in, and reflects the concerns of the author and his or her culture. What's fun and interesting about alternate history is that it lets us look at our world in a funhouse mirror we can't get any other way. And I'm sorry for your friend,
because she or he is missing some marvelous books, from The Man in the High Castle to the recent and splendid The Yiddish Policeman's Union. If your friend can look at this world the same way after reading those, I'd be very surprised.

  SCHWEITZER: By "created world" I assume you mean the objectively real world. You're saying that all fiction is a matter of an author's individual perspective then? I wonder about some pulp superhacks who did their best to suppress all individuality and write absolutely what the market wanted. (H. Bedford Jones or Arthur J. Burks, for example.) Of course they didn't write about the objectively real world either, but instead used agreed-upon formulas to pretend to describe it. It is a fine philosophical point. If no fiction actually describes the objective world, but instead it is a matter of the author's personal "headspace" (to use an archaic, '60s term), then possibly the difference between compelling fiction and dull, routine fiction is only a matter of the author's passion and sincerity. Yes? No? Have I gone off the deep end here?

  TURTLEDOVE: By "real world" I mean the objectively real world. By "created world" I mean the one the author writes about. To my way of thinking, all fiction-writing is in created worlds, but all writing is about the real world. The difference between dull fiction and interesting fiction is a matter of how well it's done. One can certainly be passionate and inept at the same time; indeed, that's depressingly common. Anna Russell's comment in aid of opera was, "You can do anything -- as long as you sing it." Same goes with fiction -- you've gotta sing it, or all you have is a boat that won't float.

  SCHWEITZER: I think my difficult friend IS missing some great fiction, but I can see part of his point. I have certainly read alternate histories which lost my interest quickly because they seemed to be about a clever schematic diagram and forgot the human drama. So, how do you get an alternate history story to work? Or, I suppose, what are the unique qualities which made it a different kind of drama? You could write a straight war story about courage, heroism, loss, treachery, political stupidity etc. etc. and just use a real, historical war as the background. The emotions and the personal experiences of most of the characters will be all there? So, when does the story demand that you depart from the consensus historical background and take an alternative course?

  TURTLEDOVE: Most of the tricks that apply to a-h stories apply to any stories. You've got to have reasonably good writing, characters the reader can care about, and an interesting plot. The particular attraction of a-h, as I've said before, is that it lets you look at real-world people and events and their consequences and influences in a way you can't do with other kinds of fiction. You can either make the world that you want, and then reason backwards to see how it might have arisen or change something and see what might have come from that. (Notice I say "might," not "would": the most you can aspire to is plausibility, not certainty. People have been known to miss this point.) I usually prefer the second method, but the first can also work -- see Steve Barnes' Zulu Blood and sequels.

  SCHWEITZER: I suppose the distinction is between story and idea. How do you develop a counterfactual idea (which could be expressed in an essay) into a counterfactual STORY?

  TURTLEDOVE: The same way you turn any idea into a story. You find characters and plot to make the reader care about what's happening. If you can't find those, the idea sits in your file for years and doesn't become anything. I had a Post-It with a note about a world where Ptolemaic astronomy and Aristotelean physics were true. It never became more than a note, because I couldn't see how to flesh it out. And I sure won't now, because Richard Garfinkle wrote Celestial Matters and did it for me. He found a way to make the idea work, and more power to him.

  SCHWEITZER: You've also, intriguingly, done a series of what might be called alternate natural history stories. I am thinking of A World of Difference with its depiction of an early America in habited by homo erectus or the one in the recent Space & Time ["Moso," in issue 104], which seems to be set in a more or less contemporary (or recent) Africa, save that there are sabertooth tigers. I'm not quite sure what one can call these. Are you inventing a new genre?

  TURTLEDOVE: I've done more of that kind of story than the ones you name. I also wrote "Down in the Bottomlands," the novella about the world where the Mediterranean never refilled after drying up 5,000,000 years ago; A World of Difference, about a different planet in the fourth orbit; and the current Atlantis books, where much of eastern North America rifted away from the rest of the continent 85,000,000 years ago, producing an enormous island in the Atlantic uninhabited by man till Europeans found it in the mid-fifteenth century. The novellas "Audubon in Atlantis" and "The Scarlet Band" are set in that world, as are Opening Atlantis (out last year), The United States of Atlantis (due out in December) and Liberating Atlantis (almost done).

