100 sf

#34: Hothouse (1962) by Brian Aldiss

2009-05-23T16:01:00.009-05:00

“Obeying an inalienable law, things grew, growing riotous and strange in their impulse for growth.”

“Life was everywhere, life on a formidable scale. But the increased solar radiation that had brought the extinction of most of the animal kingdom had spelt the triumph of plant life. Everywhere, in a thousand forms and guises, the plants ruled. And vegetables have no voices.”

Brian Aldiss does some funky things with physics and nature in Hothouse. He has the Sun expand its intensity. He has the Earth with one side permanently facing the Sun, one side not. And he has insect webs connecting the Moon and Earth. Oh, and did I mention the fact that plants rule the world and humans have become a minor, hunted species?

Once you’ve got all that down, the plot follows simply along. Mostly it’s the tale of Gren, one of the few human males on the planet, his relationship with morel---a sentient fungus that exists in symbiosis with him---and his journey to find out what’s really going on with the Earth, Sun, and Aldiss’ crazy physics. Otherwise, the book is really a fantastical romp through Aldiss’ imagination. He invents plants, insects, and the directions of human evolution.

I must admit that I grow tired of Aldiss’ fantasies at times and a few sections of the book were a real slog for me. On the other hand, the book is generally beloved, as is Aldiss. So you don’t have to take my word as final on the issue.

Availability
IDW recently brought this title back into print.

RIP #6

2009-01-14T16:07:00.003-06:00

Patrick McGoohan, #6 on one of my favorite classic sf tv shows The Prisoner, died yesterday at the age of 80. Perhaps it's best he didn't live to see the remake of series that is currently in production. Either way, he will be missed. *Sniff*

#33: Venus Plus X (1960) by Theodore Sturgeon

2009-01-13T14:47:00.007-06:00

“In measuring a circle, begin anywhere.”—Charles Fort

"I'm glad I'm not bisexual. I couldn't stand being rejected by men as well as women."—Bernard Manning

Venus Plus X by Theodore Sturgeon (1918-1985) has a relatively simple narrative. A young man named Charlie Johns awakens in a world called Ledom, scooped up by the inhabitants (also called Ledom) with a device he takes for a time machine. The Ledom tell Johns he’s been brought to Ledom to judge their society. And as he does, Johns has progressively more shocking discoveries about the place and the people. The whole thing then wraps with a shocker ending that I personally guessed in advance, though that didn’t diminish my (continuing) evaluation of the book.

The biggest shock comes to Johns early on: the Ledom are all hermaphrodites. They possess both the ability to inseminate and become pregnant—something that Johns is surprisingly cool with for a man from 1960. The Ledom culture is also quite advanced. I was particularly drawn to their education device, called a “cerebrostyle,” which can both record knowledge and implant it directly into the brain. Johns receives a schooling on the whole history of sex, gender, and reproduction in “homo sap” versus the Ledom (by the way, have you looked at that word backwards yet?) in a matter of moments, for example.

But Johns’ story in Ledom isn’t the only narrative in the book. Sturgeon alternates these chapters with a series of vignettes of a 1950s nuclear family wrestling with the differences and similarities between men and women. Readers may be a little perplexed by these scenes, until the end of the book when we find out...

I honestly don’t know how I feel about Sturgeon’s novel. I’ve been trying to think of it in context. In 1960, the sexual revolution hadn’t happened yet. Science fiction novels were often still boring boys adventure fantasies. And the complex unraveling of sex and gender that came with the New Wave and Ursula K. LeGuin’s masterpiece The Left Hand of Darkness was still a few years away. So I applaud Sturgeon for his adventurous storytelling relative to the time. I also found the novel to be extremely readable, and it only took me a couple of sittings to read it from cover to cover. On the other hand, I found something lacking in the book, and I haven’t been able to put my finger on it. Somehow, I just wanted it to be more.

Availability
This second Sturgeon novel on Pringle’s list is in print through the good graces of Random House.

