Hemingway's The Old Man and the Sea

One of my favorite stories by Hemingway is The Old Man and the Sea. It is one of the leanest and sparest stories I know. Hemingway pared away everything except for Santiago and the sea. Santiago is a Cuban fisherman whose luck has turned bad. He hasn't caught a fish in 84 days. The young boy who had been helping him has been sent by his father to another fishing boat because he hasn't been able to bring anything home for almost three months. The story begins as Santiago goes out alone on Day 85, and it tells of his struggle with the sea and the great fish he hooks.

"Santiago" is a good name for the old man who is in his 70s now and has been a fisherman all his life. "Santiago" is Spanish for Saint James, who was one of the first Apostles chosen by Christ. When Christ called him, James was out fishing with his father and brother John, and Christ called James and his brother John to follow him and be "fishers of men" instead.

Santiago is not a 21st century sportsman who fishes to demonstrate his skill and who feels separate from the web of life. Santiago fishes for survival and understands that he is like the fish he preys on, for they too prey on other fish in order to survive. We see this as he talks to the great fish and to the sea and asks them for their help.

Two films have been made of this story. The first was made in 1958; it was directed by Jud Taylor and starred Spencer Tracy. The second was a "made for TV" film and appeared in 1990, directed by John Sturges. It starred Anthony Quinn.

Both have serious flaws. Ironically, a truly great version could have been made if Jud Taylor, the director of the 1958 version, had been able to cast Anthony Quinn in the role of Santiago. Taylor's version was the closest to the story as Hemingway wrote it. It gave us Santiago and his struggle with the sea just as Hemingway presented it to us. The weakest part, for me anyway, was the casting of Spencer Tracy. I have enjoyed watching Tracy in a number of films, but I just couldn't see him as a poor Cuban fisherman. Every few minutes some part of me would insist that he just wasn't Santiago, but someone playing a role.

The 1990 version, directed by John Sturges, was far more fortunate in the casting of Anthony Quinn as Santiago. I thought he was completely convincing as Santiago, a poor Cuban fisherman, getting old, and desperately trying to maintain his independence, in spite of his age.

Sturges, unfortunately, just had to "improve" this story, or perhaps he felt that the average American TV viewer just wouldn't be bothered watching the story as Hemingway wrote it. So, Sturges added a few things, one of which was a brief bio by the bartender at the local hotel, and which served no purpose whatsoever to the story.

A second "improvement" was the addition of Santiago's "daughter" who insisted that he was too old to be on his own anymore and wanted him to move in with her and her husband. He could just spend the rest of his life drinking coffee and reading the newspaper. She also feared what the neighbors would say if she left him out there on his own. They would blame her for not taking proper care of her father.

However, the most annoying insertion was that of an "author" and his wife who were staying at the hotel. The author probably was supposed to be Hemingway himself as the author became interested in the old man and his failure to catch fish. Could the author's suggested "writer's block" be analogous to Santiago's inability to catch fish?

The film switched back and forth from Santiago to the author and occasional flashbacks of interactions with his daughter. This seriously interrupted the intensity of the fight between Santiago and the great fish and the subsequent struggle to bring the fish back. We may have been with Santiago half of the time, but those scenes were so weakened by the interruptions that the intensity of Santiago's struggles was severely diminished.

Of course, there were no authors, with or without blocks, or daughters in Hemingway's version, nor was there a bartender who came to Cuba years ago.

I think directors such as John Sturges do a disservice to the author, to the story, and to the audience when they water down the original story as he has done. His additions have attenuated the intensity of the struggle between Santiago and the sea and probably leave many in the audience wondering what it was all about. They certainly didn't get the story as Hemingway envisioned it, and they are the losers.

Akutagawa's short story: In a Grove

One of Kurosawa's best known films is Rashomon, the story of a rape and death from three different points of view: the husband, the wife, and the bandit. Kurosawa adapted this film from two short stories by Ryunosuke Akutagawa, considered by some to be one of Japan's top writers in the 20th century.

The film was remade in 1964. The director is Martin Ritt, and the cast of characters includes Paul Newman as the bandit, Laurence Harvey as the husband, Claire Bloom, as the wife. In the frame, Edward G. Robinson plays the role of the con man/thief and William Shatner (Capt Kirk of Star Trek fame) is the preacher. Unfortunately, I've been unable so far to find a copy of this film on DVD. It would be fascinating to see what Hollywood did with this gem by Kurosawa.

The core of the film's story is based on Akutagawa's short story, "The Grove" (aka "The Cedar Grove," "The Willow Grove," "In a Grove," or "The Bamboo Grove").  The film's title comes from another short story by Akutagawa, "Rashomon," which provides the setting for the film's frame of the three men telling the story in an abandoned town gate. The gate does exist, according to all accounts that I've read.

In a collection of Akutagawa's short stories, Rashomon and 17 Other Stories, Jay Rubin, who translated the stories and provided notes for them, says that Akutagawa's inspiration for "The Grove" and for "Rashomon" came from tales from the 12th century. I'm presently searching for those now.

Rubin, however, goes on to say that another source for "The Grove" might be a short story by Ambrose Bierce, of whom Akutagawa was an enthusiastic supporter. This story, "The Moonlit Road," I was able to find on the internet.

Bierce's story is told in the form of separate statements by each of the three--the Son, the Father, and the Mother, whose tale had to be told through a medium since she had been murdered.

The commonalities between Bierce's tale and Akutagawa's are twofold. First, the format is the same as both tell the story in the form of separate statements by various individuals involved in the incident. There is no interplay among those making the statements.  Secondly, the last statement in both stories has to be told through a medium or shaman (in the Japanese version) because the individual is dead at the time of the telling of the story. It is this person's death that is the mystery that is to be resolved by the various statements.

I don't know, just now, the importance of Bierce's tale, "The Moonlit Road," for Akutagawa's story, but I'm curious enough to attempt to find the 12th century source for "The Grove." Perhaps that might provide some clues. Besides, it's always interesting to read the source for a particular work and see just what the later author did with the original material.

Rashomon is a great film, and I recommend it highly. The short stories are also quite good, both Akutagawa's and Bierce's.

The Greater Good

Democracies work, more or less, on the utilitarian principle that the good of the majority outweighs that of the minority--the greater good. In other words, some suffering is acceptable if the good outweighs the evil that might result from a particular action or law or process. For example, some people may lose their homes or jobs if it is determined that such losses will result in a greater good for the majority.

The question that bothers me is to what extent this may be carried out. At least three works that I'm aware of have either mentioned this point or based the story completely on this issue.

One of the first works that I can find that has brought up this issue is Dostoyevsky's The Brothers Karamazov. Ivan, the skeptical brother, in a discussion with Alyosha, his younger brother who is a novice monk, brings up the issue in a discussion about justice--how could a just God have created a world so filled with evil in which good people suffer and evil people flourish?

At one point he poses the following hypothetical situation to Alyosha, "Tell me straight out, I call on you--answer me: imagine that you yourself are building the edifice of human destiny with the object of making people happy in the finale, of giving them peace and rest at least, but for that you must inevitably and unavoidably torture just one tiny creature, that same child who was beating her chest with her little fist, and raise your edifice on the foundation of her unrequited tears--would you agree to be the architect on such conditions? Tell me the truth."

Peace and happiness for the human race--but at the cost of one child's suffering. Is that going too far with the philosophy of the greater good?


A second work one might read is a short story by Ursula Le Guin, "The Ones Who Walk Away from Omelas." In this story, Le Guin posits such a perfect society and goes into considerable detail describing it. While some might not like this society, many would consider it an ideal world. However, there is a catch--as the old cliche goes, "There ain't no such thing as a free lunch." In the story, Le Guin describes the life of one small child that resembles horror stories that emerge in the news media about a dreadful example of child abuse--a child being locked in a dark room for years, with no sanitary facilities, physical and mental abuse alternating with complete isolation.