  Did I invent this kind of world? Nah. Harry Harrison's Eden books and the Garfinkle I mentioned above use the trope, and they're far from the only ones. Physical changes can be as interesting as political ones.

  SCHWEITZER: Nevertheless, you seem to be drawn to a different form of SF than most writers: not "what might be" but "what might have been." You've made yourself the master of this in the same way Asimov made himself master of the robot story, but we inevitably wonder: does the possible future not hold equal charms for you?

  TURTLEDOVE: I dunno; if I get a future idea that seems interesting, I'll write it. But since I'm a trained historian who wants to write sf, what I'm doing now seems the way to go as often as not. There's only so much any one person can do in his or her lifetime. Right this minute, I'm having fun doing what I'm doing.

  SCHWEITZER: I note you've written about what I'd call the Big Three in American alternate history subjects: the Civil War, World War II, and the Roman/Byzantine Empire. (For British writers, the preoccupation seems to be the Pavane or The Alteration scenario: a Catholic Britain.) Do you do this with a sense that you're going to have to top all previous writings on the subject?

  TURTLEDOVE: I hope I'm not that immodest. You do the best you can; that's all you can do. (By the way, in Ruled Britannia, I've had a whack at the Brits' obsession, too.)

  SCHWEITZER: So what gave you the impulse to toss an alien invasion into World War II, which created the Worldwar series?

  TURTLEDOVE: I got the idea for that one back in the 1970s. Didn't write it then because I was convinced -- accurately, I think -- I didn't know enough and wasn't anywhere nearly good enough to bring it off. The thinking was something along these lines. . . . An industrialized planet probably isn't as easy to conquer from space as most people make it out to be. What's the most interesting industrialized planet? Why, Earth. When? How about when World War II was at its most even point in late spring 1942, before the Japanese wreck themselves at Midway and the Germans at Stalingrad? That seemed to work, even though it was in a horribly challenging period: within living memory but not within mine. So, after I finished Guns of the South, I thought, if I can't bring it off now, I'll probably never be able to. I gave it my best shot, and most people seem to enjoy the story.

  SCHWEITZER:A lot of alternate history seems to be about war, doesn't it? I suppose this is a natural tendency because most of the dramatic hinge-points in history seem to have a war involved. But of course there are other possibilities too. If you were asked to write a story for an anthology Alternate History Not About War, what would you write about?

  TURTLEDOVE: I have no idea what I'd write about. I'd probably change either geography or religion. War is a good subject for a-h, though, partly because it offers plausible scenarios for how things might have gone differently, and partly because the two things that best illuminate character under stress are love and the threat of getting killed in the next few seconds.

  SCHWEITZER: I note your latest book, The Man With the Iron Heart, is based on the premise the Heinrich Heydrich, the infamous Nazi "Hangman," was not assassinated, but lived to lead Nazi terrorist resistance after the defeat of Germany. This leads to a matter I am sure you have pondered at considerable length, both
as a historian and as a writer of alternate history. What do you think of the "Great Man" theory of history? How much of history turns on the presence or absence of a single person motivated and talented enough to bring about change, and how much is a confluence of circumstances? Heydrich would be a particularly sinister example. You posit that his individual survival would have made a huge difference.

  TURTLEDOVE: Depending on story purposes, I can be persuaded to stand almost anywhere on the line between the overwhelming influence of the one Great Man and his impotence struggling against vast socioeconomic forces. In the real world, I think the latter tend to win more often than not . . . but this would be a different-looking place if, say, the assassination attempt on Philip of Macedon had failed, curtailing Alexander the Great's career. There are times when one man can make a difference, and there are men who will find a way to make a difference. Maybe not so many, but some, I think.

  SCHWEITZER: Have you read Stephen Vincent Benet's "The Curfew Tolls"? This strikes me as a superb meditation on this theme. (It shows Napoleon, born a generation too soon, frustrated because he never got to do very much, and now at retirement age right as the French Revolution breaks out.)

  TURTLEDOVE: Haven't run into that one. A similar meditation from within our own field is H. Beam Piper's "And He Walked Around the Horses." I wonder if Piper had seen the Benet story you describe.

  SCHWEITZER: Well I'm not a big believer in "chaos theory" as applied to human events, but I think that if I were asked to write an alternate history not about war, I'd try to find some subtle but genuine change like the sort of thing they brought out on the TV show Connections. Isn't part of the fun of alternate history evoking a reaction of "What?" followed by "Why, of course."