Stephen Donaldson’s Gap Sequence – How far is too far?

Anyone who knows or speaks to me for more than a little while will learn that I am a reader of probably the least coolest fiction there is - sci-fi & fantasy. Although, and it's important to make these distinctions; not exclusively sci-fi & fantasy, and not shit sci-fi & fantasy - David Gemmell, I'm looking at you. When not shit, this type of storytelling can be extremely complex, and layered with multiple strands holding a distorted mirror to our own social and psychological issues. Try reading Iain M. Banks, Robert Jordan, Frank Herbert or (obviously) Tolkien, and then you'll see what I mean.

Sometimes, a series I read tends to be cleverer than I am (not, granted, a particularly difficult achievement), and I have trouble following all the nuances. A writer that often does this to me is Stephen Donaldson. I've recently finished Donaldson's Gap Sequence, which has troubled me somewhat. Donaldson is best known for his Thomas Covenant series, which caused me similar problems, although to a lesser degree than the Gap Sequence.

It's not that he's a bad writer - on the contrary, he's particularly impressive, which is why I can finish his novels despite my reaction. He tends to make his heroes a little more difficult to root for than your average. Which again, is usually not a problem, but I wonder if Donaldson takes it too far. Take Thomas Covenant for example, the hero in the Thomas Covenant series. In the first book Covenant is introduced as a recluse suffering from leprosy. He used to be a successful writer, but his wife and son have left him and he's looked at by most people with not a small amount of disgust. Donaldson's medical background (or possibly his father's - I can't remember at the moment and I don't have one of his books to hand) helps to give the character plenty of depth. Due to the standard magic/nonsense/event thing, Covenant finds himself in a fantasy land where his leprosy heals and upon retrieving the feeling in his nerves, one of his first acts is to rape a girl aged about 16 who was helping him. Now, there are two justifications for this in Covenant's own head - it's his first erection in years as well as the first time in years he's been able to touch or feel. In addition to this, his refusal to accept the place he's found himself in as real absolves him (in his own head) of responsibility. Clearly, this does not excuse him in the eyes of the reader, and over the course of a series of books, Covenant's unbelief crumbles and the consequences of the act are far-reaching and desperately tragic. He is not a man it's easy to come to like. This appears to be Donaldson's particular skill, or at least a recurring theme of his - no person or act is beyond redemption. As Covenant suffers under the consequences of his act, and as he attempts to undo the damage he caused, as the reader you do, slowly, come to empathise with him and accept him - even to like him. This is no small achievement of Donaldson's.

With the Gap Sequence I wonder if he went too far in the suffering he inflicted upon one of the main characters, if he made it too much of a stretch in his attempt to redeem one of the inflicters. The Gap Sequence is Donaldson's retelling of Wagner's Ring Cycle. Only the opera is retold in the form of a series of science fiction books. I told you some of these writers were clever. The character, Morn Hyland suffers more than any other character I could name - probably more than was really necessary. After the emergence of a previously unknown and uncontrollable condition causes the death of her father, Morn is captured by a truly reprehensible character and is repeatedly degraded, beaten and raped, sometimes in unpleasant detail. 'Detail' in this case doesn't mean so much the physical acts themselves, although that is sometimes there, but the emotional and psychological torment inflicted upon her. I think sometimes Donaldson loses sight of the point that fiction, particularly fantastical fiction, is supposed to entertain at least as much as it disturbs, and I very nearly decided to stop reading on a number of occasions. Upon engineering her own escape, Morn is abandoned by the very organisation she serves, and given as payment to a different, but equally horrid (possibly worse) character who continues the physical and mental abuse to the point where anyone would have lost their sanity. Indeed, Morn does, a least a little - for it to be otherwise would have been unrealistic. (Yes, I do note the irony of using the word 'unrealistic' when describing a science fiction story, but setting and characterisation are two very different things.) After these prolonged events, she is then, in her fragile state, expected to save her race and be a hero in the way these stories go. As talented a writer as Donaldson undoubtedly is, I questioned the need to put Morn through quite such an extended episode of horror. So damaged is she, that the happiest ending Donaldson can conceive for her is *SPOILER* to leave her weeping hysterically in a room by herself, struggling to gather the courage to face the world outside. Realistic, yes, but necessary? Both of the men involved have back stories and through them the reasons why they are the way they are become clear. As with Thomas Covenant, only ten-fold more, this does not excuse their actions. However, Donaldson continues his theme of redemption and one of the characters becomes a hero of sorts, someone to root for. After almost putting the series down so many times during the first two books, this was difficult to swallow, and made me not a little uncomfortable.

