On Truly Alternate History (Plus an Excerpt from Dark Sun, Bright Moon)

Guest post by Oliver Sparrow.

Dark Sun, Bright Moon is set in the Andes a thousand years ago, long before the Inca had been established. The book takes the cosmology of the Quechua people seriously, treating it as a central plot element. This is not a mythology of gods and spirits, but of a technology that is rooted in a clear view of how the universe is constructed, and what that means to the average person. The Quechua were isolated from all influences for at least ten thousand years, so this leads to a very distinct view of the world indeed. Each community has its apu, presiding intelligence that is formed from the dynamics of their own behaviour. Weak apus lead to death, disease and misery, but strong ones farm their people for the flows that they need to survive. Poor harmony leads to weak apus, and so a spiral of decline. Each individual is pinched off a community 'pool' at birth and returns to it at death. Harmony and community cohesion is everything, but individuals are nothing. Today, indeed, after two hundred years of repression by the Inca and four hundred by the Catholic Church, these beliefs still flourish. The apu may now be called San Pedro, but they still go up to his hillock and dance for him.

How is an author to represent this alien world in fiction? There are two distinct challenges. The first is, of course, obvious: how can a reader be brought into this complex and challenging worldview without being lectured into exhausted submission? But by bit, of course, and with most of the complexity implicit in the story and not forced on the reader. (I attached an appendix for those who wanted a more systematic insight, and from feedback, that seems to have been attractive to many readers.)

The second question is an even more difficult one to resolve. Given that your readers understand the society and its ways, how can you build a story that grips by using only these ingredients? The most common approach is what I call "Disney history", which uses the past as a set of props. Its story line gives these to entirely modern characters, each saddled with a single "historical" oddity to their nature. The cast conforms to contemporary mores, leading to an upbeat ending. Commonly used props will include cod-Shakespearean dialog: "Ho! Varlet. Doest thou espy yonder studmuffin?" You generally find that there is a cast that includes modern stereotypes - one of these and one of those - all calculated to hit every target audience and tick every political box. Hey, don't you just love that young feminist-environmentalist who leads the noble workers to expel the exploitative, pollutive baron?

It won't do. It just won't do.

My own solution to this relies on a strong plot mechanism that runs on a clear logic. Why is one character torturing victims on a tatty old mud brick pyramid? Because he is attempting to engineer the creation of an apu, a community-managing entity, so that he can control his own society absolutely. Why is he able to do this? Because that is how the Quechua universe works, and because it fits with the needs of the absolutist aristocracy of the society that is funding him. And because those are the norms of formal religion, which is used to police dissent. One step out of line, and there you are on a pyramid at dawn, bleeding out for the good of the society.

That, of course, throws you back to the first of the two issues with which I began. How do you get enough of that universe across so that the reader understands the 'strong plot logic' on which you are relying? There is no easy answer to this. If you have a novel that is set in Victorian London, then a bit of fog, a crinoline and a hansom cab will put the reader where you need them to be. When your mise-en-scène is less well-known  - dare I say, less a cliché - then the only solution is to proceed step by step, widening your gyre only as the plot acquires its own dynamic. After a first section, which displays the plot elements in action, I spend six chapters taking readers through village life so that the strange world is put into context. Only then can we soar in the destruction and creation of Empires. One needs to show the inner working of a society through how understandable characters react within it, are helped or tormented by it. As the Greeks used to say, there can be no pathos without agon; no emotional impact without conflict.

Editor's Note: Oliver was kind enough to send an excerpt of his novel, Dark Sun, Bright Moon, and you can check it out below:

Chapter 1: A Small Sacrifice at Pachacamac

A priest knelt before her, a feather from his head-dress tickling her face. His musky odour of old incense and stale blood was rank, even here on the windy summit of the pyramid. Four other priests held her body tipped slightly forwards, and the pressure that this put on her tired old joints hurt far more than the fine, cold bite of the knife at her neck. Quick blood ran thick down her chin and splashed into the waiting bowl. Then the flow weakened, the strength went out of her and she died, content.

Seven elderly pilgrims had set out for Pachacamac, following their familiar river down to the coast and then trudging North through the desert sands. Two of the very oldest of them needed to be carried in litters, but most were able to walk with no more than a stick to help them in the sand. Lesser members of the community had been delegated to carry what was necessary. These would return home. The elderly would not.

