Recognition

ECLIPSIS

Book One of Lady Amalie’s
memoirs

by Amalie, Lady Aranyi

edited and with an introduction by Ann
Herendeen

Copyright © 2011 by Ann Herendeen

This book is a work of fiction. Names,
characters, places and incidents are either products of the
author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to
actual events, locales, or persons, living, dead, or undead, is
purely coincidental. All rights reserved. No part of this
publication can be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any
means, electronic or mechanical, without permission in writing from
the author or publisher.

Smashwords Edition: July 2011

Cover image: Danielle Jacobs

About the Author/Editor

Dedication

Editor’s
Introduction

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

Preview: CHOICES

Preview: TWO WEEKS AT GAY BANANA HOT
SPRINGS

Two
Weeks At Gay Banana Hot Springs

Monday: The First Week

Ann Herendeen is the author of two Harper
Paperbacks:
Phyllida and the Brotherhood of Philander
(2008); and
Pride/Prejudice
(2010), a Lambda Literary
Award finalist for Bisexual Fiction. She lives in Brooklyn.
www.annherendeen.com

To David Garfinkle, the first openly bisexual
man I knew: “Beauty is truth, truth beauty.” May you rest in
peace.
And to mi querido amigo, Jorge Castilla Casares, who knows
everyone’s real name.

It gives me great pleasure to introduce these
memoirs from my old friend, Amalie, ‘Gravina Aranyi (“Lady
Amalie”).

I knew Amalie as Amelia Herzog, back in the
days before computers, when the typewriter was the writer’s tool of
choice—yes, we’re that old. Like me, Amelia was a misfit,
uncomfortable and out of place; but where I used writing to escape,
Amelia simply disappeared, into one of those sword-and-sorcery
worlds that were popular among fans of feminist science fiction. In
the beginning I heard from her quite frequently, but over the years
the correspondence tapered off, as it usually does. She would send
a brief note at holidays (hers, not ours), to let me know she was
still alive. The sad truth is, involved in my own career, I forgot
all about her. Until now.

As it turns out, Amelia thrived in her new
home. For her, the move to the world she calls Eclipsis was an act
of liberation. Sword-and-sorcery (S&S) sounds dated now,
perhaps even more than feminism, but the genre began as a way for
women to find their voice in the male-dominated world of Sci Fi.
The science fiction that survives today rarely resonates with
readers because of its science, but more often because of its
fiction. The once-futuristic ideas of robots and space aliens, time
machines and travel to distant galaxies still work for readers,
when they do, because of the radically different approaches they
bring to answering the same old questions.

That favorite fictional device, the alternate
universe, frees writer and readers to (re)examine the eternal,
unresolvable problems of men and women, human nature, war and
politics, without the constraints of realistic fiction. S&S was
especially valuable for the way it allowed women readers and
writers to explore issues of sex roles and gender norms—those
“unimportant” social problems that were dismissed or obscured by
the “big ideas” of conventional, masculine Sci Fi.

In becoming “Lady Amalie,” Amelia found her
true self, as she wrestled with one of the eternal “women’s”
problems: what happens when what you’re supposed to want turns out
to be what you really do want? Like Elizabeth Bennet of Jane
Austen’s
Pride and Prejudice
, Amelia discovered that
wealth, status and power can be very conducive to love, especially
when embodied in a handsome and intelligent human form. And like
Elizabeth and all Cinderellas, Amelia won her place in life, not by
being rescued, but because she, too, was gifted. She recognized her
mate, her equal partner, and claimed him—and her home.

With the introspection and leisure of middle
age, Lady Amalie had the desire to record her unique experiences,
and began writing her memoirs. Now, with the publishing world
undergoing a radical transformation, with e-books challenging the
established print format and its gatekeepers, the mainstream
publishers, Lady Amalie felt the time was finally right to share
her story. She has entrusted her extensive body of work to me,
along with permission to format and edit it, and make it available
online.

Yes, obviously, Lady Amalie is a pseudonym.
But it’s simplistic, perhaps even incorrect, to say that we’re the
same person. The Ann Herendeen who wrote the first of these stories
almost fifteen years ago is not the Ann Herendeen who is editing
them now. Ann Herendeen went on to write and publish two novels:
Phyllida and the Brotherhood of Philander
and
Pride/Prejudice
. She is working on a third novel, called
Last Dance
. Her long-term goal is to be recognized as a
writer, with no adjectives in front of that word.

Herendeen’s and Lady Amalie’s works do share
some themes, most notably the adoption of the “third perspective,”
the point of view of the woman in a polyamorous marriage to a
bisexual husband and his male companion. But there are other themes
in Lady Amalie’s writing that developed specifically from her time:
the concerns of second-wave feminism and the beginning of the
concept of female empowerment.

The woman who became Amalie, ‘Gravina
Ardanyi, is the product of a very different road taken. Lady
Amalie’s memoirs tell the story of a woman with a “gift” that is
also a curse: a talent or ability, along with a difference in
appearance, that sets her apart from society. Today there are many
works of popular fiction that portray telepathy and its
inconveniences as a disability or a deformity. But younger readers
may not realize that it was only a couple of decades ago that what
we now celebrate as “difference” was a genuine “handicap,” that
outmoded word, especially for women who were judged on their
appearance and who were not seen as, or allowed to be, sexual
beings if they did not meet their culture’s standard of beauty.