So why did Donaldson go so far with Morn? I don't think it's anything to do with him not understanding the trauma rape victims undergo, as the consequences and emotional states of those involved are realised in a way that clearly shows Donaldson understood the magnitude of what he was putting his characters through. I don't really know, but I can tell you that despite my best efforts, I kind of was rooting for this guy a little before the end. So maybe it comes down to Donaldson's continuing theme of redemption - anyone can be saved.

Or maybe I should shut up and think about something more useful.

Birmingham: sunny, bustling, multicultural; beautiful.

I went out with some friends this week to Birmingham to celebrate a birthday. Living in a backwater like Telford, the only places to really go out are Telford, Shrewsbury, Wolverhampton or Birmingham. Telford is, frankly, shit, so mostly we go to either Shrewsbury (also shit, but posh as well) or Wolverhampton (less shit, but not especially brilliant). Birmingham is generally too far away to make it worth the effort, and it also tended to be a bit shit as well. This time, we all took a Friday off work and got the train down at Midday.

To say I was pleasantly surprised is an understatement - the place has definitely had some work done since I was there last. I know it's always had its fair share of fantastic things; old record shops; the Waterstones that fills a huge five-storey building with books; the pub that has a theatre on the first floor. However, those things aside, it always seemed a bit, well, drab. Grey. Maybe it was the weather, because sunshine really can do wondrous things, but this time the architecture looked more impressive, colours seemed brighter, and the whole place seemed cleaner and better maintained. It didn't feel like Birmingham used to feel. It felt more like London.

People thronged every street, which normally pisses me off something awful, but here it just made everything brighter and more cheerful. Me, who hates football, found it not altogether dreadful to be in a bar showing the World Cup. The bars were all playing great music, from Happy Mondays and Suede, through Blur, Pulp and Kasabian and onto Ellie Goulding and Florence + the Machine. Only a few momentary blips with Nickleback and Maroon 5 soured the soundtrack. After sampling a number of places, we settled on a relatively newly developed area on a canal full of different bars and restaurants. Fairy lights draping the bridge over the canal came on as the Sun went down. A band turned up on a small bandstand and started playing. The weather was great, the bars were full, the atmosphere was...bohemian. Don't get me wrong: I know a lot of Birmingham is shitty, I'm not that naive, even though many of my older and more cynical friends tell me often that I am. Funnily enough, my younger and slightly naive friends think I'm a bit cynical.

What I loved most of all though, is that people were fully mixing and integrating regardless of age, sex, race, anything. In certain circles, and in certain classes, at least where I live and work, there is a casual, supposedly inoffensive attitude of racism, homophobia and sexism. The kind of people that don't see anything wrong with the Daily Mail. The kind of people that hold Richard Littlejohn up as a beacon of common sense. It's not that these hateful attitudes have disappeared in our so-called enlightened society, it's just that the milder, more subversive form has become the accepted norm in too many places. I find it distasteful in the extreme, and I sometimes despair and wonder if it's everywhere. Well, it wasn't in Birmingham last Friday. Indian and Caucasian girls walked arm in arm, clearly either lovers or the very best of friends. Long-haired metalheads walked around with their blonde leggy girlfriends. Young black guys and old white men talked and laughed over the football, discussing the dissolution of Brazil's World Cup dreams. One girl was the spitting image of Scarlett Johansson - and that, I don't mind telling you, made my night. She was left to enjoy her evening with her friend without being approached by a pissed up bloke showing off to his mates. All the drunken walking arguments-against-evolution were probably back in Telford, diligently bothering anything female on two legs in sight. This is what a modern city should be.

After wading through the sinister, Daily Mail-fed attitude of non-acceptance and segregation under the surface of too many corners of my world for so long, to witness all these people simply enjoying time together made my heart feel good. And if that makes me a naive, wishy-washy, fuzzy liberal do-gooder as the Mail might label me, well then I'm proud to be exactly that.

It was however, really fucking expensive.

A lunch break spent in Hell.

