Walt Whitman: May 31, 1819--March 26, 1892

From "Song Of Myself," Stanza 32:

This stanza incorporates the range of responses that I have toward Whitman's poetry: some parts I agree with, some I don't, and some I don't understand.

His brief description of the stallion at the end of this stanza is one of the finest I can remember reading. I see the stallion before me as I read--"Eyes full of sparkling wickedness . . ."


32

I think I could turn and live with animals, they're so placid and self-contain'd,
I stand and look at them long and long.

They do not sweat and whine about their condition,
They do not lie awake in the dark and weep for their sins,
They do not make me sick discussing their duty to God,
Not one is dissatisfied, not one is demented with the mania of owning things,
No one kneels to another, nor to his kind that lived thousands of years ago,
Not one is respectable or unhappy over the whole earth.

So they show their relations to me and I accept them,
They bring me tokens of myself, they evince them plainly in their possession.

I wonder where they get those tokens,
Did I pass that way huge times ago and negligently drop them?

Myself moving forward then and now and forever,
Gathering and showing more always and with velocity,
Infinite and omnigenous, and the like of these among them,
Not too exclusive toward the reachers of my remembrancers,
Picking out here one that I love, and now go with him on brotherly terms.

A gigantic beauty of a stallion, fresh and responsive to my caresses
Head high in the forehead, wide between the ears,
Limbs glossy and supple, tail dusting the ground,
Eyes full of sparkling wickedness, ears finely cut, flexibly moving.

His nostrils dilate as my heels embrace him,
His well-built limbs tremble with pleasure as we race around and return.
I but use you a minute, then I resign you, stallion,
Why do I need your paces when I myself out-gallop them?
Even as I stand or sit passing faster than you.

Any thoughts?

Something to think about

Going To The Dogs

My granddad, viewing earth's worn cogs,
Said things were going to the dogs;
His granddad in his house of logs,
Said things were going to the dogs;
His granddad in the Flemish bogs,
Said things were going to the dogs;
His granddad in his old skin togs,
Said things were going to the dogs;
There's one thing that I have to state--
The dogs have had a good long wait.

-- Anon --


Any thoughts?

Simon J. Ortiz: May 27. 1941--

"Simon J. Ortiz (born on May 27, 1941 in Albuquerque, New Mexico is a Native American writer of the Acoma Pueblo tribe, and one of the key figures in the second wave of what has been called the Native American Renasssance. He is one of the most respected and widely read Native American poets.

Ortiz, a full-blooded Acoma Pueblo, is a member of the Eagle or "Dyaamih" Clan. He was raised in the Acoma village of McCartys (or "Deetzeyaamah"), and spoke only Keresan at home. His father, both a railroad worker and a woodcarver, was an elder in the clan who was charged with keeping the religious knowledge and customs of the pueblo." (above quotation from the Wikipedia entry on Ortiz)

I thought I would post two of his poems today: the first is about Ortiz with his father and the second is Ortiz with his own son.


My Father's Son

Wanting to say things,
I miss my father tonight.
His voice, the slight catch,
the depth, from his thin chest,
the tremble of emotion
in something he has just said
to his Son, his song:

We planted corn one Spring at Aacqu--
we planted several times
but this one particular time
I remember the soft damp sand
in my hand.

My father had stopped at one point
to show me an overturned furrow,
the plowshare had unearthed
the burrow nest of a mouse
in the soft moist sand.

Very gently, he scooped tiny pink animals
into the palm of his hand
and told me to touch them.
We took them to the edge
of the field and put them in the shade
of a sand moist clod.

I remember the very softness
of cool and warm sand and tiny alive
mice and my father saying things.





Speaking

I take him outside
under the trees,
have him stand on the ground.
We listen to the crickets,
cicadas, millions years old sound.
Ants come by us.
I tell them,
"This is he, my son.
This boy is looking at you.
I am speaking for him."

The crickets, cicadas,
the ants, the millions of years
are watching us,
hearing us.
My son murmurs infant words,
speaking, small laughter
bubbles from him.
Tree leaves tremble.
They listen to this boy
speaking for me.


I wonder what Ortiz's father was saying and what Ortiz's son was saying for him.

Something to think about

We are all citizens of one world, we are all of one blood. To hate a man because he was born in another country, because he speaks a different language, or because he takes a different view on this subject or that, is a great folly. Desist, I implore you, for we are all equally human . . . Let us have but one end in view, the welfare of humanity.

-- Johann Amos Comenius (1592-1670)--


Any thoughts?

Combination Plate 14

I will be bringing up significant plot elements and episodes as well as revealing some of the endings.

George Eliot, "The Lifted Veil," a short story

Craig Johnson, The Cold Dish, a novel, mystery

Iron Man, a film, superhero genre

Cherie Priest, Boneshaker, an SF novel






George Eliot
"The Lifted Veil"
a short story

I've read a number of Eliot's novels, but few of her short stories, so I can't judge "The Lifted Veil" in comparison to others by her. But, this short story certainly is quite different from the novels I've read. It might almost be classified as SF if it had been written a century or so later. As it was published in 1859, it might certainly be the first or one of the first stories to incorporate certain elements that are frequently found in SF or fantasy.

The plot is rather typical. The narrator is Latimer, the weakly second son of a wealthy landowner. His older brother Alfred, on the contrary, is tall, strong, and athletic. He is, naturally, his father's favorite and the heir presumptive to the family fortune and estate. Moreover, Alfred is engaged to Bertha, the neighborhood charmer, with whom Latimer also is hopelessly in love.

Latimer is sent to Geneva to finish his education, and while he is there, he has several visions of events that occur shortly afterwards. He has become a clairvoyant, or able to see in the future. One of his visions is of Bertha. She is speaking to him, and it is clear that it is years in the future for she appears to be much older. What she tells him makes it obvious that they have been married for years now, and that she has always hated him.

At this time, he also begins to be able to gain impressions of what others are thinking at that time. What he learns about many others depresses him, for he now sees others as full of hypocrisy, selfishness, and deceit. But, there is one person he can not read--Bertha. For some inexplicable reason, she remains a blank wall.

Shortly before the wedding, Alfred is thrown from his horse and is killed instantly. Latimer and his father slowly become attached to one another. Perhaps the father is encouraged in this when he sees that Bertha seemingly is now attached to Latimer, after a suitable mourning period, of course. As his vision had foretold, Latimer and Bertha marry. The effect of his visions and his telepathic powers turns Latimer almost into a recluse.

Why does Latimer marry Bertha when he knows how it will eventually turn out? He hopes that she really does love him at first, and it is only over time that her dislike develops. In addition, she is the one person he can not read; therefore, there is a silence not found with others when she is in the room.

Eliot also includes a brief incident involving phrenology, which she was apparently interested in at one time. Near the end of the story, is a truly bizarre scene depicting the effects of a blood transfusion on a dead woman which could have come straight from Edgar Allan Poe. As Poe died some ten years before this story was published, it is doubtful that Eliot influenced Poe.

Overall Rating: a fascinating story that includes the earliest mention of telepathy and precognition as common ongoing events and not just as one-time-only episode in a highly dramatic scene. I've only read the story once, and my suspicion is that I'm missing a lot. "The Lifted Veil" is definitely worth a second reading.

===============================================

Craig Johnson
The Cold Dish, a mystery novel, first in a series
Setting: Absaroka County, Wyoming
Time: contemporary
The Detective: Sheriff Walt Longmire
Mystery type: Police Procedural

Perhaps this might better be called a sheriff procedural since Walt Longmire is not the typical hard-bitten, cynical, streetwise cop so popular today. He's within a year of retirement and only wants a quiet period before he hangs up his badge and gun for good. Naturally, he's not going to get his wish.

Longmire might be called an accidental sheriff. He ended up in the Marines during the Vietnam conflict, and the needs of the service put him in the military police. After his discharge, he returned home and, having lost interest in his pre-Vietnam plans, put in for the deputy opening in the sheriff's office. Longmire and the sheriff got along, and he became the favored son when the sheriff retired. He has been winning elections since then. Now it was his turn to pass on.