Even traditional ability came with a price.
The popular fiction of the past is full of stories about talented
women in all fields who had to choose between family life and using
their gift, whatever it was.

Lady Amalie’s extensive memoirs do not
resolve this issue; they merely present one woman’s unconventional
solution in an imaginary world that feels both foreign and
familiar. If some of Lady Amalie’s revelations seem less
groundbreaking now, it’s because of the work that her spiritual
sisters contributed. We should be thankful for it, while
remembering where Lady Amalie belongs in the continuum.

I think Lady Amalie has something valuable to
say. But what matters to readers is whether her story is
entertaining and absorbing. I found it so, or I would not have
accepted the task of editing. Although she did not write her
memoirs in chronological order, I am presenting them that way, as
it’s easier to follow and makes a more straightforward
narrative.

A note about the setting: the world here
called “Eclipsis” is a Protected World, one of the few habitable
planets in the mostly hostile and indifferent universe. Like
Earth’s Protected Areas, these are fragile ecosystems, at risk of
degradation or extinction from the modernization and pollution that
accompany their rediscovery, with the inevitable tourism it brings.
The human ecology, the customs and social organization of the
indigenous people, requires as much protection as the biological.
Unceasing vigilance and vigorous enforcement of anti-contamination
procedures are essential if it is to remain viable and intact. For
this reason, Lady Amalie has used pseudonyms and generic terms in
places to protect the identity of individuals and institutions
that, if revealed, would expose her world to harmful scrutiny,
however inadvertent or well-intentioned.

A note about time: Space travel is a mystery
to most of us. The distances are so mind-bogglingly vast that time
itself is warped. Amelia and I were almost exact contemporaries
when our paths diverged. But a journey across several galaxies,
hundreds of light-years away, and life on Eclipsis, with its
twenty-six-hour days and eight-day weeks, has brought my friend to
the furthest edge of old age, while I’m still in what I
optimistically consider my productive years. I know how her story
ends, even while I’m actively writing my own.

I hope you enjoy this first installment of
Lady Amalie’s memoirs.

Ann Herendeen, editor

“You mean those aren’t contact lenses?”

The daily eclipse had coincided with sunset,
sending horizontal shafts of ultraviolet light through the
terminal’s clear plastic walls. Encumbered with carry-on, passport
and immigration permit, I had not retrieved my sunglasses in time,
and my nictitating membranes had slid down in a reflex. I was fresh
off the ship, a mind-numbing, months-long journey, but it was the
Protectorate escort assigned to meet me whose brain seemed
paralyzed, unable to suppress his recoil from a client who was
morphing from Human to Reptile.

“If I wanted to infiltrate a Protected World,
I’d try to be a bit less obvious,” I said, too tired to spare the
young man’s feelings. Besides, I’d just had this conversation with
the customs agent. After an exhaustive search of my bags had
uncovered no lenses, wetting solution or case, I’d had to submit to
an antiquated, and, I was convinced, dangerous retinal scan, which
turned the first, semi-translucent manifestation of my inner
eyelids into shields of opaque silver. I wasn’t in the mood to go
through it all again.

The escort apologized. We were still under
Terran law, even way out here on the edge of the universe.
Companies may not consider appearance when hiring; it is a serious
infraction to suggest that a person must alter his or her physical
characteristics in any way as a condition of employment. If it
hadn’t become such a big deal, I might have welcomed the chance to
claim the eyelids as a disability and turn disapproval and distrust
into apology and sympathy, but I was damned if I’d do it now. They
were stuck with me, an information manager with the Evil Eye, a
problem the recruiter on Terra, unaware that my designer shades
were more than a fashion statement, could not have imagined.

“It’s forbidden to wear full-eye or mirrored
contact lenses on Eclipsis,” the escort babbled on, reciting the
rules from his cube’s hologram display. “It’s for your own
protection.”

We passed some men unloading the possessions
of my fellow passengers, those fortunate enough not to have been
flagged for customs inspections. The walkway wound close to the
baggage claim area, and I could not avoid picking up some of the
workmen’s thoughts. Like any conscientious immigrant, I had studied
the language during the journey out, but it had been difficult with
no one around speaking it. Now, with Eclipsians thinking in their
own language, the ideas emerging as they were being shaped into
words, it was all too clear.

‘Gravina bitch. Hair short as a dog with
mange, neck bare. And wearing breeches. Can see everything, as if
she was naked.

Me!
That was
me
they were
describing! I knew that a
‘Gravina
was a female Eclipsian
aristocrat, but why should native Eclipsians mistake me for
one?

‘Graven tell us to keep to the old ways,
but
they
don’t.
The hateful
thoughts were still coming through.
This one tries to pass for
Terran, travels on Terran airship
. One of them made a familiar
hand gesture and actually spat in my direction. Apparently the sign
against the Evil Eye is truly universal.

I glared at the men, trying to probe deeper
into their consciousness to learn why my hair and clothes provoked
such antipathy while the eyelids simply generated a resigned
apprehension, and found something even more disconcerting. For the
first time in my life my mind encountered people who knew I could
read their thoughts. The men could not read mine, yet they
knew
I could read theirs. They were afraid of me because
of it. As I returned their stares, willing myself to show no
reaction, they backed down, more in self-protection than from
deference, lowering their eyes in an attempt to block my
perceptions.