Ray Bradbury
Happy 90th Birthday!
SF writers generally deny that they are prophets: they are just trying to write some stories about science and technology and people. As I have suggested before, I see two basic types of SF: the "what if" story and the "if this goes on" story. The first type occurs when the author asks "what if a giant asteroid" were to collide with the earth and tells a story that answers that question. In the second type, the author learns that the human population now takes fewer years to double its population than it has in the past: this would lead to a story that describes what might happen if this goes on for another century. In 1953, Ray Bradbury published a short story titled "The Murderer," which belongs in the "if this goes on" category, and I think he got it right--this is pure prophecy.
The murderer in the story is Albert Brock. He has just arrived at a mental institution and we sit in when he is interviewed by a psychiatrist. Brock is not a serial killer, at least not a serial killer of humans; in fact he hasn't killed a single person. He is the one who insists he is a murderer; his victims are certain types of electronic devices. Keep in mind that this was written in 1953.
His victims are radios, TVs, telephones, intercoms, phonographs, and especially the radio wrist watch, a communication device. As I read the story, my mind insisted on substituting cell phone or mobile phone for wrist radio.
". . . it was music by Mozzek in every restaurant; music and commercials on the buses I rode to work. When it wasn't music, it was interoffice communications, and my horror chamber of a radio wrist watch [cell phone] on which my friends and my wife phoned every five minutes. What is there about such 'conveniences' that makes them so temptingly convenient? The average man thinks, Here I am, time on my hands, and here on my wrist is a wrist telephone [cell phone], so why not just buzz old Joe up. eh? 'Hello, hello!' I love my friends, wife, humanity very much, but when one minute my wife calls to say, 'Where are you now, dear?' and a friend calls and says, 'got the best off-color joke to tell you. Seems there was a guy--' and a stranger calls and cries out, 'This is the Find-Fax Poll. What gum are you chewing at this very instant?' Well!"
. . . . . . . . . .
Desperate, Brock begins by destroying all of the electronic communication devices around him. And then he got his Idea:
"Why didn't I start a solitary revolution, deliver man from certain 'conveniences'? 'Convenient for who?" I cried. Convenient for friends: 'Hey, Al, thought I'd call you from the locker room out here at Green Hills. Just made a sockdolager hole in one! A hole in one, Al! A beautiful day. Having a shot of whiskey now. Thought you'd want to know, Al!' Convenient for my office, so when I'm in the field with my radio car there's no moment when I'm not in touch. In touch! There's a slimy phrase. Touch, hell. Gripped! Pawed, rather. Mauled and massaged and pounded by FM voices. . ."
The last paragraph of the story horrifies me.
The psychiatrist returns to his office. His diagnosis:
"Seems completely disoriented, but convivial. Refuses to accept the simplest realities of his environment and work with them. . .
Three phones rang. A duplicate wrist radio in his desk drawer buzzed like a wounded grasshopper. The intercom flashed a pink light and click-clicked. Three phones rang. The drawer buzzed. Music blew in through the open door. The psychiatrist, humming quietly, fitted the new wrist radio to his wrist, flipped the intercom, talked a moment, picked up one telephone, talked, picked up another telephone, talked, picked up the third telephone, talked, touched the wrist-radio button, talked calmly and quietly, his face cool and serene, in the middle of the music and the lights flashing, the two phones ringing again, and his hands moving, and wrist radio buzzing, and the intercoms talking, and voices speaking from the ceiling. And he went on quietly this way through the reminder of a cool, air-conditioned, and long afternoon; telephone, wrist radio, intercom, telephone, wrist radio, intercom, telephone, wrist radio, intercom, telephone, wrist radio, intercom, telephone, wrist radio, intercom, telephone, wrist radio. . ."
Of course, there's no computer and email, Facebook and Twitter, but remember, SF writers really aren't prophets.
Sunday, August 22, 2010
Something to think about
from The Importance of Living
I have always assumed that the end of living is the true enjoyment of it. It is so simply because it is so. I rather hesitate at the
--Lin Yutang--
A rather relaxed and stress free attitude towards life I think--and probably not for everybody, I should think.
I have always assumed that the end of living is the true enjoyment of it. It is so simply because it is so. I rather hesitate at the
--Lin Yutang--
A rather relaxed and stress free attitude towards life I think--and probably not for everybody, I should think.
Sunday, August 15, 2010
Fred Saberhagen: Earth Descended
Fred Saberhagen's stories cover the known and possibly unknown areas of the spectrum of SF and Fantasy. He has published stories that range from sword-and sorcery to the deadly berserkers, from Dracula and Holmes to stories that play with time to excursions into his versions of some well-known myths and fairy tales. In this collection I found stories that provide examples of his wide variety of published works.
Warning: I will discuss significant plot elements and the endings of stories.
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1. "Young Girl at an Open Half Door"
The title refers to a well-known painting by Rembrandt, which happens to be a favorite of the story's protagonist, Joe Ricci. Ricci has installed the security system for this particular art museum, and recently the system has been registering "false positives": it indicates the presence of intruders who can't be found by the museum security people. Moreover, there are no signs in any of the adjoining rooms to show how the intruders got in or how they left without being discovered. Ricci has been called in to find out what's going wrong with the security system and to do something about it.
Reaction: I'm a bit confused about this story's placement as the first story because collections usually begin with a very strong story and conclude with another. This, by no means, is the strongest story in the collection, and the mystery is not really much of a mystery as this story has been told before by others. This story has a copyright date of 1968, and the plot wasn't new then. Perhaps those who decided the story order elected to go with familiarity to get readers interested.
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2. "The Adventure of the Metal Murderer"
Saberhagen blends two of his favorite themes in this story. Initially it appears to be one of his berserker tales, those of his stories that I'm most familiar with. In fact, whenever Saberhagen's name is mentioned, I immediately think of the berserker series, which I think constitute one of the largest portions of his writings.
The berserkers are killing machines, apparently created long ago by a race which was involved in a war. They devised these machines in desperation and turned them loose. They lost the war and the secret of shutting down the machines was lost. Eventually the berserkers began seeking to destroy all life forms and not just the enemies of their creators. Humans have been fighting the berserkers for many centuries now. A similar theme is the core of Greg Benford's mind bending "Galactic Center" series.
In this tale, a berserker has managed to go into earth's past, specifically the late 19th century, and an agent has been sent back after it, hoping to destroy it before it accomplishes its mission.
The agent makes it to late 19th century London and begins the search for the berserker. It was at this point that I suspected what Saberhagen was doing. I won't go any further except to say that the last words of the story are "'Elementary,' the tall man snapped."
Reaction: a lightweight but enjoyable tale.
==========================
3. "Earthshade"
This is a shared universe tale. It was originally commissioned for an anthology of short fantasy stories, The Magic May Return, edited by Larry Niven. It is set in Niven's "Warlock" universe, and the basic theme is that magic once was available to anyone long ago. However, surprisingly, magic is not a renewable energy source, for it depends upon the presence of manna to be effective. Demons and humans, not yet familiar with conservationist ethic, eventually use up all of the available manna, and magic is no longer available for the most part. The stories in this collection, I gather from the title, suggest that magic may not have been gone for good.
This story tells of the adventures of Zalazar and his young helper as they discover why magic really disappeared and what must be done to restore magic to earth. Along the way, Zalazar meets a goddess or two, and like Arjuna in the Bhagavad Gita, he also discovers that his helper isn't exactly who he presents himself to be. There's a touch of the Greek myth here also.
It's a classic tale that shows why being too curious at times can be dangerous for one's health and longevity, as Zalazar discovers, naturally when it's too late.
Reaction: Enjoyable. More complex than the first two stories.
==========================
4. "The White Bull"
Here's another Saberhagen excursion into Greek mythology. Readers familiar with the various stories about Daedalus and Icarus, Theseus, King Minos, and the Minotaur, won't have any problem figuring out the broad plot line of this story. What makes the story interesting are the changes Saberhagen has made to the details that flesh out the bones of the plot. One is the nature of the Minotaur, who has now become an alien creature whose self-appointed task is that of educating these slow-witted humans.
Reaction: an enjoyable version of an old and familiar tale.
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5. "Calendars"
This is a gentle satire poking fun at those who insist on planning out their lives weeks, months, even years, in advance. Obviously, I'm not one of those, even though I do carry my pocket calendar everywhere I go and I have a pop-up calendar program on my computer. However, I do put the pocket calendar aside and I do turn off the computer when I go to sleep.
Briefly, Martin Pandareus has decided to die. He tells his wife of some 90+ years of his decision. She thinks for a moment and then remarks that he decided the same thing some 30 years ago. Martin says he's serious now, that he thinks it's time he moved on and made room for others. So few children are seen nowadays, so he is going to make some room. At this point, his wife says,
" 'Speaking of children,' Iris interrupted. 'I don't mean to interrupt, but speaking of children, I hope you're not planning to have yourself terminated before the nineteenth.'
'Of what? This month?' Automatically he looked for a calendar but could not see one. 'Why?'
'Janet called.' His previous wife. 'I mean, she left a message while we were on vacation. Things have been so hectic I forgot to tell you. Your five-great grandson is making his bar mitzvah on that date, you're to be sure to attend.' "
"The next day in his office on the upper floor of the duplex apartment he consulted his business calendar as soon as he could find the time."
There were important business meetings on the twenty-first and twenty-second. During the following month was the antique furniture auction in Minneapolis, and "he and Iris had gone to a great deal of trouble to plan their vacation so he would be sure to be back in time for that." His lawyer advises him to wait until after the first of the year--"The tax structure . . ."
I think you can see the trend here.
Does he ever commit suicide? Well, his calendar is pretty full, and besides, he had promised his wife that they would have a child (a twenty year commitment). . . and if she became pregnant now, that would interfere with their next vacation trip and . . .
Will he ever manage to find the time? Perhaps Emily Dickinson knew better than he when she wrote--
Because I could not stop for Death--
He kindly stopped for me--
Reaction: an entertaining little tale about how important an event becomes once it's entered into a calendar--even more important than life and death, it seems.
===================
6. "Wilderness"
This is one of those tales that confuse readers and the characters because they don't know the full story. Once that is learned, it all becomes quite simple, mostly anyway. And Saberhagen does provide clues throughout, but it's only after the full story is revealed that the significance is known.
A man wandering through a wilderness area comes across a small commune of about ten people. The sun is setting and he asks if he could stay the night for he fears he might get lost in the dark, trying to get back to his car.
They agree, and he then begins to tell them how they should be living their lives, not wasting it out here in the wilderness like this. He can't understand why anyone would not want to live in the city where there's people and noise and all sorts of things going on. He then criticizes their way of farming as being too labor intensive. They should get farming machinery that will help them increase their productivity and begin to make money. He has some money and he will help them develop their farm. He also fears the wilderness and urges them to keep wilderness in a strong cage and control it, and not be controlled by it.
"'Yeah keep a few bits of nature in cages,' he replied at last. 'Keep trees behind big fences, t'show we're strong enough to do so. Otherwise drive the wilderness out, this is our place here, our place.' "
He seems to be just a rude, insensitive individual until he talks about fresh air. It was then that I got a clue as to what his real problem might be.
"He filled his lungs with mountain air and wood-smoke tang. 'That's fine, good air t' breathe. No one knows better'n me how fine that is. But can we trust nature to give us air? If we were smart we'd put all the good air in a big jar, and let out just a little at a time, as it was needed.'"
Rating: this is one story that I had to read several times to fully appreciate the subtlety here. And, he's not really a bad guy.
====================
7. "Patron of the Arts"
Some of Benford's mechs in his "Galactic Center" series were fascinated by art, so much so that one of them, the Mantis, attempts its own horrific version of art. One of the subplots in the novels and a novella involved the Mantis' efforts to understand art for it had no value in its mechanistic view of the universe. In this story, Saberhagen plays with the same theme.
Earth, fearing an invasion by the berserkers, sends off as many of its artistic treasures as possible. Herron, who is considered one of Earth's finest living artists, asks for and gets permission to go along with one of the shipments. Unfortunately the ship is attacked by a berserker and the crew is killed in the ensuing battle. Herron does not fight and therefore his life is spared, temporarily.
The berserker, confused by the cargo, questions Herron about the paintings. Herron's attempts to explain art confuses the berserker even more, and this leads to an erroneous conclusion by the berserker, which actually saves Herron's life.
Reaction: An interesting story about the similarity between the berserker and humanity. I've met many people whose understanding and appreciation of the arts is even less than the berserker's.
====================
8. "To Mark the Year on Azlaroc"
Azlaroc must be one of the strangest planets in the universe, at least in Saberhagen's universe. It's the "veils" that fall roughly once a year that make Azlaroc so unique. This story, published in 1976, became part of a novel, The Veils of Azlaroc, which was published in 1978.
According to Saberhagen, Azlaroc forms a unusual triple system with a pulsar and a black hole for its two companions. And the veils?
"The material between the stars, gathered up as this triple system advances through space. What is not sucked into the black hole is sieved through nets of the pulsar's radiation, squeezed by the black hole's hundred billion gravities, shattered and transformed in all its particles as it falls toward Azlaroc through the belts of space that starships must avoid. Once every systemic year conditions are right and a veil falls. What falls is no longer matter that men can work with, any more than they can work in the hart of a black hole."
As best as I can figure, those "covered" by a veil now are confined within their own time continuum, separated from those covered by the previous veil, and unable to leave the planet. The veil also separates them from those who come after that veil has fallen. As the years pass and the veils all, they become harder and harder to see and communicate with by those who come after.
Hagen has come to Azlaroc with Alianna, his most recent companion, ostensibly on a galactic sight-seeing tour. What he doesn't tell her is that over a century ago he had come here with another, Mira. Hagen and Mira had separated briefly after a quarrel. Then the warning went out--a veil was dropping ahead of schedule. He hurried back to the ship and escaped. It was only after they had lifted off the planet that he discovered that Mira had not made it back in time.
He wants to find Mira, so he suggests that he and Alianna separate for a while. He finds Mira and during their reunion, he sees that Alianna has accidentally come across them and when he tries to explain, she has disappeared.
History repeats itself, perhaps, and again the warning goes out about the veil dropping prematurely. He can't find Alianna at the port and wonders if she is searching frantically for him back in town. Hagen, as on his previous visit, decides to leave and save himself, for he has no desire to be trapped on Azlaroc and lose the opportunity to explore the universe. And Alianna--well, she's a good match for Hagen.
Reaction: a interesting story, really more of a vignette than a plotted tale, perhaps because Saberhagen was already working on the novel. The real interest in the story is the planet Azlaroc and its strange relationship to time.
====================
9. "Victory"
Who won the war on the planet Lorenzoni?
Forty-six years ago Condamine initiated a first strike with nuclear missiles. Ungava suffered over 100 million casualties. There was no real retaliation by Ungava, and yet the war goes on. Condamine irregularly dispatches a nuclear missile whenever it sees what appears to be a concentration of population or some new construction taking place. Ungava strikes back with car bombs and other acts of sabotage and hit-and-run raids against Condamine's coastal towns.
Shen-yang is sent by the galactic council to see if he can act as a mediator to end the war. As he travels the main city of Condamine, he wonders at "the stores, full of good things to buy; the theaters and houses of entertainment, varied enough to suit any taste and any credit balance, doing a mass business; and by the people themselves.
The streets were full of folk who obviously enjoyed a wide choice of clothing and personal decoration and of vehicles in which to travel. They were busy, and they looked basically healthy and certainly well-fed. Just a touch glassy-eyed, perhaps--but Shen-yang saw that often enough at home, in the larger cities at any rate."
He finds the government leaders desperate to end the war, for that's what's keeping them out of the galactic council. He is also told, but can't believe, that Ungava still has its missile strike force intact, with over 1000 missiles. Nobody, he feels, could have the restraint to hold off avenging the destruction of their homeland. With the government's aid, he makes contact with Ungava and arranges to be picked up by one of their aircraft in an isolated spot.
Ungava is a mountainous country, and he sees that small isolated valleys are being farmed, but little housing is visible. Aside from the tilled valleys, ruined cities and radioactive lakes are all he sees, for the people live mostly underground. Ungava is now a dictatorship, in which all efforts are directed towards survival and defeat of Condamine. Shen-yang meets the High Leader, and realizes that all around him worship him and see him as the embodiment of Ungava.
Shen-yang asks about the missiles and the High Leader confirms what the Condamine government leaders had told him. The Leader refuses to use them because that would only strengthen the Condamine government, for the survivors would then be as tough and determined to win as are the people of Ungava. He wants peace also and is willing to negotiate with Condamine, but only if the present government is replaced. Shen-yang remarks that only the winner can dictate terms such as that.
A nuclear missile strikes the mountain hideout of the Leader, but they are so deep within that nobody is injured. Apparently, the Condamine government had placed a tracer of some sort on Shen-yang in hopes of killing the High Leader. Upon learning of its failure, Condamine informs the Ungava that it wanted to negotiate a peace and had changed its leadership.