Normally I feel that domestic dramas involving the law enforcement officers in mysteries should be kept to a minimum, for I can always find other works that focus on those issues if I'm in the mood for that type of work. A mystery should focus on the mystery. In this novel, domestic issues play a significant role. Walt's wife had died a short time ago, and he is still mourning her. It has reached the point when friends and relatives were shaking their heads and suggesting that "he get out a bit more." He does, and while the relationship turns tragic, he has "gotten out a bit more."

Longmire, as I said earlier, is just hoping for a quiet end to his term. So, when he gets a call about a body found outside of town, he doesn't bother to check it out himself, but sends Vic, his chief deputy, out there. It is probably a sheep. She calls back; it isn't a sheep. It's a two-legged critter that's spread out on the ground.

He goes, reluctantly, and when he sees who it is, he knows this is going to be messy. The victim is Cody Pritchard, and he has a record. Several years ago, he and three others raped a young Cheyenne girl who was born with fetal alcohol syndrome and was slightly retarded. Longmire had arrested the four, and they were tried, convicted, and given suspended sentences. None of them went to prison for the rape.

Was this a revenge killing by one or more of her Cheyenne relatives or friends, or was this the result of something else Pritchard was involved in? Then, a second one of the four was found dead. That answered the question. It looked as though someone, a bit more than two years later, had started taking revenge.

The novel moves on from that point, rather as one would expect. It's not very complex, but Johnson tells the story well. Longmire is a rather casual, easy-going fellow, much as one would expect from a sheriff who's been in the job for almost 25 years. He knows the people, and they know him.

Johnson has also created an interesting supporting cast for Longmire, and I hope they return in subsequent novels. First is Ruby, the lovable? office tyrant, who takes no nonsense from anyone, especially from Longmire. She ran the sheriff's office before he got there and probably will run it for his successor.

His chief deputy is Vic (Victoria) Morretti, from South Philly where her father, uncles, and brothers were cops. Her husband, however, was a field engineer for a mining company and had gotten transferred out here. She reluctantly left and applied for a position with Longmire when a deputy position came open. She's the streetwise, cynical, tough cop in the story.

Longmire's closest friend, and major problem in this case, is Henry Standing Bear. Henry had also been in Vietnam, working behind enemy lines with a special forces unit. He had been trained to kill quietly and efficiently, and he just happened to be the uncle of Melissa, the young Cheyenne girl who was the rape victim. Longmire didn't believe he was the killer, but he had to admit that Henry sat on top of the suspects list.

Overall rating: very good first novel. I like the relaxed atmosphere and the setting, far from the mean streets of the usual urban setting, or even a quiet, tame, and civilized suburban area with a murder every week. I found the second in the series, Death Without Company, and I'm looking forward to settling down some evening with this one.

===============================================

Iron Man, a film
based on a superhero comic adventure

I'm no expert in the area of superheroes, at least not in the past 60 years or so. I used to read comics back then, but moved on to print tales. However, it does seem to me that there are two broad categories of superheroes. One consists of those that possess powers or abilities not given to us normal humans, Superman or Spiderman or any of the more recent heroes, the X-Men. These generally run the range from a crippled newsboy to an alien from another planet to a scientist who got in the way of an experiment. That which changes them could be the gods themselves, an alien environment, a new chemical, or radiation exposure.

The second type are those whose powers are not organic or physiological but technological. Although there are exceptions, this type of superhero is frequently a technical wizard, who is wealthy and is able to afford to hire engineers and technicians who research and develop the various gadgets. Bruce Wayne/Batman is my prime example of this type of superhero.

Tony Stark fits into the second category. He is an extremely wealthy and brilliant weapons inventor, whose lifestyle is reminiscent of Hugh Hefner. At least it was until he unwisely took a trip to do a weapon demonstration for NATO troops in Afghanistan where he is captured by insurgents. There he discovers that weapons produced by his company are getting into the wrong hands and are being used to kill American troops. He escapes and informs all that his company is getting out of the weapons business.

While a captive, he fooled the insurgents into thinking he was building his latest weapon for them, but instead he developed an armored suit that had various built-in weapons, computer guided and operated naturally. The suit reminded me of the combat suit created by Robert A. Heinlein in his novel, Starship Troopers. I haven't seen the film version, but I have read the novel, and Stark's suit certainly resembles Heinlein's creation.

Stark decides to develop the suit for the forces of good and decency which will make them superior to anything the enemy can throw against them. It means the end of war. However, as his chief foe points out in the last climatic struggle, Stark wanted to create something that would ensure peace and instead created the most deadly personal weapon yet known.

The only real surprise in the film was Stark's public announcement at the end of the film when he revealed himself to be Iron Man. Usually the character tries very hard to keep his identity as the superhero a secret--Superman, Batman, Wonder Woman . . .

Overall Rating: I'd give it three stars on a five star scale. The special effects, animation, etc. were competently handled, although the struggle at the end between the two suits looked a bit catoonish to me. Will I see the sequel, Iron Man 2, which has recently appeared in the theatres. Maybe--If I'm browsing the DVDs and I don't have anything at home to view, I may take it out.

=============================================

Cherie Priest
Boneshaker, an SF novel
Seattle
Time: 19th century

The reader must not be too insistent upon historical accuracy in this novel. Priest herself admits that she's taken considerable liberties with US history, including a Civil War that has lasted for over 20 years and an Alaskan gold rush that begins several decades early. It's probably best to think of this as an alternate history novel and read on.

Shortly after the start of the Civil War, gold is discovered in Alaska. Russia, which had been thinking of unloading the frozen wasteland, now has second thoughts. Gold? Russia then offers a large bonus for anyone who can build a machine that can break through the frozen ground and get at the gold. Leviticus Blue invents such a device and decides to try it out in Seattle before bringing it north.

Something goes wrong and it destroys downtown Seattle. What is worse, its digging has uncovered and released a toxic gas which kills immediately if exposed to a sufficient quantity. If it doesn't kill immediately, it turns the victims into zombies, hungry for human flesh. Naturally, those bitten by a zombie soon becomes a zombie also.

The stricken part of Seattle is quickly walled off to prevent the gas, which is heavier than air, and the zombies from escaping. Leviticus Blue is presumed dead. His wife, pregnant at that time, escapes to the outskirts of Seattle, changes her name, and attempts to lead a normal and quiet life. Her son Zeke, however, is determined to clear his father's name and heads for the walled part of Seattle. Briar Wilkes (Wilkes is the name she adopted) goes after him.

I almost gave up on the novel for the pacing in the first half was extremely slow. Moreover, I thought her editors should have done a better job in tackling the wordiness of the first part. Since it was a book group selection, I decided to skim through the novel so at least I could participate in the discussion. However, about half way through, I found that I had stopped skimming and was actually reading it.

As usual, the group reactions varied from those who thought there was no pacing problem at all, to those who liked the first part but weren't that happy with the second part, to me who had problems with the first part but found the second half much more readable.

What most bothered me about the work was the revelation of an important bit of information at the end. This was known by Briar, who was the major POV character, and though the reader was in her head numerous times, she did not reveal her secret until the end. I thought this was cheating on the author's part. While this was important, it wasn't significant enough to ruin the story for me. It was just a letdown at the end.

The story ended somewhat ambiguously as it was never very clear whether Briar and her son Zeke would remain behind the walls or would go back to where they were living or even leave the Seattle area completely, as had been hinted at earlier in the novel. The fate of several of the characters was unknown at the end. This leads me to suspect a sequel should be expected some time in the future.

Overall Rating: a decent read. Will I read the sequel if one appears? Possibly.

Something to think about

Something to think about:

If I had my life to live over again, I would have made a rule to read some poetry and listen to some music at least once a week; for perhaps the part of my brain now atrophied would thus have kept active through use.

The loss of these tastes is a loss of happiness, and may possibly be injurious to the intellect, and more probably the moral character, by enfeebling the emotional part of our nature.

