New from PM Press: Send My Love and a Molotov Cocktail!: Stories of Crime, Love and Rebellion, a short story collection “that revolves around riots, revolts, and revolution.” It includes “I Love Paree,” the story I co-wrote with Michael Skeet.
My steampunk YA short story, “Clockwork Fagin” (about the children who are mangled by the machinery of the industrial-information revolution, who murder the orphanage’s cruel master and replace him with a taxidermied automaton that they use to fool the nuns who oversee the place), has been turned into a podcast by the good folks at Escape Pod, with musical accompaniment by Clockwork Quarter. It’s a great reading, and the anthology the story appears in, Steampunk!, has just hit stands.
Monty Goldfarb walked into St Agatha’s like he owned the place, a superior look on the half of his face that was still intact, a spring in his step despite his steel left leg. And it wasn’t long before he *did* own the place, taken it over by simple murder and cunning artifice. It wasn’t long before he was my best friend and my master, too, and the master of all St Agatha’s, and didn’t he preside over a *golden* era in the history of that miserable place?
I’ve lived in St Agatha’s for six years, since I was 11 years old, when a reciprocating gear in the Muddy York Hall of Computing took off my right arm at the elbow. My Da had sent me off to Muddy York when Ma died of the consumption. He’d sold me into service of the Computers and I’d thrived in the big city, hadn’t cried, not even once, not even when Master Saunders beat me for playing kick-the-can with the other boys when I was meant to be polishing the brass. I didn’t cry when I lost my arm, nor when the barber-surgeon clamped me off and burned my stump with his medicinal tar.
I’ve seen every kind of boy and girl come to St Aggie’s — swaggering, scared, tough, meek. The burned ones are often the hardest to read, inscrutable beneath their scars. Old Grinder don’t care, though, not one bit. Angry or scared, burned and hobbling or swaggering and full of beans, the first thing he does when new meat turns up on his doorstep is tenderize it a little. That means a good long session with the belt — and Grinder doesn’t care where the strap lands, whole skin or fresh scars, it’s all the same to him — and then a night or two down the hole, where there’s no light and no warmth and nothing for company except for the big hairy Muddy York rats who’ll come and nibble at whatever’s left of you if you manage to fall asleep. It’s the blood, see, it draws them out.
My latest Guardian column, “Adult content filters can’t replace good parenting,” is a critique of the media coverage of Britain’s new national “adult content” filter. The reporting on this story all led with uncritical repetition of the government’s line that this would block “all adult content” — nevermind that no two people agree on a definition of “adult content” and even if they did, the filter would inevitably miss loads of “adult content” and block lots of stuff that wasn’t “adult.”
Presenting a parent who is trying to keep their children safe with the question: “Would you like to block all adult content on your internet connection?” is terribly misleading, designed to play on parental fears and bypass critical judgement. Better to ask: “Would you like us to block some pornography (but not all of it), and a lot of other stuff, according to secret blacklists composed by anonymous third-party contractors who have been known to proudly classify photos of Michaelangelo’s David as ‘nudity?'”
It’s simplistic to say that governments should abide by the principle “do no harm”, but it’s perfectly reasonable to demand that policies should at least do some good. When our national information policy is turned over to anonymous, unaccountable censorware vendors, we fail to deliver a safe online environment for our children and we undermine our own free access to information. It’s a lose-lose proposition.
As a parent, I worry about what my kid finds on the net. At three and a half, my daughter is already old enough to drive a little tablet and check out cartoons on YouTube. Just the other day, I heard some odd dialogue emerging from across the sofa, and I had a peek at my daughter’s screen. To my surprise, I found that she had discovered a little interlinked pocket of aggressive, kid-targeted Barbie adverts, uploaded by the official Mattel account, masterfully wrought pester-power timebombs designed to convert my kid into a nagging doll-acquisition machine. What’s more, my kid had heretofore only watched ripped DVDs, YouTube cartoons, and CBeebies and had literally never seen a video advert before.
I’ve just put up the site for my latest book, a slim chapbook in PM Press’s Outspoken Authors series called The Great Big Beautiful Tomorrow. The book contains a novella (“There’s a Great Big Beautiful Tomorrow/Now is the Best Time of Your Life”), an essay on futurism, the transcript of a lecture on copyright and creativity, and a wide-ranging interview with Terry Bisson. As with all my books, it’s available as a CC-licensed download in a number of formats, and I’m looking for libraries and schools who’d like free hardcopies bought for them from downloaders who want to pay me back for the ebooks. I really like how this little book came out, and it’s as good an introduction to my work and beliefs as you’re likely to find.
Review:
Kirkus Reviews
He’s got the modern world, in all its Googled, Friendstered and PDA-d glory, completely sussed.
Kirkus Reviews
Review:
Montreal Gazette
Doctorow shows us life from the point-of-view of the plugged-in generation and makes it feel like a totally alien world.
Montreal Gazette
Review:
Publishers Weekly
Doctorow demonstrates how memorably the outrageous and the everyday can coexist.
Publishers Weekly
Review:
NYT
Doctorow uses science fiction as a kind of cultural WD-40, loosening hinges and dissolving adhesions to peer into some of society’s unlighted corners.
New York Times
I was delighted an honored to be invited to join PM Press’s roster of Outspoken Authors, a collection of slim volumes of fiction, argument, and dialogue from writers who indulge in a little polemic with our fiction.
I’m often asked whether I see myself as an activist first, or a science fiction writer. I don’t see much of a meaningful distinction. Science fiction writers are rotten at predicting the future (our track record is about the same as you’d get by throwing darts into a pitch-black Olympic stadium carpetted with futuristic predictions generated by Markoff chains). But we’re all of us trying to influence the future, or the present, or our view of the past. Writing about humanity’s relationship with technology is an activist pursuit, because it requires that you take a stand on how things really are, or ought to be. We live in a technological society, and it is impossible to write about technological change without writing about social change.
So here’s my contribution to the world of Outspoken Authordom — a novella, an essay, and an interview. They’re as good an introduction to my work and sensibility as you’re likely to find. I hope you’ll enjoy them — and consider joining the fight for the future.
