This post is far from my usual style, but I've got a bit of a bee in my bonnet. You see (for those who do not live in Britain), there are currently two campaigns called 'Look 21' and 'Look 25' which are designed to provide guidelines as to selling age-restricted products. The idea is that if someone doesn't look 21 or 25, depending on the scheme the company adheres to, they should be asked to provide proof of age. This is either a passport or a driving license. There are other things that can be ID, but I'm not confident they'd be accepted everywhere. In theory, maybe they should be, but in practise I've seen a place advertising that staff will not accept a driving license as proof of age, which might be illegal, I'm not sure. Both of these things require a reasonably significant investment of money: certainly more than I ever had to spare while I was a student. Bear in mind that the drinking age in Britain is 18, so 'Look 25' actually asks people who are anything fewer than seven years past the drinking age to provide proof of age. A fair margin for error, some might say, and at least the legal drinking age is 18, not 21.
Except every person has stories like the ones in this article from the BBC. I'm glad there's finally starting to be a backlash against this attitude.
My pennyworth on the subject.
While it is highly unreasonable that people twice the drinking age are asked for ID, it is unfortunately mostly employees being wary due to the high penalties for serving underage drinkers. As someone who works in a place that, due to recent company expansion, sells age-restricted goods, employees who handle age-restricted goods are subject to an atmosphere of fear of potential prosecution if they don't ask for ID and fear of aggression on the part of the customer if they do, as well as in many cases sympathy with the plight of the customer. We're heading towards a culture where literally everybody is asked to prove their age when buying alchohol and 18 certificate DVDs. It's not fun for anybody, but it's a flailing attempt to try and pull the potential media backlash against things like violent video games and binge drinking culture. From the POV of people in the arts industry, age certification on products provides a useful way of pointing to the certificate and saying, "Er, sorry, but it's not intended for kids, so it's not our fault Little Timmy was mentally scarred by 'Generic Soldier: Guts and Glory' or is [probably more likely] taking joy in pretending to viciously slaughter alien monsters, with extra blood splatters in 'Alien Invasion V'." Not that the media takes any notice whatsoever of the age certification system, so busy are they leaping on the next 'Serial Killer played Mankiller: Bloody Revenge IV' story. But that's a different bee for a different bonnet. Please notice that I don't mention the government anywhere else but in these two sentences. I'm unwilling to lay this blame at the feet of Labour, as seems to be the current trend: yes, they implemented a lot of the obsession with IDing, but I think any middle class, middle-aged government would have reacted in the same way to such a monumental problem. Let's just not talk about the Digital Rights Bill.
There are a few beefs I have with this whole system that aren't linked to IDing when buying. For a start, Tescos and some other supermarkets require ID for everyone going through a checkout with someone buying age-restricted products, which is extremely irritating, especially when parents cannot buy a bottle of wine when going through a checkout with their child. The culture of blame is putting the responsibility for drinking culture on the retailers, not on the individual and while there should be some level of corporate responsibility for one's products, shops shouldn't be required to make up for inadequate education about the dangers of drinking, nor should they be expected to treat adults as though they had no awareness or maturity regarding their own decisions.
When places like Wetherspoons ask someone to leave the pub at seven o'clock on a Tuesday evening for ordering a slice of chocolate cake and a glass of water without ID, something has gone wrong. I understand that ID measures are there for a good reason, but before I had ID I could potentially be thrown out of a pub when sitting with my friends drinking a soft drink. When you get to an evening's socialising, you'd be hard pressed to find somewhere open at that time that does not serve alchohol, and so by introducing such strict measures, innocent people are having their freedoms heavily restricted. My liberal soul rebels against the idea of guilt by association. ID is expensive and, for the only two definite pieces of ID that are accepted almost anywhere, are linked to facilitating either driving or leaving the country. In addition, for those who are teetotal, it verges on offensive to them that they must shell out a lot of money for ID just to sit with their friends in a pub with a soft drink. In an ideal world, their most suitable system would be an opt-in system rather than an opt-out one.