-- Charles Darwin --

Emily Dickinson: Dec. 10, 1830--May 15, 1886

It is a tradition among haiku poets to write a death-song, one that offers their last reflection on life here just before they die. Emily Dickson, while she didn't write a death-song, as far as I know, did write several hundred poems about death during her lifetime. I thought it only appropriate to provide one on this day.

Because I could not stop for Death —
He kindly stopped for me —
The Carriage held but just Ourselves —
And Immortality.

We slowly drove — He knew no haste —
And I had put away
My labor — and my leisure too,
For His Civility.

We passed the School where Children strove
At Recess — in the Ring —
We passed the Fields of Gazing Grain —
We passed the Setting Sun —

Or rather — He passed Us-
The Dews drew quivering and chill —
For only Gossamer, my Gown —
My Tippet — only Tulle —

We paused before a House that seemed
A Swelling of the Ground —
The roof was scarcely visible —
The Cornice — in the Ground

Since then — ‘tis Centuries — and yet
Feels shorter than the Day
I first surmised the Horses’ Heads
Were toward Eternity —

-- Emily Dickinson --


Death here is personified as a kindly gentleman who clearly is not depicted as a fearsome monster, one to be feared. Her attitude is quite the opposite of Dylan Thomas' as it appears in his "Do Not Go Gentle Into That Good Night."

"Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rage at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light."


While I haven't read all of her poems about death, none of those that I have read come close to expressing anything similar to Thomas' rage. Death in her poems is just another part of life or a a necessary change.

Comments, anyone?

The Rubaiyat: Quatrain XXVI

As usual, I'm using the first edition as the base for the discussion.


First Edition: Quatrain XXVI

Oh, come with old Khayyam, and leave the Wise
To talk; one thing is certain, that Life flies:
One thing is certain, and the Rest is Lies;
The Flower that once has blown for ever dies.



Second Edition: Quatrain XXVIII

Another Voice, when I am sleeping, cries,
"The Flower should open with the Morning skies."
And a retreating Whisper, as I wake--
"The flower that once has blown for ever dies."



Fifth Edition: LXIII

Oh, threats of Hell and Hopes of Paradise!
One thing at least is certain--This Life flies;
One thing is certain and the rest is Lies;
The Flower that once has blown for ever dies.


The different editions, I think, vary more than any other I've seen so far. Only the last line --"The Flower that once has blown for ever dies"-- is the same for all three editions.

In the first edition, old Khayyam tells us what he thinks. We should ignore "the Wise" and remember that the only certain truth is that there is only one short life. Beyond that, all we get are lies, or, at best, speculations or theories passed off as absolute truth. I wonder what the reaction of the hundreds? or thousands? of commentators on the numerous holy books in various religions would have to say here.

The opening line echoes Quatrain IX when he says "But come with old Khayyam and leave the Lot." Here, he asks us to leave the past and strike out with him to enjoy the present, another hint that life is short and we should enjoy it while we are here.

The second edition is considerably different, not only in the words used but also in the attribution of the ideas that are expressed. In the first edition, it is old Khayyam who tells us, but now the narrator is not the one who utters the ideas but is the passive receiver instead. Because FitzGerald rearranged the sequence as well as introduced new quatrains in the later editions, the references to previous quatrains vary from edition to edition. In the first edition, "the Wise" refers back to the "Saints and Sages" and "the foolish Prophets" of Quatrain XXV, whereas that "Another Voice" in the second edition links us back to the Muezzin in Quatrain XXVII who tells us that our "Reward is neither Here nor There." The point is the same, though: there is only one short life.

The fifth edition, to me anyway, seems somewhat closer to the first edition than does the second. While Khayyam's name has been dropped, the ideas expressed are the narrator's and not some other Voice's. The reference to "threats of Hell and Hopes of Paradise" in the first line of the fifth edition mutes the attack on "Saints and Sages" and focuses instead on what is being said, rather than on who says it. Perhaps Khayyam or FitzGerald himself was criticized for dismissing the wise words of "Saints and Sages." It's just a guess, for I have no information regarding this, except for a vague reference once that Khayyam was almost considered heretical.

Moreover, the second line in the fifth edition is very similar to the second line of the first edition with a significant substitution of "this life" in the fifth edition for "that life" in the first version. The "this" suggests perhaps another life which may or may not be equally short. The third and fourth lines are almost identical in the first and fifth editions. Again, the overall theme is that we know for certain only that we have one short life.

My preference? I would go with the first edition and then the fifth, with the second edition coming in a distant third. Since FitzGerald's final version almost restores the first version, it seems that he also was dissatisfied with the second.


ERROR CORRECTION

I missed the actual revision of  the First Edition's Quatrain XXVI in the Second Edition.  It is not Quatrain XXVIII but Quatrain LXVI, and it is identical to Quatrain LXIII in the Fifth Edition. Whatever I had to say about the quatrain in the Fifth Edition applies also to the quatrain in the Second Edition.  (I hope I haven't confused everybody here-- if so, please leave a question.)

Comments, anyone?

Something to think about

The most beautiful experience we can have is the mysterious. It is the fundamental emotion which stands at the cradle of true art and true science. Whoever does not know it and can no longer wonder, no longer marvel, is as good as dead, and his eyes are dimmed. It was the experience of mystery--even if mixed with fear--that engendered religion. A knowledge of the existence of something we cannot penetrate, our perceptions of the profoundest reason and the most radiant beauty, which only in their most primitive forms are accessible to our minds--it is this knowledge and this emotion that constitute true religiosity; in this sense, and in this alone, I am a deeply religious man.

-- Albert Einstein --

Gregory Benford: Sailing Bright Eternity, Galactic Center Book 6

Warning: I will discuss important plot elements and the resolution of the conflict between the Naturals and the Mechs.
Greg Benford's Sailing Bright Eternity is the sixth and final book in his mind-bending "Galactic Center" series, which began during the late 1990s in our solar system out on the rim of the galaxy and ended over 35,000 years later on the edge of a massive black hole, the Eater, at the center of the galaxy. I consider this series to be one of the greatest multi-volume SF works ever written.

Greg Benford is a physicist and astronomer, and he makes superb use of his knowledge as he takes what he knows and expands on it and does not allow it to set limits on his imagination. He has also created one of the most engaging characters in SF--Nigel Walmsley, the Brit who joined NASA in the 1990s and somehow managed to be around some 35,000 years later, thus being present at the beginning of humanity's role in the conflict with the mechs and also in at the resolution.

The story picks up where it ended in the previous book, Furious Gulf, with Toby, who has become separated from his father and the rest of the Bishop family. He has encountered a crusty old man who occupies what appears to be some sort of galactic library and who claims to be from the mythical planet Earth. He is of the Brit family, he jokingly tells Toby. It is Nigel Walmsley, whom we haven't heard of since the second novel, who then, as any old timer who hasn't had anybody to talk to for awhile, proceeds to fill Toby in on his part in the war against the mechs, a period which covers roughly 35, 000 years. Fortunately, for Toby, and for the reader also, Walmsley spent most of the time in deep sleep, so it's really not that long. In addition, Benford has kindly provided a Timeline for the Galactic series at the end of the novel.

As Walmsley finishes his tale, the mechs, once again, appear and attack. Walmsley and Toby are separated and we follow Toby as he flees the mechs and searches the Wedge for his family and friends. The Wedge is an habitat created long ago as a refuge for Naturals fleeing the mechs; it has various "pockets," with varying environments. Naturals are those life forms in the galaxy who evolved in the Darwinian mode whereas the mechs were initially created by a Natural species as a weapon of war (Fred Saberhagen has a similar entity in his "Berserker" series.)

What Toby doesn't realize is that the mechs don't want him dead, just yet. They are looking for his grandfather, Abraham (a great name for the founder of a family/tribe) . The mechs have recently learned, as have some of the humans, that there is a secret weapon that could destroy the mechs if it ever could be constructed. The instructions for the weapon are encoded in human DNA, that part called "junk" DNA that doesn't seem to play any role in human development. To get the information, DNA from three closely related humans is required. In this case, the mechs have decided on getting the instructions from Abraham, Killeen, and Todd. Therefore, the mechs keep prodding Todd on in hopes that he will meet up with his grandfather, whom everybody mistakenly had thought had died long ago.