She continues: "They all come to know it is there, all the people of Omelas. Some of them have come to see it, others are content merely to know it is there. They all know that it has to be there. Some of them understand why, and some do not, but they all understand that their happiness, the beauty of their city, the tenderness of their friendships, the health of their children, the wisdom of their scholars, the skill of their makers, even the abundance of their harvests and the kindly weathers of the skies, depend wholly on this child's abominable misery."

If that child were released, then "in that day and hour all the prosperity and beauty and delight of Omelas would wither and be destroyed. Those are the terms. To exchange all the goodness and grace of every life in Omelas for that single, small improvement: to throw away the happiness of thousands for the chance of the happiness of one..."

The title, of course, points out that there are some who cannot accept this situation and leave. But, most stay. Are they monsters?


A third version of this hypothetical situation is found in Theodore Sturgeon's Venus Plus X. This tale differs in that it isn't one child who suffers for the good of the whole, but each member unknowingly, as an infant, undergoes a procedure that produces an idyllic society. In one sense they are now less than they could be, but their lives appear to be happier and more satisfying and creative than any contemporary society today. In fact, it is quite similar to Omelas. In this case, the issue is that the members of this society do not have the chance to make a decision, for it is made for them as infants and most do not know the true situation. The question is therefore whether the authorities in this society are justified in their decision to not allow each member to decide whether to undergo the procedure. Could they fear that most might not agree?

These are all hypothetical or fictional situations, but the principles behind them are not. I wonder what I might say if I were really in an actual situation similar to ones posited in the three stories--to exchange the complete happiness and joy of thousands or more people for the suffering of one person. I wonder which is the greater good.

Edward FitzGerald's Rubaiyat: Quatrain I

A favorite of mine is Edward FitzGerald's translation? or perhaps a paraphrase? of Omar Khayyam's Rubaiyat. The problem is, simply--which version? FitzGerald published five editions, with the number of stanzas or quatrains ranging from 75 in the first edition to as many as 110 in the second. I've glanced through translations by others, and while they may be, as some have claimed, closer to the original, I find them much less interesting. Perhaps the best way would be to say that Fitzgerald's versions are inspired by Khayyam's.


One example of a variance occurs in the first quatrain:

First Edition Version

Awake! for Morning in the Bowl of Night
Has flung the Stone that puts the Stars to Flight:
And Lo! the Hunter of the East has caught
The Sultan's Turret in a Noose of Light.


Second Edition Version

Wake! For the Sun behind yon Eastern height
Has chased the Session of the Stars from Night;
And, to the field of Heaven's ascending, strikes
The Sultan's Turret with a Shaft of Light.


Significant differences? The first seems more poetic while the second more prosaic, to me anyway. He's replaced "Morning in the Bowl of Night" with "the Sun behind yon Eastern height." In the first version, it is "Morning" that is active, having flung a stone, the Sun, which chases away the Stars while in the second, it is the appearance of the Sun, rising in the East, that chases the stars. The Sun changes from being employed by another in the first to being the actor in the drama.

In the first edition, we read of the "Hunter of the East," the Sun, which captures the Turret in a noose of light. The second also brings in the Sun, but this time it captures nothing, but simply strikes the Turret with a Shaft of light. But this does bring with it an echo of the "Hunter" of the first stanza with the reference to a Shaft, perhaps a spear used in hunting.

The first is a bit more complex, I think, for it begins with Morning who flings a stone (perhaps from sling carried by hunters and warriors?) that drives away the stars, and that stone then is revealed as the Sun, who becomes a hunter that uses a noose of light to capture the Sultan's Turret.

The second gives us the Sun that rises from Eastern heights, chases away the stars, and rising, strikes the Turret with a shaft of light. While to call the Sun's rays a shaft is probably more accurate, visually, the noose of light is more fanciful and suggests something that lasts longer than simply being struck by a shaft. The Sultan's Turret will be captured by the Sun all day, not just struck once in the morning.


While FitzGerald uses the second version for the remaining editions, I frankly prefer the first- a case of not fixing something that isn't broken.



Awake! for Morning in the Bowl of Night
Has flung the Stone that puts the Stars to Flight:
And Lo! the Hunter of the East has caught
The Sultan's Turret in a Noose of Light.

Tana French: Two novels--Psychological or Police Procedurals?

Tana French's first two novels are strange ones. The two are linked in that they are supposedly police procedurals, involving Dublin's Murder Squad (which doesn't exist according to French) in action, but the focus is almost as strong, if not stronger, on the psychological aspects. The plots are relatively straightforward and uncomplicated. Those who have read a number of mysteries will be able to "solve" the crime long before the last page. However, saying that doesn't take away from the enjoyment of watching two of French's cops go about their jobs in a highly professional manner, most of the time, while hampered by certain unprofessional doubts and, to a greater extent, the past. In fact, it is their own past that provides the major hurdle for them, for the murders themselves in the two novels do not provide the focus of interest; it is the past of the officers involved in the investigation that makes these two novels absorbing.

For example, in her first novel, In the Woods, a young girl is murdered outside a small town, in the vicinity of an archaeological dig, which sets the tone. The association of her murder with delving into the past is felt most strongly by the officer in charge of the investigation--Robert (Rob) Ryan. Actually, that isn't his full name; it is Adam Robert Ryan. Ryan dropped his first name to conceal his identity. Years ago as a young boy, he was involved in the disappearance and possibly the murder of his two best friends. They had gone up the same hill that the body of the young girl was discovered. Hours later, a search party found Ryan in shock, wearing bloody tennis shoes. His two friends were never found. He had blanked out the events of that afternoon and wasn't able to say what happened. His two friends are missing to this day.

When the body of the murdered girl was discovered, Ryan had to struggle with memories, he thought had been buried and long forgotten. He had dropped his first name. Nobody knew of his association with the earlier disappearance. But, he should have informed his superiors of this involvement with the earlier crime and handed over the investigation to another officer. Instead, he decided to keep his connection with the earlier crime hidden.

However, others soon wondered if there was a link between this murder and the disappearance of the two young people a decade or more ago. Part of the pressure now on Ryan was the fear that he would eventually be identified.

The novel concentrates on the effects of the investigation on Ryan and of the conflict brought about by his surfacing memories from the past. The novel is more about Ryan and the psychological battles he fought during the investigation than it is about the murdered young girl, especially during the second part of the novel.

Those who prefer stories that conclude with all the loose ends neatly and nicely tied up will be disappointed/frustrated with this one. And, it is deliberate also, not just carelessness on the part of a young writer. This may be her first novel, but French knows what she's about.

Her second novel, The Likeness, picks up, sort of, about six months later. Rob Ryan's partner, with whom he had a close relationship, Cassie Maddox, has transferred to the Domestic Violence Squad, for she was one of the psychologically walking wounded, a victim of the investigation. She now has a boyfriend, Sam O'Neill, whom she met during the investigation. He is still with the Murder Squad, so when he calls her one morning, in shock, and pleads with her to come out to the scene of a murder, she agrees, more out of curiosity than any conscious desire to get involved. She is aware that Frank Mackey, head of the undercover division for the Dublin police, is also on the scene.

The victim is a young woman who turns out to be the exact double of Cassie Maddox, which is why O'Neill was in shock. At first he thought it was her. According to the identification she's carrying, her name is Alexandra (Lexie) Madison. When O'Neill had a police computer search done on her name, Frank Mackey turned up because he had had the name flagged. Any inquiries about Alexandra Madison would be brought to his attention.