In short, if I'm attempting to buy an age-restricted product, feel free to ID me. I knew that was a possibility when I decided to buy it. OK, if I'm clearly not under 21, it's annoying, but you're just doing your job, I'll let it slide. But when I'm ordering a soft drink in a pub, or when I'm not directly buying an age-restricted product but someone vaguely nearby me I clearly know is, what right do you have to tell me I need ID for that? I don't buy drinks or cigarettes for underage kids when approached - please trust me as an adult to make that decision for myself.
Thursday, 20 May 2010
Tuesday, 11 May 2010
Idea-situation-plot
Nicola Morgan wrote an amazing and awesome post on Help! I Need a Publisher (a blog well worth reading for her glorious snark, down-t0-earth advice and an unwillingness to coddle writers I haven't seen since Stephen King). It's about ideas, not where they come from but how they end up as books. The post on Kidlit she links to is also extremely good: that's about the difference between situations and plots.
I think I figured out what's wrong with so many of my works-in-progress. I have ideas, situations, characters or settings (often some or all of the above) but not the 'and then...'.
So, Arthurian legend meets Judge Dredd. A teenage girl goes into training to become a Cyberknight, squire to a knight who doesn't play by the rules. And then...?
Pirates of the Caribbean...miles above the planet surface, with flying ships. James Colney returns from a three-year stint in the aerial navy to find that his one true love has married someone else. A duel ensues, then a murder, of which he is accused. He and Max flee the floating island they called home. And then...?
The climactic battle between heaven and hell happened, without anyone on earth noticing, but the effects were felt through natural disasters, riots and war. The battle was ended by a great last-ditch effort by the Archangel Michael which destroyed the Antichrist and shattered the angels and demons into pieces, scattered across the world. Their broken ethereal forms joined with the nearest human they could find and now they seek to unite with the other parts of themselves, while still fighting their eternal battle between light and dark. And then...?
A world where the gods walk among men, Paragons arranged into Courts and led by Monarchs. Thousands of years ago, the Monarchs murdered two of their own, one of them the Monarch of Change, the Harbinger, because they did not wish for a potentially cataclysmic change he would bring. Now the new Monarch of Change has arisin, and they must decide what to do about him, or risk losing their power or even their lives. And then...?
It's like playing consequences, but I should already know the answers, with the amount of thought I've put into to every one of these. And yet I don't, which is probably why I'm having so much trouble with them. Thank you, Nicola Morgan and Kidlit, you've shown me precisely what is wrong with my writing method. Now I just need to figure out how to solve it.
Last night I had an incredibly detailed dream about trying to rescue a ginger-and-white cat called Jericho from Queen Elizabeth I who had been resurrected and was running a supertech hospital as big as a small town surrounded by SWAT teams. She needed the cat to take over the world, but by God, me and a group of heroic individuals weren't going to let that happen - I woke up when one of the scientists who was helping us was cornered and jumped through a plate-glass window several stories up, hoping that her body would shield the cat she was escaping with from being hurt when she hit the ground and died. I'm once again baffled by what my brain does while I sleep.
I think I figured out what's wrong with so many of my works-in-progress. I have ideas, situations, characters or settings (often some or all of the above) but not the 'and then...'.
So, Arthurian legend meets Judge Dredd. A teenage girl goes into training to become a Cyberknight, squire to a knight who doesn't play by the rules. And then...?
Pirates of the Caribbean...miles above the planet surface, with flying ships. James Colney returns from a three-year stint in the aerial navy to find that his one true love has married someone else. A duel ensues, then a murder, of which he is accused. He and Max flee the floating island they called home. And then...?
The climactic battle between heaven and hell happened, without anyone on earth noticing, but the effects were felt through natural disasters, riots and war. The battle was ended by a great last-ditch effort by the Archangel Michael which destroyed the Antichrist and shattered the angels and demons into pieces, scattered across the world. Their broken ethereal forms joined with the nearest human they could find and now they seek to unite with the other parts of themselves, while still fighting their eternal battle between light and dark. And then...?
A world where the gods walk among men, Paragons arranged into Courts and led by Monarchs. Thousands of years ago, the Monarchs murdered two of their own, one of them the Monarch of Change, the Harbinger, because they did not wish for a potentially cataclysmic change he would bring. Now the new Monarch of Change has arisin, and they must decide what to do about him, or risk losing their power or even their lives. And then...?