And Finally...Happy Holidays

2008-12-23T12:00:00.000-06:00

Soviet Zombies

2008-12-23T11:50:00.003-06:00

I'm not a Metallica fan, but their new video is a great piece of short sf filmmaking.

Adaptation of the Original Original

2008-12-23T11:42:00.003-06:00

The blog Diversions of the Groovy Kind has a reproduction of an entire 1970s Marvel Comics adaptation of "Farewell to the Master" here. It's a lot more enjoyable than the second half of the current film remake.

A Tale of Two Movies

2008-12-23T11:20:00.006-06:00

Curiosity got the better of me, and I actually went and paid to see the remake of The Day the Earth Stood Still. Considering my last adventure at the movie theater, I probably should have known better. But it was both not as bad as I expected and far worse. Granted, I thought I’d hate it. But in the end, the first half of the film I found intriguing. The second half? Like a drill slowly burrowing into my brain as the second hand on my watch moved backwards.

This “reimagining” of Robert Wise’s 1951 classic exchanges the fears of earthly war mongering for environmental devastation. Klaatu’s race/organization/whatever doesn’t fear what humans will do to each other, but to the precious resource that is a planet able to support life. In the original, Klaatu is sent with robot guardian Gort to warn humanity that its destructive nature (and development of nuclear arms) will ultimately force the rest of the universe---the civilized part that is---to destroy it. Klaatu in the current film comes without warning to destroy humans right now. Humanity is inherently destructive to the environment, he decides. Though after a little squishiness, he’ll see that there is “another side” to us later in the film.

The Good.
1. I actually liked Keanu in this film. He was able to pull off a foreignness in his portrayal that made “first contact” believable. In the original film, Michael Rennie’s Klaatu becomes more and more human. We never make the mistake of thinking the same about Keanu’s Klaatu. There is a distance between him and the human characters throughout.

2. The premise of an advanced civilization’s concern over the environment. There’s ample belief in the scientific community that few planets like ours exist. That an advanced civilization would consider this planet as a resource that far outweighs the moral implications of genocide seems plausible.

3. The morality of Klaatu’s civilization. On the other hand, that this “advanced” civilization chooses to destroy humanity instead of sharing technology and helping us along is interesting. Though Rennie’s Klaatu threatens humanity with destruction at the end of the film, he is sympathetic to its primitive state throughout. Keanu’s Klaatu doesn’t have any patience for us. His civilization seems to have a sense of entitlement. I found this interesting to ponder.

4. The technology of Klaatu’s civilization was fascinating. Gene manipulation, biological interface with electronics, and organic metal. Truly awesome.

The Bad.
1. Why does every Hollywood film have to have a cute fatherless/motherless child?

2. If this other civilization is so concerned about the environment over everything else, why does a little weepiness from the previously mentioned cute child cause Klaatu to reevaluate wiping humanity out? So a kid cries about his dad, does that really mean we won’t burning this baby down with greenhouse gases, plastics, and overpopulation? I say torch the humans.

3. Everything after Klaatu meets with Dr. Barnhardt. If you do see this film, when John Cleese leaves the screen, LEAVE THE THEATER.

4. I still don’t see why this film had to be remade (or “reimagined”). The original is a piece of art from a certain period. It forever belongs there. There was nothing about it that needed to be updated or reinterpreted. Please, Hollywood...please start producing some original screenplays.

don’t underestimate the ferocious beat of the dark side

2008-11-09T14:33:00.001-06:00

#32: Rogue Moon (1960) by Algis Budrys

2008-11-09T14:13:00.004-06:00

“Intelligent men pride themselves on their control. They go to elaborate lengths to disguise their impulses—not from the world; they’re not hypocrites—from themselves. They find rational bases for emotional actions, and they present logical excuses for disaster. A man may begin a whole series or errors and pursue it to the brink of the pit, and over the brink, all unaware.”

“Life is a dead-end street.”—H. L. Mencken.