At one point during his wanderings, Toby fashions a raft, deciding that that it would be easier to float down a large river than to try to make his way by foot along the bank. He eventually comes to a town built on the the river that seems quite strange. The prosperity of the town depends on the river and the mighty boats that move up and down that river carrying passengers and cargo. The inhabitants seem to have created a way of living possibly based on some historical setting.

Toby eventually gets a job on one of these boats, the Natchez, because of his recent experience coming down the river. At one point, Toby begins to have some thoughts about the river that seemed somewhat familiar to me.

"Under Mr. Preston he [Toby] was coming to see that the face of the wedded water and metal was a wondrous book, one in a dead language to him before but now speaking cherished secrets. Every fresh point they rounded told a new tale. Not one page was empty. A passenger might be charmed by a churning dimple on its skin, but to a true riverman that was an italicized shout, announcing a wreak or reef of wrenching space-time Vortex about to break through from the undercrust of timestone.

Passengers went oooh and aahhh at the pretty pictures the silver river painted for them without reading a single word of the dark text it truly was."


What's interesting is to compare this with a passage from Mark Twain's From Old Times on the Mississippi:

"It turned out to be true. The face of the water in time became a wonderful book--a book that was a dead language to the uneducated passenger but which told its mind to me without reserve, delivering its most cherished secrets as clearly as if it uttered them with a voice. And it was not a book to be read once and thrown aside, for it had a new story to tell every day. Throughout the long twelve hundred miles there was never a page that was devoid of interest, never one that you could leave unread without loss, never one that you could want to skip, thinking you could find higher enjoyment in some other thing. . . The passenger who could not read it was charmed with a peculiar sort of faint dimple on it surface . . . but to the pilot that was an italicized passage; indeed it was more than that, it was a legend of the largest capitals with a strong of shouting exclamation-point at the end of it, for it meant that a wreck or a rock was buried there that could tear the life out of the strongest vessel that every floated. . . In truth the passenger who could not read this book saw nothing but all manner of pretty pictures in it, painted by the sun and shaded by the clouds, whereas to the trained eye these were not pictures at all, but the grimmest and most dead-earnest of reading matter."


Again the mechs attack, and again Toby is forced to flee. After various adventures he does meet up with Killeen and Abraham. The Mantis, a mech who has long been the major foe of the Bishops, appears and is able to get the all-important DNA samples. The mechs now can decipher the DNA and study the weapon to determine just how dangerous it really is.

Yet, something is still missing, for there are gaps in the coding. Upon the threat of torture, Abraham reveals the code, which had been handed down through numerous generations in the Bishop family. He sings the code, which is actually a song, "a passage from the most hallowed of the musics the Bishops carried in their sensorium store. They had played it on the long marches together, knew its lines by heart. . . The highest of arts, the Mose Art."

The Mantis says, "I see the connection. The unused sites in the Bishop DNA--that is the key. The notes of this piece, arrayed in harmonics, yield the solution. I relay this to the Exalteds now."

Now the long search has ended: the Exalteds (higher-order mechs) had the information and could now begin to develop a defense against this weapon, whatever it was.

However, as smart as the mechs are, they can't come close to the deviousness of the Natural species. The humans are, in realty, bait. They never were expected to build this "weapon" and use it against the mechs. This is all part of the ruse designed to fool the mechs. The coding in the DNA and the aria is not a set of instructions for a super-weapon or even a revelation of some serious weakness in the mechs--it itself is the weapon. It is a virus, much like a computer virus, that attacks and ultimately destroys the memory and logic sections of the mechs. As a further example of the Natural's deviousness, the virus includes a directive that impels any mech infested with the virus to transmit the virus to any mech within reach.

The long war is over.

Now comes the hard part--persuading the few surviving mechs to join with the Naturals, for the universe will come to an end in a few billion years. The mechs must be convinced that they and the Naturals have a common goal here--to find out how to prevent this from happening or at least learn how to survive, until the next universe forms. Cooperation between them would seem to be absolutely necessary at this point.

I have already mentioned Benford's incorporation of some material from Mark Twain into his narrative. This isn't the only example for he skillfully and seamlessly interweaves some of the most common SF themes and plot devices into a coherent narrative structure frequently without the reader realizing what Benford has accomplished.

In the first novel, Benford confronts us with a situation that has already been found in numerous novels and films: a large asteroid is headed for earth and Walmsley is one of the two astronauts selected to destroy it. Yet, even in this situation that has almost become a cliche, Benford adds a twist that makes it a new and highly significant event. In the second novel, Across the Sea of Stars, the mechs' first attack on Earth reminds me of similar tactics used by the aliens in John Wyndham's Out of the Deeps (aka The Kraken Wakes).

Other situations and events in the Galactic Center series bring to mind Clarke's Rendezvous with Rama and also his landmark short story, "The Sentinel." And, along with the incoming asteroid, Benford somehow manages to insert Bigfoot (aka Yeti) into the narrative as well as a religious cult that has gained sufficient political power to prohibit certain types of research and prevent the publication of research results that conflict with their religious beliefs (must be fiction, couldn't happen here in the USA).

The overarching plot structure of Benford's Galactic Center series is reminiscent of EE (Doc) Smith's Lensmen novels, which, like Benford's, consists of six works. In both works, the humans, although in the forefront of the fighting, are really weapons wielded by a superior race--Smith's Arisians and Benford's Higher-ups. And, the enemy forces also are controlled by superior beings--Smith's Eddorians and Benford's Exalteds. The identity of the leaders of the opposing forces aren't known to the humans at the beginning of the conflict. It's only as the conflict gains in intensity do hints and clues emerge which tell the humans that there are others involved in the struggle. Again, it's only in the final volume of both works that the ultimate leaders of both sides come out of hiding and reveal themselves. This is especially true of the first publication of Smith's series for he later revised the first volume to give the readers complete knowledge and novels' characters some knowledge of the Arisians and Eddorians and their struggle for control of the universe.

As I said earlier, I consider this to be one of the greatest SF series ever written, and I hope that I've been able to provide some convincing reasons why I believe this. Perhaps some time, someone reading this might be inspired to at least take a look at the first novel in the series.

The first novel in the Galactic Center series is In the Ocean of Night, in which we are introduced to Nigel Walmsley, who spends almost as much time and energy fighting NASA bureaucrats as he does the mechs. It is, therefore, fitting that these should be the last words of Sailing Bright Eternity, the final volume of this magnificent series:

"All was now quite modern and different around there and most of the ancient names on the graves mean nothing to anybody. There are Cards aplenty and Bishops and even a few Dodgers.

Nearby, old markers relate the names in a language now dispersed or dead. Killeen Bishop. Nearby, slightly less worn, Toby Bishop. These graves are unusually large, suggesting to archeologists that these were from the Hunker Down Era.

Always slightly distanced, alone and apart, Nigel Walmsley is buried on a separate knoll, in full view of the ocean of night."

Some Poetical Cats

A short time ago, I came across a small book. It was Henry Beard's Poetry For Cats. No, it's not a book with poems about cats. The title is somewhat misleading. It is, says Henry Beard, a collection of poems by cats. Even a quick glance through the book will show that the themes of the poems are those one might well suspect would be of most interest to cats: mice, rats, dogs, birds, vets .

Moreover, these are poems written by cats who have had some connection with well-known human poets. This small volume should be of interest to those scholars who love teasing out influences among writers: A influenced B who influenced C who influenced D who had no influence on anybody at anytime. A careful perusal of the poems by humans and those by cats who lived with the human poets could possibly, I think, show some similarities between them. As to the direction of the influence, whether the human poet influenced the feline poet or vice-versa, I shall leave it to the experts to figure out.