Reaction: Interesting story about a conflict between a society that was almost destroyed but because of that now had a cause to unify the people and a society that was prosperous but lacked that unifying cause. In addition, they had much more to lose by continuing the war than did Ungava.
Who really did win the war?
====================
10. "Birthdays"
Aboard a spaceship whose mission is to spread humanity throughout the galaxy, Bart, almost 14, is awakened and informed of the following by the ship's AI:
"The prime directives under which I operate are very clear. One human parent, adoptive or real, is necessary to the successful maturation of children; images and machines are psychologically inadequate for optimum results. Therefore, after receiving some elementary preparation for the role, you will serve as adoptive parent for the first generation of colonists."
He is brought to the nursery where he finds 24 infants. He is with them for a day and then goes to sleep. One year later, he is reawakened. He is a day older, but the infants are a year older. This pattern remains: he is awakened once a year and interacts with them, and then goes back to sleep. He ages a day and they a year. Eventually they are as old as he is and older. By the time he finally reaches his fourteenth birthday, they are in their 60s.
Every year, he awakens for one day to see them mature and then age. During that day, he learns of their struggles, their loves, their hopes, their failures, and their dreams. Then, on the 69th awakening, he leaves his room and in the corridor finds a new door has been created while the old one has been sealed. Going through the new door, Bart once again hears the Prime Directive from the AI and is now informed that the preparation for his assignment has ended. He will now be awakened at increasingly shorter intervals so he can act as parent for this new group of infants. This generation will be the first generation of colonists when they reach their destination, a planetary system that has a strong possibility of possessing earthlike planets, in about 20 years.
Reaction: one of the strongest stories in the book, as well as being the longest.
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11. "Recessional"
"Recessional" is the story that puzzled me at first, and to some extent, still does as I'm not certain that I got the point. Sometimes writers provide all of the main elements and then expect the reader to assemble them properly. I wonder if this is one of them, or if I simply am missing the point.
Well, here are some elements that I've gotten together and I'm curious to see what some of you can make of this.
The title "Recessional" could refer to the title of a poem by Rudyard Kipling which he composed on the occasion of Queen Victoria's Diamond Jubilee in 1897. The poem expresses pride in the British Empire, but also an underlying sadness that the Empire might go the way of all previous empires. I'm not sure what this has to do with the story, but the refrain--"Lest we forget"--is more suggestive. It is now frequently found on tombstones and often used by speakers on occasions in which we are asked to remember and honor the dead. It suggests the elements of death and memory and time.
In the story, we learn of an amazing discovery. The inner layer of the skull is actually some sort of backup memory, especially that part next to the visual cortex. With the right equipment, one can actually see what a dead person saw, probably the last things that deceased saw. The police, naturally, are very interested in this development, especially in murder cases. During the same TV show that this was explained, one of the characters mentioned a short story by Kappling which featured a similar development, only that a camera could be used to photograph the last image which remained on the retina at the person's death. The main character, who is watching the TV show, says to himself that the author is "Kipling," not Kappling, another link here to Kipling.
The main character has no name and is identified only as an SF writer. At the beginning of the story, he is attending an SF convention in Miami Beach. We are told little else about him except that he "was never going to get married again, that much he felt pretty sure about, not even when his status as a widower became finally and fully legal and official, as one of these years it would. Was it two years now or three?" We can guess from this that his wife had disappeared possibly four or five years ago and her body was never found.
The writer then decides to go on an extended driving trip, which ultimately ends up in San Diego. It is during this trip that he encounters a series of strange events, which seemingly follow a pattern.
While in Miami Beach, he hears that an unidentified woman's body was found in the water about one hundred miles south of Miami Beach. Apparently she had been in the water for possibly four or five years. When asked about the possibility of this, experts talked knowingly about deep pockets of cold water that would slow the process of disintegration.
After leaving the convention, he drives to Atlanta, Georgia. On the morning news show, he learns that the body of a young unidentified woman, possibly in her early 20s, was found in a river some 20 miles north of Atlanta. Experts said that the body might have been in the water "for as long as several months."
In Vicksburg, Mississippi, he catches a TV talk show during which he learns about the memory capacity of the inner skull. The host then asks the expert whether this device might help "the police discover, for instance, who this young woman is whose body came down the Mississippi today? They say she might have been in the water for several weeks. Wearing a yellow bikini and--"
He stops at a diner in Shreveport, Louisiana, and takes a booth next to one with two state police officers. One of the officers says to the other, "__she mighta been from any upstream somewheres. The Doc, he says days in the water. White gal. Just a lil ol bathing suit on. No wounds, nothing like that."
Near Carlsbad, New Mexico, he drives by a city park and gets a glimpse of a police officer trying to resuscitate a person with brown hair and wearing something yellow.
Reaching San Diego, he goes to his parents' house, which he inherited after their death. That night he hears the "sound of a slow Navy plane . . .One of the search and rescue craft, and it sounded like it was heading out. . . Anyway, they wouldn't be using a plane to look for her, she hadn't gone out in a boat. And if they hadn't started to look for her last night, when she walked out, they wouldn't be starting now.
He paused, trying to clear his thoughts. How could they have started any search last night? He still, up to this minute, hadn't told anyone how she had gone. Not yet . . .
If you can't stand your own life, he had said to her, then I suggest you put an end to it. I have an interesting life of my own that's going to take all my time."
Reaction: initial confusion, followed by several questions. Did his wife commit suicide by walking into the ocean? The various reports of drowned women--what is the connection to his wife?
====================
12. "Where Thy Treasure Is"
Published in 1981, this story might be considered an early cyberpunk tale. Bernard Cunningham has an operation in which a receiving device is implanted in his brain that will allow him to get direct transmissions from the financial computerized network. He will be getting information, therefore, long before his competitors.
The operation is successful, too successful actually. He now feels completely connected to his properties, as if they were part of his body. He feels pain when one of his properties catches fire. He has to sell off the slum buildings he owns for he senses the damage to the building from various insects and rats.
Removing the device is ineffective. It makes no difference for the brain itself had taken over the functions of the device. Cunningham then decides to solve the problem by selling off all of his properties, which will then eliminate his involvement in the financial system. He tells his wife of his decision and insists he had done it all for her and the children. She argues that was nonsense, that he had done it for himself and nobody else.
The ending is ambiguous in that Saberhagen leaves it up to the reader to decide what happened.
"Meeting Shirley's angry, wondering eyes, he felt a touch of new terror. The power of self-extension was still his, in a form he had not thought of until now.
It came to him that there were treasures he had yet dreamed of knowing.
It came to him also that the cage-bars of the ledgers, the prision domains of the magnetic discs, had just this moment eased their strain."
His lawyers call, wanting his permission to sell off everything.
" 'The papers.' Cunningham's voice on the phone was impatient and happy at the same time, that of a man being disturbed while at some joyful occupation. 'Oh, the rest of the giveaway papers, yes, I think you might as well tear those up.' "
Reaction: somewhat confused. All was well until the ending. What had happened to Cunningham? What was the form of the power of self-extension that "he had not thought of until now"?
Warning: I will discuss significant plot elements and the endings of stories.
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1. "Young Girl at an Open Half Door"
The title refers to a well-known painting by Rembrandt, which happens to be a favorite of the story's protagonist, Joe Ricci. Ricci has installed the security system for this particular art museum, and recently the system has been registering "false positives": it indicates the presence of intruders who can't be found by the museum security people. Moreover, there are no signs in any of the adjoining rooms to show how the intruders got in or how they left without being discovered. Ricci has been called in to find out what's going wrong with the security system and to do something about it.
Reaction: I'm a bit confused about this story's placement as the first story because collections usually begin with a very strong story and conclude with another. This, by no means, is the strongest story in the collection, and the mystery is not really much of a mystery as this story has been told before by others. This story has a copyright date of 1968, and the plot wasn't new then. Perhaps those who decided the story order elected to go with familiarity to get readers interested.
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2. "The Adventure of the Metal Murderer"
Saberhagen blends two of his favorite themes in this story. Initially it appears to be one of his berserker tales, those of his stories that I'm most familiar with. In fact, whenever Saberhagen's name is mentioned, I immediately think of the berserker series, which I think constitute one of the largest portions of his writings.
The berserkers are killing machines, apparently created long ago by a race which was involved in a war. They devised these machines in desperation and turned them loose. They lost the war and the secret of shutting down the machines was lost. Eventually the berserkers began seeking to destroy all life forms and not just the enemies of their creators. Humans have been fighting the berserkers for many centuries now. A similar theme is the core of Greg Benford's mind bending "Galactic Center" series.
In this tale, a berserker has managed to go into earth's past, specifically the late 19th century, and an agent has been sent back after it, hoping to destroy it before it accomplishes its mission.
The agent makes it to late 19th century London and begins the search for the berserker. It was at this point that I suspected what Saberhagen was doing. I won't go any further except to say that the last words of the story are "'Elementary,' the tall man snapped."
Reaction: a lightweight but enjoyable tale.
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3. "Earthshade"
This is a shared universe tale. It was originally commissioned for an anthology of short fantasy stories, The Magic May Return, edited by Larry Niven. It is set in Niven's "Warlock" universe, and the basic theme is that magic once was available to anyone long ago. However, surprisingly, magic is not a renewable energy source, for it depends upon the presence of manna to be effective. Demons and humans, not yet familiar with conservationist ethic, eventually use up all of the available manna, and magic is no longer available for the most part. The stories in this collection, I gather from the title, suggest that magic may not have been gone for good.
This story tells of the adventures of Zalazar and his young helper as they discover why magic really disappeared and what must be done to restore magic to earth. Along the way, Zalazar meets a goddess or two, and like Arjuna in the Bhagavad Gita, he also discovers that his helper isn't exactly who he presents himself to be. There's a touch of the Greek myth here also.
It's a classic tale that shows why being too curious at times can be dangerous for one's health and longevity, as Zalazar discovers, naturally when it's too late.
Reaction: Enjoyable. More complex than the first two stories.
==========================
4. "The White Bull"
Here's another Saberhagen excursion into Greek mythology. Readers familiar with the various stories about Daedalus and Icarus, Theseus, King Minos, and the Minotaur, won't have any problem figuring out the broad plot line of this story. What makes the story interesting are the changes Saberhagen has made to the details that flesh out the bones of the plot. One is the nature of the Minotaur, who has now become an alien creature whose self-appointed task is that of educating these slow-witted humans.
Reaction: an enjoyable version of an old and familiar tale.
=========================
5. "Calendars"
This is a gentle satire poking fun at those who insist on planning out their lives weeks, months, even years, in advance. Obviously, I'm not one of those, even though I do carry my pocket calendar everywhere I go and I have a pop-up calendar program on my computer. However, I do put the pocket calendar aside and I do turn off the computer when I go to sleep.
Briefly, Martin Pandareus has decided to die. He tells his wife of some 90+ years of his decision. She thinks for a moment and then remarks that he decided the same thing some 30 years ago. Martin says he's serious now, that he thinks it's time he moved on and made room for others. So few children are seen nowadays, so he is going to make some room. At this point, his wife says,
" 'Speaking of children,' Iris interrupted. 'I don't mean to interrupt, but speaking of children, I hope you're not planning to have yourself terminated before the nineteenth.'
'Of what? This month?' Automatically he looked for a calendar but could not see one. 'Why?'
'Janet called.' His previous wife. 'I mean, she left a message while we were on vacation. Things have been so hectic I forgot to tell you. Your five-great grandson is making his bar mitzvah on that date, you're to be sure to attend.' "
"The next day in his office on the upper floor of the duplex apartment he consulted his business calendar as soon as he could find the time."
There were important business meetings on the twenty-first and twenty-second. During the following month was the antique furniture auction in Minneapolis, and "he and Iris had gone to a great deal of trouble to plan their vacation so he would be sure to be back in time for that." His lawyer advises him to wait until after the first of the year--"The tax structure . . ."
I think you can see the trend here.
Does he ever commit suicide? Well, his calendar is pretty full, and besides, he had promised his wife that they would have a child (a twenty year commitment). . . and if she became pregnant now, that would interfere with their next vacation trip and . . .
Will he ever manage to find the time? Perhaps Emily Dickinson knew better than he when she wrote--
Because I could not stop for Death--
He kindly stopped for me--
Reaction: an entertaining little tale about how important an event becomes once it's entered into a calendar--even more important than life and death, it seems.
===================
6. "Wilderness"
This is one of those tales that confuse readers and the characters because they don't know the full story. Once that is learned, it all becomes quite simple, mostly anyway. And Saberhagen does provide clues throughout, but it's only after the full story is revealed that the significance is known.
A man wandering through a wilderness area comes across a small commune of about ten people. The sun is setting and he asks if he could stay the night for he fears he might get lost in the dark, trying to get back to his car.
They agree, and he then begins to tell them how they should be living their lives, not wasting it out here in the wilderness like this. He can't understand why anyone would not want to live in the city where there's people and noise and all sorts of things going on. He then criticizes their way of farming as being too labor intensive. They should get farming machinery that will help them increase their productivity and begin to make money. He has some money and he will help them develop their farm. He also fears the wilderness and urges them to keep wilderness in a strong cage and control it, and not be controlled by it.
"'Yeah keep a few bits of nature in cages,' he replied at last. 'Keep trees behind big fences, t'show we're strong enough to do so. Otherwise drive the wilderness out, this is our place here, our place.' "
He seems to be just a rude, insensitive individual until he talks about fresh air. It was then that I got a clue as to what his real problem might be.
"He filled his lungs with mountain air and wood-smoke tang. 'That's fine, good air t' breathe. No one knows better'n me how fine that is. But can we trust nature to give us air? If we were smart we'd put all the good air in a big jar, and let out just a little at a time, as it was needed.'"
Rating: this is one story that I had to read several times to fully appreciate the subtlety here. And, he's not really a bad guy.
====================
7. "Patron of the Arts"
Some of Benford's mechs in his "Galactic Center" series were fascinated by art, so much so that one of them, the Mantis, attempts its own horrific version of art. One of the subplots in the novels and a novella involved the Mantis' efforts to understand art for it had no value in its mechanistic view of the universe. In this story, Saberhagen plays with the same theme.
Earth, fearing an invasion by the berserkers, sends off as many of its artistic treasures as possible. Herron, who is considered one of Earth's finest living artists, asks for and gets permission to go along with one of the shipments. Unfortunately the ship is attacked by a berserker and the crew is killed in the ensuing battle. Herron does not fight and therefore his life is spared, temporarily.
The berserker, confused by the cargo, questions Herron about the paintings. Herron's attempts to explain art confuses the berserker even more, and this leads to an erroneous conclusion by the berserker, which actually saves Herron's life.
Reaction: An interesting story about the similarity between the berserker and humanity. I've met many people whose understanding and appreciation of the arts is even less than the berserker's.
====================
8. "To Mark the Year on Azlaroc"
Azlaroc must be one of the strangest planets in the universe, at least in Saberhagen's universe. It's the "veils" that fall roughly once a year that make Azlaroc so unique. This story, published in 1976, became part of a novel, The Veils of Azlaroc, which was published in 1978.
According to Saberhagen, Azlaroc forms a unusual triple system with a pulsar and a black hole for its two companions. And the veils?
"The material between the stars, gathered up as this triple system advances through space. What is not sucked into the black hole is sieved through nets of the pulsar's radiation, squeezed by the black hole's hundred billion gravities, shattered and transformed in all its particles as it falls toward Azlaroc through the belts of space that starships must avoid. Once every systemic year conditions are right and a veil falls. What falls is no longer matter that men can work with, any more than they can work in the hart of a black hole."
As best as I can figure, those "covered" by a veil now are confined within their own time continuum, separated from those covered by the previous veil, and unable to leave the planet. The veil also separates them from those who come after that veil has fallen. As the years pass and the veils all, they become harder and harder to see and communicate with by those who come after.
Hagen has come to Azlaroc with Alianna, his most recent companion, ostensibly on a galactic sight-seeing tour. What he doesn't tell her is that over a century ago he had come here with another, Mira. Hagen and Mira had separated briefly after a quarrel. Then the warning went out--a veil was dropping ahead of schedule. He hurried back to the ship and escaped. It was only after they had lifted off the planet that he discovered that Mira had not made it back in time.
He wants to find Mira, so he suggests that he and Alianna separate for a while. He finds Mira and during their reunion, he sees that Alianna has accidentally come across them and when he tries to explain, she has disappeared.
History repeats itself, perhaps, and again the warning goes out about the veil dropping prematurely. He can't find Alianna at the port and wonders if she is searching frantically for him back in town. Hagen, as on his previous visit, decides to leave and save himself, for he has no desire to be trapped on Azlaroc and lose the opportunity to explore the universe. And Alianna--well, she's a good match for Hagen.