It's like playing consequences, but I should already know the answers, with the amount of thought I've put into to every one of these. And yet I don't, which is probably why I'm having so much trouble with them. Thank you, Nicola Morgan and Kidlit, you've shown me precisely what is wrong with my writing method. Now I just need to figure out how to solve it.
Last night I had an incredibly detailed dream about trying to rescue a ginger-and-white cat called Jericho from Queen Elizabeth I who had been resurrected and was running a supertech hospital as big as a small town surrounded by SWAT teams. She needed the cat to take over the world, but by God, me and a group of heroic individuals weren't going to let that happen - I woke up when one of the scientists who was helping us was cornered and jumped through a plate-glass window several stories up, hoping that her body would shield the cat she was escaping with from being hurt when she hit the ground and died. I'm once again baffled by what my brain does while I sleep.
Monday, 10 May 2010
'Uglies' by Scott Westerfeld
Scott Westerfeld is one of the belles of the ball at the moment in YA fiction. And rightly so.
'Uglies', the first in his series of the same name, is...brilliant. Westerfeld combines speculative fiction, a touch of philosophical meandering to get the leetle grey cells going, well-realised characters and style decidedly lacking in pompous self-importance. I realised after sitting on the bus with my eyes glued to the page for the first few pages that Westerfeld has realised what so few writers do: sometimes, style needs to be invisible. It seems effortless, and I found that I didn't even notice I was reading to some extent. Things just seemed to happen inside my head as I read. I really feel like I've been told a story.
The setting of 'Uglies' has to be read to be fully felt, I think, but the basics of it is that at the age of sixteen, every child in the city (and all of the cities across the country/world as far as we know in this book) is given an operation that physically alters them to make them fit an idealised standard of beauty. It's a simple idea, but Westerfeld runs with it. There are no 'Anathem'-style chunks of exposition here: the details of Westerfeld's world almost slip in round the edges, often not mentioned until the characters encounter them. This can be confusing at first, but you can rest assured that everything you need to know will be told later. I always find it distracting when someone in a sci-fi novel reflects on how the things they've been familiar with all their life work. I mean, I vaguely know how a car and a TV work, but I don't use one and think, "Ah yes, that is the internal combustion engine at work there, first patented in 1861" (I had to look that up and it's probably wrong). So in 'Uglies' we don't get an explanation of how hoverboards work until they stop, or the technology that allows people to navigate computer screens by thought and eye-movement.
There are interesting Matrix and Equilibrium-style (among other things) issues of free will, authority, conformity, the honesty and brilliance of natural human emotion, beauty and the influence it has on society, but Westerfeld doesn't bother us with long philosophical rants on the matter, expounding his theories to make sure we get the point of the novel. Nope, he trusts us to get the point, and if we don't, at least we get a good story along the way. And there are advantages to being 'pretties'. Endless food, a beautiful city, parties all the time, literally eternal contentment. And youth and beauty for as long as your body can stand the life-extending treatments. I know several people who would go for that without question.
So when Tally Youngblood, our hero, finds herself running away to join a rebel faction of 'uglies' (pre-op people) who refuse to be turned 'pretty', we really sympathise with her whining. I'm not sure I'd give up New Prettytown for that. But Tally changes, as people do. It's what makes this good - a good setting is nothing without great characters, and Tally is awesome, with her quick mind and almost unconscious bravery. I think a big part of the whole idealised female character/Mary Sue thing is that they rarely go through a genuine change. Oh sure, they have superficial 'flaws' at the start, and might even have them still by the end, but on the way they discover how wonderful and heroic they are inside, usually with the help of a male love-interest. Tally starts out a whiny, unpleasant character, a slave to the conditioning she's undergone throughout her life. She is brave, sure, but also kind of pathetic at times, because she's learned to be reliant. And then she is forced to become self-reliant. There is a male love-interest, but the only thing she needs him for is the realisation of that whole beauty-comes-from-within thing. Other than that, she learns because she has to, she adapts, and she becomes a strong character who is both sympathetic and awesome.