A large alien artifact appears on the Moon. There is a way to enter it, but perhaps no way to exit. Just what is it and how can it be navigated? This is the puzzle that is laid in the lap of Dr. Edward Hawks in Algis Budrys’ 1960 novel Rogue Moon. Hawks leads a secret project that has developed a matter transmitter. This transmitter is used to send “copies” of volunteers to the Moon to investigate the artifact. One by one, the copies are sacrificed inside of the object. See, there seems to be a pattern to the type of movements one can make in the artifact: turn slightly right here, don’t bend down there, look up here, don’t jump across that there. As each copy arrives on the Moon, the “original” is suspended in sensory deprivation back at Hawks’ lab. For some reason, this allows a psychic contact between the two that allows the original to experience everything the copy does, only survive to tell about it...sort of. It turns out that experiencing the death of your other self is enough to drive a person mad.

This unfortunate detail leads Hawks to search for the perfect man to volunteer for the project...perhaps a sociopath of some sort? The quest for a perfect death-defying man puts Hawks in close contact with a string of manipulative characters. First there’s Vincent “Connie” Connington, the head of personnel at Continental Electrics—the place that houses Hawks’ lab. Connie suggests that the perfect man for the job is one Al Barker, an adventurer who lusts for death. Barker is romantically paired with Claire Pack, a woman who uses sex to manipulate men and who forces Barker to continually prove himself to her. By the way, Connie lusts after Ms. Pack, so perhaps he has ulterior motives for suggesting Barker, eh? Well, it turns out that Barker is the right one for the job; he’s able to withstand watching his death over and over. But as he progresses through the maze, things get stranger and more disturbing. In particular, the landscape becomes littered with dead Barkers. And in the end, Hawks desires his own place in the mapping of the artifact. Good idea?

Budrys (1931-2008), a Lithuanian immigrant known for his deft short stories, crafted an unusual sf novel in Rogue Moon. Prefiguring the “inner space” stories that would come out of sf later in the 60s and 70s, Budrys’ work is literary and pulp-y simultaneously. He lingers on character development but is short on technological definition. Nonetheless, I found the work intriguing and a joy to read. In particular, the alien artifact fascinatingly prefigures modern video games: endless lives shed in a landscape that requires specific tasks to be performed in a specific way in order to reach a goal. Also, Budrys asks fascinating philosophical questions about the nature of self in this work. Are these “copies” perfect in every way? What does it mean if just one memory, say the color of a childhood home, is disturbed? Can it be said that the copy is accurate enough to be thought of as the same individual? And once the copy and the original diverge in experience, are they each unique individuals? Or is one just a distortion of the other? While Budrys gives the reader the tools to ponder these and other questions of personhood, he leaves it up to reader to decide the answers. Lucky us.

Availability
*Sigh* Out of print. Buy it used or get it from the library.

Vonnegut 2081

2008-10-14T14:17:00.005-05:00

One of Vonnegut’s most famous short stories, and one of my favorite short stories period, is “Harrison Bergeron.” In HB, society has achieved equality for all...by force and by lowering people’s capabilities to the most basic level possible (the only way to achieve true “equality” in skill). The agile and strong are weighted down. The intelligent have buzzing noises forced in their ears. Those with excellent vision are given lenses to distort it. And so on. The piece can be found in many collections, including Welcome to the Monkey House. So go read it!

Vonnegut first tested out the idea of equal disability in The Sirens of Titan through his description of some believers in the Church of God the Utterly Indifferent:

Everyone wore handicaps of some sort. Most handicaps were of an obvious sort—sashweights, bags of shot, old furnace grates—meant to hamper physical advantages. But there were, among Redwine’s parishioners, several true believers who had chose handicaps of a subtler and more telling kind.

There were women who had received by dint of dumb luck the terrific advantage of beauty. They had annihilated that unfair advantage with frumpish clothes, bad posture, chewing gum, and a ghoulish use of cosmetics.