Recently my cheap old mobile phone gave up the ghost, leaving me with the unpleasant prospect of buying a new one. The thing is, I hate mobile phones. Hate them. I hate the idea that I can never be truly out of reach (and I know I can just switch it off, but that's not the point), I hate the way texting has eroded the general populations ability to correctly type out even the simplest of sentences properly without resorting to switching the word 'to' to the number '2', and I hate the way that they're not only phones anymore, they're cameras, camcorders, MP3 players and tiny Internet providers, all in one. I very specifically make a point of owning a separate camera, MP3 player etc., so I just want a phone to use for calling people. Is that too much to ask? iPhone, my arse. If this wasn't enough, I hate mobile phone shops. It's never enough to just go in and get a relatively cheap pay as you go phone. I've always got to go through the same conversation with whatever dickhead is trying to sell to me about how it might be cheaper for me to get a contract. Listen very carefully. I don't fucking want a contract. That's why I haven't asked you for one. It is, in fact, why I specifically asked you for pay as you go.

So, resigned to the fact that I needed to get it over with, I head off in to town on my lunch break to get me a new phone. I get up to 2 hours (a benefit of flexi-time), so that should be plenty of time to get a new phone and eat lunch. In town, I soon find that there are about a million different phone shops, but the vast majority are for specific networks. Except the network I'm on. After a few minutes, I manage to find a Phones4U. I stand outside, looking at the text-speak logo (it's FOR YOU, you bunch of cockends!), attempting to swallow my instant hatred of the shop and all inside. I take a deep breath and cross the threshold. I take a straight path to the pay as you go display and start looking at the phones. At first, the only thing I look at is the price. There are some for under a fiver, but even I recognise that they look utter shit. I will not go over £50, however, not for a phone. I finally pick one that will do and I get approached. After I explain that I don't want any of the extra shite he's offering me, he tells me to hold on while he gets the phone. 10 minutes pass by. I'm conscious of the passing of my lunch break, like fine sand through my fingers. I see my guy wandering round at the back of the shop, looking lost. He's moving from desk to desk. He finally comes back, muttering that he's just looking for the keys to the cupboard, he won't be a minute. You've already been more than 10 I point out, in my head. Soon after, he finds the keys, only to open the cupboard and tell me they are out of stock. Have a look, see if there's another one I like, he says. I smile and nod politely before walking out of the store, ready to kill someone. Or at least someones phone.

By now, with all the wandering and choosing and waiting, almost half of my lunch break is up. I continue to search until I find a Carphone Warehouse. I feel slightly more confident here, as I dimly remember that this is where I got my previous phone. Plus, they can't be as bad as Cunts4U. As before, I head to the pay as you go section, to find a nice display area with a leaflet showing the phones available and their prices. I spend some time looking, before settling on one phone costing £30. The shop is empty other than me, with two staff, but I still have to walk up to the counter and stand there like a lemon before either one of them engages with me. While at the counter, I discover that there is a minimum top up of £10 for every phone. This is annoying, especially as Phones4U didn't have such measures in place. However, by now I just want to get the whole ordeal over with, so I acquiesce. The staff member offers me a way to save money - if I buy the phone on a different network, it will be £10 cheaper, and then I can just put my existing sim card in when I get home. For a while, I'm quite pleased.

The guy needs to take a few details - name, address, that kind of stuff. He types in the details I provide. Then he asks again. Then he looks confused at his screen and asks again. This goes on for what must have been 10 minutes or more, with much scratching of head and consulting with the other staff member. Surely he knows what to do when selling one of the phones I think to myself. It is a phone shop, after all. I don't think it's unreasonable to assume he knows how to sell a phone. Anyway, progress is finally made until he points out that on this phone the minimum top up is £20. It's probably because the phone is only £20, he informs me. So what was the point of offering me the phone £10 cheaper on a different network? I now have £20 on a sim I won't even use! The remaining time on my lunch break is now rapidly running out, and I just want to get out before I leap over the counter and pummel his stupid, empty face. With another 10 minutes or so of trying to put through a simple fucking sale, I finally leave, putting my new phone in my bag. I now have to rush to get back to work, and I will have to miss my lunch.

The only possible conclusion I can draw from this is that mobile phone shop assistants must be the dumbest bastards on this Earth. Apart from possibly HMV staff, but that's a whole different story...