The better-regarded families of the town were expected to die as was proper, sacrificed at the Pachacamac shrine for the betterment of the community. Such was to be their last contribution of ayni, of the reciprocity that assured communal harmony and health. It was also their guarantee of a smooth return to the community's soul, to the deep, impersonal structure from which they had sprung at birth.

The Pachacamac complex appeared to them quite suddenly from amongst the coastal dunes. They paused to marvel at its mountain range of pyramids, its teeming myriad of ancient and holy shrines.

Over the millennia, one particular pyramid had come to process all of the pilgrims who came from their valley. They were duly welcomed, and guards resplendent in bronze and shining leather took them safely to its precinct.

They had been expected. The priests were kind, welcoming them with food and drink, helping the infirm, leading them all by easy stages up to the second-but-last tier in their great, ancient pyramid. The full extent of the meandering ancient shrine unveiled itself like a revelation as they climbed. Then, as whatever had been mixed with their meal took its effect, they were wrapped up snug in blankets and set to doze in the late evening sun, propped together against the warm, rough walls of the mud-brick pyramid. Their dreams were vivid, extraordinary, full of weight and meaning.

The group was woken before dawn, all of them muzzily happy, shriven of all their past cares, benignly numb. Reassuring priests helped them gently up the stairs to the very top tier. In the predawn light, the stepped pyramids of Pachacamac stood sacred and aloof in an ocean of mist.

Each pilgrim approached their death with confidence. A quick little discomfort would take them back to the very heart of the community from which they had been born. They had been separated from it by the act of birth, each sudden individual scattered about like little seed potatoes. Now, ripe and fruitful, they were about to return home, safely gathered back into the community store. It was to be a completion, a circle fully joined. Hundreds of conch horns brayed out across Pachacamac as the dawn sun glittered over the distant mountains. Seven elderly lives drained silently away as the mist below turned pink.

* * *

Oliver Sparrow was born in the Bahamas, raised in Africa and educated at Oxford to post-doctorate level, as a biologist with a strong line in computer science. He spent the majority of his working life with Shell, the oil company, which took him into the Peruvian jungle for the first time. He was a director at the Royal Institute for International Affairs, Chatham House for five years. He has started numerous companies, one of them in Peru, which mines for gold. This organisation funded a program of photographing the more accessible parts of Peru. Oliver knows modern Peru very well, and has visited all of the physical sites that are described in his book Dark Sun, Bright Moon.

Interview: Christopher M. Cevasco

As my research on alternate history fandom continued, one name kept cropping up in my searches: Christopher M. Cevasco. Chris was the editor of Paradox, a magazine for historical themed fiction, including alternate history. Thinking it would be remiss not to talk to Chris, I shot him an email and here is what I learned:

Who is Christopher M. Cevasco?

I’m a writer, primarily of historical fiction. The vast majority of what I write is set in late Anglo-Saxon England, but I've also written about Roman Britain, the American Civil War, the 14th-century Black Death, Viking-Era Orkney, and a variety of other times and places. I've also written some fantasy and science fiction. Most of what I write tends to be rather dark in tone. I've had stories published in such venues as Nightmare Magazine, Black Static, and the Prime Books anthologies Shades of Blue and Gray: Ghosts of the Civil War and Zombies: Shambling Through the Ages.

What got you interested in alternate history?

I've been a big history buff for as long as I can remember--since childhood--and I think it’s only natural that we ask ourselves how history might have turned out differently. I’m not sure that there’s any one moment or experience I can point to that sparked my interest in alternate history. But the more I started to realize how even seemingly tiny changes in the way historical events played out could have resulted in vastly different timelines, the more my interest in alternate history grew. I’m sure the fact that I look at history through a writer’s eyes helped stoke this fire, but even among purely scholarly historians, there is a long tradition of posing counterfactuals as a way of deepening our understanding of why and how history played out the way it did.

What was Paradox: The Magazine of Historical and Speculative Fiction?

Paradox was a print magazine that published original short historical fiction in all its forms. This included mainstream historical fiction as well as works of alternate history, historical mysteries, historical fantasy and horror, time travel, Arthurian tales and retold myths. The magazine also featured historically-themed poetry, reviews of historical novels and films, and interviews with notable historical novelists. I launched the magazine in 2003 and published thirteen issues through 2009. During that time, two stories published in Paradox were finalists for the Sidewise Award for Alternate History, one story was recommended for a Nebula Award, and one story won the 2008 WSFA Small Press Award, presented annually by the Washington Science Fiction Association.