Here is a well-known poem by the human poet, Elizabeth Barrett Browning:

How do I love thee? Let me count the ways.
I love thee to the depth and breadth and height
My soul can reach, when feeling out of sight
For the ends of being and ideal grace.
I love thee to the level of every day's
Most quiet need, by sun and candle-light.
I love thee freely, as men strive for right.
I love thee purely, as they turn from praise.
I love thee with the passion put to use
In my old griefs, and with my childhood's faith.
I love thee with a love I seemed to lose
With my lost saints. I love thee with the breath,
Smiles, tears, of all my life; and, if God choose,
I shall but love thee better after death.

Her cat had a slightly different version:

To A Vase

How do I break thee! Let me count the ways.
I break thee if thou art at any height
My paw can reach, when, smarting from some slight,
I sulk, or have one of my crazy days.
I break thee with an accidental graze
Or twitch of tail, if I should take a fright.
I break thee out of pure and simple spite
The way I broke the jar of mayonnaise.
I break thee if a bug upon thee sits.
I break thee if I'm in a playful mood,
And then I wrestle with the shiny bits.
I break thee if I do not like my food.
And if someone thy shards together fits,
I break thee once again when thou are glued.



Or one by William Carlos Williams

so much depends
upon

a red wheel
barrow

glazed with rain
water

beside the white
chickens



William's cat wrote the following:

so much depends
upon

a yellow gold
fish

washed down with bowl
water

inside the white
kitten





And one last example, one of my favorites, Robert Frost's


Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening

Whose woods these are I think I know.
His house is in the village though;
He will not see me stopping here
To watch his woods fill up with snow.

My little horse must think it queer
To stop without a farmhouse near
Between the woods and frozen lake
The darkest evening of the year.

He gives his harness bells a shake
To ask if there is some mistake.
The only other sound's the sweep
Of easy wind and downy flake.

The woods are lovely, dark and deep.
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep.



And Frost's poetical cat penned the following:

Sitting by the Fire on a Snowy Evening

Whose chair this is by now I know.
He's somewhere in the forest though;
He will not see me sitting here
A place I'm not supposed to go.

He really is a little queer
To leave his fire's cozy cheer
And ride out by the frozen lake
The coldest evening of the year.

To love the snow it takes a flake:
The chill that makes your footpads ache,
The drifts too high to lurk or creep,
The icicles that drip and break.

His chair is comfy, soft and deep.
But I have got an urge to leap.
And mice to catch before I sleep.
And mice to catch before I sleep.




Others in the book are "Grendel' s Dog" by an anonymous cat (trans. from Old English by the Editor's Cat)


"Brave Beocat,_____ brood-kit of Ecgthmeow,

Hearth-pet of Hrothgar_____ in whose high halls

He mauled without mercy_____ many fat mice,"




Besides the ones just quoted are cat friends of Chaucer, Donne, Blake, Milton, and of course, Shakespeare, along with many others.

If you wish to see variants of some well-known poems, perhaps some of your favorites, from a feline POV, I can recommend this book.

Henry Beard
Poetry for Cats
Villard Books, a division of Random House

Something to think about

The World Is Too Much With Us

The world is too much with us; late and soon,
Getting and spending, we lay waste our powers:
Little we see in Nature that is ours;
We have given our hearts away, a sordid boon!
The Sea that bares her bosom to the moon;
The wind that will be howling at all hours,
And are up-gathered now like sleeping flowers;
For this, for everything, we are out of tune;
It moves us not.--Great God! I'd rather be
A Pagan, suckled in a creed outworn,
So might I, standing on this pleasant lea,
Have glimpses that would make me less forlorn;
Have sight of Proteus rising from the sea;
Or hear old Triton blow his wreathed horn.

-- William Wordsworth

The Rubaiyat: Quatrain XXV

This quatrain completes the 1st third of the First Edition of the translation by Edward FitzGerald.

First Edition: Quatrain XXV

Why, all the Saints and Sages who discuss'd
Of the Two Worlds so learnedly, are thrust
Like foolish Prophets forth; their Words to Scorn
Are scatter'd, and their Mouths are stopt with Dust.



Second Edition: Quatrain XXIX

Identical to First Edition




Fifth Edition: Quatrain XXVI

Why, all the Saints and Sages who discuss'd
Of the Two Worlds so wisely--they are thrust
Like foolish Prophets forth; their Words to Scorn
Are scatter'd, and their Mouths are stopt with Dust.


This is somewhat unusual in that the First and Second Editions are the same, while the Fifth has some differences. In the past, the First and Second frequently differed while the Second and Fifth were most similar.

The only difference I can see occurs in the second line. In the First and Second editions, the Saints and Sages discussed the Two Worlds "learnedly" while in the Fifth edition, they discussed them "wisely." "[L]earnedly" has the flavor of academia or bookishness attached to it while "wisely" suggests experience grounded in reality. In either case, it makes little difference for the "learned" and the "wise" are compared to "foolish Prophets" and their words are scorned and they are silent in the grave.

It seems to me that a new theme has arisen. Previously the quatrains had pointed out that life is short and that we get once chance only, so we should make the most of it--eat, drink, and be merry for tomorrow we die. This quatrain, however, focuses on our ignorance of this world and the next. Moreover, this quatrain specifies not only our ignorance, but also the ignorance of the "Saints" and the "Sages." While their discussions are learned and wise, they are also like foolish prophets, whose words are scorned. We may know something of this world, but what do we really know of the next?

The quatrain surprisingly, to me anyway, does not believe that the religious (Saints) are any more knowledgeable than those who look more to this world than the next. This dichotomy may also be seen as the Saints being practitioners of religious values while the Sages are more imbued with worldly knowledge.

I had read that Omar Khayyam had been under suspicion of being a heretic for a time. Such dismissal of the knowledge of the afterlife would seem risky to me, considering that the Moslems have knowledge of the afterlife from the Koran, which is accepted as the actual words of Allah, transmitted faithfully and accurately by Mohammed.

Or, perhaps it's just a case of over-reading.

Any thoughts on this?

Earth Day

EARTH TEACHER

Earth teach me stillness

As the grasses are stilled with light.

Earth teach me suffering

As old stones suffer with memory.

Earth teach me humility

As blossoms are humble with beginning.

Earth teach me caring

As the mother who secures her young.

Earth teach me courage

As the tree which stands alone.

Earth teach me limitation

As the ant which crawls on the ground.

Earth teach me freedom

As the eagle which soars in the sky.

Earth teach me resignation

As the leaves die in autumn.

Earth teach me regeneration

As the seed which rises in the spring.

Earth teach me to forget myself

As melted snow forgets its life.

Earth teach me to remember kindness

As the dry fields weep in the rain.

-- Ute Prayer --

David Lindsay: A Voyage to Arcturus

Warning: I will be discussing significant plot elements and the ending.


David Lindsay's A Voyage to Arcturus is probably one of those books that many more people have heard about than have read it, that many more people have started than have finished, and, of those who finished it, many more have disliked it than have liked the work. I'm in the minority here, as I've read it at least four times, and perhaps five, and will read it again.

On the other hand, there is contrary evidence from its publishing history. According to a book review by Paul M. Kieniewicz, published by the University of Nebraska, the novel "has been in print continuously since 1920." New editions have come out in every decade since 1960. I have a hardbound edition that was published in 2002. So, the demand must be great enough to encourage publishers to come out with a new edition every decade or so.

In addition, "[i]n 1985, a three-hour play by David Wolpe based on the novel was staged in Los Angeles." The novel has had its influence in the music field also. "Jazz composer Ron Thomas recorded a concept album inspired by the novel in 2001 entitled "Scenes from a Voyage to Arcturus".

I just finished reading it for an SF discussion group, and I was one of the few who actually finished it and the only one who liked it. And, as it happened with the previous reads of this work, I picked up on some things that I had missed earlier.

It isn't an easy read, and certainly not one that can be read in short snips of time--5 or 10 minutes. The novel is best read in substantial chunks, at least one or two chapters at a time.

The Wikipedia entry for the novel begins as follows:

A Voyage to Arcturus was first "published in 1920" and "it combines fantasy, philosophy and science fiction in an exploration of the nature of good and evil and their relationship with existence. It has been described by the critic and philosopher Colin Wilson as the 'greatest novel of the twentieth century' and was a central influence on C. S. Lewis's The Space Trilogy."

