My Very Own Date at the Modern Moulin Rouge, Minus the Absinthe but Featuring A Very Charming Fox Trot with Boba Fett, As Told In Three Parts

I – Wherein I Explain the Title, Or Die Trying

Welcome, Ministry fans! Thanks for visiting! I have a pair of lovely little giveaways for you, but before I share those details, let me tell you a little story about what I love about steampunk.

I didn’t intend to become a writer of steampunk stories. I really didn’t. I knew the term, sure, but it was just another literary sub-genre to me … until a gentleman named Mister Lapin wandered along and changed everything. One morning I was driving to work, listening to the Dr. Horrible soundtrack, and as the mad, bombastic closing credits music played I was suddenly struck by an idea: What if I wrote a story about a man who turns himself into a half-man, half-rabbit? And what if he used alchemy to solve mysteries? It was so crazy I just had to do it, and when I sat down later that evening, I found the voice naturally became an excitable British man straight out of the Victorian era. The Impossible Mister Lapin, my novel of weird science and occult investigations in a Britain that never was, had begun. It quickly took on a life of its own, growing from a short story to a serial novella to my first ever full-fledged novel, adding gadgets and alchemy and evil spirits as it went, often with me feeling as though I was trailing slightly behind, trying frantically to keep up.

What was even more amazing, though, was the scene that surrounded this new world I’d chanced into. My wife, the costumer, had started attending Dorian’s Parlor, a lovely steampunk gathering in Philadelphia, and as the story of Mister Lapin took on life she brought me along with her. I was stunned and enchanted by the creativity and vibrancy of the community – there were people faithfully recreating exquisite Victorian and Edwardian dress down to the smallest detail, while others blasted off into the far realms of steam-powered fantasy as airship pirates and eccentric inventors, and everything inbetween. There was music, art,  fashion, gadgetry,  literature (always a relief for a writer looking to sell a tale), academic discussion … there was a community. And even though some of them liked to quarrel about what did or didn’t suit the scene, or even how to define the term “steampunk” itself, in the end the movement always seemed to celebrate a diversity of inspiration that was positively breathtaking.

In many ways, meeting the steampunk community – at Dorian’s, at New York Comic Con, at Steampunk World’s Faire and many other places besides – reminded me of Christian’s first experience with the Moulin Rouge in the film of the same name – a whirl of sounds and sights, faces and delights. And that’s without any absinthe to help the experience along!

Now that steampunk has crossed well into the mainstream, of course there are any number of naysayers who claim it’s over, it’s done, it’s been co-opted will never be the same. But with respect, I rather think those folks are missing the point. Movements rise and fall in popularity, naturally, but the very diversity of the community and the experiences and inspirations it draws on makes it far hardier than one might expect. Because it’s not purely history, and it’s not purely fiction, it’s a lovely expanse of middle ground between the two. Besides, there are other factors that also play a role, which might be even more unexpected than airship captains, safari enthusiasts with rayguns and the inimitable Steampunk Boba Fett. (As if such a thing were possible, I know.)

But here’s what comes to mind whenever someone tells me that steampunk’s already on its way out. When I was in college, the neo-swing revival was in full, well, swing, and an interviewer asked Royal Crown Revue lead singer Eddie Nichols if he thought the music would be a fad, or if it had staying power. He replied, “Will it be huge like it is now? Nah. ‘Course not. It’ll level off soon enough. But you see those cats out there on the dance floor? They paid a lotta money on those dance lessons, not to mention the outfits. This music didn’t really die before, and it’s not going to now either. Besides, it doesn’t age like the punk rock or metal bands wil. You can grow old with this, you know? It’s classy. You won’t be moshing at your daughter’s wedding, but you will definitely fox trot.”

I look around at all the passion and energy and innovation being poured into the fashion and music and writing and crafting, the humor and style and class that inform and support this scene, and I don’t hear metal.

I hear swing.

May 22, 2013 | Categories: Uncategorized | Tags: Mister Lapin, writing | 10 Comments