What inspired you to create Paradox?

My primary motivation was a perception that there was a gap in the short fiction market. As I mentioned, I myself write mostly historically-themed fiction, and the more purely historical a story I wrote, the harder it was to find markets for it; often even my historical fantasy work came back with a rejection letter indicating that the story was just a little too heavy on the history for the magazine's target audience. If I was experiencing this problem, I figured other writers were too, and that's when I started thinking about creating a magazine to cater to those writers.  I also hoped it would generate interest among readers who enjoy those types of stories. Historical novels abound, but back in 2003, there was no print magazine exclusively dedicated to short historical fiction. The Historical Novel Society was publishing Solander biannually with a single story in each issue, and magazines such as F&SF, Asimov's, Realms of Fantasy, etc. occasionally featured alternate history, historical fantasy, or time travel stories. But Paradox provided the only magazine to which fans of these types of stories could turn for a regularly occurring fix.

Did you receive many alternate history submissions to Paradox?

As far as I recall, I used to receive about a hundred submissions per month, and perhaps 20% of them were alternate history.

Why did Paradox stop being published?

I suppose the reason was twofold. One factor was certainly financial; it was becoming increasingly economically unviable to publish a print magazine. I also decided that the magazine was taking too much time away from my own writing, and it was time for me to focus more on that.

Will we ever see Paradox again?

I certainly remain open to the possibility. Paradox was always, foremost, a labor of love, and the decision to end its run was not an easy decision to make. If I do decide to revive it, though, it would almost certainly be as an online magazine rather than a print one.

What are you reading now?

I just finished reading Nicola Griffith’s wonderful novel, Hild, set in seventh-century Britain; I loved the book’s leisurely pace and the depth with which it brings its historical setting to life. I was particularly struck by how central a role the natural world played in the book.  Nature is something that would certainly have featured more prominently in the lives of men and women living in a pre-industrial age but it’s a factor that is often neglected or underutilized in fiction. Now I’m reading Shirley Jackson’s The Haunting of Hill House, something I've wanted to read for years but never have. I’m enjoying it immensely--it’s dark and funny and filled with so many memorable turns of phrase.

Do you have any current projects you want to talk about?

My current project is a sort of political thriller/murder mystery set in late 10th-century England. For now I’m still in the research and outlining stage, but the book is likely to involve the slaying of Edward the Martyr, the politics of the reign of Aethelred “the Unready”, and the Battle of Maldon. The last two books I wrote were set in the 11th century--one a psychological thriller that explores the legend of Lady Godiva and the other a tale of resistance and rebellion in the years immediately following the Norman Conquest of England in 1066. Before that, I wrote the first book in a planned alternate history trilogy that posits a different outcome for the events of 1066, one in which Harald Hardrada of Norway comes out on top over both Harold Godwineson and Duke William of Normandy. For now I’ve put that trilogy on the back burner, but I definitely plan to return to it at some point. I’m currently shopping these books around to agents.

I am currently an attorney as were you, what was it like ditching the legal world to be a full-time writer?

It was the best decision I could have made, and I haven’t regretted it for a moment. I was a criminal appeals attorney with the Legal Aid Society of Nassau County New York for ten years.  There were aspects of my work I found very rewarding, and I was working with some amazingly talented and dedicated colleagues, but by the end of that decade, I had become very disillusioned with the entire legal profession, and it was time to make a change. I was always more a writer at heart, so all I was really doing was setting myself more firmly on the path I should have been following all along.

Do you have any advice for would be publishers?

I could put my advice in the form of a joke someone once told me... Q: How do you make a small fortune in publishing? A: Start with a large fortune.  But all kidding aside, anyone who’s thinking of starting a publishing venture--specifically a magazine publishing venture, as I did--should disabuse themselves of any notion that it’s going to be a profit-making endeavor. Breaking even, financially, is a more realistic measure of success, and any profit is just icing on the cake. Perhaps the situation is less stark for an online magazine, with which I don’t have direct experience, but for print... such an undertaking has to be a labor of love, first and foremost.