Today I got a surprise check in the mail. I had completely forgotten that, a few weeks ago when I had jury duty, the county was obliged to pay me for a day of warming a bucket seat chair and reading The New Yorker and the July 2007 issue of Fantasy & Science Fiction. Hey, if you thought it was likely you'd leave your reading material behind on a park bench or subway car, you'd take an old issue with you, too.
My big civic participation day began by watching a video, taking an hour to fill out a form I had already filled out at home, then doing a lot of waiting. I read about a new stamp commemorating jury duty in The New Yorker, feted by a shindig whose celebrity attendants had never served. Then I opened up F&SF and started the first story- "Daughters of Prime" by Lawrence C. Connolly.
It was awful. I found myself reading the same sentences over and over again. I couldn't concentrate. The story just didn't interest me. Was I really that nervous about hearing my name called? Had the juror's video dramatizing trial by drowning in the middle ages dulled my appetite for fiction?
Next came the book columns, De Lint's "Books to Look For" and "Books" by Elizabeth Hand. I was reasonable engaged, enthused about checking out one or two books. So, I could still read, just not fiction.
I turned the page and landed right in "Stars Seen Through Stone" by Lucius Shepard, and I was reminded what speculative fiction is supposed to be: fun, engaging, the kind of story that made me turn pages and even laugh out loud, much to the disconcertment of the jurors on either side of me.
I went back to look at why one of these stories couldn't hold my attention, while the other was so thoroughly engaging.
Connolly's "Daughter of Prime" was all about time: how long would the protagonist live before her successor took over her work? The big mysterious engine running the heart of the story was, in essence, about time. Had the protagonist been expected to arrive on this foreign planet for generations? The problem was, I really didn't care about the protagnist's fate or the fate of the natives on the planet. I just didn't know enough about them to care.
Shepard's story was all about a community. Black William, PA was a small town with an intriguing past. Shepard built the town using solid geography- I could almost draw a map showing where the library, pub, mill, spooky statue, and Chinese restaurant were located. There wasn't space in the story to know everyone in town, but we did get to know the protagonist, his ex-girlfriend, his best friend, and a creepy outsider staying at the protagonist's house. The story was so realistic, that when weird stuff began to happen, it actually gave me the chills.
Or maybe it was just the A/C in the juror's waiting room.
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