And, just as in the first novel, the past of a police officer rears up to complicate her life. Prior to her assignment to the Murder Squad, Cassie Maddox had been with the undercover squad, and her boss was Frank Mackey. Together they created an identity for her. She was a student at the local college, attempting to get information about drug dealing on campus. Her false identity was Alexandra Madison.

The victim not only looked like her twin, but she had also taken on the false identity created for Cassie. Lexie Madison was a student at a different college this time, having "dropped" out of the college that Cassie had been working on. She was living with four others in a large house, and the five of them were known on campus as a closeknit and exclusive group.

Mackey got the "brilliant" idea of having Cassie substitute for the murdered woman. They would say that she was stabbed, but that she was found in time to save her life. Cassie would go undercover once again, pretending to be the woman who was murdered while pretending to be Cassie's undercover identity. One more point, Cassie left the undercover group when one of the drug dealers went psycho and stabbed her, not because he found her out but because she just happened to be there at the wrong time.

Again, the murder plot is not complex or complicated. The focus, again, is on Cassie's relationship to the victim, who had assumed her identity. Her acceptance by the victim's friends placed her in an extremely close and warm relationship with four interesting and intelligent people, and this, together with her increasing identification with the murder victim, resulted in a certain estrangement between Cassie and the police. She began to identify with the victim's friends and to defend them to Mackey and O'Neill, who were beginning to wonder about one of the victim's friends.

In both novels, then, the primary interest is not so much on the victim, but upon the investigating officers whose own history, along with a problem of identity, provided the most intriguing complication and complexity in the two.

Huxley and Orwell

According to A Book of Days for the Literary World, Aldous Huxley began his teaching career on September 18, 1917, when he was hired as schoolmaster at Eton. Among his pupils was Eric Arthur Blair, probably better known by his pen name, George Orwell.

Aldous Huxley is the author of one of the two best known dsytopias in the English language, Brave New World, published in 1932. It is set against the backdrop of a benevolent dictatorship, which keeps the population under control by early childhood conditioning, easy access to soma, a happy drug, and the promotion of sexual behavior with many partners. The second dystopia is George Orwell's Nineteen Eighty-Four, published in 1949, which depicts a repressive regime that rules with terror and fear. It's image is that of a boot, perpetually grinding a face into the dirt.

The two works differ considerably, so there has been little discussion about possible influences the two may have had upon each other. Most discussions have been on the differences between the two tales and on the likelihood of either coming more or less true.

Both novels give the impression that the situation is permanent with little possibility of change. Orwell's Nineteen Eighty-Four, the more outwardly repressive of the two, seems to be closest to the repressive regimes in Hitler's Germany and the Soviet Union under the communists. Later events showed that both had flaws which brought about their downfall.

Huxley's Brave New World on the other hand relies not on repressive measures, on terror, and on outright elimination of possible opponents. Instead, the state provides a wide diversity of activities which keeps the populace under control. Secondly, the state also uses conditioning techniques, possibly based on research by American behaviorist, John B. Watson, beginning in early childhood to make the populace happy and satisfied with its lot, whatever that may be.

Another significant difference is that Nineteen Eighty-Four has no refuge for those who may wish to escape, for the entire planet is divided into three warring camps, with little difference among them. Opponents or dissidents, when captured, are tortured and brainwashed into publicly confessing their crimes and declaring their complete support for the State, which is reminiscent of the trials in the Soviet Union under Stalin.

However, in Brave New World, the State has set aside an island for those who are dissatisfied and are likely to be a disrupting influence, where the inhabitants are left on their own. Secondly, in North America, there is the reservation where the inhabitants are also allowed to live as they choose. However, the reservation is also a tourist attraction, and visits there are encouraged by the State so that its citizens can experience first hand the poverty and disease and misery that the State is protecting them from.

Of the two, I would judge Brave New World as the most likely to succeed. It's hard to argue against a regime that works so hard to keep its people happy, well-fed, and satisfied. The populace is safe and secure--so who needs freedom?

Robert Frost: a terrifying poet?

Robert Frost has always been one of my favorite poets; therefore when I heard that Lionel Trilling, in a speech at a dinner given in Frost's honor, called him "a terrifying poet," I had to take a close look at this. I found the article that contained his speech. I read the speech. I reread those poems that Trilling had cited, "Design" and "Neither Out Far nor In Deep." I also reread a number of his other poems, and I had to agree with Trilling that there was much in Frost's works that I had missed. At the end of his speech, Trilling turns to Frost and says:

"Like you, Sophocles was the poet his people loved the most. Surely they loved him in some part because he praised their common country. But I think that they loved him chiefly because he made plain to them the terrible things of human life: they felt, perhaps, that only a poet who could make plain the terrible things could possibly give them comfort."

One poem that Trilling didn't mention was "Out, Out--," and this one has struck me as being an excellent example of some of "the terrible things of human life" that Trilling mentions. I have placed the poem at the end of this post for those who wish to read or reread it.

The title comes from Macbeth's soliloquy after hearing that Lady Macbeth has committed suicide. The entire quote is:

To-morrow, and to-morrow, and to-morrow,
Creeps in this petty pace from day to day
To the last syllable of recorded time,
And all our yesterdays have lighted fools
The way to dusty death. Out, out, brief candle!
Life's but a walking shadow, a poor player
That struts and frets his hour upon the stage
And then is heard no more: it is a tale
Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury,
Signifying nothing."

His soliloquy suggests that life is short, a "brief candle," and meaningless--"a tale/Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury/Signifying nothing." What has this to do with Frost's poem?

It is the story of a young boy who was distracted while cutting wood with a buzz saw. Frost begins the poem by describing the saw as an animal either about to attack or in search of prey--"The buzz saw snarled and rattled in the yard" and again, seven lines later, "And the saw snarled and rattled, snarled and rattled."

His sister calls him to supper, and as she does,

"As if to prove saws knew what supper meant,
Leaped out at the boy's hand, or seemed to leap--"


The boy realized the significance of what had happened,

"He saw all spoiled. 'Don't let him cut my hand off--
The doctor when he comes. Don't let him sister.'
So. But the hand was gone already.
...
And then--the watcher at his pulse took fright.
No one believed. They listened at his heart.
Little--less--nothing! and that ended it."


The boy knew how important that hand was for a farmer during the early days of the 20th century. He c0uld have lived for he was young and strong and healthy. The doctor was there. Why did he die? Perhaps this explains why, "He saw all spoiled."

This is a distressing poem about a young boy who died too soon, but this happens. It was just a momentary loss of concentration; he was distracted for a second, but the consequences far surpassed the events that brought it about.

But, this is not all there is to the story: there are those last lines of the poem to consider:

"Little--less--nothing!--and that ended it.
No more to build on there. And they, since they
Were not the one dead, turned to their affairs."

How does one read those last two lines? with shock? dismay? -- at the heartlessness of his family who, "since they/ Were not the one dead, turned to their affairs." It is one thing to say that life must go on, but does this go beyond even that commonplace encouragement?


Once again, Trilling ended his speech by saying: "But I think that they loved him chiefly because he made plain to them the terrible things of human life: they felt, perhaps, that only a poet who could make plain the terrible things could possibly give them comfort."

After reading Trilling's comments about Frost, it is now impossible for me to see Robert Frost as simply a rural, regional, bucolic poet who celebrates the beauties of nature and the simple rural life.