Literally the only flaw I can come up with for this novel is the story. It's a bit...simple. If you wrote out the events, not that much actually happens. In the same way, the intuitive way Westerfeld doesn't over-explain the issues brought up by the story or the technology of the setting makes it seem a little slight as a sci-fi novel. But that's actually kind of fine. 'Uglies' is never dull, never boring, because even the slight tension that's there is wonderfully handled. It feels almost like half a book, but at the same time, I wouldn't have Westerfeld condense this any further, and while I want to read the next part of the story desperately, the first was substantial enough to keep me going for a while.
'Uglies', the first in his series of the same name, is...brilliant. Westerfeld combines speculative fiction, a touch of philosophical meandering to get the leetle grey cells going, well-realised characters and style decidedly lacking in pompous self-importance. I realised after sitting on the bus with my eyes glued to the page for the first few pages that Westerfeld has realised what so few writers do: sometimes, style needs to be invisible. It seems effortless, and I found that I didn't even notice I was reading to some extent. Things just seemed to happen inside my head as I read. I really feel like I've been told a story.
The setting of 'Uglies' has to be read to be fully felt, I think, but the basics of it is that at the age of sixteen, every child in the city (and all of the cities across the country/world as far as we know in this book) is given an operation that physically alters them to make them fit an idealised standard of beauty. It's a simple idea, but Westerfeld runs with it. There are no 'Anathem'-style chunks of exposition here: the details of Westerfeld's world almost slip in round the edges, often not mentioned until the characters encounter them. This can be confusing at first, but you can rest assured that everything you need to know will be told later. I always find it distracting when someone in a sci-fi novel reflects on how the things they've been familiar with all their life work. I mean, I vaguely know how a car and a TV work, but I don't use one and think, "Ah yes, that is the internal combustion engine at work there, first patented in 1861" (I had to look that up and it's probably wrong). So in 'Uglies' we don't get an explanation of how hoverboards work until they stop, or the technology that allows people to navigate computer screens by thought and eye-movement.
There are interesting Matrix and Equilibrium-style (among other things) issues of free will, authority, conformity, the honesty and brilliance of natural human emotion, beauty and the influence it has on society, but Westerfeld doesn't bother us with long philosophical rants on the matter, expounding his theories to make sure we get the point of the novel. Nope, he trusts us to get the point, and if we don't, at least we get a good story along the way. And there are advantages to being 'pretties'. Endless food, a beautiful city, parties all the time, literally eternal contentment. And youth and beauty for as long as your body can stand the life-extending treatments. I know several people who would go for that without question.
So when Tally Youngblood, our hero, finds herself running away to join a rebel faction of 'uglies' (pre-op people) who refuse to be turned 'pretty', we really sympathise with her whining. I'm not sure I'd give up New Prettytown for that. But Tally changes, as people do. It's what makes this good - a good setting is nothing without great characters, and Tally is awesome, with her quick mind and almost unconscious bravery. I think a big part of the whole idealised female character/Mary Sue thing is that they rarely go through a genuine change. Oh sure, they have superficial 'flaws' at the start, and might even have them still by the end, but on the way they discover how wonderful and heroic they are inside, usually with the help of a male love-interest. Tally starts out a whiny, unpleasant character, a slave to the conditioning she's undergone throughout her life. She is brave, sure, but also kind of pathetic at times, because she's learned to be reliant. And then she is forced to become self-reliant. There is a male love-interest, but the only thing she needs him for is the realisation of that whole beauty-comes-from-within thing. Other than that, she learns because she has to, she adapts, and she becomes a strong character who is both sympathetic and awesome.
Literally the only flaw I can come up with for this novel is the story. It's a bit...simple. If you wrote out the events, not that much actually happens. In the same way, the intuitive way Westerfeld doesn't over-explain the issues brought up by the story or the technology of the setting makes it seem a little slight as a sci-fi novel. But that's actually kind of fine. 'Uglies' is never dull, never boring, because even the slight tension that's there is wonderfully handled. It feels almost like half a book, but at the same time, I wouldn't have Westerfeld condense this any further, and while I want to read the next part of the story desperately, the first was substantial enough to keep me going for a while.
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