Reaction: a interesting story, really more of a vignette than a plotted tale, perhaps because Saberhagen was already working on the novel. The real interest in the story is the planet Azlaroc and its strange relationship to time.
====================
9. "Victory"
Who won the war on the planet Lorenzoni?
Forty-six years ago Condamine initiated a first strike with nuclear missiles. Ungava suffered over 100 million casualties. There was no real retaliation by Ungava, and yet the war goes on. Condamine irregularly dispatches a nuclear missile whenever it sees what appears to be a concentration of population or some new construction taking place. Ungava strikes back with car bombs and other acts of sabotage and hit-and-run raids against Condamine's coastal towns.
Shen-yang is sent by the galactic council to see if he can act as a mediator to end the war. As he travels the main city of Condamine, he wonders at "the stores, full of good things to buy; the theaters and houses of entertainment, varied enough to suit any taste and any credit balance, doing a mass business; and by the people themselves.
The streets were full of folk who obviously enjoyed a wide choice of clothing and personal decoration and of vehicles in which to travel. They were busy, and they looked basically healthy and certainly well-fed. Just a touch glassy-eyed, perhaps--but Shen-yang saw that often enough at home, in the larger cities at any rate."
He finds the government leaders desperate to end the war, for that's what's keeping them out of the galactic council. He is also told, but can't believe, that Ungava still has its missile strike force intact, with over 1000 missiles. Nobody, he feels, could have the restraint to hold off avenging the destruction of their homeland. With the government's aid, he makes contact with Ungava and arranges to be picked up by one of their aircraft in an isolated spot.
Ungava is a mountainous country, and he sees that small isolated valleys are being farmed, but little housing is visible. Aside from the tilled valleys, ruined cities and radioactive lakes are all he sees, for the people live mostly underground. Ungava is now a dictatorship, in which all efforts are directed towards survival and defeat of Condamine. Shen-yang meets the High Leader, and realizes that all around him worship him and see him as the embodiment of Ungava.
Shen-yang asks about the missiles and the High Leader confirms what the Condamine government leaders had told him. The Leader refuses to use them because that would only strengthen the Condamine government, for the survivors would then be as tough and determined to win as are the people of Ungava. He wants peace also and is willing to negotiate with Condamine, but only if the present government is replaced. Shen-yang remarks that only the winner can dictate terms such as that.
A nuclear missile strikes the mountain hideout of the Leader, but they are so deep within that nobody is injured. Apparently, the Condamine government had placed a tracer of some sort on Shen-yang in hopes of killing the High Leader. Upon learning of its failure, Condamine informs the Ungava that it wanted to negotiate a peace and had changed its leadership.
Reaction: Interesting story about a conflict between a society that was almost destroyed but because of that now had a cause to unify the people and a society that was prosperous but lacked that unifying cause. In addition, they had much more to lose by continuing the war than did Ungava.
Who really did win the war?
====================
10. "Birthdays"
Aboard a spaceship whose mission is to spread humanity throughout the galaxy, Bart, almost 14, is awakened and informed of the following by the ship's AI:
"The prime directives under which I operate are very clear. One human parent, adoptive or real, is necessary to the successful maturation of children; images and machines are psychologically inadequate for optimum results. Therefore, after receiving some elementary preparation for the role, you will serve as adoptive parent for the first generation of colonists."
He is brought to the nursery where he finds 24 infants. He is with them for a day and then goes to sleep. One year later, he is reawakened. He is a day older, but the infants are a year older. This pattern remains: he is awakened once a year and interacts with them, and then goes back to sleep. He ages a day and they a year. Eventually they are as old as he is and older. By the time he finally reaches his fourteenth birthday, they are in their 60s.
Every year, he awakens for one day to see them mature and then age. During that day, he learns of their struggles, their loves, their hopes, their failures, and their dreams. Then, on the 69th awakening, he leaves his room and in the corridor finds a new door has been created while the old one has been sealed. Going through the new door, Bart once again hears the Prime Directive from the AI and is now informed that the preparation for his assignment has ended. He will now be awakened at increasingly shorter intervals so he can act as parent for this new group of infants. This generation will be the first generation of colonists when they reach their destination, a planetary system that has a strong possibility of possessing earthlike planets, in about 20 years.
Reaction: one of the strongest stories in the book, as well as being the longest.
====================
11. "Recessional"
"Recessional" is the story that puzzled me at first, and to some extent, still does as I'm not certain that I got the point. Sometimes writers provide all of the main elements and then expect the reader to assemble them properly. I wonder if this is one of them, or if I simply am missing the point.
Well, here are some elements that I've gotten together and I'm curious to see what some of you can make of this.
The title "Recessional" could refer to the title of a poem by Rudyard Kipling which he composed on the occasion of Queen Victoria's Diamond Jubilee in 1897. The poem expresses pride in the British Empire, but also an underlying sadness that the Empire might go the way of all previous empires. I'm not sure what this has to do with the story, but the refrain--"Lest we forget"--is more suggestive. It is now frequently found on tombstones and often used by speakers on occasions in which we are asked to remember and honor the dead. It suggests the elements of death and memory and time.
In the story, we learn of an amazing discovery. The inner layer of the skull is actually some sort of backup memory, especially that part next to the visual cortex. With the right equipment, one can actually see what a dead person saw, probably the last things that deceased saw. The police, naturally, are very interested in this development, especially in murder cases. During the same TV show that this was explained, one of the characters mentioned a short story by Kappling which featured a similar development, only that a camera could be used to photograph the last image which remained on the retina at the person's death. The main character, who is watching the TV show, says to himself that the author is "Kipling," not Kappling, another link here to Kipling.
The main character has no name and is identified only as an SF writer. At the beginning of the story, he is attending an SF convention in Miami Beach. We are told little else about him except that he "was never going to get married again, that much he felt pretty sure about, not even when his status as a widower became finally and fully legal and official, as one of these years it would. Was it two years now or three?" We can guess from this that his wife had disappeared possibly four or five years ago and her body was never found.
The writer then decides to go on an extended driving trip, which ultimately ends up in San Diego. It is during this trip that he encounters a series of strange events, which seemingly follow a pattern.
While in Miami Beach, he hears that an unidentified woman's body was found in the water about one hundred miles south of Miami Beach. Apparently she had been in the water for possibly four or five years. When asked about the possibility of this, experts talked knowingly about deep pockets of cold water that would slow the process of disintegration.
After leaving the convention, he drives to Atlanta, Georgia. On the morning news show, he learns that the body of a young unidentified woman, possibly in her early 20s, was found in a river some 20 miles north of Atlanta. Experts said that the body might have been in the water "for as long as several months."
In Vicksburg, Mississippi, he catches a TV talk show during which he learns about the memory capacity of the inner skull. The host then asks the expert whether this device might help "the police discover, for instance, who this young woman is whose body came down the Mississippi today? They say she might have been in the water for several weeks. Wearing a yellow bikini and--"
He stops at a diner in Shreveport, Louisiana, and takes a booth next to one with two state police officers. One of the officers says to the other, "__she mighta been from any upstream somewheres. The Doc, he says days in the water. White gal. Just a lil ol bathing suit on. No wounds, nothing like that."
Near Carlsbad, New Mexico, he drives by a city park and gets a glimpse of a police officer trying to resuscitate a person with brown hair and wearing something yellow.
Reaching San Diego, he goes to his parents' house, which he inherited after their death. That night he hears the "sound of a slow Navy plane . . .One of the search and rescue craft, and it sounded like it was heading out. . . Anyway, they wouldn't be using a plane to look for her, she hadn't gone out in a boat. And if they hadn't started to look for her last night, when she walked out, they wouldn't be starting now.
He paused, trying to clear his thoughts. How could they have started any search last night? He still, up to this minute, hadn't told anyone how she had gone. Not yet . . .
If you can't stand your own life, he had said to her, then I suggest you put an end to it. I have an interesting life of my own that's going to take all my time."
Reaction: initial confusion, followed by several questions. Did his wife commit suicide by walking into the ocean? The various reports of drowned women--what is the connection to his wife?
====================
12. "Where Thy Treasure Is"
Published in 1981, this story might be considered an early cyberpunk tale. Bernard Cunningham has an operation in which a receiving device is implanted in his brain that will allow him to get direct transmissions from the financial computerized network. He will be getting information, therefore, long before his competitors.
The operation is successful, too successful actually. He now feels completely connected to his properties, as if they were part of his body. He feels pain when one of his properties catches fire. He has to sell off the slum buildings he owns for he senses the damage to the building from various insects and rats.
Removing the device is ineffective. It makes no difference for the brain itself had taken over the functions of the device. Cunningham then decides to solve the problem by selling off all of his properties, which will then eliminate his involvement in the financial system. He tells his wife of his decision and insists he had done it all for her and the children. She argues that was nonsense, that he had done it for himself and nobody else.
The ending is ambiguous in that Saberhagen leaves it up to the reader to decide what happened.
"Meeting Shirley's angry, wondering eyes, he felt a touch of new terror. The power of self-extension was still his, in a form he had not thought of until now.
It came to him that there were treasures he had yet dreamed of knowing.
It came to him also that the cage-bars of the ledgers, the prision domains of the magnetic discs, had just this moment eased their strain."
His lawyers call, wanting his permission to sell off everything.
" 'The papers.' Cunningham's voice on the phone was impatient and happy at the same time, that of a man being disturbed while at some joyful occupation. 'Oh, the rest of the giveaway papers, yes, I think you might as well tear those up.' "
Reaction: somewhat confused. All was well until the ending. What had happened to Cunningham? What was the form of the power of self-extension that "he had not thought of until now"?
Monday, August 9, 2010
The Rubaiyat: Quatrain XXX
This is Quatrain XXX, from the First Edition of the Rubaiyat, as seen by Edward FitzGerald. The Second and Fifth versions of this quatrain are also presented. It is the last of a series of four linked quatrains which includes XXVII, XXVIII, XXIX, and XXX, in the First Edition. The quatrain numbers are slightly different for the Second and Fifth Editions.
First Edition: Quatrain XXX
What, without asking, hither hurried whence?
And, without asking, whither hurried hence!
Another and another Cup to drown
The Memory of this Impertinence!
Second Edition: Quatrain XXXIII
What, without asking, hither hurried Whence?
And, without asking, Whither hurried hence!
Ah! contrite Heav'n endowed us with the Vine
To drug the memory of that insolence!
Fifth Edition: Quatrain XXX
What, without asking, hither hurried Whence?
And, without asking, Whither hurried hence!
Oh, many a Cup of this forbidden Wine
Must drown the memory of that insolence!
While it's not one of my favorite quatrains, it is one of the most intriguing, especially the last two lines which I find very startling.
The first two lines have only minimal differences: a change from a lower case "w" for whence and whither in the first edition to an upper case "W" in the second and fifth editions. In all three versions, FitzGerald links this quatrain back to the previous quatrain by playing with the words "whither" and "whence." Moreover, he brings in two new but related words simply by dropping the "w" from each of them: "whither" becomes "hither" and "whence" becomes "hence." FitzGerald then plays with the possibilities of that "w" by switching between whence and hence and whither and hither in the first two lines of the quatrain.
The first line can be read as follows: We are hurried here from some place without being asked--we are puppets. The second line follows up by pointing out that we are being hurried from here to some unknown place, again without being asked. This is very similar to the previous quatrain.
One can only wonder if our unknown destination is the same as our origin. Taoists accept the idea that our unknown place of origin is the same as our destination for it is written in the Tao Te Ching that all creatures come from the Tao and return to the Tao.
It is the last two lines of the quatrain that are the most interesting.
1st Edition
Another and another Cup to drown
The Memory of this Impertinence!
2nd Edition
Ah! contrite Heav'n endowed us with the Vine
To drug the memory of that insolence!
5th Edition
Oh, many a Cup of this forbidden Wine
Must drown the memory of that insolence!
Although the three versions are worded differently, three elements remain constant throughout. The first is the reference to wine (1), which is needed to either drown out certain memories or at least drug the memory (2) of the way humanity is treated, and the rather harsh criticism (3) of the one who is responsible for the human predicament.
In the first and fifth editions, the poet tells us that wine is necessary to drown out the memory of the way we are treated, while the second suggests that Heav'n regrets having treated us in this way and gives us wine to help us forget.
It seems surprising to find a reference to God's behavior as insolent or impertinent when one considers the way humans are treated, but I can see no other interpretation for the last two lines of the quatrain. I have heard the Deity referred to as just, merciful, kind, or compassionate, but never, up to now, as insolent or impertinent. The poet insists that something is wrong with the human situation in that we come from some unknown place and eventually leave for another unknown place, and what is worse, we are placed in this position without being asked--willy-nilly, according to the previous quatrain.
In some interpretations, the writer argues that wine is not really wine, since the Moslems cannot drink alcohol. Therefore, the wine is symbolic of God's grace or assistance. I think these three versions make that an extremely difficult interpretation to defend, especially in the 5th edition which refers clearly to "forbidden Wine." That sounds to me that Khayyam is referring to wine, which is forbidden, and not to God's grace. Why is God's grace forbidden?
From what I've read, "wine" is in original version by Khayyam and not something added by FitzGerald. All the commentaries that I've read accept the presence of wine in the text--it is the interpretation or meaning of wine that is controversial.
First Edition: Quatrain XXX
What, without asking, hither hurried whence?
And, without asking, whither hurried hence!
Another and another Cup to drown
The Memory of this Impertinence!
Second Edition: Quatrain XXXIII
What, without asking, hither hurried Whence?
And, without asking, Whither hurried hence!
Ah! contrite Heav'n endowed us with the Vine
To drug the memory of that insolence!
Fifth Edition: Quatrain XXX
What, without asking, hither hurried Whence?
And, without asking, Whither hurried hence!
Oh, many a Cup of this forbidden Wine
Must drown the memory of that insolence!
While it's not one of my favorite quatrains, it is one of the most intriguing, especially the last two lines which I find very startling.
The first two lines have only minimal differences: a change from a lower case "w" for whence and whither in the first edition to an upper case "W" in the second and fifth editions. In all three versions, FitzGerald links this quatrain back to the previous quatrain by playing with the words "whither" and "whence." Moreover, he brings in two new but related words simply by dropping the "w" from each of them: "whither" becomes "hither" and "whence" becomes "hence." FitzGerald then plays with the possibilities of that "w" by switching between whence and hence and whither and hither in the first two lines of the quatrain.
The first line can be read as follows: We are hurried here from some place without being asked--we are puppets. The second line follows up by pointing out that we are being hurried from here to some unknown place, again without being asked. This is very similar to the previous quatrain.
One can only wonder if our unknown destination is the same as our origin. Taoists accept the idea that our unknown place of origin is the same as our destination for it is written in the Tao Te Ching that all creatures come from the Tao and return to the Tao.
It is the last two lines of the quatrain that are the most interesting.
1st Edition
Another and another Cup to drown
The Memory of this Impertinence!
2nd Edition
Ah! contrite Heav'n endowed us with the Vine
To drug the memory of that insolence!
5th Edition
Oh, many a Cup of this forbidden Wine
Must drown the memory of that insolence!
Although the three versions are worded differently, three elements remain constant throughout. The first is the reference to wine (1), which is needed to either drown out certain memories or at least drug the memory (2) of the way humanity is treated, and the rather harsh criticism (3) of the one who is responsible for the human predicament.
In the first and fifth editions, the poet tells us that wine is necessary to drown out the memory of the way we are treated, while the second suggests that Heav'n regrets having treated us in this way and gives us wine to help us forget.
It seems surprising to find a reference to God's behavior as insolent or impertinent when one considers the way humans are treated, but I can see no other interpretation for the last two lines of the quatrain. I have heard the Deity referred to as just, merciful, kind, or compassionate, but never, up to now, as insolent or impertinent. The poet insists that something is wrong with the human situation in that we come from some unknown place and eventually leave for another unknown place, and what is worse, we are placed in this position without being asked--willy-nilly, according to the previous quatrain.
In some interpretations, the writer argues that wine is not really wine, since the Moslems cannot drink alcohol. Therefore, the wine is symbolic of God's grace or assistance. I think these three versions make that an extremely difficult interpretation to defend, especially in the 5th edition which refers clearly to "forbidden Wine." That sounds to me that Khayyam is referring to wine, which is forbidden, and not to God's grace. Why is God's grace forbidden?
From what I've read, "wine" is in original version by Khayyam and not something added by FitzGerald. All the commentaries that I've read accept the presence of wine in the text--it is the interpretation or meaning of wine that is controversial.
Thursday, August 5, 2010
Something to think about.
Something to think about:
Where there are too many policemen, there is no liberty. Where there are too many soldiers, there is no peace. Where there are too many lawyers, there is no justice.
-- Lin Yutang --
What do you think? Is he overstating his case?