"Out, Out--"

The buzz-saw snarled and rattled in the yard
And made dust and dropped stove-length sticks of wood,
Sweet-scented stuff when the breeze drew across it.
And from there those that lifted eyes could count
Five mountain ranges one behind the other
Under the sunset far into Vermont.
And the saw snarled and rattled, snarled and rattled,
As it ran light, or had to bear a load.
And nothing happened: day was all but done.
Call it a day, I wish they might have said
To please the boy by giving him the half hour
That a boy counts so much when saved from work.
His sister stood beside them in her apron
To tell them "Supper." At the word, the saw,
As if to prove saws knew what supper meant,
Leaped out at the boy's hand, or seemed to leap—
He must have given the hand. However it was,
Neither refused the meeting. But the hand!
The boy's first outcry was a rueful laugh,
As he swung toward them holding up the hand
Half in appeal, but half as if to keep
The life from spilling. Then the boy saw all—
Since he was old enough to know, big boy
Doing a man's work, though a child at heart—
He saw all spoiled. "Don't let him cut my hand off—
The doctor, when he comes. Don't let him, sister!"
So. But the hand was gone already.
The doctor put him in the dark of ether.
He lay and puffed his lips out with his breath.
And then—the watcher at his pulse took fright.
No one believed. They listened at his heart.
Little—less—nothing!—and that ended it.
No more to build on there. And they, since they
Were not the one dead, turned to their affairs.

-- Robert Frost --

Now that's a familiar face.

I enjoy watching old TV shows. Aside from the usual reasons--interesting characters,themes, plots, and setting--I also have fun recognizing those who were just starting their careers and later became stars of their own shows in the following years.

I just finished a DVD which contained a number of episodes of a favorite Western of mine--Have Gun Will Travel-- starring Richard Boone as Paladin. Boone was a great actor who definitely wasn't just another pretty face. Aside from the usual number of vaguely familiar faces of the supporting cast, I recognized four very young people, who would later go on with careers of their own, either on TV or on film, or both.

One was Charles Bronson, who played numerous roles as a villain or a good guy and was convincing in both, and also some roles that fit uneasily in between. Perhaps his most famous role was that of Paul Kersey, the revenge-seeking architect, whose wife and daughter were attacked by a group of thugs, in the memorable Death Wish. He went on to reprise that role four more times. While most people would probably condemn vigilantism, the same people no doubt would cheer Kersey on as he blows away another gang of bad guys.

Another familiar face on the DVD was Jack Lord, who later gained fame on our island state as Steve McGarrett, head of Hawaii 5-0. He also starred in a short lived series as Stoney Burke, a rodeo rider.

A third was Mike Conners, who had a long and busy career also, but probably is best remembered as Mannix, the PI in the long-running TV show of the same name. The show ran for 8 years, from 1967 to 1975, or 194 episodes.

The fourth face was familiar, but I just couldn't put a name to her until I saw the cast listing--Angie Dickinson. She has numerous film credits, including the two "Big Bad Mama" films and Dressed to Kill. The two I most remember her from are Rio Bravo with John Wayne, and Captain Newman, MD with Gregory Peck. A glance at her TV credits suggests that it would be impossible to watch TV for more than two or three days without seeing her at least once. Her most notable TV role was that of Sgt. Pepper Anderson on Police Woman, which ran for 91 episodes, from 1974 to 1978.

Have Gun Will Travel, I think anyway, holds up well. I remember, though, feeling the same frustration watching the episodes now as I did some fifty years ago: the shows were just too short.

Same Character? but a new face?

Television shows have a problem with long-running series that may cover 5 or more years. Things happen and the familiar faces sometimes must change. Sometimes the actor dies or perhaps is injured and can't continue. Sometimes a dispute arises, for a variety of reasons, and the actor leaves. This introduces a serious problem for the producers. What do they do now that an acter is no longer available? In some cases, they can write in an accident or illness and simply kill off the character. In other cases, it's not that simple--especially if character is THE lead.

I saw a film last night that exemplified this problem and also one way to solve it, or at least attempt to solve it. The show was a mystery series based on novels by P. D. James. Her lead character was Commander Dalgliesh of Scotland Yard, who was played by Roy Marsden in the first eleven dramatizations of her novels.

To be precise, I hadn't read any of her mysteries before I first encountered them on PBS' Mystery Theatre. I found the dramatizations so interesting that I started reading her novels and got hooked. Of course, when I read the novels, I pictured Roy Marsden as Commander Dalgliesh. And, so it went, for eleven dramatizations. To me anyway, "Roy Marsden IS Commander Adam Dalgliesh."

Then, something happened; someone else took over the role of Dalgliesh--Martin Shaw. I had never heard of him, so I had no opinion about him prior to viewing the film. After viewing the program, I must admit I was disappointed. It isn't that Martin Shaw is a poor actor; he is a poor replacement for Roy Marsden.

Roy Marsden is quite tall; he is easily spotted in a crowded room. He is a dominating presence. Martin Shaw is considerably shorter. Several times during the film when the scene opened in a room in which there were a number of people, it took a while for me to find Dalgliesh, which never would have happened if Marsden had been in the role. Moreover, even in the one-on-one scenes, Marsden is clearly in control, while Shaw usually takes a back seat to the other character.

Marsden's facial features are a bit on the harsh or rugged side, with piercing eyes that seem to be looking deep into you. Shaw is almost round-faced with mild eyes, a rather bland individual actually. He clearly, to me anyway, is not the commanding Dalgliesh that Marsden was. Again, he is not a bad actor; he is the victim of bad casting.

As I watched, I was reminded of Alec Guinness in his superb portrayal of Le Carre's everyman spymaster--George Smiley. Guinness portrayed him as a quiet and unassuming, almost shy individual, a perfect spy since he is the sort of person that most people wouldn't notice and would soon forget, even if they did. Guinness, unfortunately, died eight years ago. However, there are still two Smiley novels that haven't been dramatized. I think Martin Shaw would make an excellent George Smiley. He doesn't really look like Guinness, but he's the quiet, retiring individual that Le Carre created in his novels.

I think that the producers of the James mysteries decided that they wouldn't try to replace Marsden physically but would substitute someone obviously the opposite, and someone who, moreover, doesn't fit James' description of Dalgliesh in her novels. Perhaps they thought that, by substituting somebody so different from Marsden, the viewers would soon forget Marsden and accept Shaw. It doesn't work for me. Fortunately James' novels have complex and interesting characters and plots, so I watch the dramatizations for those elements. I wonder what P. D. James thinks of the substitution.

Why the switch? Nobody knows for sure, but there are several rumors floating around. One rumor is that the change took place when the show went from ITV to BBC but nobody knows why that might have caused the change. Another rumor is that Marsden suddenly developed a severe case of stage fright and just couldn't perform anymore, which forced the producers to go with someone else. The third rumor is that Marsden just got tired of playing Dalgliesh.

I looked at Marsden's history on imdb.com and picked up two items. He was a very busy actor, with numerous credits to his record. However just before his last Dalgliesh role, the number of roles he played dropped considerably. Now that may simply be the effect of the Dalgliesh role, which usually lasted from 4 to six episodes per mystery, while most of his other roles only lasted one episode. So, one James' mystery meant four or more episodes, which also reduced his free time to some extent.

The second item of interest was that, again according to imdb.com, Marsden did not have a single role between 1998 and 2004, a six year gap. Is this a real gap or did he work, but whoever created the listing missed six years of work. Regardless, in 2004, he went back to work and has been busy ever since, unfortunately not as Commander Adam Dalgliesh though.

A second example of changing actors in the middle of a series is the switch from Ian Carmichael to Edward Petherbridge in the role of Lord Peter Wimsey in Dorothy Sayers' mysteries. Ian Carmichael is a tall fellow and a bit of a stout fellow. Edward Petherbridge looks like someone whose name is Petherbridge should look like--a stereotype, to be sure. He's small, blond, wiry, fussy, possibly neurotic, and a bit frantic, a sort of Woody Allen, British style. I frankly prefer Ian Carmichael.

