A while ago, I submitted a novella to an anthology. Actually, I submitted two. Both were rejected. I was not alone in this, and another member of my workshop also submitted a novella that was later rejected. (To my workshop's credit, two of our other in-house productions were accepted, one of which was penned by two writers, so it counts as three victories as far as I'm concerned.)
Today I read the other rejected novella that my fellow workshop member had written, and although thematically and genre-wise it's quite different from the first novella I submitted, they do have one startling similarity: they're both fanfic of a type. Both depend highly on one's knowledge of a pre-existing "canonical" work. In fact, they read even better if one has knowledge of this work as well as the genre conventions of certain types of literature. In his case, it was the Bible and fantasy literature. In my case, it was
King Lear and cyberpunk (specifically, another member noted,
Ghost in the Shell). The stories are so thoroughly studded with references to both extant works that the texts become a sort of scavenger hunt for additional clues that might shed light on the story's ultimate meaning -- if the reader were interested in discovering one.
For example, my Lear (given another name, of course) "howled" over his third and favoured AI's cyborg body. I made absolutely certain that he repeated the word "nothing" five times in his love-test conversation with her. The Gloucester character does in fact get his eyes hacked by one of the other two sisters (rather than gouged out). The jester/Edgar character is named "Thom," in reference to "Poor Tom's a-cold," the line Edgar studiously repeats while on the heath. I even gave Akira Kurosawa's Lear film
Ran an appearance within the story. In fact, the company that my Lear works for is called Lionheart, a reference to Cordelia herself, as the name "Cordelia" derives from the French
coeur de leon, or "lionhearted."
All of this was so intentional on my part that when I received my rejection notice, I wrote back and said: "That's quite all right. Sometimes you're just not in the mood for the cyborg
Lear."
But calling my story "the cyborg
Lear" isn't quite right. The cyborg Lear would be easy -- you screw on a few alloy limbs, tell the same story, and let it go. I tried strenuously to avoid this very thing -- my
Lear takes place from Cordelia's perspective (I narrowly dodged accusations of feminist revisionism), it ends differently (although still with plenty of violence), and focuses instead on the lack of love between Cordelia and Lear (she may forgive him for ejecting her from the household, but not for being the man and leader that he is). I did this in full knowledge of
Lear's chequered inter-textual past --
Nahum Tate's re-version, in which Cordelia and Edgar live and marry, was the definitive performance edition from the late 17th century until suppression in the late eighteenth century.
If anything, I was doing what I read about in
Fanfiction & Fan Communities in the Age of the Internet: "re-staging" the play (Coppa's metaphor), then exposing a lack and "supplementing" it through the use of "archontic" tactics (Derecho). My workshop members' reactions to this were mixed: some wanted the same old
Lear, some thought that cyborgs were incapable of tragic experience and that the story was faithful to potential synthetic subjectivity. (It developed, for a brief and shining moment, into a rather heated discussion about both textual adaptation and post-humanism.) And we've already covered how the anthology's editor felt about it. Personally I still enjoy the story, but I enjoy it for the moments where it diverges from
Lear. My Cordelia rips her sister's jaw out and crumples it between her fingers. Lionhearted she is; merciful, she ain't.
But does that make it fanfic? If not, then what is it? (A symptom of postmodernity, no doubt.) And, assuming that my fellow workshop member's story follows the same rules for radically different texts, is it safe to say: "Congratulations, your Bible fanfic is more evocative and challenging and interesting than Orson Scott Card's!"