The 2010 Hugo Award

There was a moment, seated at the 2010 Hugo Awards ceremony, with Kim Stanley Robinson to my left, Catherynne M. Valente and Seanan McGuire immediately in front of me and China Miéville a few rows back (among many other recognizable names and faces) that I thought to myself: there is no place in the world that I would rather be right now. This moment came immediately after our emcee for the evening, the gifted, dapper and delightful Garth Nix, said in his introductory remarks: “Every year, the Hugo nominees represent a select list of the best in science fiction and fantasy, as voted on by the members of the World Science Fiction society; that floating population of WorldCons that once a year alights on a city somewhere on this Earth, and like the traveling court of a medieval ruler, celebrates all that is good and great in this usually dispersed kingdom of like-minded souls.”

That sentence gave me chills. The happy, revelatory kind. Because that’s exactly what this was: a kingdom of like-minded souls that had happened to land in my city on this Earth -- for only the fourth time in it's 68 year history, hence the alternate moniker, Aussiecon 4 -- and I had been privileged to join the royal entourage. Was possibly now a handmaiden of some kind.

I was sitting next to Artist Guest of Honor Shaun Tan’s lovely wife Inari Kiuru, a graphic designer and goldsmith-in-training who professed herself somewhat dazed by this selfsame traveling court. The couple had met at a gallery showing ten years earlier, and it was through him that this Finnish native -- she’s one of those effortlessly chic, eminently personable women who immediately dazzle you with their innate grace and charm -- had come to learn of the specialized geek world in which her husband had since become something of a hero. Tan is a local boy made good, originally from Perth but now a Melbourne resident who consistently produces quirky and original artwork with a palpable sense of humor, along with stories both moving and magical. At WorldCon, Tan was definitely a crowd favorite: his pieces at the Art Show sold immediately, the lines for his autograph were among the longest, and his various presentations typically boasted huge attendances. In person he is smiling, soft-spoken and sincere; on stage (he won the Hugo for Best Professional Artist) he talked of his first forays into fandom, how he was “impressed with the spirit of the community,” of the sense that “we’re weird, and that’s okay!” And I couldn’t help but nod and smile knowingly, because I’d witnessed that same phenomenon, that sense of agreeable, almost familial camaraderie, at this, my very first proper convention experience.

Another Hugo presenter who sang to my geek soul was the ever-erudite Cory Doctorow: when giving out the award for Best Short Story, he talked of the art form lovingly, reverentially. “A living dinosaur walking among us,” he said, for no other sphere of fiction has so successfully kept it alive. “I love the short story because it is ours.” As someone who grew up on the collections of Zelazny and Asimov and who lives for Valdemar and Honor Harrington anthologies, I had never realized, until Doctorow encapsulated it in his inimitable style, just why I was so devoted to the short story as a medium.

Which demonstrates, more than anything, what this WorldCon was for me. A series of epiphanies about myself, my life and the nature of my obsessions, punctuated by the building of Lego Daleks, the discussing of books, TV shows and comics, and the consumption of far more standard drinks than are generally recommended by registered health care professionals.

Robert Silverberg dazedly accepts for Frederik Pohl; Garth Nix dapper in his tux (accessorized, he claims, with Heinlein's bow-tie).

But back to the Hugo ceremony. My other favorite moments were when the suave Robert Silverberg accepted Frederik Pohl’s Best Fan Writer award (yes, the illustrious Frederik Pohl was up for Best Fan Writer -- which astounded no one so much as Robert Silverberg) and then presented the one for Best Editor, Long Form (“Oh, isn’t this cute? The winner is the Chief Editor of the company that publishes my books”); and when Phil and Kaja Foglio, of Girl Genius fame, accepted their award for Best Graphic Novel and Phil thanked their children, who, he grinned, had “... learned to deal with the fact that Mommy and Daddy love science fiction more than them”; all three of these moments preceded by Seanan McGuire’s heartfelt acceptance of her Campbell Award for Best New Writer.