However, I did hear, and confirmed it for myself, that Petherbridge is actually closer to Sayers' description than Carmichael is. However, whenever I read a "Lord Peter" novel, it's Carmichael I see, not Petherbridge.

I have no idea and haven't even been able to come up with any rumors as to why the change was made.

So, here are two examples in which the main character in a continuing and popular series is changed to someone who is almost completely the opposite physically, and certainly different in the way he portrays the character. In the first case, the original actor, Marsden, was much closer to the description in the novel, and in the second, the replacement actor was closer to the character in the novel. However, I prefer the original actor.

I guess that says something.

Dickens: Martin Chuzzlewit

_Martin Chuzzlewit_ may be one of Dickens' least known novels. Moreover, most references to the novel generally focus on one part of the novel, young Martin Chuzzlewit's trip to the United States and its unfavorable portrayal of the inhabitants. As it has been many years since I read the novel, my comments are based on the BBC adaptation of the novel (which I just viewed) that stars Paul Scofield as Martin Chuzzlewit, the grandfather.

The overall plot details the trials and tribulations of a number of people, but I guess the core plot would be the separation between Martin Chuzzlewit, a rich old man, and his grandson, also named Martin Chuzzlewit.

However, I think that there are strong arguments that the true name of the novel should be _Seth Pecksniff_. I think Pecksniff is one of Dickens' greatest creations. He is arrogant, deceptive, sanctimonious, brutal to those he has power over, sycophantic and obsequious to those more powerful than he. At the end, I realized that I had missed something significant about him; he is also truly self-deceptive. I almost felt sorry for him at his downfall at the end.

There is also an argument for considering Tom Pinch the major character, but while he is prominent throughout, he for the most part is passive, although he does grow in stature at the end. In addition, he seems to be the only "good" character who doesn't marry his true love at the end, for he has fallen in love with Mary, the orphan ward of the senior Martin Chuzzlewit, and she is true to her first love, the young Martin Chuzzlewit.

As can be expected, Dickens has filled the work with memorable secondary characters--two of whom are free-lance nurses, who unfortunately were nearly unintelligible to me.

Good film for those who like a story with a number of subplots and a wildly assorted cast of characters.

Star Trek

One of the many marvelous opportunities granted by retirement is that of reducing my OOTD list. OOTD stands for "One of these days." Those were things I wanted to do or read or view or visit, but never seemed to have the time. Well, now I've got some time.

One of my OOTDs was to see in its entirety the movie _Forbidden Planet_. I finally managed to do that some time ago. Another OOTD that I just eliminated was viewing the initial pilot for _Star Trek_, the one that never made it to the screen during the series' initial run 1966.

Forty years ago! Has it really been that long ago?

As all Trek fans know, the pilot was "The Cage" and the captain of the Enterprise was Christopher Pike, played by Jeffery Young. The pilot was rejected by the network, and Roddenberry had to submit another one, which finally was accepted.

I've seen parts of it over the years, mostly as part of a two-part episode, "The Menagerie," broadcast later, as an attempt to get some use out of it. At other times, I tuned in too late to see the whole episode when it was being rerun.

So, last night I loaded up my DVD player with a disc that contained three episodes: "Turnabout Intruder," "The Cage," and "The Cage" in color. It was interesting to view "The Cage," the pilot episode, back-to-back with "Turnabout Intruder," which was the last _Star Trek_ episode that was broadcast.

The first version of "The Cage" was a mix of color and black-and-white. The remastered version was completely in color. I watched both and the only major difference I could see was in the voice of the chief alien. His voice was deeper in the b&w version.

The crew of the pilot had vanished except for two characters: Mr. Spock, who actually smiled in the pilot, something he wouldn't do again, I think, for at least a year or more, and Majel Barrett, who played No. 1, second in command of the Enterprise, and later appeared as Nurse Chapel. It was rather daring in 1968 to have a female character a heartbeat away from the top spot. And, in fact, she took command of the Enterprise when Capt. Pike was captured and, moreover, was depicted as performing competently.

The bridge of the Enterprise was generally the same, although some changes had been made. It appeared much smaller and consequently much more crowded in the pilot. One element that disappeared in the series was the sight of crew members carrying clipboards and getting paper printouts from what I presume is the ship's computer. After the pilot, the clipboards disappeared, and the ship's computer gained a voice.

As with most of the episodes, "The Cage" made a point that is even more relevant today than it was some 40 years ago. The issue was whether Capt Pike would accept his imprisonment, regardless of how pleasant it was, and regardless of whatever illusions the aliens could provide (they could read his mind so they knew what his deepest desires were) or would choose die if he couldn't be free. And, it was No. 1 who set her weapon to explode and kill the humans rather than be enslaved.

Today, we seem to have traded in that desire for freedom for a false sense of security.

Now, on to episode 2.

Human or ???

One of the pleasures of reading for me is the way something in the story I'm reading will remind me of something else. Perhaps it's a memory of something that happened to me or possibly another story or a film or a poem. And, sometimes, given the time, I will follow the trail and look up that story or perhaps rent the film. Then that story or film might bring up another story or film. Once in awhile, I have to make an arbitrary decision to stop at some point. This happened recently.

In an online discussion group, we were talking about Lester del Rey's short story, "Helen O'Loy." One of the members commented that this reminded her of a _Twilight Zone_ episode titled "The Lonely." I was curious, so I rented the DVD, _Twilight Zone, Vol. 5_, and watched it. Another episode on that DVD was "I Sing the Body Electric," based on a short story by Ray Bradbury. And, this reminded me of another story by Bradbury, "The Long Years." The process continued with two more stories, "Satisfaction Guaranteed" by Isaac Asimov and "Can You Feel Anything When I Do This?" by Robert Sheckley. Asimov's story, of course, reminded me of his novel _Caves of Steel_. And... It was at this point that I decided that there were things I had to do and went on with my life.

What was it about each of these that brought up another story? The theme is the same for all but one of these: a robot is manufactured so that it is indistinguishable from a human. Each of these stories takes a slightly different slant on the relationships created. However, there are certain similarities which make one wonder just how fictional these stories will be some time in the future.

"Helen O'Loy" by Lester del Rey
1. Situation: two men, Dave and Phil, dissatisfied with their obsolete and inept robot housemaid purchase a new one (Helen) and add their own modifications.
2. Problem: Helen falls in love with Dave.
3. Initial Response: Dave rejects her because she is a robot.
4. Resolution: Dave changes mind and marries her. Dave dies after many years and Helen commits "suicide" and is buried with him.



"The Lonely": a _Twilight Zone_ episode
1. Situation: a convicted murderer (he insists it was self-defense) is exiled on an asteroid. His only contact with humans comes every three months when the supply ship from Earth arrives.
2. Problem: the loneliness is threatening his sanity. The sympathetic supply ship's captain secretly leaves him a female robot.
3. Initial Response: he rejects her because she is a machine.
4. Resolution: He accepts her when she begins crying and says she also is lonely. A pardon comes about a year later and the ship comes to return him to Earth. She can't go back because there's no room for her. He insists she must go also. The captain then shoots her and says she was only a machine.


"I Sing the Body Electric!": the _Twilight Zone_ version of Ray Bradbury's short story
1. Situation: Widower with three children
2. Problem: Children are having difficulty in coping with the death of their mother. They rent a robot grandmother.
3. Initial reaction: rejection by one child who fears the robot grandmother will desert them as did their mother.
4. Resolution: final acceptance and the grandmother leaves to be dismantled when youngest leaves for college.