One old man, whose only advantage was excellent eyesight, had spoiled that eyesight by wearing his wife’s spectacles.

A dark young man, whose lithe, predaceous sex appeal could not be spoiled by bad clothes and bad manners, had handicapped himself with a wife who was nauseated by sex.

The dark young man’s wife, who had reason to be vain about her Phi Beta Kappa key, had handicapped herself with a husband who read nothing but comic books.

Redwine’s congregation was not unique. It wasn’t especially fanatical. There were literally billions of happily self-handicapped people on Earth.

His idea was then used as inspiration for the 1995 film Harrison Bergeron. Now, in my humble opinion, many attempts at adapting Vonnegut’s material to film have been greatly flawed. I would include the 1995 Sean-Astin-vehicle Harrison Bergeron in that category. Nonetheless, there’s a new production based on Vonnegut’s famous work in the works. This one is called 2081. And I gotta say, in all fairness, the trailer looks kind of intriguing. (Gulp!)

#31: The Sirens of Titan (1959) by Kurt Vonnegut

2008-10-14T13:06:00.011-05:00

“I guess somebody up there likes me.”---Malachi Constant

“As far as I’m concerned, the Universe is a junk yard, with everything in it overpriced. I am through poking around in the junk heaps, looking for bargains. Every so-called bargain has been connected by fine wires to a dynamite bouquet.”---Malachi Constant

“The worst thing that could possibly happen to anybody would be to not be used for anything by anybody.”---Beatrice Rumfoord

The Sirens of Titan takes place between World War II and the Third Great Depression, during a time when “inward space had not yet been explored” and the famously wealthy Malachi Constant might be the luckiest person in the world. Also famously rich at this time is Winston Rumfoord, who, along with his dog Kazak, is stuck in a chrono-synclastic infundibulum--what Kurt Vonnegut (1922-2007) described as a meeting point of contradicting truths, a place where those truths can exist simultaneously. Being stuck there causes Rumfoord and Kazak to materialize on Earth every fifty-nine days predictably. It also affords Rumfoord the ability to see into the past, present, and future simultaneously--a skill that he both abuses and uses for good on occasion.

Rumfoord is a complex man. He has a relatively loveless marriage with his wife Beatrice--particularly so since his chrono-synclastic infundibulum problem came about--and his best friend is an intelligent machine named Salo from the planet Tralfamadore, who is stuck on Titan, the largest moon of Saturn, waiting for a replacement part for his broken down space vessel. Rumfoord is deceitful, charismatic, honest, caring, and vengeful. But you don’t really find out when he’s been which until the end of the novel. Huzzah!

TSOT begins with Rumfoord inviting Malachi Constant to visit him during one of his materializations. At the meeting, Rumfoord prophesizes that Constant will marry Rumfoord’s wife Beatrice, have a son with her named Chrono, and will live on the planet Mars. Both Beatrice, who learns of the prophecies herself, and Constant try to do everything possible to make these things not come true. This, of course, only brings them to fruition.

In the second section of the narrative, we follow a dimwitted private named “Unk” in the Martian Army. Unk, like most of the soldiers in the army, is controlled by a small antenna implanted in his head, which makes even the drumbeat of a military march infectiously demanding of action.

Rented a tent, a tent, a tent;
Rented a tent, a tent, a tent.
Rented a tent!
Rented a tent!
Rented a, rented a tent.

These antennas are key to the Martian design for war with Earth. But not for Unk. Someone has other plans for him. It turns out that Unk is to be an important figure in a new, but quickly growing religion on Earth called “The Church of God the Utterly Indifferent.” This religion also has much to do with Malachi Constant and Winston Rumfoord.

