It is a truth universally acknowledged that a science fiction writer in possession of a convention panel must be in want of a question as to where all the genre’s optimism went. Many born during the inception of cyberpunk (like me), have no recollection of a time when science fiction was inherently optimistic. But there is another genre that does optimism by default and is often ignored because it has traditionally been written by and for women: romance. As bell hooks wrote, “Male fantasy is seen as something that can create reality, whereas female fantasy is regarded as pure escape.”
Romance is optimistic purely because it believes unwaveringly in the possibility of growth, change, happiness, and pleasure—often in the face of poverty, illness, trauma, hate, or mainstream values. Mr. Darcy does wrong and owns up to it. Lucy Honeychurch realizes her desires are valid. Anne Shirley gets over herself. “Without change, you don’t have a romance novel,” says bestselling author Sarah MacLean.
The profound therapeutic benefits of connecting with nature and spending time outside are well known. But in winter? When it’s cold, gloomy and everything looks dead? In fact, especially in the winter, when we are susceptible to fatigue, illness and seasonal low mood. And actually there is plenty of life, beauty and wonder right outside our doors, if we look closely.
Come and take a short walk with me in my nearest wild patch – an urban cemetery, a common environment across the British Isles.
Wilson’s tone throughout the poems, as the pandemic and lockdown deepen, is one of aloof attentiveness: life goes on. There’s no haranguing or shrill political sloganeering, nor is Wilson a conventionally confessional poet. He usually writes with rhyme and strict attention to meter, but here there’s a new and engaging conversational looseness. He digresses and shares domestic news like a chatty neighbor. His wife gives him a haircut. His kids watch Duck Soup. Wilson reads Matthew Arnold.
Notes From Another Los Angeles, edited by the scholar Anthony Fontenot, is the first book devoted to exploring the communal developments that Ain believed in deeply, with a focused look at each of the projects he constructed. While the scale of his plans was often thwarted, Ain made four such communities in Los Angeles during his lifetime, of all of which still stand today. “He could have done large commercial buildings,” a former associate of Ain’s observed, “but his heart was in social housing.” Ain stated that he wanted to address “common architectural problems of common people,” and the best way to do this, in his view, was to design small homes on shared lots that were cooperatively owned.