"The Long Years": short story by Ray Bradbury
1. Situation: man living on Mars, and all others left when war erupted on Earth.
2. His wife and two children die and he is left alone. He builds a robot wife and two robot children.
3. He seems to forget that they are robots and not his flesh-and-blood wife and children.
4. He dies finally, and the robot wife and children are left to go through the meaningless rituals of human life.


The four stories summarized above share one commonality: the human appearing robot is supposed to solve a problem resulting from the lack of a human being or from extreme isolation. Frequently, there is an initial rejection, but eventually the robot is accepted, and in some cases, the human forgets that the robot is only a machine.

The endings vary also. In "Helen," the robot commits suttee: the wife dies when her husband dies. In two stories, the robot is either destroyed or returned to her rental place to be dismembered. And in "The Long Years," the robot wife and children are left to carry out their human oriented behaviors which have no meaning for them.

In how many years or perhaps decades will these speculative fictional works be transformed from fantasy to realistic drama?

What kind of relationships will we develop with these human-appearing machines?

Any thoughts?

One for the History Books, Pt. 2

It seems as though, regardless of the winner of the Presidential race, a "First" will be made. We shall have either our first black president, or our first woman VP. Moreover, if I remember correctly, this will be the first time the Republicans have nominated anyone but a white male for the presidential ticket.

Sen. McCain's selection of Alaska Gov. Sarah Palin as his running mate will shake up a number of people, in both parties. Moreover, it gives the analysts more to dwell on ad infinitum from now until election. Then, there will be the endless discussions after the election of whether this helped or hindered McCain, regardless of the results.

I wonder how many Republicans will be happy with his choice. The brief account of her record suggests that she might be far more of a Republican maverick than McCain, who, although he claims to be an independent Republican, spent much of the past eight years, and especially during the primaries, attempting to prove what a good, trustworthy, conservative, Christian Republican he really is.

I also wonder what the Democrats are going to make of all this. Will some of Hilary's supporters, now doubly disappointed, desert the Democratic ticket in order to put a woman a "heart beat" away from the presidency?

We do live in interesting times.

One for the History Books

Greetings,

Regardless of what happens in November, the 2008 election in November will be an historic one, one that the experts will be talking about, writing about, and lecturing on for decades. For the first time in our history, a woman and a black man emerged as the two most serious contenders for the right to be the nominee for one of the major political parties. For the first time in our history, one of the two major candidates for president of the US will be a black man. And, it happened in the midst of a war, with worsening relations with much of Arab world and with Russia, and even with Europe, with an economy that is staggering along, with serious climate changes approaching, with housing prices plummeting, and with energy prices fluctuating almost daily.

What was that old saying about living in interesting times?

I doubt that I will live long enough to see it, but I would really like to read a book written some 20 or 30 years from now that discusses the events of this year-- perhaps one written in 2030 or 2040 when we have gotten far enough beyond the turmoil for a clearer glimpse at just what did happen and perhaps why it happened at this time.

I wonder if I will see a black president, or a woman president, or a Jewish or Hispanic or a Chinese or Korean or a Vietnamese or an Iraqi president one day, or the first openly homosexual president or the first Native American president?

We still have some distance to travel, I think.

Any thoughts?

Gaslight or Gaslight

The relationship between classic film and remake is clear. A classic film is one which for some inexplicable reason achieves greatness, whatever that may be. All explanations are post hoc and therefore useless for prediction. I've heard a number of discussions and read a number of essays discussing this, but there seems to be little agreement overall. What does seem to happen is that the right combination of director, actors, and story come together and results in something nobody expected.

In any case, people view the classic films for many decades after its first appearance, it is studied in film classes, and its stars frequently find their careers beginning or in some cases resurrected as a result of this film.

Several decades later, someone decides that doing it again might be a good way of making some money. Those who remember and liked the original version would be expected to be curious about what this version is like, thereby insuring at least a fair number of viewers. Doing a remake also insures free advertising since critics, scholars, and knowledgeable fans will, no doubt, debate the wisdom or necessity of "doing it again."

I no longer remember what inspired me, but I decided to view _Gaslight_, a classic that I had never seen. I did the usual online search and discovered there were two films with that title, one in 1940 and one from 1944. I saw two possibilities here: two entirely different films with the same title, or, a remote possibility that the classic already had a remake, some four years later, which made no sense.

I went to the 1940 film and it sounded like the _Gaslight_ I had heard of, a husband who attempts to drive his wife mad, with a murder and jewels all in the mix. But the stars were Anton Walbrook and Diana Wynyard, and it was directed by Thorold Dickinson. This definitely was not the _Gaslight_ I had heard so much about.

I then checked out the 1944 version, which had the same plot. But, the stars were Ingrid Bergman, Charles Boyer, Joseph Cotton, Angela Lansbury (who made her screen debut in this film), and it was directed by George Cukor. This was the film I was looking for, but it was the remake.

I don't know if this has ever happened before, (at least I've never heard of it), but the remake of a film became the classic, and the original has disappeared into the film history books. Perhaps those scholars, critics, and knowledgeable viewers knew about this, but they've kept it a secret.

I generally ignore remakes of classic films because I have found that the magic, whatever it was that made the original version a classic, doesn't carry over to the second version. But, since this was an unusual situation, I decided to see, if possible, both versions. In a local video rental store, I found a DVD that had both the 1940 and the 1944 versions.

Both are based on a play by Patrick Hamilton, _Gas Light_, which appeared on stage in 1938 and had a 3-4 year run.

As to be expected, the two films resemble each other, although some significant differences exist, mostly in tone and some involving the characters. The 1940 version focuses strongly on the process by which the husband is attempting to slowly drive his wife mad. In this version, the wife has married a sadist.

The 1944 version concentrates more on the relationship between the husband and wife and the way he uses her almost completely dependent love for him to drive her mad. In this version, the wife loves a sadist.

The plot takes control of the 1940 version, although characterization is adequate. In the 1944 version, characterization is more important, but the plot is still strongly present. I couldn't help but wonder why she loved him, after the way he had treated her.

The one major change in the characters in the story involves the detective who suspects something strange is taking place and investigates. In the 1940 version, the detective is a retired police officer who now owns a livery stable in the neighborhood. In the 1944 version, the detective is a much younger and handsomer man (Joseph Cotton) who is a police officer at Scotland Yard.

There are other changes concerning the major characters, but the basic elements of an unsolved crime in the past involving a murdered woman and jewels are in both.

See both. Which do you think is the classic?

One question has been nagging at me. Which is closest to the play? Hmmm....Another search?

Beam me up, Scotty!

Writers have long faced the obstacles of time and space in telling their stories. Fast horses and sailing vessels were the best the realistic writer had to offer, and that posed a problem--how to get a character or characters to travel long distances, which took a long time, without aging them too much or without frittering away the problem's urgency.

Writers of myths had a much easier time: winged shoes or winged horses or dolphins or even magic boats could get their characters a long way off in a relatively short time. Centuries later, we get reports of bilocation, or the possibility of being in two places at the same time. "Several Christian saints and monks are said to have exhibited bilocation. In one instance, in 1774, St. Alphonsus Liguori is said to have gone into a trance while preparing for Mass. When he came out of the trance he reported that he had visited the bedside of the dying Pope Clement XIV." (quoted from Wikipedia article on bilocation).

It wasn't until the 19th century that science began to help writers who set their stories in the everyday world. The train, the steamboat, and the car finally began to cut down travel time and also allow the characters to go long distances with a minimum of difficulty. Of course, the telegraph and the telephone cut down dramatically communication time, so that one could communicate instantly with another person hundreds or thousands of mile away, without having to wait days or weeks for a letter to arrive.

Then, at the beginning of the 20th century, aircraft arrived, and the world became much smaller, distances shrank, and a week's or a month's travel in the past now became a matter of hours or perhaps a day or so.