While only Vonnegut’s second novel, TSOT establishes several themes and characteristics of Vonnegut’s writing: his informal style, his quippy narration, and his overwhelmingly sad love of humanity. But TSOT particularly wrestles with the concept of free will, from Unk’s antenna to Rumfoord’s foresight to the mission Salo was executing for Tralfamadore when he was stranded on Titan. Since Rumfoord can see into the future and the past, can he change it? When he reveals the future to others, can they change it? More importantly, does any of it really matter? I mean, would knowing that life is predetermined stop you from living it? But what if that predetermination is actually controlled by someone? Well, so it goes.

Availability
As long as there are young people, Vonnegut’s writing will never go out of print. So it is with The Sirens of Titan.

PS Rest in Peace, Mr. Vonnegut. You will always be one of my favorite writers.

#30: A Canticle for Leibowitz (1959) by Walter M. Miller, Jr.

2008-10-01T16:07:00.008-05:00

“But there was in that time a man whose name was Leibowitz, who, in his youth like the holy Augustine, had loved the wisdom of the world more than the wisdom of God. But now seeing that great knowledge, while good, had not saved the world, he turned in penance to the Lord.”

“If you try to save wisdom until the world is wise, Father, the world will never have it.”

Walter M. Miller’s A Canticle for Leibowitz is basically three interconnected novellas that jump six hundred years in time between each story. The constants between the three are a Catholic monastic order called the Albertian Order of St. Leibowitz (well, sort of--Leibowitz isn’t actually canonized until the end of section one), a “Wandering Jew” character, the theme of cyclical history, and the tension between church and state. ACFL is Miller’s only novel...again, sort of. He did work for years on a sequel to ACFL called Saint Leibo witz and the Wild Hor se Woman, but he committed suicide before finishing it. That book is in publication, however, because Terry Bisson completed the novel for him. I still haven’t read it. Anyone else?

The philosophical undercurrent of ACFL is that there are cyclical patterns in human society. The novel begins six hundred years after a massive nuclear war, which is referred to as the “Flame Deluge.” Human society has returned to a period akin to the early Middle Ages. Most knowledge has been lost or forgotten, in part because of a violent rebellion against learning and the learned in the period of “Simplification” that followed near nuclear annihilation. Scientists were lynched, books were burned, and the Catholic Church became a refuge to those persecuted. One of those refugees was an engineer named I.E. Leibowitz, a Jewish scientist who converted to the religion after the “Flame Deluge.” Leibowitz went on to start his own order, named in part for Albertus Magnus, a 13th-century saint associated with science. Leibowitz’s Order took to smuggling books (“booklegging”) and hiding them in the desert. Others in the Order put books to memory (a la Fahrenheit 451) or copied them. Leibowitz himself was martyred for the cause. And now six hundred years later, books are still being copied and knowledge is still being preserved by this Order at an abbey located in the desert. Among these monastics is a sympathetic, if not all that bright, character named Brother Francis Gerard of Utah, who unwittingly discovers the cache of a lifetime...a store of Leibowitz’s writings, as well as mechanical blueprints, in a fallout shelter revealed to him by a Jewish pilgrim (perhaps Leibowitz himself?). A lengthy period of authentification follows, and Francis finds himself a key player in the safety of the documents.

Six hundred years later, in section two, a Renaissance period is unfolding, and the Order is still a major center of knowledge. But now the secular world has turned to the Order for its holdings. In particular, a well-connected scholar named Thon Taddeo comes to the Leibowitz abbey to examine the documents Brother Francis found and discern their wealth. This situation does not come without its tension and repercussions for scientific and societal advancement.

And finally, after another six hundred years has passed, section three takes place in a time when the world has advanced to the point of interstellar travel, and off-Earth colonies have been formed. But a Cold War is in place, and the tension between humanity’s two superpowers, the Asian Coalition and the Atlantic Confederacy, is beginning to escalate. The Church begins to make plans for the worst-case scenario by assembling a team of capable believers, clergy, and monastics that will take a microfilm copy of “the Memorabilia” (the collection of writings and documents from St. Francis’ find) safely off planet.