I was recently told that Lewis had been quoted as saying it was the "father" of that trilogy. I'm not certain that I can agree with Colin Wilson when he calls it "greatest novel of the twentieth century," but I will say it is one of the most unique novels that I have read.

The novel begins when Maskull, the main character, meets Nightspore, a friend of his, at a seance. Nightspore has brought Krag, a stranger to Maskull, with him. Eventually Krag asks the two of them if they want an adventure, a trip to Arcturus. To be brief, they enter a vehicle owned by Krag and take off. Maskull falls asleep on the journey and awakens to find himself alone, on the planet Tormance. Krag and Nightspore are nowhere to be seen.

The novel, from this point on until the last two chapters, is a recounting of Maskull's journey among the various cultures that are found on the planet. Lindsay doesn't make the same mistake that so many SF/Fantasy writers make when they create a planet--that of creating a monoculture for the entire planet.

Maskull searches for enlightenment and truths to bring back for the rest of humanity. He sees himself as one who will enlighten people. This is exemplified by his search for the Muspell light which will lead him to Surtur. In Norse mythology, Surtr is Lord of the land of Muspellheimr, which is the land of fire and light in the Norse creation myth.

Maskull travels though a number of lands but meets only two or three people from each place. Ironically, as he goes about on his search for enlightenment, he leaves a trail of death and destruction wherever he is. He either kills someone or is indirectly responsible for that person's death. It is the most unique search for enlightenment I've ever seen.

Along with the Norse references, there is a strong Hindu flavor to this work as the gods may all be the same god but under a different guises--Surtur, Crystalman, Shaper--I'm still not too clear as to how many gods are being referred to here. This may also be true of some of the characters for, at the end of the novel, Maskull, just before he dies, is told by Krag that he, Maskull, is really Nightspore. Krag himself says that he is best known on earth as Pain. Then, in the final chapter, we learn of Nightspore's struggles to join in the struggle against Chrystalman/Shaper, on Krag's side, who now says he is Surtur.

There is also a very strong Gnostic element here, if one sees Chrystalman/Shaping as the demiurge who appropriated part of the Spiritual Life Force of the Supreme Being to populate his creation--the universe. The Shaping (in our world the Creator in the Old Testament) prevents the sparks of the life force from returning to the Supreme Being. When Maskull comes across the Wombflash River, he sees the sparks of the life force attempting to escape Tormance and return to Surtur. Crystalman/Shaping, like the creator of our world, is therefore evil and the real devil. This is the equivalent of the situation in our world for, according to the Gnostics, our world is evil, and we must take no pleasure from it for that makes our task of escaping it that much harder.

Lindsay also has a unique way of creating names for his aliens. Instead of combining vowels and consonants randomly, he takes two words and jams them together. The result is a name that almost means something and might be significant in describing the person. Maskull is a combination of "mask" and "skull." Nightspore is "night" and spore." The first two people Maskull meets are Joiwind (joy and wind) and Panawe (Pan and awe), her husband. Pan could be the god of nature and awe the emotion (fear and adoration) one feels upon meeting a god.

Maskull encounters a variety of philosophies in each of the places he visits on his search for Muspell/Surtur-- from a belief that all life is sacred and the people live on a special water and air in Poolingdred to Ifdawn, a land where Will is dominant and the inhabitants think nothing of using their will to absorb any whose will is weaker, to Sant where all pleasure is evil and pain is good because it distracts them from pleasure .

The three most prominent deities are Crytalman, Shaping, and Surtur. However, Maskull soon learns that the people differ in their ideas about the three, some think all three are separate, others that all three are the same god under different names, and yet others that any two might be the same with the third one being the enemy. Still others believe in Thire, Faceny, and Amfuse who are the creators of the worlds of existence, relation, and feeling.

Overall Rating: One of the most intriguing and absorbing novels I have read and well-worth numerous readings.

Something to think about

Abraham Lincoln's Annual Message to Congress: 1862

The dogmas of the quiet past are inadequate to the stormy present. The occasion is piled high with difficulty, and we must rise with the occasion. As our case is new, we must think anew and act anew. We must disenthrall ourselves, and then we shall save our country.


Comments?

Chaucer's The Tales of Canterbury--from the Prologue

Many years ago in grad school, I had to take
a course in Chaucer.  I wasn't looking forward
to this since I had always preferred works in
which the language was transparent.  In other
words, one simply sat down and read it, and
not have to struggle with the wording also.
This was certainly not going to be the case
in this course for we were going to read the
work in Middle English.

I survived the course, and I surprisingly
felt sad as I left the classroom on the last
day of class.  I felt as though I were
leaving some special place to which I would
never return.  I had seldom felt that way
after any class I had taken.

A year later, I had to take some major exams
for which I had to review The Tales of
Canterbury.  I was going to play it smart
this time and get a modern rendering of the
work. I sat down with the translation and
found it uninteresting.  I dug out my old
textbook and happily read through it, still
struggling a bit, even so.

I had gotten the point that language is
important, even above the standard level
of proper usage.  I also found myself
more interested in poetry from then on.
There must be a connection here, somewhere.

For me, anyway, reading The Tales of Canterbury
is much like reading a time travel story. I
find that I really do go back to the late
14th century. It contains much about the
people, their customs, the way they
thought, as well as some great stories.

Following are the first 34 lines of the
prologue.  If you aren't familiar with
the language, try reading it out loud.
You may be surprised at how much more
you will understand by doing that.
Perhaps some day you might even take up
the complete work.




Geoffrey Chaucer    The Tales of Canterbury

THE PROLOGUE.

WHANNE that April with his shoures sote

The droughte of March hath perced to the rote,

And bathed every veine in swiche licour,

Of whiche vertue engendred is the flour;

Whan Zephirus eke with his sote brethe

Enspired hath in every holt and hethe

The tendre croppes, and the yonge sonne

Hath in the Ram his halfe cours yronne,

And smale foules maken melodie,

That slepen alle night with open eye, 10

So priketh hem nature in hir corages;

Than longen folk to gon on pilgrimages,

And palmeres for to seken strange strondes,

To serve halwes couthe in sondry londes;

And specially, from every shires ende

Of Englelond, to Canterbury they wende,

The holy blisful martyr for to seke,

That hem hath holpen, whan that they were seke.

Befelle, that, in that seson on a day, is

In Southwerk at the Tabard as I lay,

Redy to wenden on my pilgrimage

To Canterbury with devoute corage,

At night was come into that hostelrie

Wei nine and twenty in a compagnie

Of sondry folk, by aventure yfalle

In felawship, and pilgrimes were they alle,

That toward Canterbury wolden ride.

The chambres and the stables weren wide,

And wel we weren esed atte beste.

And shortly, whan the sonne was gon to reste,

So hadde I spoken with hem everich on,

That I was of hir felawship anon,

And made forword erly for to rise,

To take oure way ther as I you devise.

Combination Plate 13

Warning: I will be discussing significant plot elements and endings.



Edith Wharton
The Reef, a novel

The Reef is one of Edith Wharton's shorter novels and also now one of my favorite works by Wharton. I have enjoyed a number of her novels and short stories, but this one and 'Ethan Frome" are the ones that I would choose to read again if asked. I wouldn't mind rereading others, but these two are special.

The basic story of The Reef is quite simple, but the interactions of the four major characters are among the most complex that I've seen in Wharton's works. George Darrow is a member of the British diplomatic corp who, after many years of separation, has just encountered Anna Leath at a party. She is now a widow, with a daughter, Effie, and a stepson, Owen, with whom she is quite close. The fourth is Sophie Viner, formerly a social secretary to one of the women in George Darrow's circle.

In the beginning of the novel, Anna invites George to stay at her place while they decide their future together, but she puts it off for awhile and then delays it once again. Darrow is understandably upset by this. He is uncertain about what to do but decides to go to Paris (her home is in France) anyway. On the trip across the Channel, he meets Sophie Viner whom he vaguely remembers as part of the background at various house parties. She is no longer employed and is traveling to France to visit some friends and hopes to be able to stay with them while she figures out what she is to do next.

