FantasyCon 2009

A report by Pastrysatan

A weekend or so ago (September 18-20), Nottingham hosted FantasyCon 2009, the British Fantasy Society's Annual shindig, in the cavernous Britannia Hotel. It is a celebration of fantasy and SF publishing; books, magazines, comics and art (and freaky jewelry). It is a three day conference, covering a whole weekend. Sadly, I was only a day-tripper looking for a nice day out. Something for a balding, forty-something geek to enjoy. It also gave me the opportunity to check out what's hip, happening and trendy in the British fantasy scene.

In some ways, my little Avatars,  FantasyCon is a serious little conference. If you are used to comic-book conferences you will immediately notice an absence of fancy dress or leggy models in Sailor Moon costumes handing out leaflets. This seriousness carries over to the main business at hand; the drinking. Most of the proceedings take place in or near the bar. Consequently, almost everyone you meet from the second day on will be drunk or hungover.

Despite this bacchanalian caveat, FantasyCon is a grand day out, if I may be allowed to say so. Of course it is the people who attend that make an event like this. In the main, the attendance is made up of authors, fans and small press publishers. They are a friendly bunch and have even provided a meeting point for "newbies" to congregate and be introduced to the many goings on. A splendid idea, one that many larger conferences could benefit from.

With my splendid Leicester posse we decided to split up and sample the various activities. It was 11 am. There was a round table on vampires, a talk on writing weekends and a book launch by two small presses held in the bar. I will return to the launches later. The talk on writing weekends was canceled and so, a faute de mieux, let us wander to the vampire forests.

Given the popularity of American vamps, one would expect us plucky Brits to put on a good show as well. Sure, the yanks have True Blood, Moonlight, Buffy and Stephenie Meyers, but we've got Bram Stoker, the original dude with the 'tude. Surely we can kick bitey ass too? Sadly, it seemed not. The lament from the creatures of the night was despondent and plaintive. Night of the Lycans just wouldn't cut it in Leeds or Middlesborough. Blade would take one look at Southampton city centre on a Saturday night and decide to end it all. Twilight over here? When English 15 year old girls all look and sound like Vicky Pollard? You is havin a laff, you is! There were some age-old arguments:Paranormal Romance or Horror? Another argument pitted badly written, trash, mass-market vampires against the honesty,  literary quality and real emotional depth portrayed by the writers on the FantasyCon panel. Pity they write all this high-minded literature about characters that go "poof!" and magically turn into a bat when they get near a window.

An interesting shift in the market is a growing interest in historical vampire fiction. Though the biggest concern among those present was that the boom in vampires was coming to an end as readers tired of the formula.

The next panel I attended was an interview with the conference's special guest, Brian Clemens. Brian seems to have had a hand in  writing almost every single British Sci-Fi/Adventure series of the 1960s. His credits include The Invisible Man, Dangerman, The Champions, Adam Ant Lives and, of course his co-writing of The Avengers with Brian Rigby.

It was interesting to hear that the original partner for Steed (Patrick McNee), was supposed to be a male actor, Ian Hendry. When Hendry got a gig in Hollywood, Honor Blackman was hired. Her part was. therefore, written initially for a man --and they kept all the fight scenes in, despite the change of personel. It was the beginning of fighting, leather trouser-wearing, action-women. Honor was eventually headhunted for the James Bond films. After an interregnum where Elizabeth Shepherd wore the leather pants, Diana Rigg made the Emma Peel role her own.

At this point it was time for lunch. Leicester colleagues and I adjourned to a nice restaurant and a walk around Nottingham. I took the opportunity to visit 'Page 45', absolutely the best independent comic-book shop outside London. After spending all my book money on comics, I slunk back into the conference.

On my return I crashed into my final improving lecture. Its theme was 'The Green Man' and bringing myths up to date. It was pleasant enough. All the speakers referred to their own books whenever they answered a question and there was some light and fluffy Q + A about how swell and lovely myths all were. Nice and green and ancestor-friendly they are. It is why you should all support the use of bile from caged bears in Chinese medicine: It is based on wonderful myths by wise ancestors, not the nasty chemicals of our silly modern medical science.

Thoughts of medicine drove me to the bar where I sat through a number of press launches (I told you I'd come back to them), all of which were delivered to an audience of beer-monsters. I could not think of a worse nightmare for any author than having their book launched in such an appalling locale. Here is a list of what the organizers did wrong. A list that is no way exhaustive.

1) They held the book launches in a bar! A bar that was serving all through the conference. Throughout the day, the majority of people going there were groups who just wanted to chat, drink and network: i.e. they did not want to listen to book launches or other announcements. Given the widespread indifference of the bar crowd, the response of the publishers was to shout at everyone.

2) Some launches were accompanied by free wine. The wine was placed on the same table where all the authors were sitting. People queuing for the free wine did so by lining up in front of where the authors sat, obscuring them from view. A publisher would then stand on a chair and shout over the heads of the queue. "This is a brilliant book by Fred Blogs!", they would bellow. Fred Blogs, obscured by a row of bodies, could reflect in splendid isolation on all the benefits that small presses bestow on their authors.

3) Forty or so books were launched. Not a single author got to read an extract of their own book at their own launch. Shocking.

4) When you could see the authors, you could not photograph them properly. The table they were sitting at was directly in front of a large window. A strong backlight meant that any photograph taken of the authors would have rendered them black, unrecognizable silhouettes.

At the bar, Leicester writer Jim Worrad and I, decided to give a reading of our work. We signed up and trekked up to the room. To an audience of six (all of them friends) we got to strut our stuff. We finished just in time to miss the Fantasy Banquet and trooped off for our tea. Sturdier hearts than mine later returned for the British Fantasy Awards Ceremony (Leicester writer, Graham Joyce, won the main prize for Best Novel). I, however, caught the train back to Leicester, arriving home in time for Match of the Day).