Do you think that perhaps Lin Yutang just doesn't understand the situation today--that we must now give up some freedoms to be safe and secure?
Where there are too many policemen, there is no liberty. Where there are too many soldiers, there is no peace. Where there are too many lawyers, there is no justice.
-- Lin Yutang --
What do you think? Is he overstating his case?
Do you think that perhaps Lin Yutang just doesn't understand the situation today--that we must now give up some freedoms to be safe and secure?
Tuesday, August 3, 2010
Walter Van Tilburg Clark: August 3, 1909--November 10, 1971
Walter Van Tilburg Clark unfortunately published very few works: three novels, about ten short stories, and some poetry. It is my opinion that it is this limited output that keeps him from being considered among the United State's best writers. I guess I'm starting to sound like a broken record as I brought up this issue in my post of August 3, 2009.
Aside from The Ox-Bow Incident, probably his most famous work, another work, a short story, has also achieved some limited fame. It can be found in introductory literature texts and frequently in SF collections that focus on post-holocaust stories. It is "The Portable Phonograph." I suspect many have read it and never realized that it was written by the author of The Ox-Bow Incident.
It is one of three of my favorite short stories that are set in a post-holocaust world. The other two are Theodore Sturgeon's "Thunder and Roses" (see January 16, 2010) " and Ray Bradbury's "There Will Come Soft Rains" (see August 2, 2010). All three are anti-war stories, but they protest indirectly. They do not directly come out against war, especially nuclear war, but they quietly present possible outcomes.
Clark begins the story quietly:
The red sunset, with narrow, black cloud strips like threats across it, lay on the curved horizon of the prairie. The air was still and cold, and in it settled the mute darkness and greater cold of night. High in the air there was wind, for through the veil of the dusk, the clouds could be seen gliding rapidly south and changing shapes.
He gradually brings into his description of the sunset some disquieting elements.
A sensation of torment, of two-sided, unpredictable nature, arose from the stillness of the earth air beneath the violence of the upper air. Out of the sunset, through the dead , matted grass and isolated weed stalks of the prairie, crept the narrow and deeply rutted remains of a road. In the road, in places, there were crusts of shallow, brittle ice. There were little islands of an old oiled pavement in the road too, but most of it was mud, now frozen rigid.
Up to this point, we might just be looking at a typical late autumn landscape and a road that no longer goes anywhere, but Clark then shows us that, sadly, there is more, much more wrong here.
The frozen mud still bore the toothed impress of great tanks, and a wanderer on the neighboring undulations might have stumbled, in this light, into large, partially filled-in and weed-grown cavities, their banks channeled and beginning to spread into bad lands. These pits were such as might have been made by falling meteors, but they were not. They were the scars of gigantic bombs, their rawness already made a little natural by rain, seed and time. Along the road there were rakish remnants of fence. There was also, just visible, one portion of tangled and multiple barbed wire still erect, behind which was a shelving ditch with small caves, now very quiet and empty, at intervals in its back wall. Otherwise there was no structure or remnant of a structure visible over the dome of the darkling earth, but only, in sheltered hollows, the darker shadows of young trees trying again.
the toothed impress of great tanks . . . scars of gigantic bombs . . . the darker shadows of young trees trying again--I'm not sure which of those three seems the most ominous.
But, there is life here:
The creek was already silent under ice. Into the bank above it was dug a sort of cell, with a single opening, like the mouth of a mine tunnel. Within the cell there was a little red of fire, which showed dully through the opening like a reflection or a deception of the imagination. The light came from the chary burning of four blocks of poorly aged peat, which gave off a petty warmth and much acrid smoke.
Four men sit around the smoldering peat. Three are invited. The host, once a week, gives a reading from one of the four books he has managed to save, and more rarely, plays a record on his portable windup phonograph. This is what brings the four of them together: the beauty of the works he has saved--the Bible, Shakespeare, Moby Dick, and The Divine Comedy. The record that was selected that evening was one of Debussy's nocturnes. At the end, the three quietly leave, as he tells them to come again next week, when he will play Gershwin's "New York."
It's a simple little story that might encourage us by showing that, in spite of everything, people in the midst of horror can be brought together and gain solace from sharing the greatest creations of the human mind. However, the story hasn't ended yet.
After they had left, the host went to the entrance of the cave. He could hear the suppressed coughing of one of his recent visitors, but "It was not nearby, however. He believed that down against the pale alders he could see the moving shadow."
He reenters the cave and digs out a section of the wall and places the books, phonograph, and records inside. He covers it up.
He also changed his blankets, and the grass-stuffed sack which served as a pillow, so that he could lie facing the entrance . . .On the inside of the bed, next the wall, he could feel with his hand, the comfortable piece of lead pipe.
What hath war wrought?
Aside from The Ox-Bow Incident, probably his most famous work, another work, a short story, has also achieved some limited fame. It can be found in introductory literature texts and frequently in SF collections that focus on post-holocaust stories. It is "The Portable Phonograph." I suspect many have read it and never realized that it was written by the author of The Ox-Bow Incident.
It is one of three of my favorite short stories that are set in a post-holocaust world. The other two are Theodore Sturgeon's "Thunder and Roses" (see January 16, 2010) " and Ray Bradbury's "There Will Come Soft Rains" (see August 2, 2010). All three are anti-war stories, but they protest indirectly. They do not directly come out against war, especially nuclear war, but they quietly present possible outcomes.
Clark begins the story quietly:
The red sunset, with narrow, black cloud strips like threats across it, lay on the curved horizon of the prairie. The air was still and cold, and in it settled the mute darkness and greater cold of night. High in the air there was wind, for through the veil of the dusk, the clouds could be seen gliding rapidly south and changing shapes.
He gradually brings into his description of the sunset some disquieting elements.
A sensation of torment, of two-sided, unpredictable nature, arose from the stillness of the earth air beneath the violence of the upper air. Out of the sunset, through the dead , matted grass and isolated weed stalks of the prairie, crept the narrow and deeply rutted remains of a road. In the road, in places, there were crusts of shallow, brittle ice. There were little islands of an old oiled pavement in the road too, but most of it was mud, now frozen rigid.
Up to this point, we might just be looking at a typical late autumn landscape and a road that no longer goes anywhere, but Clark then shows us that, sadly, there is more, much more wrong here.
The frozen mud still bore the toothed impress of great tanks, and a wanderer on the neighboring undulations might have stumbled, in this light, into large, partially filled-in and weed-grown cavities, their banks channeled and beginning to spread into bad lands. These pits were such as might have been made by falling meteors, but they were not. They were the scars of gigantic bombs, their rawness already made a little natural by rain, seed and time. Along the road there were rakish remnants of fence. There was also, just visible, one portion of tangled and multiple barbed wire still erect, behind which was a shelving ditch with small caves, now very quiet and empty, at intervals in its back wall. Otherwise there was no structure or remnant of a structure visible over the dome of the darkling earth, but only, in sheltered hollows, the darker shadows of young trees trying again.
the toothed impress of great tanks . . . scars of gigantic bombs . . . the darker shadows of young trees trying again--I'm not sure which of those three seems the most ominous.
But, there is life here:
The creek was already silent under ice. Into the bank above it was dug a sort of cell, with a single opening, like the mouth of a mine tunnel. Within the cell there was a little red of fire, which showed dully through the opening like a reflection or a deception of the imagination. The light came from the chary burning of four blocks of poorly aged peat, which gave off a petty warmth and much acrid smoke.
Four men sit around the smoldering peat. Three are invited. The host, once a week, gives a reading from one of the four books he has managed to save, and more rarely, plays a record on his portable windup phonograph. This is what brings the four of them together: the beauty of the works he has saved--the Bible, Shakespeare, Moby Dick, and The Divine Comedy. The record that was selected that evening was one of Debussy's nocturnes. At the end, the three quietly leave, as he tells them to come again next week, when he will play Gershwin's "New York."
It's a simple little story that might encourage us by showing that, in spite of everything, people in the midst of horror can be brought together and gain solace from sharing the greatest creations of the human mind. However, the story hasn't ended yet.
After they had left, the host went to the entrance of the cave. He could hear the suppressed coughing of one of his recent visitors, but "It was not nearby, however. He believed that down against the pale alders he could see the moving shadow."
He reenters the cave and digs out a section of the wall and places the books, phonograph, and records inside. He covers it up.
He also changed his blankets, and the grass-stuffed sack which served as a pillow, so that he could lie facing the entrance . . .On the inside of the bed, next the wall, he could feel with his hand, the comfortable piece of lead pipe.
What hath war wrought?
Monday, August 2, 2010
Three by Ray Bradbury
I will discuss important plot elements and endings for the stories.
Three Short Stories by Ray Bradbury:
A poignant tale about a monster and about loneliness and even perhaps about unrequited love.
One of the gentlest post-holocaust stories I've ever read.
Another gentle horror tale: avoid those regressive tendencies!
The Fog Horn
This is a gentle monster tale, although there is some destruction in the story, seemingly the result of frustration and despair and loneliness. Briefly, a fog horn awakens a creature that has been sleeping for millions of years. It sounds like the call of one of his own kind. Lonely he swims up from the depths and finds the lighthouse. This has happened for several years now, but this time will be different.
It's a simple little tale, one that certainly doesn't deserve the treatment it got from Hollywood back in the '50s when the beast was transformed into a ravenous destroying monster that attacked NYC as The Beast from 20,000 Fathoms Beneath the Sea.
What makes this tale, aside from its theme of loneliness, is Bradbury's language. This is not a story to be raced through, paragraph to paragraph, page after page, until the end is reached and one can go on to the next story. It should be read slowly and thoughtfully in a quiet place. One should savor the language. It may take longer to finish it, but it's worth the time spent.
The story opens with two men in a lighthouse:
"Out there in the cold water, far from land, we waited every night for the coming of the fog, and it came, and we oiled the brass machinery and lit the fog light up in the stone tower. Feeling like two birds in the gray sky. McDunn and I sent the light touching out, red, then white, then red again, to eye the lonely ships. And if they did not see our light, then there was always our Voice, the great deep cry of our Fog Horn shuddering through the rags of mist to startle the gulls away like decks of scattered cards and make the waves turn high and foam."
McDunn then relates a strange incident that happened years ago that tells us the sea is a place that we know little about and a place of inexplicable events. It's about the lighthouse and the possibility that other creatures may not see it as we do.
"'The mysteries of the sea,' said McDunn thoughtfully. 'You know, the ocean's the biggest damned snowflake ever? it rolls ands swells a thousand shapes and colors, no two alike. Strange. One night, years ago, I was here alone, when all of the fish of the sea surfaced out there. Something made them swim in and lie in the bay, sort of trembling and staring up at the tower light going red, white, red, white, across them so I could see their funny eyes. I turned cold. They were like a big peacock's tail, moving out there until midnight. Then, without so much as a sound, they slipped away, the million of them was gone. I kind of think maybe, in some sort of way, they came all those miles to worship. Strange. But think how the tower must look to them, standing seventy feet above the water, the God-light flashing out from it, and the tower declaring itself with a monster voice. They never came back, those fish, but don't you think for a while they thought they were in the Presence?'"
I have never lived by the sea, so a fog horn is not something that I regularly experience. However, many years ago, I went to San Francisco and there I did hear a fog horn. I had forgotten about it until I read the following passage in this story:
"One day many years ago a man walked along and stood in the sound of the ocean on a cold sunless shore and said, 'We need a voice to call across the water, to warn ships; I'll make one. I'll make a voice like all of time and all of the fog that ever was; I'll make a voice that is like an empty bed beside you all night long, and like a empty house when you open the door, and like trees in autumn with no leaves. A sound like the birds flying south, crying, and a sound like November wind and the sea on the hard, cold shore. I'll make a sound that's so alone that no one can miss it, that whoever hears it will weep in their souls, and hearths will seem warmer, and being inside will seem better to all who hear it in the distant towns. I'll make me a sound and an apparatus and they'll call it a Fog Horn and whoever hears it will know the sadness of eternity and the briefness of life.' "
And now, whenever I hear a fog horn in a film, I remember that passage.
The night comes and the fog rolls in. The Fog Horn blew and the monster appears and answers.
"I saw it all. I knew it all--the million years of waiting alone, for someone to come back who never came back. The million years of isolation at the bottom of the sea, the insanity of time there, while the skies cleared of reptile-birds, the swamps dried on the continental lands, the sloths and saber-tooths had their day and sank in tar pits, and men ran like white ants upon the hills.
. . .
The monster was only a hundred yards off now, it and the Fog Horn crying at each other. As the lights hit them, the monster's eyes were fire and ice, fire and ice.
" 'That's life for you,' said McDunn. 'Someone always waiting for someone who never comes home. Always someone loving some thing more than that thing loves them.' "
This doesn't seem to me to be that beast from 20,000 fathoms that tried to destroy NYC.
Is this really a tale of unrequited love?
==================================
There Will Come Soft Rains
The main character is a house, a house of the future, with all the gadgets and gizmos dreamed up by the futurists and that appear occasionally as a feature article somewhere, usually as a filler. Actually the house strikes me as being a bit of a nag.
"In the living room the voice-clock sang, Tick-Tock, seven o'clock, time to get up, time to get up, seven o'clock! as if it were afraid that nobody would. The morning house lay empty. The clock ticked on, repeating and repeating its sounds into the emptiness. Seven-nine, breakfast time, seven-nine!"
The house goes ahead and makes breakfast, but there's no one there to eat it. Obviously something is wrong and it isn't until the following passage that we get the answer.
"Ten o'clock. The sun came out from behind the rain. The house stood alone in a city of rubble and ashes. This was the one house left standing. At night the ruined city gave off a radioactive glow which could be seen for miles."
The house has been doing exactly what it was programmed to do, even though its human occupants had been gone for some time. But, without humans, there are breakdowns, for this is a human invention, and eventually the house is destroyed by fire. Bradbury's description of the house's desperate efforts to save itself makes it seem alive and sentient, frantically trying to put out the fire, a beast of prey.
Recently I've seen several books, a film, and a TV series, all with a similar theme: What will happen to our cities and towns and roads and towns and buildings after we are gone? Bradbury's story was published in 1950, and it asked the same question a half century ago. The title comes from a poem by Sara Teasdale, and it sums up those books and films and the TV series:
"There will come soft rains and the smell of the ground,
And swallows circling with their shimmering sound;
And frogs in the pools singing at night,
And wild plum trees in tremulous white;
Robins will wear their feathery fire;
Whistling their whims on a low fence-wire;
And not one will know of the war, not one
will care at last when it is done.
Not one would mind, whether bird nor tree,
If mankind perished utterly;
And Spring herself, when she woke at dawn,
Would scarcely know that we were gone."
While it's clear that Teasdale may be too optimistic about the overall effects of a nuclear war, especially in the areas that have been bombed, I think the point of the story and the poem are clear, and it happens to be the same point that one of the films made--at least the one that I saw. Human artifacts will eventually disappear. We will not be missed.
===================================
The Pedestrian
Mr. Leonard Mead has a strange habit: he likes to go for walks in the city where he lives. And he has had the city streets to himself. "In ten years of walking by night or by day, for thousands of miles, he had never met another person walking, not once in all that time."
No, this is not a post-holocaust tale in which Mr. Mead is the last man on earth.
"Sometimes he would walk for hours and miles and return only at midnight to his house. And on his way he would see the cottages and homes with their dark windows, and it was not unequal to walking through a graveyard where only the faintest glimmers of firefly light appeared in flickers behind the windows. Sudden gray phantoms seemed to manifest upon inner room walls, where a curtain was still undrawn against the night, or there were whisperings and murmurs where a window in a tomb-like building was still open."
This story has a copyright date of 1951 and it's an "if this goes on" tale. Why was nobody out on the streets anymore? TV is the villain. I saw it happening in my neighborhood. People would frequently come out on the front porches of their homes and enjoy the cooling air during the warm months. By the late 60's this had disappeared for the most part. Everybody was inside watching TV. I now live in Tucson where the weather is such that one could sit outside for most months of the year, but it seldom happens.
But this isn't just a playful exercise in human foibles. Mr Mead has had the freedom of his regular strolls for many years now, but human society, as usual, has little or no tolerance for those who are different--in any way. And we here in the land of the free are no different.
Mr Mead is confronted by the police who question him about his activities and are astounded to learn that he's just out walking--walking for the sake of walking. He is ordered to get in the back of the car, which is outfitted much as would be a cell. When he asks where he is being taken, he is told "To the Psychiatric Center for Research on Regressive Tendencies." I fear he will be a subject of their research for the rest of his life.
Regressive tendencies--a throwback, someone who engages in activities that are out of step in today's world. I wonder what that would include today. I write with a fountain pen, whenever possible. Would that be considered a regressive tendency?
