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Vale Anne McCaffrey
Nov. 23rd, 2011 01:20 pmWhen I was ten years old and sick in bed with yet another bout of bronchitis, my mother gave me a book. It was Dragonsinger, and it began one of the most profound relationships I had with an author and their worlds. It feels a little strange to write that Anne McCaffrey has been the most influential author in my life; there are other writers now whose works I esteem more highly, and I don’t deny for a second the shortcomings and problems of her novels, but the combination of what she wrote and when I read it has meant that McCaffrey holds a place in my heart as indelible as that which my tattooed dragon holds on my skin.
The Dragonriders of Pern introduced me to dragons who were more than the majestic savages of my fairy tales; companions and allies rather than fearsome foes, the best and truest friend a person could ever wish for. But more than that, these books offered me two role models, two woman-shaped beacons of hope that smoothed and soothed my path into adulthood. Menolly and Lessa assured my young self that, even though I so often felt trapped and alone, misunderstood and undervalued, I would eventually find a life and a community that would embrace me. That I could be strong, I could survive, and that no matter the danger – tyrannical lords and fathers, a world that felt some days like it literally wanted to destroy me – I would one day come into my own, be safe and loved and have my particular talents valued and nurtured. From one tiny dark-haired girl to another, Lessa told me I could ride a golden dragon. A fellow misunderstood poet with an angry and overbearing father, Menolly said I could sing. When I moved out of home, my mother gave me her set of the Dragonrider books – I can see them on the bookshelf from where I’m sitting. I reread them last year while I was ill, and even though my adult sensibilities recoil at some of McCaffrey’s relationship and gender dynamics, I still can’t help but be delighted, moved and comforted by the stories of Pern and its heroes.
My love of science fiction has always been mediated by and entwined with my love for my mother, and Anne McCaffrey’s worlds are an integral part of that love - one Christmas, entirely without design, my mother gave me Damia and I gave her The Rowan. We have talked about Talents, Brains and Brawns, Hrrubans and Hayumanns, thinking through the implications of telepathy for social interaction and discussing ethics of colonisation and medical intervention. We have debated whether Dragonriders constitutes fantasy or SF, and where (and if) the boundaries between the two of them can be delineated. McCaffrey’s books are conversation points for us, but they are also gifts, tokens of deep mutual care. More than any other, Anne McCaffrey was “our” author.
May flights of dragons wing her to her rest.
The Dragonriders of Pern introduced me to dragons who were more than the majestic savages of my fairy tales; companions and allies rather than fearsome foes, the best and truest friend a person could ever wish for. But more than that, these books offered me two role models, two woman-shaped beacons of hope that smoothed and soothed my path into adulthood. Menolly and Lessa assured my young self that, even though I so often felt trapped and alone, misunderstood and undervalued, I would eventually find a life and a community that would embrace me. That I could be strong, I could survive, and that no matter the danger – tyrannical lords and fathers, a world that felt some days like it literally wanted to destroy me – I would one day come into my own, be safe and loved and have my particular talents valued and nurtured. From one tiny dark-haired girl to another, Lessa told me I could ride a golden dragon. A fellow misunderstood poet with an angry and overbearing father, Menolly said I could sing. When I moved out of home, my mother gave me her set of the Dragonrider books – I can see them on the bookshelf from where I’m sitting. I reread them last year while I was ill, and even though my adult sensibilities recoil at some of McCaffrey’s relationship and gender dynamics, I still can’t help but be delighted, moved and comforted by the stories of Pern and its heroes.
My love of science fiction has always been mediated by and entwined with my love for my mother, and Anne McCaffrey’s worlds are an integral part of that love - one Christmas, entirely without design, my mother gave me Damia and I gave her The Rowan. We have talked about Talents, Brains and Brawns, Hrrubans and Hayumanns, thinking through the implications of telepathy for social interaction and discussing ethics of colonisation and medical intervention. We have debated whether Dragonriders constitutes fantasy or SF, and where (and if) the boundaries between the two of them can be delineated. McCaffrey’s books are conversation points for us, but they are also gifts, tokens of deep mutual care. More than any other, Anne McCaffrey was “our” author.
May flights of dragons wing her to her rest.
