I've been following bits of the Wiscon/Elizabeth Moon debacle, as one does, though Wiscon is a con I have actively never considered going to, and the last couple of days I've been pondering picking up The Otter and Saint Jude again. I think I need to do some hefty revisions to get it back on track, but ...
... I started writing this thing years ago. And one of the things that's important about it in this context is that the Otter is a Sufi, more or less. (A chance-encounter-converted-this-species-to-Islam sort of Sufi.) And it's a major part of her character, but it's not, in the grand scheme of things, important to the story; she's just a Muslim character in spaaaaaaaaace. (I'm not writing it to write a Muslim character, y'know, it's just that the character I'm writing is.)
But I'm left with the sense that somehow this book needs to be written so that it might be out in the world. Because I'm more than a little agitated by![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
james_nicoll being able to rattle off more than one "Scary scary Islam!" SF title when asked. So I'm not writing it to make a political point, but I might finish it to make a political point. Or something.
Rather than stare at her further, I looked at the screen. It was not especially informative; there were patterns of mostly amber and green, though in several places the amber tried to edge into orange. I guessed our position or something like it was marked by the blue spot.
She began to speak, a smooth cadence of words that was not, I thought, in her own tongue; the sound of it was oddly familiar, but I could not place it. The lines of what sounded like verse timed smoothly with her shifts of the stick, and we broke the clouds and shot towards the sky. The computer said something in the middle of her speaking, and she pressed a button; as the sky faded to black some outer covering slid down over the screen, and an image of the sky flickered to life as a display.
She fell into silence, studied the charts, and pressed a key.
"What does that mean?" I asked her, after a moment.
"It is the verse of one who comes by night."
"What does it mean?"
She paused for a moment, sending the ship sliding back and forth as it continued to climb, then repeated the first line quietly to herself.
"I swear by heavens and one who comes by night," she finally said, slowly, haltingly, "and what will make you know what that is? Star of piercing light. There is not a soul but over it is a guardian."
The blue bead slid into an amber area on the screen she had indicated, and the computer made a noise; Otter hissed, hit several buttons in quick sequence, though all with one finger, and slewed the ship around at an angle. The radio spat static and started to raise additional objections; she lifted her voice to speak over it.
"Let man think of what he was made, of water pouring forth, forth from between back and ribs. Most surely He," and I could hear her capital letter, "is able to return him to life. On the day when hidden things," here her teeth showed again, and the bead escaped the amber back into what was left of the green, "be made seen he shall have neither strength nor helper. I swear by heavens that give rain and the earth of many plants, most surely it is decisive and no laugh."
The bead slewed through the green areas that got narrower and harder to follow, and was trapped where there was only amber. She pressed a button. "Surely they will make scheme," she continued, and pressed another, "And I also make scheme."
Acceleration pressed me back hard into my chair. "So grant the unbelievers peace, and leave them for a time." She pressed her hands together for a moment of apparent prayer, then returned them to the stick and buttons.
The screen showed only space, split and compressed to show what was in all directions.
... I started writing this thing years ago. And one of the things that's important about it in this context is that the Otter is a Sufi, more or less. (A chance-encounter-converted-this-species-to-Islam sort of Sufi.) And it's a major part of her character, but it's not, in the grand scheme of things, important to the story; she's just a Muslim character in spaaaaaaaaace. (I'm not writing it to write a Muslim character, y'know, it's just that the character I'm writing is.)
But I'm left with the sense that somehow this book needs to be written so that it might be out in the world. Because I'm more than a little agitated by
james_nicoll being able to rattle off more than one "Scary scary Islam!" SF title when asked. So I'm not writing it to make a political point, but I might finish it to make a political point. Or something.Rather than stare at her further, I looked at the screen. It was not especially informative; there were patterns of mostly amber and green, though in several places the amber tried to edge into orange. I guessed our position or something like it was marked by the blue spot.
She began to speak, a smooth cadence of words that was not, I thought, in her own tongue; the sound of it was oddly familiar, but I could not place it. The lines of what sounded like verse timed smoothly with her shifts of the stick, and we broke the clouds and shot towards the sky. The computer said something in the middle of her speaking, and she pressed a button; as the sky faded to black some outer covering slid down over the screen, and an image of the sky flickered to life as a display.
She fell into silence, studied the charts, and pressed a key.
"What does that mean?" I asked her, after a moment.
"It is the verse of one who comes by night."
"What does it mean?"
She paused for a moment, sending the ship sliding back and forth as it continued to climb, then repeated the first line quietly to herself.
"I swear by heavens and one who comes by night," she finally said, slowly, haltingly, "and what will make you know what that is? Star of piercing light. There is not a soul but over it is a guardian."
The blue bead slid into an amber area on the screen she had indicated, and the computer made a noise; Otter hissed, hit several buttons in quick sequence, though all with one finger, and slewed the ship around at an angle. The radio spat static and started to raise additional objections; she lifted her voice to speak over it.
"Let man think of what he was made, of water pouring forth, forth from between back and ribs. Most surely He," and I could hear her capital letter, "is able to return him to life. On the day when hidden things," here her teeth showed again, and the bead escaped the amber back into what was left of the green, "be made seen he shall have neither strength nor helper. I swear by heavens that give rain and the earth of many plants, most surely it is decisive and no laugh."
The bead slewed through the green areas that got narrower and harder to follow, and was trapped where there was only amber. She pressed a button. "Surely they will make scheme," she continued, and pressed another, "And I also make scheme."
Acceleration pressed me back hard into my chair. "So grant the unbelievers peace, and leave them for a time." She pressed her hands together for a moment of apparent prayer, then returned them to the stick and buttons.
The screen showed only space, split and compressed to show what was in all directions.
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- Something off the lullabye playlist
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