Would I be guilty of regressive tendencies because I am frequently out of touch with people? In fact, any time I leave the house I am "out of touch." No one can contact me, unless they are physically in my presence. I could be anywhere or doing anything. I don't have a cell phone (actually I prefer calling them mobile phones). Many people are surprised and some even taken aback a bit--not much, but they obviously think that something may be wrong with someone who chooses to be out of touch.
Are you guilty of any regressive tendencies? Well, perhaps you might not want to say here, for someday you may find yourself making a one-way trip to "the Psychiatric Center for Research on Regressive Tendencies."
Three Short Stories by Ray Bradbury:
A poignant tale about a monster and about loneliness and even perhaps about unrequited love.
One of the gentlest post-holocaust stories I've ever read.
Another gentle horror tale: avoid those regressive tendencies!
The Fog Horn
This is a gentle monster tale, although there is some destruction in the story, seemingly the result of frustration and despair and loneliness. Briefly, a fog horn awakens a creature that has been sleeping for millions of years. It sounds like the call of one of his own kind. Lonely he swims up from the depths and finds the lighthouse. This has happened for several years now, but this time will be different.
It's a simple little tale, one that certainly doesn't deserve the treatment it got from Hollywood back in the '50s when the beast was transformed into a ravenous destroying monster that attacked NYC as The Beast from 20,000 Fathoms Beneath the Sea.
What makes this tale, aside from its theme of loneliness, is Bradbury's language. This is not a story to be raced through, paragraph to paragraph, page after page, until the end is reached and one can go on to the next story. It should be read slowly and thoughtfully in a quiet place. One should savor the language. It may take longer to finish it, but it's worth the time spent.
The story opens with two men in a lighthouse:
"Out there in the cold water, far from land, we waited every night for the coming of the fog, and it came, and we oiled the brass machinery and lit the fog light up in the stone tower. Feeling like two birds in the gray sky. McDunn and I sent the light touching out, red, then white, then red again, to eye the lonely ships. And if they did not see our light, then there was always our Voice, the great deep cry of our Fog Horn shuddering through the rags of mist to startle the gulls away like decks of scattered cards and make the waves turn high and foam."
McDunn then relates a strange incident that happened years ago that tells us the sea is a place that we know little about and a place of inexplicable events. It's about the lighthouse and the possibility that other creatures may not see it as we do.
"'The mysteries of the sea,' said McDunn thoughtfully. 'You know, the ocean's the biggest damned snowflake ever? it rolls ands swells a thousand shapes and colors, no two alike. Strange. One night, years ago, I was here alone, when all of the fish of the sea surfaced out there. Something made them swim in and lie in the bay, sort of trembling and staring up at the tower light going red, white, red, white, across them so I could see their funny eyes. I turned cold. They were like a big peacock's tail, moving out there until midnight. Then, without so much as a sound, they slipped away, the million of them was gone. I kind of think maybe, in some sort of way, they came all those miles to worship. Strange. But think how the tower must look to them, standing seventy feet above the water, the God-light flashing out from it, and the tower declaring itself with a monster voice. They never came back, those fish, but don't you think for a while they thought they were in the Presence?'"
I have never lived by the sea, so a fog horn is not something that I regularly experience. However, many years ago, I went to San Francisco and there I did hear a fog horn. I had forgotten about it until I read the following passage in this story:
"One day many years ago a man walked along and stood in the sound of the ocean on a cold sunless shore and said, 'We need a voice to call across the water, to warn ships; I'll make one. I'll make a voice like all of time and all of the fog that ever was; I'll make a voice that is like an empty bed beside you all night long, and like a empty house when you open the door, and like trees in autumn with no leaves. A sound like the birds flying south, crying, and a sound like November wind and the sea on the hard, cold shore. I'll make a sound that's so alone that no one can miss it, that whoever hears it will weep in their souls, and hearths will seem warmer, and being inside will seem better to all who hear it in the distant towns. I'll make me a sound and an apparatus and they'll call it a Fog Horn and whoever hears it will know the sadness of eternity and the briefness of life.' "
And now, whenever I hear a fog horn in a film, I remember that passage.
The night comes and the fog rolls in. The Fog Horn blew and the monster appears and answers.
"I saw it all. I knew it all--the million years of waiting alone, for someone to come back who never came back. The million years of isolation at the bottom of the sea, the insanity of time there, while the skies cleared of reptile-birds, the swamps dried on the continental lands, the sloths and saber-tooths had their day and sank in tar pits, and men ran like white ants upon the hills.
. . .
The monster was only a hundred yards off now, it and the Fog Horn crying at each other. As the lights hit them, the monster's eyes were fire and ice, fire and ice.
" 'That's life for you,' said McDunn. 'Someone always waiting for someone who never comes home. Always someone loving some thing more than that thing loves them.' "
This doesn't seem to me to be that beast from 20,000 fathoms that tried to destroy NYC.
Is this really a tale of unrequited love?
==================================
There Will Come Soft Rains
The main character is a house, a house of the future, with all the gadgets and gizmos dreamed up by the futurists and that appear occasionally as a feature article somewhere, usually as a filler. Actually the house strikes me as being a bit of a nag.
"In the living room the voice-clock sang, Tick-Tock, seven o'clock, time to get up, time to get up, seven o'clock! as if it were afraid that nobody would. The morning house lay empty. The clock ticked on, repeating and repeating its sounds into the emptiness. Seven-nine, breakfast time, seven-nine!"
The house goes ahead and makes breakfast, but there's no one there to eat it. Obviously something is wrong and it isn't until the following passage that we get the answer.
"Ten o'clock. The sun came out from behind the rain. The house stood alone in a city of rubble and ashes. This was the one house left standing. At night the ruined city gave off a radioactive glow which could be seen for miles."
The house has been doing exactly what it was programmed to do, even though its human occupants had been gone for some time. But, without humans, there are breakdowns, for this is a human invention, and eventually the house is destroyed by fire. Bradbury's description of the house's desperate efforts to save itself makes it seem alive and sentient, frantically trying to put out the fire, a beast of prey.
Recently I've seen several books, a film, and a TV series, all with a similar theme: What will happen to our cities and towns and roads and towns and buildings after we are gone? Bradbury's story was published in 1950, and it asked the same question a half century ago. The title comes from a poem by Sara Teasdale, and it sums up those books and films and the TV series:
"There will come soft rains and the smell of the ground,
And swallows circling with their shimmering sound;
And frogs in the pools singing at night,
And wild plum trees in tremulous white;
Robins will wear their feathery fire;
Whistling their whims on a low fence-wire;
And not one will know of the war, not one
will care at last when it is done.
Not one would mind, whether bird nor tree,
If mankind perished utterly;
And Spring herself, when she woke at dawn,
Would scarcely know that we were gone."
While it's clear that Teasdale may be too optimistic about the overall effects of a nuclear war, especially in the areas that have been bombed, I think the point of the story and the poem are clear, and it happens to be the same point that one of the films made--at least the one that I saw. Human artifacts will eventually disappear. We will not be missed.
===================================
The Pedestrian
Mr. Leonard Mead has a strange habit: he likes to go for walks in the city where he lives. And he has had the city streets to himself. "In ten years of walking by night or by day, for thousands of miles, he had never met another person walking, not once in all that time."
No, this is not a post-holocaust tale in which Mr. Mead is the last man on earth.
"Sometimes he would walk for hours and miles and return only at midnight to his house. And on his way he would see the cottages and homes with their dark windows, and it was not unequal to walking through a graveyard where only the faintest glimmers of firefly light appeared in flickers behind the windows. Sudden gray phantoms seemed to manifest upon inner room walls, where a curtain was still undrawn against the night, or there were whisperings and murmurs where a window in a tomb-like building was still open."
This story has a copyright date of 1951 and it's an "if this goes on" tale. Why was nobody out on the streets anymore? TV is the villain. I saw it happening in my neighborhood. People would frequently come out on the front porches of their homes and enjoy the cooling air during the warm months. By the late 60's this had disappeared for the most part. Everybody was inside watching TV. I now live in Tucson where the weather is such that one could sit outside for most months of the year, but it seldom happens.
But this isn't just a playful exercise in human foibles. Mr Mead has had the freedom of his regular strolls for many years now, but human society, as usual, has little or no tolerance for those who are different--in any way. And we here in the land of the free are no different.
Mr Mead is confronted by the police who question him about his activities and are astounded to learn that he's just out walking--walking for the sake of walking. He is ordered to get in the back of the car, which is outfitted much as would be a cell. When he asks where he is being taken, he is told "To the Psychiatric Center for Research on Regressive Tendencies." I fear he will be a subject of their research for the rest of his life.
Regressive tendencies--a throwback, someone who engages in activities that are out of step in today's world. I wonder what that would include today. I write with a fountain pen, whenever possible. Would that be considered a regressive tendency?
Would I be guilty of regressive tendencies because I am frequently out of touch with people? In fact, any time I leave the house I am "out of touch." No one can contact me, unless they are physically in my presence. I could be anywhere or doing anything. I don't have a cell phone (actually I prefer calling them mobile phones). Many people are surprised and some even taken aback a bit--not much, but they obviously think that something may be wrong with someone who chooses to be out of touch.
Are you guilty of any regressive tendencies? Well, perhaps you might not want to say here, for someday you may find yourself making a one-way trip to "the Psychiatric Center for Research on Regressive Tendencies."
Sunday, August 1, 2010
Herman Melville: August 1, 1819--September 28, 1891
Today is Herman Melville's birthday, and I thought I would celebrate it with a quotation from one of his writings. I decided that I would try something different and not select one from Moby Dick or Billy Budd or one of his sea tales. I'm sure others will do that. So, here is a quotation from one of Melville's dry land tales, one in which the sea or a ship plays no role.
This quotation is from one of Melville's later novels and, also, one of his bleakest, if not his bleakest: Pierre: or, The Ambiguities. I think this quotation will also provide another look at Melville's writing skills. Surprisingly, at least to me anyway, Melville can pen the prose purple with the best of them (or should I say the worst of them).
Man or woman who has never loved, nor once looked deep down into their own lover's eyes, they know not the sweetest and loftiest religion of this earth. Love is both Creator's and Savior's gospel to mankind; a volume bound in roseleaves, clasped with violets, and by the beaks of humming-birds printed with peach-juice on the leaves of lilies.
-- Herman Melville --
from Pierre: or, The Ambiguities
Something a bit different from Melville.
This quotation is from one of Melville's later novels and, also, one of his bleakest, if not his bleakest: Pierre: or, The Ambiguities. I think this quotation will also provide another look at Melville's writing skills. Surprisingly, at least to me anyway, Melville can pen the prose purple with the best of them (or should I say the worst of them).
Man or woman who has never loved, nor once looked deep down into their own lover's eyes, they know not the sweetest and loftiest religion of this earth. Love is both Creator's and Savior's gospel to mankind; a volume bound in roseleaves, clasped with violets, and by the beaks of humming-birds printed with peach-juice on the leaves of lilies.
-- Herman Melville --
from Pierre: or, The Ambiguities
Something a bit different from Melville.
Monday, July 26, 2010
Something to think about
From China, France, and Israel
When things fully flourish they begin to decline.
At midday the sun begins to set.
When the moon is done waxing it starts to wane.
When happiness ends, sadness begins.
-- Lao Tzu --
====================
The world is but a perpetual see-saw. Everything goes incessantly up and down--the earth, the rocks of the Caucasus, the pyramids of Egypt--both with the universal motion and with their own. Constancy itself is nothing but a more sluggish movement.
-- Michel de Montaigne --
====================
All our efforts are temporary. They borrow from preexisting forces, ride the current of natural events, and disappear according to the dictates of the situation. It is best to realize the transitory nature of things and work with it. Understanding world's ephemeral nature can be the biggest advantage of all.
-- Deng Ming-Dao --
====================
Vanity of vanities, saith the Preacher, vanity of vanities;
all is vanity.
What profit hath a man of all his labour
which he taketh under the sun?
One generation passeth away, and another generation cometh:
but the earth abideth forever.
The sun also ariseth, and the sun goeth down,
and hasteth to his place where he arose.
The wind goeth toward the south, and turneth about unto the north;
it whirleth about continually,
and the wind returneth again accord to his circuits.
All the rivers run into the sea; yet the sea is not full;
unto the place from whence the rivers come,
thither they return again.
-- Ecclesiastes --
Do you find this attitude depressing?
When things fully flourish they begin to decline.
At midday the sun begins to set.
When the moon is done waxing it starts to wane.
When happiness ends, sadness begins.
-- Lao Tzu --
====================
The world is but a perpetual see-saw. Everything goes incessantly up and down--the earth, the rocks of the Caucasus, the pyramids of Egypt--both with the universal motion and with their own. Constancy itself is nothing but a more sluggish movement.
-- Michel de Montaigne --
====================
All our efforts are temporary. They borrow from preexisting forces, ride the current of natural events, and disappear according to the dictates of the situation. It is best to realize the transitory nature of things and work with it. Understanding world's ephemeral nature can be the biggest advantage of all.
-- Deng Ming-Dao --
====================
Vanity of vanities, saith the Preacher, vanity of vanities;
all is vanity.
What profit hath a man of all his labour
which he taketh under the sun?
One generation passeth away, and another generation cometh:
but the earth abideth forever.
The sun also ariseth, and the sun goeth down,
and hasteth to his place where he arose.
The wind goeth toward the south, and turneth about unto the north;
it whirleth about continually,
and the wind returneth again accord to his circuits.
All the rivers run into the sea; yet the sea is not full;
unto the place from whence the rivers come,
thither they return again.
-- Ecclesiastes --
Do you find this attitude depressing?
Saturday, July 24, 2010
The Rubaiyat: Quatrain XXIX
Quatrain XXIX is the third in a series of four linked quatrains: XXVII, XXVIII, XXIX, and XXX.
First Edition: Quatrain XXIX
Into this Universe, and why not knowing,
Nor whence, like Water willy-nilly flowing,
And out of it, as Wind along the Waste,
I know not whither, willy-nilly blowing.
Second Edition: Quatrain XXXII
Into this Universe, and Why not knowing,
Nor Whence, like Water willy-nilly flowing;
And out of it, as Wind along the Waste,
I know not Whither, willy-nilly blowing.
Fifth Edition: Quatrain XXIX
Into this Universe, and Why not knowing,
Nor Whence, like Water willy-nilly flowing;
And out of it, as Wind along the Waste,
I know not Whither, willy-nilly blowing.
FitzGerald made minimal changes which, surprisingly, go in the opposite direction of some that he has made so far. In the past, he has occasionally changed the capitalization of words from upper case to lower case. Here he does the opposite: He changes the lower case "w' in "why." "whence," and "whither" in the First Edition to the upper case "W" in the Second Edition. The Fifth Edition is identical to the Second, including the substitution of a semicolon at the end of the second line for the comma in the First Edition.
Perhaps he wishes to emphasize those words; if not, I can't come up with another plausible explanation. Those are significant words for the theme of this linked set of quatrains. FitzGerald brings forward from the last quatrain the reference to water and wind and also ignorance. In the last quatrain he said he had no answers except that he comes like water and goes like the wind.
In this quatrain he further defines this Seed of Wisdom, or perhaps better defined as the Seed of Ignorance, that he sowed among the wise. FitzGerald uses three terms here very precisely.
Whence means "from where"
Whither means "to where"
Willy-nilly means "willingly or not willingly"
In the previous quatrain, he tells us that all he knows is that he comes like water and goes like wind. In this quatrain, he now tells us that he doesn't know why he is here, that he doesn't know where he came from, and that he doesn't know where he is going when he leaves. Moreover, he has no choice in being here: he is here, willingly or not, and he eventually will leave, willingly or not.
The Taoists make a similar point for they say that all things come from Tao and return to Tao, but just what the Tao is nobody knows. Other terms sometimes used are the Void or emptiness. Furthermore, even to give it a name is misleading , for names suggest that we know something about what is being named, and we know nothing about the Tao, and therefore we know nothing about where we came from and where we are going.
First Edition: Quatrain XXIX
Into this Universe, and why not knowing,
Nor whence, like Water willy-nilly flowing,
And out of it, as Wind along the Waste,
I know not whither, willy-nilly blowing.
Second Edition: Quatrain XXXII
Into this Universe, and Why not knowing,
Nor Whence, like Water willy-nilly flowing;
And out of it, as Wind along the Waste,
I know not Whither, willy-nilly blowing.
Fifth Edition: Quatrain XXIX
Into this Universe, and Why not knowing,
Nor Whence, like Water willy-nilly flowing;
And out of it, as Wind along the Waste,
I know not Whither, willy-nilly blowing.
FitzGerald made minimal changes which, surprisingly, go in the opposite direction of some that he has made so far. In the past, he has occasionally changed the capitalization of words from upper case to lower case. Here he does the opposite: He changes the lower case "w' in "why." "whence," and "whither" in the First Edition to the upper case "W" in the Second Edition. The Fifth Edition is identical to the Second, including the substitution of a semicolon at the end of the second line for the comma in the First Edition.