While clearly a positive portrayal of the Catholic Church (and it’s unusual for sf literature from this time being positive about religion at all), there are few moments of outright apologism in the book. Though perhaps the most blatant comes in the third section when the Abbot of the Leibowitz abbey physically advances the belief that euthanasia for nuclear fallout victims is abominable. And as for myself, I find the suggestion that the Catholic Church is a vessel of scientific knowledge--whether in the future or the real past of the Middle Ages and Western Renaissance--more complex than Miller portrays in this novel. Nonetheless, this is one of the great books of speculative fiction--I believe this is the fourth time I’ve read it--and it deserves to be read by everyone. Everyone! So get to it.

Availability
Should be in print for a long, long time to come.

PS There's a couple of good guides to the Latin found in the book. Here's one.

US Presidential Election Primer

2008-09-22T11:40:00.000-05:00

The Man Who Fell to Earth, Part II

2008-09-22T11:09:00.006-05:00

Mary-Lou: “What are they like, your children?”
Newton: “They’re like children. Exactly like children.”

The 70s and early 80s were interesting times for speculative filmmaking. That period contained a series of artistic, pensive films that were the children of Jean-Luc Godard’s Alpahville, as well as a trio of films that would completely alter the landscape of the genre by creating an immense appetite for big-budget, space westerns that form the core of an entity now know as “sci-fi movies.”

Films like The Lathe of Heaven and Born in Flames distorted known landscapes into the otherness of future. While films like Silent Running made the future of robots and self-contained environments present. And as for the societal fears of a sexually emerging and violent youth...A Clockwork Orange.

One of the pinnacles of this type of speculative narration, in my opinion, is Nicolas Roeg’s 1976 adaptation of Walter Tevis’ novel The Man Who Fell to Earth. Roeg’s film is significantly different from Tevis’ novel. On a grand scale, he makes you work as a viewer for meaning. Visual suggestion and subtle dialogue replace some of the more overt aspects of Tevis’ book. He also builds substantially on the implied sexuality of the novel. Newton and Betty Jo (renamed Mary-Lou in the film) have an intense physical relationship. Bryce, the professor turned World Enterprises Corporation obsessive, is no longer the widow, but a divorcee jumping from tryst to tryst with interchangeable coeds looking for someone who is both like their father and also nothing like him. And Farnsworth, Newton’s patent lawyer and business partner, has become a vulnerable homosexual partnered with a younger, stronger lover.

Part of Roeg’s brilliance in this film is casting. As a character, Newton is otherworldly (duh). He at times mimics human emotion, and at others, feels it more intensely (perhaps). Through money, he’s powerful. But his frail body and ignorance of human behavior make him exposed to manipulation and control. So it was a real stretch when Roeg courted David Bowie to play this androgynous, lost-in-the-world alien (ha!). Bowie is brilliant.

Roeg sets the film in New Mexico (as opposed to the Kentucky of Tevis’ novel). The landscape is like that of Newton’s world--a world beset by drought--, but here it is populated with cowboys and dusty main streets instead. As viewers, we’re often privy to the visions and dreams of Newton. In them, he often thinks about his family and the time he left for Earth. But does he miss them? Does he miss his world? Is he sad? Roeg gives us no clear answers. And, as in the novel, Newton sometimes just prefers to have a drink.

Death Race: An Interrogative

2008-08-29T15:46:00.004-05:00

(with apologies to Crispin Hellion Glover)

What is the best thing for a Friday afternoon in late August? A movie? A book? A video game? What if you could mix two of them together? What if you could have the narrative structure of a video game in the form of a movie?

Does a film with less than ten pages of dialogue deserve to be made? What about Quest for Fire? Le Dernier Combat? Microcosmos? Koyaanisqatsi? Can a film with excessive violence be considered art? Are films with less on-screen violence more disturbing than films filled with graphic displays? What about Psycho? On the other hand, what about American Psycho? What about A Clockwork Orange?