I congratulated Seanan -- whom I had interviewed the previous day and was inadvertently stalking throughout the convention (could I help it if she happened to be participating in panels in which I had a particular interest?) -- afterward, and she was quite overcome with her win. Not only was she the first pure Urban Fantasist to win the award; not only was she “DAW’s first Hugo winner in a billion years of anything”; but the dark sea green of her dress matched the color of the plaque exactly. She was told by one well-wisher: “Next time, it’ll be Best Novel.”

“Oh, I think this was more terrifying than Best Novel,” Seanan said.

“Really?”

“Yes, because on that, they’d be judging a piece of my work, one book, that’s it, and you like it or you don’t, and if you don’t, I can do it differently. But this was judging my me, and I only get one of those.”

She’s so awesome.

Seanan headed off to celebrate/commiserate with friend and Hugo nominee Cat Valente. Her novel Palimpsest had been beaten out by a rare tie: China Miéville’s The City and The City and Paolo Bacigalupi controversial biopunk debut The Windup Girl.

“I have to admit,” Seanan said, “when they said it was a tie, I kind of hoped it would be between Cat and China.”

“Me, too!” I agreed. “Not the least because I hated that damned Windup Girl.”

“Thank you!” Seanan placed a concurring hand on my arm.

“Just… awful!” I said, shaking my head, to general approbation from the surrounding womenfolk.

A little later that night I found myself engrossed in a conversation about that very book with the well-read and discerning Amy, from Adelaide. A five minute chat turned into an hour-long download on all things science fictional and fantastical, as so often happens; we were seated at one of the several parties hosted each night by various special interest groups and were munching on complimentary potato chips as we dissected the works of Mercedes Lackey and her ilk with gay abandon. I had been on my way to the post-Hugos reception (to which I had been very lucky to score an invitation… and I’m still not entirely sure why I had) but had been waylaid by a group of gregarious George R. R. Martin fans and all but forced into attending their charmingly-named Revel at the Red Keep, held in an ambiance-free but gloriously snack-filled hotel reception room.

"I want a dolly, and a pony, and an ending to The Song of Ice and Fire..."

There I met several illustrious members of Brotherhood Without Banners, Martin’s very vocal and visible fan club, but two particularly stand out in my memory. One is Melbourne local Phil (aka Sir Mountain Goat), who talked of Martin in the devout tones of a True Believer and who explained the author’s ardent following with: “He doesn’t treat you like a fan, he treats you like a friend.” (I am surely not the first to note that George R. R. Martin looks a lot like Santa Claus, so I suppose he’s almost required to be jovial and approachable.) But it is the slightly bewildered Natalie, down from Canberra and attending her first convention, who really resonated with me that evening.

How was she enjoying WorldCon? I enquired.

“It’s been great,” she replied with a bemused air, as though she was surprised to be confessing such a thing. “I’m just realizing how much of a nerd I am.”

Hey, me too, Natalie! And, yes, I know this is an odd thing for someone who runs a publication entitled Geek Speak Magazine to claim, but it is nevertheless true.

I think it had begun at the first panel I attended, called “Breaking the Fourth Wall: Supernatural and its Audience” (which, yes, Seanan McGuire happened to be a part of; begin as you mean to go on, right?), and while I had not agreed with many of the conclusions drawn therein -- I love Season 5! -- I had begun to get the sense that this was my kind of place. The feeling was only strengthened by such discussions as “What is SFWA” (which I’ll admit I had only attended to see what current president John Scalzi and past president Michael Capobianco were like in person), “Monster mash-ups”, “Comic to film adaptation” and “Fringe, paranormal investigations in television” (again hosted by Seanan McGuire, ably assisted by my new geek crush, Doctor Who writer Paul Cornell). But I think the presentation that really set me on the path to self-realization, what Shaun Tan would later define as my “we’re weird, and that’s okay” moment, came on the first day, at one of my personal WorldCon highlights, The Baen Traveling Slideshow (with prizes!).