Perhaps he wishes to emphasize those words; if not, I can't come up with another plausible explanation. Those are significant words for the theme of this linked set of quatrains. FitzGerald brings forward from the last quatrain the reference to water and wind and also ignorance. In the last quatrain he said he had no answers except that he comes like water and goes like the wind.
In this quatrain he further defines this Seed of Wisdom, or perhaps better defined as the Seed of Ignorance, that he sowed among the wise. FitzGerald uses three terms here very precisely.
Whence means "from where"
Whither means "to where"
Willy-nilly means "willingly or not willingly"
In the previous quatrain, he tells us that all he knows is that he comes like water and goes like wind. In this quatrain, he now tells us that he doesn't know why he is here, that he doesn't know where he came from, and that he doesn't know where he is going when he leaves. Moreover, he has no choice in being here: he is here, willingly or not, and he eventually will leave, willingly or not.
The Taoists make a similar point for they say that all things come from Tao and return to Tao, but just what the Tao is nobody knows. Other terms sometimes used are the Void or emptiness. Furthermore, even to give it a name is misleading , for names suggest that we know something about what is being named, and we know nothing about the Tao, and therefore we know nothing about where we came from and where we are going.
Monday, July 19, 2010
Something to think about
In Ursula Le Guin's novel, The Left Hand of Darkness, the human inhabitants of the planet Gethen have apparently been subjects in a long ago experiment. The results are as follows. The Gethens have roughly a 26 day sexual cycle: for around 22-3 days they are effectively asexual. They are neither male nor female. Sometime around the 22nd day they begin to undergo changes which will result in becoming a sexual being--either male or female--for about 2-3 days. This period is known as kemmer.
The significant effect of this is that the inhabitants, therefore, have no real sense of being male or female as we do. They are just people and treat each other as such. They only perceive each other as males and females during the 2 or 3 days of kemmer. This has repercussions in behavior, possibly even threatening to non-Gethenians.
In a report, one observer notes that--
The First Mobile [first ambassador] , if one is sent, must be warned that unless he is very self-assured, or senile, his pride will suffer. A man wants his virility regarded, a woman wants her femininity appreciated, however indirect and subtle the indications of regard and appreciation. On Winter they will not exist. One is respected and judged only as a human being. It is an appalling experience.
What do you think of the above statement?
Do we always see each other and treat each other as a male or as a female, even though the signals may be indirect or even if unnoticed consciously?
Would it be so terrible to be "respected and judged only as a human being" and not as either a male or a female? Would this be "an appalling experience"?
The significant effect of this is that the inhabitants, therefore, have no real sense of being male or female as we do. They are just people and treat each other as such. They only perceive each other as males and females during the 2 or 3 days of kemmer. This has repercussions in behavior, possibly even threatening to non-Gethenians.
In a report, one observer notes that--
The First Mobile [first ambassador] , if one is sent, must be warned that unless he is very self-assured, or senile, his pride will suffer. A man wants his virility regarded, a woman wants her femininity appreciated, however indirect and subtle the indications of regard and appreciation. On Winter they will not exist. One is respected and judged only as a human being. It is an appalling experience.
What do you think of the above statement?
Do we always see each other and treat each other as a male or as a female, even though the signals may be indirect or even if unnoticed consciously?
Would it be so terrible to be "respected and judged only as a human being" and not as either a male or a female? Would this be "an appalling experience"?
Sunday, July 18, 2010
Mircea Eliade: youth without youth
Mircea Eliade was born in Romania in 1907 and died in Chicago, Illinois, in 1986. He is described as a journalist, an historian of religion, a philosopher, an essayist, and a writer of short stories and novels. I knew him first from his various philosophical and religious works: The Myth of the Eternal Return, Myth and Reality, and The Sacred and the Profane, all of which I found thought-provoking and interesting. Eliade has also been blessed with extremely competent translators. All three works are on my list of books to be reread.
I was therefore surprised to find he also wrote fiction. I was enlightened when I was browsing a list of recommended films on Netflix. One of the films mentioned was Youth Without Youth. The plot was interesting, but what was most intriguing was that it was based on a novel by Mircea Eliade. I did watch the film, and I have just finished reading the novel. I'll save the film, perhaps, for another post.
Dominic Matei is an aging academic, over 70, and beginning to be forgetful. One night, during an extremely localized thunderstorm, he is struck by lightning and burned over 100% of his body. He not only survives the lightning bolt and its consequences, but his body regenerates to that of a man in his early 30s. His hair turns dark and he grows a new set of teeth. His memory becomes far better than it ever was: he now remembers everything that happened to him, everything that he has studied and learned. However, these memories no longer seem to belong to him. In addition, he has only to read a few paragraphs of a work to know what is in the rest of the work.
Yet, in spite of these super-abilities, Matei doesn't come across as a superman, or at least not as a typical superman that is found elsewhere. Matei spends the years following his rejuvenation in hiding. All he really wants is to be left alone so he can finish his great work on the origin of language and society.
Eliade's treatment of Matei brings in echoes of other works. For example, before the accident, Matei begins to lose hope about finishing his great work: "the more time passed the more clearly he understood that he would never be able to to finish his one and only book, his life's work. He awoke one morning with the taste of ashes in his mouth. He was approaching age sixty, and he had finished nothing of all all that he had begun." In George Eliot's masterwork, Middlemarch, the Reverend Casaubon has also spent his entire life on his great work on the origins of myth, and near the end of his life, he begins to realize that he has spent his entire life preparing to write a book that he will never finish, or perhaps even begin.
Matei, after the lighting bolt, discovers that he has a double. It is not a double in the sense of Dostoyevsky's double or Edgar Allan Poe's double--one that the character sees as existing outside of himself and acting independently. This double is another consciousness that he and only he can hear. It too occupies his brain, or so it seems. Only when Matei sleeps does this consciousness take control and act. In the morning, Matei can guess at what went on during the night through his dreams. What's intriguing is that Youth without Youth was published in 1979, only three years after Julian Jaynes published his controversial work, The Origin of Consciousness in the Breakdown of the Bicameral Mind, in which Jaynes postulates a similar condition for a major part, if not all, of humanity. Thousands of years ago, this was interpreted as the voice of god, while today it is seen as an auditory hallucination.
Other elements in the story include a discussion of Plato's theory that learning is simply remembering what we have always known, an escape from the Nazis who are interested in Matei's super human abilities, and an excursion by one woman into past lives who aids Matei in his search for the ur-language. This, too, has its drawbacks, forcing Matei to halt the project.
The Ending: well, if you feel that you have come full circle on the last page, you are correct. Borges has a short work in which a man in front of a firing squad is given a year to finish his play. Ambrose Bierce wrote a short story about a Confederate sympathizer who "escapes," for a short time anyway, being hanged from the Owl Creek Bridge.
Overall Rating: a strange, quirky novel that requires several more readings. If this commentary seems fragmented or disjointed to you, I agree with you. I don't feel that I have a grasp of the work, but I did want to let others know about this work.
I shall also have to begin looking for his other works of fiction.
I was therefore surprised to find he also wrote fiction. I was enlightened when I was browsing a list of recommended films on Netflix. One of the films mentioned was Youth Without Youth. The plot was interesting, but what was most intriguing was that it was based on a novel by Mircea Eliade. I did watch the film, and I have just finished reading the novel. I'll save the film, perhaps, for another post.
Dominic Matei is an aging academic, over 70, and beginning to be forgetful. One night, during an extremely localized thunderstorm, he is struck by lightning and burned over 100% of his body. He not only survives the lightning bolt and its consequences, but his body regenerates to that of a man in his early 30s. His hair turns dark and he grows a new set of teeth. His memory becomes far better than it ever was: he now remembers everything that happened to him, everything that he has studied and learned. However, these memories no longer seem to belong to him. In addition, he has only to read a few paragraphs of a work to know what is in the rest of the work.
Yet, in spite of these super-abilities, Matei doesn't come across as a superman, or at least not as a typical superman that is found elsewhere. Matei spends the years following his rejuvenation in hiding. All he really wants is to be left alone so he can finish his great work on the origin of language and society.
Eliade's treatment of Matei brings in echoes of other works. For example, before the accident, Matei begins to lose hope about finishing his great work: "the more time passed the more clearly he understood that he would never be able to to finish his one and only book, his life's work. He awoke one morning with the taste of ashes in his mouth. He was approaching age sixty, and he had finished nothing of all all that he had begun." In George Eliot's masterwork, Middlemarch, the Reverend Casaubon has also spent his entire life on his great work on the origins of myth, and near the end of his life, he begins to realize that he has spent his entire life preparing to write a book that he will never finish, or perhaps even begin.
Matei, after the lighting bolt, discovers that he has a double. It is not a double in the sense of Dostoyevsky's double or Edgar Allan Poe's double--one that the character sees as existing outside of himself and acting independently. This double is another consciousness that he and only he can hear. It too occupies his brain, or so it seems. Only when Matei sleeps does this consciousness take control and act. In the morning, Matei can guess at what went on during the night through his dreams. What's intriguing is that Youth without Youth was published in 1979, only three years after Julian Jaynes published his controversial work, The Origin of Consciousness in the Breakdown of the Bicameral Mind, in which Jaynes postulates a similar condition for a major part, if not all, of humanity. Thousands of years ago, this was interpreted as the voice of god, while today it is seen as an auditory hallucination.
Other elements in the story include a discussion of Plato's theory that learning is simply remembering what we have always known, an escape from the Nazis who are interested in Matei's super human abilities, and an excursion by one woman into past lives who aids Matei in his search for the ur-language. This, too, has its drawbacks, forcing Matei to halt the project.
The Ending: well, if you feel that you have come full circle on the last page, you are correct. Borges has a short work in which a man in front of a firing squad is given a year to finish his play. Ambrose Bierce wrote a short story about a Confederate sympathizer who "escapes," for a short time anyway, being hanged from the Owl Creek Bridge.
Overall Rating: a strange, quirky novel that requires several more readings. If this commentary seems fragmented or disjointed to you, I agree with you. I don't feel that I have a grasp of the work, but I did want to let others know about this work.
I shall also have to begin looking for his other works of fiction.
Saturday, July 17, 2010
Robert Silverberg (ed): Far Horizons
Robert Silverberg (ed): Far Horizons
TABLE OF CONTENTS
Ursula K. Le Guin: "Old Music and the Slave Women" (the Hainish and Ekumen series)
Joe Haldeman: "A Separate War" (the Forever Series)
Orson Scott Card: "Investment Counselor" (the Ender series)
David Brin: "Temptation" (The Uplift Universe)
Robert Silverberg: "Getting to Know the Dragon" (Roma Eterna series)
Dan Simmons: " Orphans of the Helix" (the Hyperion Cantos)
Nancy Kress: "Sleeping Dogs" (the Sleepless)
Frederik Pohl: "The Boy Who Would Live Forever" (the Gateway series)
Gregory Benford: "A Hunger for the Infinite" (the Galactic Center series)
Anne McCaffrey: "The Ship That Returned" (the Ship that Sang series)
Greg Bear: "The Way of All Ghosts" (the Way)
I just finished reading a interesting collection of short stories, or perhaps novella would be a better description. The collection is Far Horizons, edited by Robert Silverberg. It contains eleven stories, all written specifically for this collection which came out in 1999. In his introduction, Silverberg writes
"What I have done in Far Horizons is to gather together most of today's foremost practitioners of the evolutionary science-fiction series and ask them to write a short story or novelette that explores some aspect of their famous series that they did not find a way of dealing with in the books themselves."
Unfortunately, some of the writers Silverberg would like to have included had died while others told him "that they had already said all they wanted to say. . ."
Silverberg defines "the evolutionary science-fiction series" as "the kind that carries the reader through an evolutionary progression of concept and (sometimes) insight into character." I guess it's a series in which the characters and the plot evolve over time, and in some cases the ending could never have been predicted from the first novel. Greg Benford's incredible "Galactic Center" series is a perfect example of this. One more point is that this is the type of series that should best be read in sequence.
The "template series," on the other hand, features a number of stories which are set in the same universe and which do not demonstrate any particular or significant change or development. Each work stands alone, even though set in a shared universe. In a template series, it usually makes little difference in the order in which the stories are read. I would guess that Andre Norton's "Witch World series" would be considered a template series in which there are a number of novels set on that planet, each of which is relatively independent of the others and shows little, if any at all, forward progression of plot or character.
Each of the eleven stories in Far Horizons is preceded by a 1-3 page introduction by the author. These very helpful introductions include a brief summary of the series and, usually, the place occupied by the short story within that series , and in some cases, the history behind the particular story.
For example, Joe Haldeman writes that people had always asked him about a sequel to The Forever War (TFW), and he had always insisted that "the book is complete. . .But someday [he] would write a novella about what happened to the characters later in life."
So, he gladly accepted Silverberg's offer to write that novella for the collection. However, shortly after beginning to write the novella, he found he was writing the sequel that he said he would never write. So, he turned that into a proposal for a novel and sent it off. It was eventually published as Forever Free.
William Mandella and Marygay Potter are the two main characters in TFW and are separated in the last part of the novel, presumably forever. However, the two are almost miraculously reunited at the very end. This story, "A Separate War," tells of what happened to Marygay during the period of her separation from William, and as Haldeman writes, "it also serves as a sort of foreshadowing of the new novel."
====================
Ursula K. Le Guin: "Old Music and the Slave Women" (The Hainish and Ekumen series)
Ursula K. Le Guin's "Old Music and the Slave Women" is set in her Ekumen universe, which includes her earlier "Hainish" novels, Rocannon's World, Planet of Exile, and City of Illusions.
After the earth humans (descendants of the Hainish) and Hainish meet, a league is set up, the Ekumen. The novels set in this period are The Left Hand of Darkness (one of my top ten favorite SF novels), The Dispossessed, The Word for World is Forest, and Four Ways to Forgiveness.
In the fourth book, Four Ways to Forgiveness, Le Guin introduces two new worlds, Werel and Yeowe, recently contacted by the Ekumen. Werel is a slave planet, in which a slave revolt is initiated as a result of the contact by the Ekumen. This story tells of one incident during that rebellion in which the intelligence officer for the Ekumen does something very stupid.
====================
Orson Scott Card: "Investment Counselor" (The Ender Series)
To quote Card, "During the three thousand years between Ender's Game and Speaker for the Dead . . . he somehow acquired a computer-based companion named Jane, who is second only to Ender in importance in the last three books of the series. The story now before you is an account of how they met." Fortunately for the human race, Jane is benevolent, as is Ender.
====================
David Brin: "Temptation" (The Uplift Universe)
This story tells of events following Brin's second novel in the Uplift universe, Startide Rising. When the earth exploratory vessel Streaker takes off in a desperate attempt to escape the alien fleet, a number of dolphins are left behind on the planet Kithrip. This story doesn't just fill in the gap of what happened to them after being left behind, but it also provides a significant development that could affect the entire structure of the present political situation. Unfortunately, not having read any of the novels beyond the third one, I don't know whether anything ever came of this encounter on Kithrip.
====================
Robert Silverberg: "Getting to Know the Dragon" (Roma Eterna series)
I hadn't known of this series before getting this collection. It's an alternate universe tale in which Silverberg's premise is that Moses never led the Hebrews out of Egypt. The Exodus never happened and therefore the Hebrews never settled in Palestine. Consequently Jesus of Nazareth did not exist and the Roman Empire remained pagan. The history of this world is generally the same until the 4th century (our time frame). The division between the Eastern and Western parts of the Roman Empire therefore were strictly political, without any religious connotations. The quarrels were therefore reconcilable and the Roman Empire flourished.
The present story is set in 2503, by Imperial Time reckoning (1750 A. D.) and "fills in a gap in the series by depicting the Empire late in the Second Decadence, when the Emperor Demetrius II is about to come to the throne."
It looks like an interesting series, one that I think I may do some looking around for.
===================
Dan Simmons: "Orphans of the Helix" (The Hyperion Cantos series"
This story appears to be set after the conclusion of the four books in the Cantos. An exploratory and colonizing ship, the Helix, encounters a group of humans and aliens who are under attack by a device that visits their home periodically and gathers up large quantities of whatever they need from that particular site, including people.
The Helix discovers that this may not be a deliberate attack by another race, but a means of survival by a race with minimal resources. The material the device brings back may be necessary for their survival. Therefore, destroying the harvesting device may result in the destruction of a race of beings. Continued depredations by the harvesting device, though, will result in the deaths of many beings. This is the dilemma faced by the people of the Helix.