For some writers, however, this really didn't help. Their concern was not distances of hundreds or thousands of miles, but millions and billions of miles, of places that were light years apart. Space travel had arrived. Realistically speaking it would take us decades or even century or two, depending upon the speeds we could muster, to get to the nearest star, which is less than 5 light years away.

Rising to the challenge, writers created the faster-than-light (FTL) drive. Most postulated some sort of hyperdrive which took advantage of certain laws of the universe that weren't discovered until after Einstein had long since discovered whether or not God played dice with the universe. Going into another dimension was a favorite escape or more recently, taking advantage of wormholes which somehow cut across space (above? below?), thereby shortening the distance and therefore the travel time between two points.

Other writers came up with different solutions. The more technologically inclined writers employed matter transmission. The person or object enters a device which scans the item to be transmitted, breaks it down into its atomic or subatomic or electronic structure and sends the pattern to a distant point, whereupon the receiver reassembles the item into its original condition, either organic or non-organic. The transporter in the "Star Trek" series is probably the matter transmitter most familiar today. There are variations of course in size, reliability, type energy needed, and cost, but for the most part, matter transmitters are much alike.

On the other hand, some writers prefer to explore the powers of the mind, and these prefer to move their characters about by mental ability alone--teleportation. No machine is necessary, the adepts, who were either born with the power or learned how to teleport themselves, simply thought about going to another place and they were there.

If the story involved issues of human evolution, then only certain people would be born with this power--mutants--they were the next stage in the development of the human race. Other writers, more egalitarian in philosophy or simply in this story, would have it that all or most humans have this power but have never been trained to use it. A classic example of this type of story is Alfred Bester's _The Stars My Destination_, in which jaunting (named after its discoverer) or teleportation is something most people can learn, though they differ in their ability to teleport, much as is true of any human ability.

Regardless of whether it was by machine or by mind, the process seemed to involve three basic principles which hold true for all examples of teleportation, or at least all that I've read and remember.

1. The time to travel any given distance is null; it appears to be instantaneous for neither human nor animal nor object appear to be any older than when they began the trip.

2. The process had to have a predetermined destination. If it was matter transmission, then the destination was another matter transmission device. The pattern of the object had to be sent to a receiver. If it was by teleportation, then the destination had to be in the character's mind. I can't remember any story in which the character teleported at random and survived.

3. The original object moves from one place to another. It starts at Point A, is scanned, and then is transmitted to Point B. The object is no longer at Point A.

These, then, are the three major principles for either matter transmission or teleportation.


However, writers, being what they are, like to experiment. I have just finished reading a novel by Fred Pohl and Jack Williamson: _Farthest Star_, in which they vary the 3rd principle. A person, let's call him Ben, walks up to the matter transmitter, steps inside, is scanned, and the pattern (Ben2) is sent off to its destination. Ben then leaves the device, having lost only a few seconds or so while standing there and goes on to do whatever it was he wants to do. He undergoes no change whatsoever. It's the same as stepping into a photo booth and having a photo taken and then walking off. There are now two Bens in the universe, and the universe doesn't seem to mind.

Pohl and Williamson, unfortunately, do not explore this issue as it would occur in an ordinary situation--X has two appointments, one on Earth and one on Mars. X goes to a matter transmitter and X2 is sent to Mars to keep that appointment, and X on Earth keeps that appointment. After the appointments are over, what then? Does X2 stay on Mars, or does it return to Earth. If it returns to Earth, what is its status? Pohl and Williamson don't address that issue.

In the novels, the transmitter sends humans to places that will eventually kill the individual in a few months or possibly instantly in some cases or to places almost impossible to arrange a return. The "copies" in the story are used to explore this extremely dangerous environment, and in one case, three or four "copies" of one person have already died. Therefore, the issue of the real Ben does not become a real problem.

Keep in mind that the ones sent out are identical to the one who stays at Point A. Pohl and Williamson put us in the minds of several of the ones who were transmitted, and they are unhappy, for they feel they were the ones who lost the lottery.

In the brief discussion of the various forms of transportation, I could not see any moral issues being raised about any of those brought up. This, however, is not true, I believe, for the variation brought devised by Pohl and Williamson.

Is it moral to send someone off involuntarily to one's certain or almost certain death? One might argue that Ben agreed to the procedure, therefore he voluntarily placed himself in that situation--he volunteered. But, Ben also knew that "he" would walk away safely and go about his day. Did B2 have the same opportunity to make that decision?

Interesting question--but of no practical value I suppose. Yet, within the past year or so, I have read about experiments that suggest, at the quantum level anyway, that matter transmission is possible. Of course, in the same article, a scientist commented that while this may be possible at the quantum level, this certainly is impossible at our level. And this reminds me of Arthur C. Clarke's First Law:

"When a distinguished but elderly scientist states that something is possible, he is almost certainly right. When he states that something is impossible, he is very probably wrong."
-- Arthur C. Clarke--

Connections

Many moons ago, I watched a TV series called _Connections_. James Burke, the host, would trace out the link between something in the past and the present day. I think one depicted the linkage between medieval looms and computers. This was an intriguing idea, and occasionally I'd come up with a far-fetched connection of my own. One of my favorites is the linkage between Charles Darwin and _Star Trek_.

In 1831, a British warship was refitted for an exploratory mission. It's task was "to complete a survey of the South American coast and to carry out a chain of longitude measurements around the world." One of the crew was Charles Darwin, who had signed on as ship's naturalist. His task was "collecting, observing and noting anything worthy to be noted in natural history." The ship's name was the HMS Beagle.

What Darwin saw on this exploratory expedition led him to write _The Origin of the Species_ in 1858 and thereby bring the issue of evolution, which had been lurking in the background, out in the open and initiate the debate that still rages in some places today. In 1859, Darwin then published an account of his almost four years on board the ship. The title was _The Voyage of the Beagle.



Some 90 years after Darwin published The Voyage of the Beagle, the SF writer, A. E. van Vogt published a novel titled The Voyage of the Space Beagle in 1950. The novel depicted the adventures of a space ship whose mission was to explore uncharted areas of space--those places where no humans had gone before. The book includes four encounters with alien species, with internal linking created by a basic cast of about ten characters with one or two crew members who hadn't appeared before in each of the four encounters. The encounters were all published separately in various SF magazines, prior to the book publication.

The novel begins with what is probably van Vogt's most famous short story, "The Black Destroyer," the first line of which has remained with me for many decades--"On and on Coeurl prowled." There have been some rumors floating about that Coeurl and the creature from the third episode were influential in the design of the Alien in the film series with Sigourney Weaver. Unfortunately I can't document this story.

In 1956, Jack Vance published To Live Forever, a novel set in a society that had conquered death. In the novel, one of the characters is described as the navigator of the galaxy-exploring "ship, Star Enterprise." It's just a coincidence, I suspect.

In 1966, Gene Roddenberry presented an SF series which depicted the adventures of the crew of the Starship Enterprise on a ten year voyage of exploration--"to go where no man has gone before." Roddenberry has given credit for his idea to van Vogt's novel, The Voyage of the Space Beagle.  Some have thought that he got the idea from another TV series, Wagon Train. However, Roddenberry explained that he used the Wagon Train concept when he tried to sell his idea to network executives. He feared that they wouldn't understand what he was talking about, so he used a more familiar concept, one that they could grasp--a western.

Darwin and Star Trek by way of van Vogt. Significant? Not really. But, it's a break from the day's headlines.

Poets and fogs and cats

I had decided that I would finally get to the collection of poetry of T. S. Eliot this year. I had dipped into the text, _The Complete Poems and Plays: 1909 -1950_ a number of times for specific poems and plays, but there was still much in there that I hadn't read.