There we were, a hundred or so of the Baen faithful, listening to publisher Toni Weisskopf -- a woman of expansive personality and decided opinion… don’t mention the war -- wax lyrical about forthcoming Baen books and discuss the process of selecting their cover art, which I must admit was something I had never really thought about before. And yes, it’s odd that a publishing house has itself so ardent a following, but it is well-deserved; their stuff is almost uniformly tremendous, and they publish both David Weber and now the Liaden Universe®, so I adore them almost without reservation. (Baen’s logo on the spine of a book, in fact, gives me the same pleasurable feeling of contentment I get from the Starfleet insignia, or Mutant Enemy’s “Grrr. Arrgh.”) It was a fun way to spend an hour, Weisskopf ably assisted by Baen author Dave Freer, giving away books and totebags and buttons while indulging in a little gentle mockery of her stable of writers. About a new Eric Flint novel: “What’s missing from this cover? A collaborator!” About the new Lois McMaster Bujold: “This is a Miles Vorkosigan novel: Miles goes to a planet and gets into trouble.” About yet another “anti-Twilight book”, Monster Hunter Vendetta: “These are vampires you kill with big fucking guns. If you’re anti-gun, this book is not for you. But if you’re anti-gun, I assume you’re not in this room.” (Personally, I’m anti-actual gun, but of fictional guns I am very pro. Especially space guns!)

I later attended a panel featuring Weisskopf, on the subject of Military Science Fiction, pretty much Baen’s raison d’être. With her were self-aggrandizing internet comic mogul Howard Tayler, of Schlock Mercenary fame, and one Jean Johnson, author of... historical romances. (But who has some military science fiction books coming out soon! She swears!) Johnson had needed to work amusingly hard merely to justify her presence on the panel to Weisskopf; Johnson is not ex-military and Weisskopf had no compunction about making it clear that she most emphatically did not meet Bean’s lofty standards. I might have felt bad for Johnson except that she was wearing thick white socks with black flip flops, and so deserves neither mercy nor compassion.

The case of Tayler is an interesting one, and illustrates a very telling aspect of the convention experience. Tayler was a very visible presence at all five days of the event, not the least because of the worshipful entourage that followed him everywhere he went. (Most noticeable because one of them was a tall guy with pink hair. Not hard to spot, even in this company.) Tayler talked of his work on Schlock Mercenary thus: “I’m supposed to make you laugh and make you think and if can do both at the same time I can change you. And that’s a frightening concept, but I’m pulling it off.”

Perhaps true, but if you asked almost anyone outside the walls of that Convention Centre (and a goodly number of those in it) if they recognized the name Howard Tayler or the title Schlock Mercenary, they’d probably just look at you blankly. Likewise Toni Weisskopf, or any of the much-revered Doctor Who writers, or perhaps even Guests of Honour Kim Stanley Robinson and Shaun Tan. Within the confines of WorldCon, they walked as giants; they were covertly studied, their hands shaken reverently, their autographs sought and their opinions held sacred. China Miéville gathered unto himself a bevy of giggling, hair-smoothing women any time he stopped long enough for them to attach themselves -- seriously, it’s like the man has his own gravity, attracting satellites into a fixed orbit -- and Cory Doctorow could only be likened to the Pied Piper, leading legions of followers wherever his whim might take them through only his powers of well-constructed sentences and unutterable hipness.

Cory Doctorow: unutterably hip.

But I had seen Doctorow outside in the Real World, shopping for what I can only assume were souvenirs, and none of the other store patrons had spared the well-dressed man in the stylish dark-rimmed glasses even a passing glance.

Celebrity is often subjective, of course: an outfielder for the Yankees couldn’t walk down Broadway unremarked, but in the center of Melbourne, or Milan, or Mumbai, would be unlikely to raise an eyebrow. And perhaps a writer’s celebrity is the most tenuous and specific of all, if often the most enduring; at WorldCon, George R. R. Martin could barely go a step without someone gushing about The Song of Ice and Fire in his wake, but were he to walk down a city street, I’m sure the most attention he would attract is from young children hoping to be put on his “nice” list.
 

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