====================
Nancy Kress: "Sleeping Dogs" (The Sleepless)
This story is set in the same universe as Beggars in Spain, wherein genetic manipulation has permitted parents to specify the characteristics of their unborn offspring. The most radical changes are those that create the Sleepless, those who never sleep, thus giving them an extra 8 or more hours of consciousness.
"Sleeping Dogs" doesn't move the plot forward, but simply tells a story about one of the unexpected side effects of genetic manipulation on dogs. In this case, the dogs are modified to be sleepless and therefor make the perfect guard dogs. Unfortunately for Carol Ann's family, there's a problem with the modified dogs. The dogs were purchased for breeding purposes and intended to better the family's precarious financial situation. What they soon learn is that the dogs can not be trusted and they kill Carol Ann's sister. The story is Carol Ann's attempt to avenge her sister's death under the old Biblical adage--an eye for an eye. . .
====================
Frederik Pohl: "The Boy Who Would Live Forever" (the Gateway Series)
Stan, who has dreamed for years of getting to Gateway and becoming unbelievably wealthy (or so his dreams went) finally gets sufficient funds to make the trip. Shortly after he arrives, and after only one trip, the guidance programs have been translated and the exploration missions are no longer necessary. The Gateway Project has been terminated.
But--not completely. Robinette Broadhead, the main character in the first and several subsequent "Gateway" novels has discovered where the Heechee have fled, to a dark hole. A five person ship is being outfitted to follow the Heechee into their lair. Stan, who hasn't given up on his dreams, volunteers to be one of the five.
This story seems to be a wrapup. The mystery behind Gateway has been the Heechee: who were they and why did they go and where did they go. This story and the last novel in the series seems to answer all the questions.
====================
Gregory Benford: "A Hunger for the Infinite" (the Galactic Center series)
The "Galactic Center" series focuses on the conflict between the mechs, a machine society/ culture? directed by highly intelligent AIs, and all organic life, especially sentient beings, which the mechs see as their greatest enemy.
This story tells of an attempt by the Mantis (a recurring character in the last four of the six novels in the series) to gain a fuller and deeper understanding of the way organic beings think. One of the mysteries which the Mantis and all the higher intelligences of the mech civilization can not crack is that of art. The Mantis' attempts at creating art are rejected universally by all humans who have viewed them. Not only do the humans reject them, the humans are disgusted and sickened by the Mantis' artistic endeavors for they consist of horrific blends of semi-live humans and mechanical parts.
The Mantis decides to try a radical experiment. He downloads part of his consciousness into a human embryo to become an observer. The theory is that the observer will then learn what it is to be human (an organic sentient life form) which will allow it to grasp the meaning and significance of art. Its plan fails, but not for the obvious reasons. It shows the gap between the mech AI-based intelligence and the organic thinking based on intelligence and emotions.
I've always been curious about the Mantis, and this story provides some interesting information about it.
=====================
Anne McCaffrey: "The Ship That Returned" (the Ship that Sang series)
In The Ship That Sang" we are introduced to Helva, the human intelligence that operates the ship. She is part of the ship, and the ship is an integral part of her. We meet her first partner, Jennan Sahir Silan, the "brawn" of the partnership, and her grief at his death, and her search for a new partner. She finally finds Niall Parollan. Subsequent novels tell of their adventures.
"The Ship That Returned" is the story of Helva who, in several ways, has now made a full circle. Niall Parollan, her long-time partner, has just died, and once again, she is on her way to begin another search for a compatible brawn at Central Administration on Regulus. However, before she gets to Regulus, she discovers a fleet of Kolnari on route to Ravel, obviously planning on raiding the planet and destroying as much as possible. Ironically it was on a mission to aid Ravel that her first partner, Jennan, was killed.
First, she sends off a warning to the nearest Administration base. She then goes to Ravel to warn the inhabitants of the horrors on the way to their planet. The inhabitants, however, seem unconcerned and respond to her warnings with reassurances that all will be well. Then the Kolnari arrive.
====================
Greg Bear: "The Way of All Ghosts" (The Way series)
This story is part of the series that includes Eon, Eternity, and Legacy. Bear, in the inroduction, tells us --
"The Way, an artificial universe fifty kilometers in diameter and infinitely long, was created by the human inhabitants of an asteroid starship called Thistledown. They had become bored with their seemingly endless journey between the stars: the Way, with its potential of openings to other times and other universes, made reaching their destination unnecessary."
However, other beings discovered the Way, the Jart, and the humans barely held them at bay, for a time anyway. "The Way of All Ghosts" is the story of one of those exploratory expeditions to a world accessible by the Way. It also is a story about Olmy Ap Sennen, shortly after his first reincarnation. He is destined to "become a living myth, be forgotten, rediscovered, and made myth again. So many stories have been told of Olmy that history and myth intertwine."
Overall Rating: I would rate Benford's story the most interesting, followed by Le Guin and Brin. There really isn't a bad story among the rest, and considering the lineup of writers, one really wouldn't expect to find one.
TABLE OF CONTENTS
Ursula K. Le Guin: "Old Music and the Slave Women" (the Hainish and Ekumen series)
Joe Haldeman: "A Separate War" (the Forever Series)
Orson Scott Card: "Investment Counselor" (the Ender series)
David Brin: "Temptation" (The Uplift Universe)
Robert Silverberg: "Getting to Know the Dragon" (Roma Eterna series)
Dan Simmons: " Orphans of the Helix" (the Hyperion Cantos)
Nancy Kress: "Sleeping Dogs" (the Sleepless)
Frederik Pohl: "The Boy Who Would Live Forever" (the Gateway series)
Gregory Benford: "A Hunger for the Infinite" (the Galactic Center series)
Anne McCaffrey: "The Ship That Returned" (the Ship that Sang series)
Greg Bear: "The Way of All Ghosts" (the Way)
I just finished reading a interesting collection of short stories, or perhaps novella would be a better description. The collection is Far Horizons, edited by Robert Silverberg. It contains eleven stories, all written specifically for this collection which came out in 1999. In his introduction, Silverberg writes
"What I have done in Far Horizons is to gather together most of today's foremost practitioners of the evolutionary science-fiction series and ask them to write a short story or novelette that explores some aspect of their famous series that they did not find a way of dealing with in the books themselves."
Unfortunately, some of the writers Silverberg would like to have included had died while others told him "that they had already said all they wanted to say. . ."
Silverberg defines "the evolutionary science-fiction series" as "the kind that carries the reader through an evolutionary progression of concept and (sometimes) insight into character." I guess it's a series in which the characters and the plot evolve over time, and in some cases the ending could never have been predicted from the first novel. Greg Benford's incredible "Galactic Center" series is a perfect example of this. One more point is that this is the type of series that should best be read in sequence.
The "template series," on the other hand, features a number of stories which are set in the same universe and which do not demonstrate any particular or significant change or development. Each work stands alone, even though set in a shared universe. In a template series, it usually makes little difference in the order in which the stories are read. I would guess that Andre Norton's "Witch World series" would be considered a template series in which there are a number of novels set on that planet, each of which is relatively independent of the others and shows little, if any at all, forward progression of plot or character.
Each of the eleven stories in Far Horizons is preceded by a 1-3 page introduction by the author. These very helpful introductions include a brief summary of the series and, usually, the place occupied by the short story within that series , and in some cases, the history behind the particular story.
For example, Joe Haldeman writes that people had always asked him about a sequel to The Forever War (TFW), and he had always insisted that "the book is complete. . .But someday [he] would write a novella about what happened to the characters later in life."
So, he gladly accepted Silverberg's offer to write that novella for the collection. However, shortly after beginning to write the novella, he found he was writing the sequel that he said he would never write. So, he turned that into a proposal for a novel and sent it off. It was eventually published as Forever Free.
William Mandella and Marygay Potter are the two main characters in TFW and are separated in the last part of the novel, presumably forever. However, the two are almost miraculously reunited at the very end. This story, "A Separate War," tells of what happened to Marygay during the period of her separation from William, and as Haldeman writes, "it also serves as a sort of foreshadowing of the new novel."
====================
Ursula K. Le Guin: "Old Music and the Slave Women" (The Hainish and Ekumen series)
Ursula K. Le Guin's "Old Music and the Slave Women" is set in her Ekumen universe, which includes her earlier "Hainish" novels, Rocannon's World, Planet of Exile, and City of Illusions.
After the earth humans (descendants of the Hainish) and Hainish meet, a league is set up, the Ekumen. The novels set in this period are The Left Hand of Darkness (one of my top ten favorite SF novels), The Dispossessed, The Word for World is Forest, and Four Ways to Forgiveness.
In the fourth book, Four Ways to Forgiveness, Le Guin introduces two new worlds, Werel and Yeowe, recently contacted by the Ekumen. Werel is a slave planet, in which a slave revolt is initiated as a result of the contact by the Ekumen. This story tells of one incident during that rebellion in which the intelligence officer for the Ekumen does something very stupid.
====================
Orson Scott Card: "Investment Counselor" (The Ender Series)
To quote Card, "During the three thousand years between Ender's Game and Speaker for the Dead . . . he somehow acquired a computer-based companion named Jane, who is second only to Ender in importance in the last three books of the series. The story now before you is an account of how they met." Fortunately for the human race, Jane is benevolent, as is Ender.
====================
David Brin: "Temptation" (The Uplift Universe)
This story tells of events following Brin's second novel in the Uplift universe, Startide Rising. When the earth exploratory vessel Streaker takes off in a desperate attempt to escape the alien fleet, a number of dolphins are left behind on the planet Kithrip. This story doesn't just fill in the gap of what happened to them after being left behind, but it also provides a significant development that could affect the entire structure of the present political situation. Unfortunately, not having read any of the novels beyond the third one, I don't know whether anything ever came of this encounter on Kithrip.
====================
Robert Silverberg: "Getting to Know the Dragon" (Roma Eterna series)
I hadn't known of this series before getting this collection. It's an alternate universe tale in which Silverberg's premise is that Moses never led the Hebrews out of Egypt. The Exodus never happened and therefore the Hebrews never settled in Palestine. Consequently Jesus of Nazareth did not exist and the Roman Empire remained pagan. The history of this world is generally the same until the 4th century (our time frame). The division between the Eastern and Western parts of the Roman Empire therefore were strictly political, without any religious connotations. The quarrels were therefore reconcilable and the Roman Empire flourished.
The present story is set in 2503, by Imperial Time reckoning (1750 A. D.) and "fills in a gap in the series by depicting the Empire late in the Second Decadence, when the Emperor Demetrius II is about to come to the throne."
It looks like an interesting series, one that I think I may do some looking around for.
===================
Dan Simmons: "Orphans of the Helix" (The Hyperion Cantos series"
This story appears to be set after the conclusion of the four books in the Cantos. An exploratory and colonizing ship, the Helix, encounters a group of humans and aliens who are under attack by a device that visits their home periodically and gathers up large quantities of whatever they need from that particular site, including people.
The Helix discovers that this may not be a deliberate attack by another race, but a means of survival by a race with minimal resources. The material the device brings back may be necessary for their survival. Therefore, destroying the harvesting device may result in the destruction of a race of beings. Continued depredations by the harvesting device, though, will result in the deaths of many beings. This is the dilemma faced by the people of the Helix.
====================
Nancy Kress: "Sleeping Dogs" (The Sleepless)
This story is set in the same universe as Beggars in Spain, wherein genetic manipulation has permitted parents to specify the characteristics of their unborn offspring. The most radical changes are those that create the Sleepless, those who never sleep, thus giving them an extra 8 or more hours of consciousness.
"Sleeping Dogs" doesn't move the plot forward, but simply tells a story about one of the unexpected side effects of genetic manipulation on dogs. In this case, the dogs are modified to be sleepless and therefor make the perfect guard dogs. Unfortunately for Carol Ann's family, there's a problem with the modified dogs. The dogs were purchased for breeding purposes and intended to better the family's precarious financial situation. What they soon learn is that the dogs can not be trusted and they kill Carol Ann's sister. The story is Carol Ann's attempt to avenge her sister's death under the old Biblical adage--an eye for an eye. . .
====================
Frederik Pohl: "The Boy Who Would Live Forever" (the Gateway Series)
Stan, who has dreamed for years of getting to Gateway and becoming unbelievably wealthy (or so his dreams went) finally gets sufficient funds to make the trip. Shortly after he arrives, and after only one trip, the guidance programs have been translated and the exploration missions are no longer necessary. The Gateway Project has been terminated.
But--not completely. Robinette Broadhead, the main character in the first and several subsequent "Gateway" novels has discovered where the Heechee have fled, to a dark hole. A five person ship is being outfitted to follow the Heechee into their lair. Stan, who hasn't given up on his dreams, volunteers to be one of the five.
This story seems to be a wrapup. The mystery behind Gateway has been the Heechee: who were they and why did they go and where did they go. This story and the last novel in the series seems to answer all the questions.
====================
Gregory Benford: "A Hunger for the Infinite" (the Galactic Center series)
The "Galactic Center" series focuses on the conflict between the mechs, a machine society/ culture? directed by highly intelligent AIs, and all organic life, especially sentient beings, which the mechs see as their greatest enemy.
This story tells of an attempt by the Mantis (a recurring character in the last four of the six novels in the series) to gain a fuller and deeper understanding of the way organic beings think. One of the mysteries which the Mantis and all the higher intelligences of the mech civilization can not crack is that of art. The Mantis' attempts at creating art are rejected universally by all humans who have viewed them. Not only do the humans reject them, the humans are disgusted and sickened by the Mantis' artistic endeavors for they consist of horrific blends of semi-live humans and mechanical parts.
The Mantis decides to try a radical experiment. He downloads part of his consciousness into a human embryo to become an observer. The theory is that the observer will then learn what it is to be human (an organic sentient life form) which will allow it to grasp the meaning and significance of art. Its plan fails, but not for the obvious reasons. It shows the gap between the mech AI-based intelligence and the organic thinking based on intelligence and emotions.
I've always been curious about the Mantis, and this story provides some interesting information about it.
=====================
Anne McCaffrey: "The Ship That Returned" (the Ship that Sang series)
In The Ship That Sang" we are introduced to Helva, the human intelligence that operates the ship. She is part of the ship, and the ship is an integral part of her. We meet her first partner, Jennan Sahir Silan, the "brawn" of the partnership, and her grief at his death, and her search for a new partner. She finally finds Niall Parollan. Subsequent novels tell of their adventures.
"The Ship That Returned" is the story of Helva who, in several ways, has now made a full circle. Niall Parollan, her long-time partner, has just died, and once again, she is on her way to begin another search for a compatible brawn at Central Administration on Regulus. However, before she gets to Regulus, she discovers a fleet of Kolnari on route to Ravel, obviously planning on raiding the planet and destroying as much as possible. Ironically it was on a mission to aid Ravel that her first partner, Jennan, was killed.
First, she sends off a warning to the nearest Administration base. She then goes to Ravel to warn the inhabitants of the horrors on the way to their planet. The inhabitants, however, seem unconcerned and respond to her warnings with reassurances that all will be well. Then the Kolnari arrive.
====================
Greg Bear: "The Way of All Ghosts" (The Way series)
This story is part of the series that includes Eon, Eternity, and Legacy. Bear, in the inroduction, tells us --
"The Way, an artificial universe fifty kilometers in diameter and infinitely long, was created by the human inhabitants of an asteroid starship called Thistledown. They had become bored with their seemingly endless journey between the stars: the Way, with its potential of openings to other times and other universes, made reaching their destination unnecessary."
However, other beings discovered the Way, the Jart, and the humans barely held them at bay, for a time anyway. "The Way of All Ghosts" is the story of one of those exploratory expeditions to a world accessible by the Way. It also is a story about Olmy Ap Sennen, shortly after his first reincarnation. He is destined to "become a living myth, be forgotten, rediscovered, and made myth again. So many stories have been told of Olmy that history and myth intertwine."
Overall Rating: I would rate Benford's story the most interesting, followed by Le Guin and Brin. There really isn't a bad story among the rest, and considering the lineup of writers, one really wouldn't expect to find one.
Monday, July 12, 2010
Henry David Thoreau: July 12, 1817-- May 6, 1862
One most frequently encounters quotations from Thoreau's most well-known work Walden, so I thought that I would provide something that's rarely given--one of his poems. This is one that's a bit ironic, almost with a touch of Robert Frost about it, or so it seems to me.
I knew a man by sight
I knew a man by sight,
A blameless wight,
Who. for a year or more,
Had daily passed my door,
Yet converse none had had with him.
I met him in a lane,
Him and his cane,
About three miles from home,
Where I had chanced to roam,
And volumes stared at him, and he at me.
In a more distant place
I glimpsed his face,
And bowed instinctively,
Starting he bowed to me,
Bowed simultaneously, and passed along.
Next, in a foreign land
I grasped his hand,
And had a social chat,
About this thing and that,
As I had known him well a thousand years.
Late in a wilderness
I shared his mess,
For he had hardships seen,
And I a wanderer been;
He was my bosom friend, and I was his.