Being a rather simple sort, I started with the first poem--"The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock." I had read this one before, numerous times, so it was settling back for a conversation with a old friend.

"Let us go then, you and I,
When the evening is spread out against the sky
Like a patient etherised upon a table:
Let us go, through certain half-deserted streets,
........

He's on a quest, and the third line hints that his imagery might be not what one usually gets.


Of course, when I encountered the following stanza, I had to stop and think and smile. Eliot's use of cat imagery to describe the fog seems so apt. I know he's depicting the fog, but the cat comes through so strongly to me that I picture the narrator encountering a cat on his walk.


The yellow fog that rubs its back upon the window-panes,
The yellow smoke that rubs its muzzle on the window-panes
Licked its tongue into the corners of the evening,
Lingered upon the pools that stand in drains,
Let fall upon its back the soot that falls from chimneys,
Slipped by the terrace, made a sudden leap,
And seeing that it was a soft October night,
Curled once about the house, and fell asleep.


This of course brings up another poem, one by Carl Sandburg, which is shorter but just as potent in portraying a cat.


Fog

The fog comes
on little cat feet.

It sits looking
over harbor and city
on silent haunches
and then moves on.


I guess Sandburg's would qualify more as a short glimpse of one, rather than any lengthy observation, such as Eliot's would suggest. This is a different cat, one on the move, and not one that settles down as Eliot's cat did. I guess that would explain why Eliot goes into more detail than Sandburg did. Perhaps Chicago fogs move more quickly than London fogs.


"And seeing that it was a soft October night,
Curled once about the house, and fell asleep."

and Sandburg's

"and then moves on."


I did eventually finish "The Love Song..." that evening, but it took longer than I expected. But, no problem, that's what poems are for, I think.

Poland and the US missle shield

The US and Poland have been negotiating for some time regarding the installation of a missile defense shield in Poland. Russia has objected strongly to it, insisting it would change the balance of power in Central Europe.

No progress was made until suddenly Poland agreed this week to sign on if the US would help strengthen Polish air defenses.

Do you think this has anything to do with Russia's decision to invade Georgia within the past week or is this just a coincidence?

The US insists the missile shield has nothing to do with Russia but is a defense against long-range missile attacks by "rogue states." (Supposedly Iran, I hear)

Alfred Bester, "Fondly Fahrenheit"

Alfred Bester's "Fondly Fahrenheit" is probably his best known short work. The title invariably brings up memories of another favorite short work, Ray Bradbury's longer short work, "Fahrenheit 451." While both feature "Fahrenheit" in the title, and high temperatures are associated with violence, those are the only significant similarities between them.

Bradbury's work satirizes a society that seeks to protect its citizens from unhappiness or suffering by banning all books that have the potential to confuse or sadden or make the reader question long-established beliefs and traditions. The banned books are burned by members of that era's fire department, and Fahrenheit 451 is the temperature at which books burn. In this story's time and place, firemen burn books not put fires out. The work was made into a film in 1966, directed by Francois Truffaut.

Bester's story isn't social satire, although I supposed an argument could be made by Marxists that the story recounts the horrors resulting from exploitation of the working class--the android. But, if one doesn't buy that, then one must also admit that the story is one that doesn't fit too well into genre pigeonholes--it could be SF or horror or even experimental mainstream lit, but clearly closer, I suppose, to an SF horror story than to social satire.

What interests me the most in this story is that it begins as a story about a serial killer android, and then slowly shifts into a tale that explores issues of identity, so much so that the reader, at least this reader, has difficulty in determining from whose point of view the story is being told. There are at least five points of view in this story. The first four are easy to determine, but it's not clear whom the fifth point of view belongs to.

The plot is simple: Vandaleur owns a multiple aptitude android, the most versatile type in existence. The android is his sole means of support. Without any skills or talents of his own, he would soon be penniless without it.

The story begins with a search party looking for a missing little girl, who eventually is found murdered. The reader soon learns that the android is responsible. (Wasn't Frankenstein's monster's first victim a small child?)

After the discovery, the reader listens in to a discussion among several men who were in the search party:

"What kind of blood doesn't clot?"
"Android"
"Looks like she was killed by one."
"Vandaleur owns an android."
"She couldn't be killed by an android."
...
"But androids can't kill."
...
"Androids can't kill. They're made that way."

And later in the story, another character says, "I thought androids couldn't kill or destroy property. Prime Directives and Inhibitions set up for them when they're synthesized. Every company guarantees they can't ."

I wonder just how much Bester was influenced by Asimov's robot stories. "Fondly Fahrenheit" appeared in 1954. Asimov's robot stories began appearing in the early '40s, and his three laws of robotics were spelled out as early as 1942 in a short story, "Runaround." His first robot novel, _Caves of Steel_ was published in 1953. While a robot was accused of committing a murder in one or more of Asimov's works, I can't remember any in which one became a serial killer.

In Bester's story we find a brief discussion of the differences between a robot and an android--one is machinery and an android is organic-or at least chemically based synthetic tissues. Given that distinction being made, there are still several curious statements made by others throughout the story which seem to reflect Asimov's influence here. My guess is that Bester, along with many other SF writers, were/are influenced by Asimov's Three Laws, whether it is an android or a robot in question.

However, there is more to this story than just a malfunctioning murderous android. The true horror of the story is the idea that one can project a mental illness or malfunction to others. Vandaleur consults several experts about the problem, and all bring up the issue of projection as a significant problem.

However, the explanation by the psychologists that involves projection sounds very weak to me, primarily because the process they describe is not really projection. Projection is not contagion. Projection is the attribution of one's own attitudes onto others. If one is a habitual liar, then one calls others liars and believes that they are liars, for the most part. However, that does not make the second person a liar. Projection does not affect the other individual except in so far as how the projector acts towards the recipient of its projection.

That's projection, and that clearly is not what is happening here. We are seeing something quite different than one person attributing an attitude to another. The experts themselves don't understand what is taking place.

For example, we should look at the following paragraph from the text:

"Vandaleur rushed to Dallas Brady's workshop, stared once, vomited and fled. I had enough time to pack one bag and raise nine hundred dollars on portable assets. He took a third class cabin on the Megaster Queen which left that morning for Lyra Alpha. He took me with him. He wept and counted his money and I beat the android again."

The first sentence is third person POV, focused on Vandaleur. Someone tells us what happened to Vandaleur and what he did. The second sentence is now 1st person POV, with Vandaleur now telling us what he did. We now experience the story through Vandaleur's consciousness. The third sentence is a return to third person POV, just as in the first sentence. The fourth sentence suddenly is 1st person POV again, but the android is now talking to us and explaining what it did or what happened to it. We are now in the android's mind, experiencing the events as the android experiences it.

The last sentence is a mix--two POVs in one sentence. The first part is third person POV, about Vandaleur once again, but the second half--"I beat the android again"--is first person--Vandaleur is now talking to us once again.

The narrator changes from being an observer of the action, the third person POVs, to being the two actors in the story, both Vandaleur and the android. Also scattered throughout are parts in which the narrator is "we"; both Vandaleur and android are now one telling the story; and in other places, the narrator uses "they" and "them," which suggests that the narrator is now neither Vandaleur nor the android, but someone observing them. It is as if this blended consciousness has become independent of both Vandaleur and the android.

Throughout the story Bester's skillful use of five little words, pronouns to be exact--I, he, we, they, and us--blurs the boundary between Vandaleur and the android so profoundly at times, that they no longer seem to be separate individuals. I find it fascinating to read what a writer like Bester can do; he takes a common grammatical error--technically called a pronoun reference problem--and turns it into a horror story.

The ending is clear: there is no ending.