I'm struck

by the irony of the fact that I'm rereading Frankenstein right now for the 200th anniversary of it (the writing I'm assuming since I know it was published in 1818) and realizing that if you think about it, this is one of the very first science fiction stories. All the nonsense last year with the Sad Puppies and the Hugos over women/non-white/non-straight authors and characters and one of the first first SF books was written by a woman.

When I saw Cinda Williams Chima the other day she did mention that she was asked (and this is within the last 15 years) to use her initials because the publisher was afraid no one would buy a fantasy book written by a woman. She refused.

And it's pretty obvious Mary Shelley wasn't an idiot. I've often seen her depicted as a flighty teenager, a mere appendage of her husband. She knew enough science to make it believable for the time period. (I understand that she had seen some of the reanimation exhibitions that were going on back then as they experimented with Galvani's work). She understood alchemy and knew who Von Hohenheim was. In fact Paraclesus's work was part of Frankenstein's inspiration as he looks for the elixir of life.

But women shouldn't write fantasy and SF. Eye rolls.

I had wanted to share this for the last couple days and kept forgetting sadly. It made me sniffle (and makes me wish you could comment to tumblr without having one!)



Today was a waste. All I managed to do was finish reading the scientific papers I needed to get through and picked some mulberries. Sigh.

I need to be writing.