This makes for an implicit metatextual argument for historical fiction/biography as a whole: you have to conjure one world into the reality of another, and to do so isn't so much about researching and relaying the facts as it is allowing them to calcinate in the imagination.
Mamatas's close relationship to San Francisco and the Bay Area feeds into his descriptions of the city and into the adventures and anecdotes shared by the characters, showing us how we're surrounded by stories and also exchanging stories with our fellow human beings on a daily basis.
It might make sense, as you read this, if you imagine my face frozen in a rictus of confused (and occasionally horrified) joy, as that might be a start to understanding the sheer depth of emotion I've felt over these two and a half hours of film.
Vampire fiction has something Chee wants, as fuel for the engine of his 553-page novel about the fortunes of Lilliet Berne, a nineteenth-century celebrity soprano. But we are not reading hwarhath serious literature.
Liu is an outstanding writer, this book is excellent, and when future generations look to exemplify the zeitgeist of early twenty-first century speculative fiction this will be one of the first volumes to which they turn.
However, my blood's up so let's get back to those metaphors.
Before the era of top ten listicles, marketing labels and the best-of-genre trailers, these films were seen and circulated within the cinephile world as examples of "great (art) films," not "great science fiction films."What apocalypse stories tend to share is a theme of faith: what it is to have it, what it is to lose it, and how the object of that faith is both constructed and reconstructed in a changing environment.