While most fans are listening to Martin, I skip to the panel about new feminism in sf. I had no idea a new feminism in sf existed. I get there late, just to learn I don’t know any new feminist writer, neither those who are there nor those who are not there. Quite predictably, it’s Judith Clute and Eileen Gunn who have been charged with the task of speaking about them. I think Gunn is quite ubiquitous, I have found her at most of the panels, probably she attended three or four panels at the same time. Maybe she has clones. Or maybe she is a hologram. We’ll never know. Unless a black out turns off the hologrammophone.
I’m sorry, I took no picture of the new feminists, the new masculinists will forgive me. I have got there full of hope about the contents of new feminism, but I find myself listening to a list of authors. With a few hints to the contents of the novel, that’s for sure, but without any logic. I stay just a few minutes, I get bored and go away.
Next stop: Armadillo. That is this animal you may see in the picture kindly stolen from the Scottish Exhibition - Conference Centre website.
Here happen the Events, as you may see with a capital ‘e’, such as the Hugo ceremony, or Lucas Back in Anger, the ambitious play aiming to cover the entire Star War saga in one hour. A brave idea. And deserving too, they should make a film of it.
What am I going to find inside the Armadillo belly, at noon on Sunday? Nothing really more interesting than what I might find at that same time at Ritazza's, just a panel about familyless heroes ('Does family make our hero boring?'). Unfortunately, the night before I missed the probably more interesting ‘SF Before 1960: No Sex... and Who Cleaned the Toilets? - What has changed in science fiction since the 1960s and why?’, attended, among others, by Pat Cadigan, and I really must meet Pat Cadigan, especially because she’s the only one among all the authors who are attending the convention, that I have read (please, stop looking at me that way, I have better things to do in my life than read stories about little green men saving poor defenceless ladies, come on… And I’m certainly not one of you UFO believers).
Well, Pat Cadigan is attending this panel together with… I think it’s Sean McMullen, the guy next to her, but I’m not certain. However, that’s not important, and completely unimportant is what they tell each other at the panel, they mostly speak about their life of happily married, childrened, divorced people, how beautiful family is, and we’re all heroes, and so on. The highest moment of the meeting is after a lady in the public tries to explain how exciting family life might be if you just have the right spirit, even doing the laundry. Cadigan’s reply is: ‘The last time my laundry was exciting, someone got divorced’. Standing ovulation.
Well, now that I think of it, it’s not true that Cadigan was the only one I have read among the authors who attended the convention. There must have been Brian Aldiss as well. Theoretically, at least. But I never got across him.
Anyway, a great woman, as well as a great writer, of course. Very ironic, very nice, and very approachable too. I walk up to her – shyly, I confess – at the end of the panel, and I introduce myself as a journalist who is, in reality, ‘a fan in disguise’. She seems to like it. We agree to meet at 3 p.m., her autograph session time, and I leave floating 15 centimetres from earth.
It’s lunchtime. Ritazza time, of course. I don’t remember exactly how it happens, but not far from Ritazza I meet Roberto Quaglia with wonderful Ian Watson, who, without his epic moustache, sees me, recognizes me and greets me cheerfully.
I feel like a queen. The photo session is inevitable. Here is what Quaglia produced.
I still have to withdraw money
a) to feed myself
b) to buy the cursed towel.
Quaglia, Watson – who, in the meantime, has introduced me to Sheckley’s wife – and other people gravitating nearby, wish to have a look at some places where we might find some free food: rooms full of people belonging to associations with mysterious acronyms as names, such as SFWA or ASFA. Moreover, Watson is in a hurry to get rid of some heavy books by leaving them in his hotel room. So, he urges me to hurry to the ATM. After a moment’s hesitation, due to the pleasure of being in such good company, I do it. When I come back (actually, I don’t remember the real order of the events, let’s just imagine that’s how it went), I find, together with Watson & Co., the Sosio’s with ![[info]](http://p-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small}
annafdd. And that’s what annafdd pulls out of her bag as soon as she sees me.
Obviously, that’s not when I took the picture, because at that moment I was so moved that the few mental faculties I had left just faded away. Thank you, Anna. You saved me from certain death by drowning in the water I wouldn’t have been able to dry otherwise, or eaten by fleas born out of the dirt I wouldn’t have had the courage to wash away, for fear of the death by drowning.
Please, forgive me, I’m overcome with emotion. See you the next episode.
- Mood:
excited - Music:Anouk, 'Nobody's Wife'
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