Darrow decides to show her what Paris has to offer: plays, opera, museums, restaurants. She puts off contacting her friends, and he remains in Paris for about ten days as he plays tourist guide. His leave is up and he returns to London while she plans to get in touch with her friends.

Months later, Anna Leath again writes him, finally issuing him an invitation.

Upon arrival at Anna's home, he is shocked to discover that Anna has hired Sophie Viner to be the governess for her daughter Effie. Just as he's recovering from this shock, he learns that Owen Leath, Anna's step-son, is planning to marry Sophie, against the wishes of the family matriarch, his grandmother. Anna has decided to support Owen in this family struggle and attempts to enlist George's aid.

Life becomes a series of crises and resolutions. One problem arises, and it is resolved, only to have another appear, which is soon solved, supposedly. This results in an extremely high level of tension throughout much of the work, especially after Darrow finally is allowed to visit Anna. This is something I usually don't find in her novels.

Eventually George and Sophie's prior encounter comes out, and this has an effect on Owen's feelings towards Sophie. Moreover, Anna finds she can no longer trust George, even though she loves him. She realizes that she can't tell when he is lying and when he is telling the truth.

One can see some interesting parallels in the work. The POV character in the first part is George while Anna is given that role in the second part. In the first part, both George and Anna are closely involved with young and attractive people--George with Sophie and Anna with Owen. In fact she decided to put off George's visit because she wanted to spend some more time with Owen. And, ironically, it was this brought George and Sophie together, just as her decision to hire Sophie as governess brought Owen and Sophie together. Also during the first part, George needs to meet with Sophie several times to clarify some ambiguities in their relationship, while in the second part, it's Anna who finds it necessary to meet with Sophie for clarification.

The Reef is the perfect title for this work because a reef is a hidden barrier, rock or coral, that would sink a ship that runs across it. And, so it is with this novel. Anna's letter that put off George's visit has tragic consequences for all four people.

There is a film version of this, but unfortunately it is not yet available on Netflix. Guess I'll just have to wait awhile.

Overall Rating: one of my favorite works by Edith Wharton.


========================================

The Guns of Navarone, a film
Based on the novel of the same name by Alastair MacLean


This is a World War II adventure film. The British fleet must rescue several thousand British troops from an island in the Aegean Sea. Unfortunately the only approach to the island is controlled by two huge radar-controlled German guns. To attempt a rescue with those guns operable would be suicidal. Bombardment by sea and from the air has proved ineffectual. Somebody is going to have to go there and destroy them--a j0b for the Mission Impossible Team. And as in all good caper films, a team is made up, each member having a special talent.

It's a good solid war action film, which lacks the usual superhuman stunts frequently found in such films. The problems are realistic and they survive because the Germans are human also, and not Teutonic supermen nor, and the other hand, are they the mindless dolts often found in war films. The team just barely survives a storm which destroys their boat, and they lose much of their equipment. It also becomes evident that the Germans are aware of their plans because every place they go, the Germans are there, waiting for them. The question is whether there was a spy at the British HQ where the plans were made or there is a traitor among them.

Racking up the tension level a few steps higher is the relationship between the Peck character and the Quinn character. They have a history and at the beginning of the mission, when Peck and Quinn meet, Quinn says that after the mission is completed, he will kill Peck.

What makes this film stand out is its cast: Gregory Peck, Anthony Quinn, Irene Pappas, David Niven, Richard Harris, Anthony Quayle, Stanley Baker, and Gia Scala.

Overall Rating: good solid action film, with a sufficiently satisfying and explosive ending, and a great cast, who could read the telephone book and make it worth the price of admission.

=====================================================

Malla Nunn
A Beautiful Place to Die
Mystery Novel, police procedural
South Africa

A Beautiful Place to Die is Malla Nunn's first novel and is a very good first novel. I'm looking forward to the second in the series.

The place is Jacob's Falls, a small village outside of Johannesburg, South Africa, and the time is the early 1950's, shortly after the apartheid laws were passed by the parliament. Detective inspector Emanuel Cooper has been sent from Johannesburg to Jacob's Rest, for the white captain of the local police force has died, and Cooper's job was simply to make a report to his superiors. Upon arrival though, he finds that Captain Pretorius has obviously been murdered.
Cooper is now in a difficult situation; he must investigate the murder of a police officer in a small town which, like all small towns, views outsiders with suspicion.

Cooper's job is made more difficult by the separation of the races by the newly passed laws. Fortunately Shabalala, the black constable (and probably destined, because of his color, to remain a constable forever) was a close friend of the captain, having grown up together, and proves to be an invaluable aid to Cooper whenever he had to deal with the black Africans.

Another obstacle is the presence of members of the Special Branch Section, who are little better than thugs with badges. They believe the murder was committed by communist black agitators as part of their plan to instigate a revolt against the rule of the white Afrikaners. Consequently they ignore any evidence that points elsewhere. Fortunately Cooper is ignored by them and is able to conduct his own clandestine investigation under the cover of a search for a peeping tom who has been active for several months. Constable Shabalala, since he is assisting the Special Branch investigators, manages to work with Cooper and provides information about the "official investigation" of the SB officers.

As could be predicted, Coooper's investigation reveals the many dark secrets that lurk in the closets of most of the people in Jacob's Falls, and some of those secrets are relevant, while others, of course, are embarrassing but have little to do with the ongoing investigation. Even Cooper himself, we find, has his own problems that while quiescent now could mean the end of his career.

One of the most perplexing secrets isn't revealed in this volume; all we get are a few clues about the puzzle that is Zweigman, the Jewish storekeeper. Cooper discovers that Zweigman has some medical training. As his investigation proceeds, Cooper realizes that Zweigman, in fact, is a trained surgeon. This is not simply a case of an immigrant with medical training that is not acceptable in his new home. Zweigman has been licensed to practice medicine; therefore it is his choice to run a small store in a very small town. We never do find out his story, but at the end, he has decided to take up a medical practice and is preparing to leave for Johannesburg. Since Cooper also lives and works in Johannesburg, I hope he will play a role in the next novel.

Nunn skillfully interweaves the apartheid setting into the plot, so that it isn't just something included for atmosphere but an integral part of the investigation. The apartheid laws were intended to maintain a separation among the whites and the black Africans and the Asians in South Africa, but it was too late. Cooper's investigation demonstrates just how closely the races are intertwined. While the laws were designed to keep the black Africans in their place, the laws also handicapped the whites, for they also had lost a certain freedom because of the laws.

The second book in the series, Let the Dead Lie, is due out in hardbound and trade paperback editions on April 20, 2010.

Overall Rating: The novel has a sufficiently, but not overly, complex plot and several interesting characters whom I hope will be in the second book, and I'm definitely going to read the second book.

=======================================================

Bruce Sterling
Involution Ocean, an SF novel

Moby Dick meets Dune.

This is a slender novel, barely 180 pages in length. It lacks the depth and complexity of many of Sterling's other works, Schismatrix for example, but it is a satisfying read.

The story takes place on the planet Nullaqua, which perfectly describes the planet--no water. The ocean is actually dust. With strong winds and sails, ships sail across the dust as ships on earth do on water.

John Newhouse, the POV character, is persuaded by those living in his boarding house to sign aboard a dustwhaler in order to get a supply of syncophrine. Syncophrine is a mind altering drug, highly prized for its highs, even though long usage leads inevitably to death. Syncophrine is the product of the dustwhales, who live only in the great sea of dust on Nullaquam, as spice is produced only by the great sandworms in Herbert's Dune.

Captain Desperandum of the good ship Lunglance, though no Captain Ahab, still has his obsession, which like Captain Ahab's, is bound to result in a tragedy. Deperandum's obsession is science. On board he conducts various scientific experiments that take them away from the dustwhale habitats. Moreover, his experiments frequently are dangerous and often put various members of the crew, as well as himself, at risk. Desperandum, like Ahab, is doomed by his obsession.

And, as on so many planets, things aren't what they appear to be. Humans, Newhouse discovers, aren't the only sapient creatures on the planet. Something, unknown so far to the humans, lives beneath the surface of the dust.

