This probably doesn’t come as too much of a surprise to you, but I am a total conference nerd. I love them. It doesn’t really matter what they’re about, as long as there is a bunch of people wearing name tags and carrying matching folders and going to sessions about a very specific topic that they all are passionate about.
Last week was my Spring Break, a much needed time after the most demanding term I’ve had at SCAD. But immediately after finishing up with classes, and before my parents came to Savannah for a great week-long visit, I raced down to Orlando, where I attended the International Conference for the Fantastic in the Arts. This was both much cooler and much nerdier than it sounds. It was nerdy because it was a giant collection of people from around the world who think writing, music, art and film are better when they contain elves and wizards and aliens. It was also nerdy because there were occasional werewolf howls that arose during the sessions or at particularly convivial meals.
On the other hand, it was cool because everyone took each other seriously. There were well-known writers and editors, as well as professors and graduate students from a wide range of institutions and backgrounds. There was a high level of scholarship, and it was such a treat to be around so many people who are so intelligent in an English-major-ish kind of way. In one of my favorite British comedy shows, one particularly pedantic character gets excited about an exhibition in a neighboring town on the “train timetables of the 1920s.” When I first heard this, I thought, “Well, that could be interesting, provided it was presented in the right way.” In other words, I am pathetically easily interested. However, if you throw children’s literature in the mix, I’m yours for life. At the conference, I was in the Children’s and Young Adult Literature and Art division, and I was able to attend sessions on topics ranging from food and commensalism in the Harry Potter series, menstruation (or the lack thereof) in the Twilight series and the resulting feminist implications, and the ethics of anthropomorphism in children’s books. SO COOL!
Even more exciting for me was the opportunity to present my own paper. During this last term, as I was worrying about when I was going to find time to write it, one of my SCAD friends tried to reassure me. She told me that her boyfriend presented at a conference a while ago, and that he wrote his paper in the hotel bathroom the night before (so as not to wake anyone up, I assume, or else perhaps he just thought it had better lighting). I swore I wouldn’t do this. I was taking this opportunity extra seriously and unlike with most of my college papers, I determined to leave time to at least proof read! No way was I going to write my paper in the bathroom the night before. And I’m happy to report that I didn’t! I wrote it in the lobby.
While I had done all of my research, I just didn’t have the time to put it all together until after I’d arrived in Orlando. I finished it at 4:00 am and presented it at 8:30 am. After I was done, anytime I wasn’t doing anything crucial like eating, showering or attending sessions, I fell asleep. I’m pretty sure that my two roommates were convinced that I was narcoleptic.
Assuming I remember correctly, I presented a paper on Haroun and the Sea of Stories by Salman Rushdie.
I’ve mentioned this book on several occasions before, and it holds a special place in my literary heart. I first discovered it in my ninth grade English class around the same time I discovered how thrilling literary analysis can be. In retrospect, I’m not sure which led to which. Later, I chose to represent the book in my final self-portrait project for my painting class in college, just at the time when I was becoming excited about creativity.
In Haroun, one question haunts the title character throughout the book: “What’s the point of stories that aren’t even true?” his neighbor asks. This is a good question, and one that Rushdie himself was struggling with when he wrote it in exile from his family, friends and country. What’s the point of fiction? Does it actually affect its readers? Furthermore, what’s the point of fantasy, which in some sense is even less “true” than more realistic fiction? Why would several hundred people gather in a hotel near the Orlando airport for five days to discuss the fantastic in the arts?
Haroun eventually realizes that he too has no time for stories that aren’t true, but the truth he discovers is not merely factual. Its source is much deeper, and can be learned only through venturing so far outside of his normal existence that he can finally see his life for what it is. The only story worth telling is one that isn’t “only a story.”
I came away from the conference a little bit nerdier and a lot happier. I was quietly gathering ideas for my thesis, which I am beginning now that the Spring Quarter has officially started. I’ll share more about that once I’ve gotten a more clear idea of what I’ll be saying. So look for an email at about 4:00 am the night before it’s due.
Have a good week,
Sarah/Mouse