And as, methinks, shall all,
Both great and small,
That ever lived on earth,
Early or late their birth,
Stranger and foe, one day each other know
I wonder if this is true. I also wonder just what Thoreau meant by the last five lines: Will all, "stranger and foe, one day each other know"?
I knew a man by sight
I knew a man by sight,
A blameless wight,
Who. for a year or more,
Had daily passed my door,
Yet converse none had had with him.
I met him in a lane,
Him and his cane,
About three miles from home,
Where I had chanced to roam,
And volumes stared at him, and he at me.
In a more distant place
I glimpsed his face,
And bowed instinctively,
Starting he bowed to me,
Bowed simultaneously, and passed along.
Next, in a foreign land
I grasped his hand,
And had a social chat,
About this thing and that,
As I had known him well a thousand years.
Late in a wilderness
I shared his mess,
For he had hardships seen,
And I a wanderer been;
He was my bosom friend, and I was his.
And as, methinks, shall all,
Both great and small,
That ever lived on earth,
Early or late their birth,
Stranger and foe, one day each other know
I wonder if this is true. I also wonder just what Thoreau meant by the last five lines: Will all, "stranger and foe, one day each other know"?
Friday, July 9, 2010
Loren Eiseley: Sept . 3, 1907--July 9, 1977
From Loren Eiseley's essay "The Judgment of the Birds"
On the maps of the old voyageurs it is called "Mauvaises Terres," the evil lands, and slurred a little with the passage through many minds, it has come down to us anglicized as the Badlands. The soft shuffle of moccasins has passed through its canyons on the grim business of war and flight, but the last of those slight disturbances of immemorial silences died out almost a century ago. The land, if one can call it a land, is a waste as lifeless as that valley in which lie the kings of Egypt. Like the Valley of the Kings, it is a mausoleum, a place of dry bones in what once was a place of life. Now it has silences as deep as those in the moon's airless chasms.
Nothing grows among its pinnacles; there is no shade except under great toadstools of sandstone whose bases have been eaten to the shape of wine glasses by the wind. Everything is flaking, cracking, disintegrating, wearing away in the long, imperceptible weather of time. The ash of ancient volcanic outbursts still sterilizes its soil, and its colors in that waste are the colors that flame in the lonely sunsets on dead planets. Men come there but rarely, and for one purpose only, the collection of bones.
It was a late hour on a cold, wind-bitten autumn day when I climbed a great hill spined like a dinosaur's back and tried to take my bearings. The tumbled waste fell away in waves in all directions. Blue air was darkening into purple along the bases of the hills. I shifted my knapsack, heavy with the petrified bones of long-vanished creatures, and studied my compass. I wanted to be out of there by nightfall, and already the sun was going sullenly down in the west.
It was then that I saw the flight coming on. It was moving like a little close-knit body of black specks that danced and darted and closed again. It was pouring from the north and heading toward me with the undeviating relentlessness of a compass needle. It streamed through the shadows rising out of monstrous gorges. It rushed over towering pinnacles in the red light of the sun, or momentarily sank from sight within their shade. Across that desert of eroding clay and wind-worn stone they came with a faint wild twittering that filled all the air about me as those tiny living bullets hurtled past into the night.
It may not strike you as a marvel. It would not, perhaps, unless you stood in the middle of a dead world at sunset, but that was where I stood. Fifty million years lay under my feet, fifty million years of bellowing monsters moving in a green world now gone so utterly that its very light travelling on the farther edge of space. The chemicals of all that vanished age lay about me in the ground. Around me still lay the shearing molars of dead titanotheres, the delicate sabers of soft-stepping cats, the hollow sockets that had held the eyes of many a strange, outmoded beast. Those eyes had looked out upon a world as real as ours; dark, savage brains had roamed and roared their challenges into the steaming night.
Now they were still here, or, put it as you will, the chemicals that made them were here about me in the ground. The carbon that had driven them ran blackly in the eroding stone. The stain of iron was in the clays. The iron did not remember the blood it had once moved within, the phosphorus had forgot the savage brain. The little individual moment had ebbed from all those strange combinations of chemicals as it would ebb from our living bodies into the sinks and runnels of oncoming time.
I had lifted up a fistful of that ground. I held it while that wild flight of south-bound warblers hurtled over me into the oncoming dark. There went phosphorus, there went iron, there went carbon, there beat the calcium in those hurrying wings. Alone on a dead planet I watched that incredible miracle speeding past. It ran by some true compass over field and waste land. It cried its individual ecstasies into the air until the gullies rang. It swerved like a single body, it knew itself and, lonely, it bunched close in the racing darkness, its individual entities feeling about them the rising night. And so, crying to each other their identity, they passed away out of my view.
I dropped my fistful of earth. I heard it roll inanimate back into the gully at the base of the hill: iron, carbon, the chemicals of life. Like men from those wild tribes who had haunted these hills before me seeking visions, I made my sign to the great darkness. It was not a mocking sign, and I was not mocked. As I walked into my camp late that night, one man, rousing from his blankets beside the fire, asked sleepily, "What did you see?"
"I think, a miracle," I said softly, but I said it to myself. Behind me that vast waste began to glow under the rising moon.
On the maps of the old voyageurs it is called "Mauvaises Terres," the evil lands, and slurred a little with the passage through many minds, it has come down to us anglicized as the Badlands. The soft shuffle of moccasins has passed through its canyons on the grim business of war and flight, but the last of those slight disturbances of immemorial silences died out almost a century ago. The land, if one can call it a land, is a waste as lifeless as that valley in which lie the kings of Egypt. Like the Valley of the Kings, it is a mausoleum, a place of dry bones in what once was a place of life. Now it has silences as deep as those in the moon's airless chasms.
Nothing grows among its pinnacles; there is no shade except under great toadstools of sandstone whose bases have been eaten to the shape of wine glasses by the wind. Everything is flaking, cracking, disintegrating, wearing away in the long, imperceptible weather of time. The ash of ancient volcanic outbursts still sterilizes its soil, and its colors in that waste are the colors that flame in the lonely sunsets on dead planets. Men come there but rarely, and for one purpose only, the collection of bones.
It was a late hour on a cold, wind-bitten autumn day when I climbed a great hill spined like a dinosaur's back and tried to take my bearings. The tumbled waste fell away in waves in all directions. Blue air was darkening into purple along the bases of the hills. I shifted my knapsack, heavy with the petrified bones of long-vanished creatures, and studied my compass. I wanted to be out of there by nightfall, and already the sun was going sullenly down in the west.
It was then that I saw the flight coming on. It was moving like a little close-knit body of black specks that danced and darted and closed again. It was pouring from the north and heading toward me with the undeviating relentlessness of a compass needle. It streamed through the shadows rising out of monstrous gorges. It rushed over towering pinnacles in the red light of the sun, or momentarily sank from sight within their shade. Across that desert of eroding clay and wind-worn stone they came with a faint wild twittering that filled all the air about me as those tiny living bullets hurtled past into the night.
It may not strike you as a marvel. It would not, perhaps, unless you stood in the middle of a dead world at sunset, but that was where I stood. Fifty million years lay under my feet, fifty million years of bellowing monsters moving in a green world now gone so utterly that its very light travelling on the farther edge of space. The chemicals of all that vanished age lay about me in the ground. Around me still lay the shearing molars of dead titanotheres, the delicate sabers of soft-stepping cats, the hollow sockets that had held the eyes of many a strange, outmoded beast. Those eyes had looked out upon a world as real as ours; dark, savage brains had roamed and roared their challenges into the steaming night.
Now they were still here, or, put it as you will, the chemicals that made them were here about me in the ground. The carbon that had driven them ran blackly in the eroding stone. The stain of iron was in the clays. The iron did not remember the blood it had once moved within, the phosphorus had forgot the savage brain. The little individual moment had ebbed from all those strange combinations of chemicals as it would ebb from our living bodies into the sinks and runnels of oncoming time.
I had lifted up a fistful of that ground. I held it while that wild flight of south-bound warblers hurtled over me into the oncoming dark. There went phosphorus, there went iron, there went carbon, there beat the calcium in those hurrying wings. Alone on a dead planet I watched that incredible miracle speeding past. It ran by some true compass over field and waste land. It cried its individual ecstasies into the air until the gullies rang. It swerved like a single body, it knew itself and, lonely, it bunched close in the racing darkness, its individual entities feeling about them the rising night. And so, crying to each other their identity, they passed away out of my view.
I dropped my fistful of earth. I heard it roll inanimate back into the gully at the base of the hill: iron, carbon, the chemicals of life. Like men from those wild tribes who had haunted these hills before me seeking visions, I made my sign to the great darkness. It was not a mocking sign, and I was not mocked. As I walked into my camp late that night, one man, rousing from his blankets beside the fire, asked sleepily, "What did you see?"
"I think, a miracle," I said softly, but I said it to myself. Behind me that vast waste began to glow under the rising moon.
Tuesday, July 6, 2010
Something to think about
It is no weakness for the wisest man
To learn when he is wrong, know when to yield.
So, on the margin of a flooded river
Trees bending to the torrent live unbroken,
While those that strain against it are snapped off.
A sailor has to tack and slacken sheets
Before the gale, or find himsel capsized . . . .
Let not your first thought be your only thought.
Think if there cannot be some other way.
- Sophocles - from Antigone
Only fools are certain and immovable.
- Montaigne -
Monday, July 5, 2010
The Rubaiyat: Quatrain XXVIII
This is the second quatrain in what I see as a linked series of four quatrains. In Quatrain XXVII, the narrator tells us that he listened to the Doctors and Saints, but learned nothing from them. In this quatrain, we now learn that he taught them something.
First Edition: Quatrain XXVIII
With them the Seed of Wisdom did I sow,
And with my own hand labour'd it to grow;
And this was all the Harvest that I reap'd--
"I came like Water, and like Wind I go."
Second Edition: Quatrain XXXI
With them the Seed of Wisdom did I sow,
And with my own hand wrought to make it grow;
And this was all the Harvest that I reap'd--
"I came like Water, and like Wind I go."
Fifth Edition: Quatrain XXVIII
With them the Seed of Wisdom did I sow,
And with mine own hand wrought to make it grow;
And this was all the Harvest that I reap'd--
"I came like Water, and like Wind I go."
I could find only minor changes among the three versions. Lines 1, 2, and 4 are identical, with the only changes occurring in the second line.
First Edition: And with my own hand labour'd it to grow;
Second Edition: And with my own hand wrought to make it grow;
Fifth Edition: And with mine own hand wrought to make it grow;
The First Edition's "labour'd it to grow" becomes "wrought to make it grow." I guess the second version flows a bit more smoothly than the first. I'm not sure why he changed it from "my" to "mine" except perhaps for a bit of internal rhyme when "my own hand" becomes "mine own hand."
Instead of learning from the wise, the young narrator teaches them. I don't know if this is a coincidence or an interpolation by FitzGerald, for this reminds me of the incident in Luke, Chapter 2, when Christ as young child was found in the temple and "all that heard him were astonished by his wisdom and his answers." And the "Seed of Wisdom" also has echoes in the Gospels, for several times we find that Christ uses the analogy of a seed and his words.
His "Harvest" suggests the transitoriness of life, for he comes like water and goes like the wind. Both are natural forces and while a river flows and the wind blows, it is never the same wind and water. He also comes and eventually will go, for he is of this world and subject to its laws. And, others will come after him and take their turn here, before they too will go on, for this is not a unchanging situation that is being depicted, but one that is filled with movement and change.
First Edition: Quatrain XXVIII
With them the Seed of Wisdom did I sow,
And with my own hand labour'd it to grow;
And this was all the Harvest that I reap'd--
"I came like Water, and like Wind I go."
Second Edition: Quatrain XXXI
With them the Seed of Wisdom did I sow,
And with my own hand wrought to make it grow;
And this was all the Harvest that I reap'd--
"I came like Water, and like Wind I go."
Fifth Edition: Quatrain XXVIII
With them the Seed of Wisdom did I sow,
And with mine own hand wrought to make it grow;
And this was all the Harvest that I reap'd--
"I came like Water, and like Wind I go."
I could find only minor changes among the three versions. Lines 1, 2, and 4 are identical, with the only changes occurring in the second line.
First Edition: And with my own hand labour'd it to grow;
Second Edition: And with my own hand wrought to make it grow;
Fifth Edition: And with mine own hand wrought to make it grow;
The First Edition's "labour'd it to grow" becomes "wrought to make it grow." I guess the second version flows a bit more smoothly than the first. I'm not sure why he changed it from "my" to "mine" except perhaps for a bit of internal rhyme when "my own hand" becomes "mine own hand."
Instead of learning from the wise, the young narrator teaches them. I don't know if this is a coincidence or an interpolation by FitzGerald, for this reminds me of the incident in Luke, Chapter 2, when Christ as young child was found in the temple and "all that heard him were astonished by his wisdom and his answers." And the "Seed of Wisdom" also has echoes in the Gospels, for several times we find that Christ uses the analogy of a seed and his words.
His "Harvest" suggests the transitoriness of life, for he comes like water and goes like the wind. Both are natural forces and while a river flows and the wind blows, it is never the same wind and water. He also comes and eventually will go, for he is of this world and subject to its laws. And, others will come after him and take their turn here, before they too will go on, for this is not a unchanging situation that is being depicted, but one that is filled with movement and change.
Saturday, July 3, 2010
Franz Kafka: July 3, 1883--June 3, 1924
As Gregor Samsa awoke one morning from uneasy dreams he found himself transformed in his bed into a gigantic insect. He was lying on his hard, as it were armor-plated, back and when he lifted his head a little he could see his dome-like brown belly divided into stiff arched segments on top of which the bed quilt could hardly keep in position and was about to slide of completely. His numerous legs, which were pitifully thin compared to the rest of his bulk, waved helplessly before his eyes.
Thus opens one of the most famous short stories in Western Literature. If millions have read it, I suspect that many more millions know about the story--about a man who wakes one morning and finds he's been turned into a gigantic insect. Aside from the obvious questions about its meaning and themes, I have a minor one.
At the beginning of the story, Gregor Samsa is the sole support of his family, which includes his parents and sister. His father went bankrupt, and Gregor has been working long and hard to not only support his family but also to pay off his father's debts. His father, crushed by his failure, does little except sit around and read the newspaper, sometimes out loud to Gregor's mother and sister. They seldom leave the house and entertain rarely.
The family's financial status has now become very serious. Gregor can no longer support them. There are sufficient funds available to keep them for about a year, but after that, some source of income must be arranged.
At the end of the story, Gregor has died. The father has thrown off his lethargy and found a job, as has also Gregor's mother and sister. All three now are working. They have found a smaller apartment, one more suitable for the three of them. They even take a trip into the countryside together, something they haven't done in a long time.
And Gregor's sister? The parents noticed--
their daughter's increasing vivacity, that in spite of all the sorrow of the recent times, which had made her cheeks pale, she had blossomed into a pretty girl with a good figure . . . And it was like a confirmation of their new dreams and excellent intentions that at the end of their journey their daughter sprang to her feet first and stretched her young body.
Considering the behavior of Gregor's family at the beginning of the story, when they relied on him as their sole support, and their new enthusiasm and energy at the end of the story, when he has died, I keep asking myself the following question:
Is Gregor Samsa the victim or the villain of the story?
Thus opens one of the most famous short stories in Western Literature. If millions have read it, I suspect that many more millions know about the story--about a man who wakes one morning and finds he's been turned into a gigantic insect. Aside from the obvious questions about its meaning and themes, I have a minor one.
At the beginning of the story, Gregor Samsa is the sole support of his family, which includes his parents and sister. His father went bankrupt, and Gregor has been working long and hard to not only support his family but also to pay off his father's debts. His father, crushed by his failure, does little except sit around and read the newspaper, sometimes out loud to Gregor's mother and sister. They seldom leave the house and entertain rarely.
The family's financial status has now become very serious. Gregor can no longer support them. There are sufficient funds available to keep them for about a year, but after that, some source of income must be arranged.
At the end of the story, Gregor has died. The father has thrown off his lethargy and found a job, as has also Gregor's mother and sister. All three now are working. They have found a smaller apartment, one more suitable for the three of them. They even take a trip into the countryside together, something they haven't done in a long time.
And Gregor's sister? The parents noticed--
their daughter's increasing vivacity, that in spite of all the sorrow of the recent times, which had made her cheeks pale, she had blossomed into a pretty girl with a good figure . . . And it was like a confirmation of their new dreams and excellent intentions that at the end of their journey their daughter sprang to her feet first and stretched her young body.
Considering the behavior of Gregor's family at the beginning of the story, when they relied on him as their sole support, and their new enthusiasm and energy at the end of the story, when he has died, I keep asking myself the following question:
Is Gregor Samsa the victim or the villain of the story?
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