Newhouse also finds love aboard ship. Dalusa, an alien birdwoman, is the lookout for the ship. Their romance is mostly platonic for she is highly allergic to enzymes produced by human bodies and will break into a painful rash if touched by humans. At the end, Newhouse, like Ishmael, decides it's time to leave and goes his way the same way he arrived on Nullaqua, alone, but changed.

Overall Rating: This is Sterling's first novel, according to the Wikipedia entry, and while it isn't a complex or as well-developed as Schismatrix or some of his other works, it is an interesting and intriguing read--what appears to be a skillful blend of an 19th century classic and a 20th century SF novel.

The Rubaiyat: Quatrain XXIV

First Edition: Quatrain XXIV

Alike for those who for To-day prepare,
And those that after a To-morrow stare,
A Muezzin from the Tower of Darkness cries
"Fools! your Reward is neither Here nor There!"



Second Edition: Quatrain XXVII

Alike for those who for To-day prepare,
And those that after some To-morrow stare,
A Muezzin from the Tower of Darkness cries,
"Fools! your Reward is neither Here nor There!"



Fifth Edition: Quatrain XXV

Alike for those who for To-day prepare,
And those that after some To-morrow stare,
A Muezzin from the Tower of Darkness cries
"Fools! your Reward is neither Here nor There!"


Only minimal changes appear in this quatrain. In the first edition, some stare after "a To-morrow," while in the second and fifth editions, it's after "some To-morrow" they stare. That "some" makes that "To-morrow" sound dubious at best; there's nothing definite here, whereas the "a" suggests that there is a specific "To-morrow" they have in mind.

The only other change I can find is that disappearing and reappearing comma at the end of line three. It's there in the first edition, disappears in the second edition, and shows up again in the fifth edition. Perhaps the printer left it off in the second edition. I can't see any reason for removing it. Grammatically it's defensible, though the rules for prose aren't always followed by poets.

It's a somewhat confusing quatrain if one reads it too closely. The major problem is that the poet refers to time--those who are focused on today and those who are more interested in tomorrow. Perhaps this dichotomy is between those who live for today and those who take a longer view. But the Muezzin tells that their reward is "neither Here nor There!" This suggests places, not times, and different places at that.

Could the "here" refer to this life on earth and "there" some afterlife? But then, if that's the case, then when is the reward? --for the Muezzin tells us that the reward is not in this life nor in an afterlife. Or, perhaps the Muezzin means there is no reward.

The "Tower of Darkness" is also perplexing. The Muezzin calls the Faithful to prayer five times a day. Since he is at the top of a tower, he frequently is in light when he makes his first and last calls for the sun may still be shining on him whereas most of the city may be in the dark. The three middle calls to prayer are during the day and therefore always in the light. The first stanza suggests this--


"And Lo! the Hunter of the East has caught
The Sultan's Turret in a Noose of Light."


The Tower of Darkness might suggest Death and the Muezzin would be, therefore, the Angel of Death. If so, then there may be no reward, either now during this life or in some hoped for afterlife. Moreover, the nature of the reward is not brought out.

Well, perhaps another reading might give me the answer.

Any thoughts?

Robert Frost: (3/26/1874--01/29/1963) For Once, Then, Something

Today is Robert Frost's birthday, so I thought I would take a look at one of his poems. "For Once, Then, Something" is one of several poems that I call his "encounter" poems. In these poems, there is an encounter or brief meeting, that one might question calling an "encounter." But, that's usual for Frost, whose simple poems become much less simple and far more ambiguous, evasive, and inconclusive the closer one looks at them.

For example, below is his poem, "For Once, Then, Something," a short, simple little poem about the narrator who once sees something which appears for a brief moment and then disappears--a poem about the transience of experience or something similar. Or, so I saw it when I first looked at it. By now, though, I've looked at it a number of times, and I'm far less certain about it than I was several decades ago when I first encountered it.


For Once, Then, Something

Others taunt me with having knelt at well-curbs
Always wrong to the light, so never seeing
Deeper down in the well than where the water
Gives me back in a shining surface picture
Me myself in the summer heaven, godlike,
Looking out of a wreath of fern and cloud puffs.
Once, when trying with chin against a well-curb
I discerned, as I thought, beyond the picture,
Through the picture, a something white, uncertain,
Something more of the depths--and then I lost it.
Water came to rebuke the too clear water.
One drop fell from a fern, and lo, a ripple
Shook whatever it was lay there at bottom,
Blurred it, blotted it out. What was that whiteness?
Truth? A pebble of quartz? For once, then, something.


Now I believe that the poem isn't quite that simple. For example, let's look at the first six lines of the poem.

"Others taunt me with having knelt at well-curbs
Always wrong to the light, so never seeing
Deeper down in the well than where the water
Gives me back in a shining surface picture
Me myself in the summer heaven, godlike,
Looking out of a wreath of fern and cloud puffs."

He just doesn't look into the well, but he looks at it in such a way that he can see only himself against the background of heaven, which makes him appear "godlike." His own reflection prevents him from seeing anything other than himself as the focal point. It is not an occasional accident, for the narrator also tells us that "[o]thers taunt him" for kneeling "[a]lways wrong" so that he can see nothing else but his own reflection. He constitutes the universe, or at least he is the most important component of the universe.



But, something happens that suggests that perhaps there is something else in the universe besides him.


"Once, when trying with chin against a well-curb
I discerned, as I thought, beyond the picture,
Through the picture, a something white, uncertain,
Something more of the depths--and then I lost it."


He thinks he sees something "white, uncertain" which may come from the depths rather than the surface, where he customarily never goes beyond. Moreover, it is something that appears to come from beyond his reflection or even through it. This sounds almost Buddhist for a major tenet of Buddhism is that one must go deep, beyond one's ego or conscious self, to reach the True Self that lies beneath.

But, this is only a glimpse for it quickly disappears, strangely disappears if one looks closely.

"Water came to rebuke the too clear water.
One drop fell from a fern, and lo, a ripple
Shook whatever it was lay there at bottom,
Blurred it, blotted it out. . ."


"Water came to rebuke" or reprimand the well water for allowing him this all too brief glimpse of something. And "a ripple" on the surface somehow not only shakes whatever it was he saw, but it "blurred it, blotted it out. . ." He caught a glimpse of something he shouldn't have seen, and action must be taken. What is strangest about this is that the object should have been visible again, once the surface ripples disappeared, but the narrator tells us, or rather asks us what it was, which suggests it never reappeared.



"What was that whiteness?
Truth? A pebble of quartz? For once, then, something."


It was white, but what could it have been? Melville also wonders about whiteness, for in Moby Dick, he suggests that the white whale is something more than just a whale. For the Japanese, if I'm not mistaken, white is the color of death. It's been awhile but it seems to me that in the Roman Catholic mass, all white vestments are worn by priests only on Easter Sunday, the day of the resurrection.

But, to return to the poem, the narrator suggests two possibilities--truth or a quartz pebble--certainly a strange pairing of a concept and a small physical object. It's as if the narrator equated truth and a small quartz pebble, seeing little or no difference between them. What is it that lies in wait once one gets beyond one's own reflection? Nothing that we can definitely know, the narrator seems to suggest here.

Here is the poem again. I'm curious about what you think of it. Is Frost the simple rural, bucolic regional poet that many see him as?


For Once, Then, Something

Others taunt me with having knelt at well-curbs
Always wrong to the light, so never seeing
Deeper down in the well than where the water
Gives me back in a shining surface picture
Me myself in the summer heaven, godlike,
Looking out of a wreath of fern and cloud puffs.
Once, when trying with chin against a well-curb
I discerned, as I thought, beyond the picture,
Through the picture, a something white, uncertain,
Something more of the depths--and then I lost it.
Water came to rebuke the too clear water.
One drop fell from a fern, and lo, a ripple
Shook whatever it was lay there at bottom,
Blurred it, blotted it out. What was that whiteness?
Truth? A pebble of quartz? For once, then, something.