Can a film with a short written statement at the beginning about economics, violence, and television, which then turns mostly to action sequences, qualify as social criticism? Was Death Race 2000 social criticism? The Running Man? The Phantom Menace? The Terminator? Does it matter?

Would the audience of 2012 really find prisoners racing around the track in machine-gun-loaded muscle cars entertaining? Would large-breasted co-drivers with little on-air face time really be needed? Would a gay driver really require only male assistants? With the economy in shambles, would there even be an audience willing and able to afford to watch such races? Would over 50 million?

What would you call the person who directed this film? A hack? A genius? An auteur? A man with the goods? How about the person that goes to see this film? Will he get his money’s worth? Or will he be wishing afterwards that he could get that 89 minutes and $6 matinee ticket price back?

What a Feeling

2008-08-22T15:55:00.000-05:00

Mandalorian Dance
by PatrickBoivin

The Man Who Fell to Earth, Part I

2008-08-16T14:50:00.006-05:00

"Like morphine it all depended upon proper measurements."

Among the novels I would suggest Pringle’s list mistakenly overlooks is Walter Tevis’ masterpiece from 1963, The Man Who Fell to Earth. Tevis (1928-1984) had a rocky childhood and stint in the Navy behind him when he started seeing steady publication in the 1950s. His first works were pool hall tales, including his first novel The Hustler, which was of course the basis of the 1961 Paul Newman-Jackie Gleason picture. TMWFTE was his second novel and also the source material for a film (and a tv adaptation, as well as a forthcoming Broadway musical and second movie).

The novel centers around the seemingly effete Thomas Jerome Newton, a distant traveler who has been sent to Earth to establish an intergalactic ferry to bring the few remaining inhabitants of his home planet, Anthea, here for resettlement. Anthea was ravaged by radioactive war. Of the three intelligent species that once inhabited the planet, only one remains. And of them, there are only about three hundred survivors. Not only do the Antheans wish to settle on Earth, but they also hope to socially engineer human society away from atomic suicide, such as Anthea suffered.

Newton has a few obstacles in his way. One, he doesn’t surround himself with the soundest company, including his main companion, a rube named Betty Jo who introduces him to gin and who witlessly pines for his foreign physiology.

“She began to feel a touch of wicked excitement in her from flirting at the edge of the idea of that strange, delicate body against hers. Looking at him and letting her imagination play with the thought, she knew that the particular thrill came from his strangeness–his strange, unmanlike, unsexual nature. Maybe she was like those women who like to make love with freaks and cripples. Well, he was both–and she did not care now, was not ashamed, with the tight pants on and the gin in her. If she could arouse him–if he could be aroused–she would be proud of herself. And if not–he was a dear man anyway and he wouldn’t be offended."

His main source of income is a series of radically advanced patents—self-developing film, powderless toy caps—that raise the suspicion of at least one scientist, as well as the CIA and FBI. And he has a penchant for taking unnecessary chances, like leaving the “lifeboat” spacecraft he arrived in on an open area of a farmer’s field.

But this is perhaps understandable. Newton’s sole interaction with human culture before arriving is the radio and television waves drifting through space. And Tevis nails the otherworldliness of this strange creature. Newton suffers physically and emotionally. He takes on some human traits, while utterly rejecting others. Mostly he’s just vulnerable. He’s left his family and life behind for a dicey gamble at Anthean survival. Physically, he’s like glass. He incessantly pops pills to keep going and nearly breaks his birdlike bones every time he rides in an elevator or fast-moving car. But he can be alternately patronizing and vicious. On living with humans: “Think of living with the monkeys for six years. Or think of living with the insects, of living with the shiny, busy, mindless ants."

The ending? Well, it’s devastating. This isn’t E.T., Mr. Spielberg.

The Real Price of Oil

2008-08-15T15:17:00.001-05:00

Stephen explains all...

More Blogs About Bikes and Music

2008-08-15T13:25:00.007-05:00

I'm behind the times, a serious late bloomer. My current obsession with the album More Songs About Buildings and Food proves it. I’m thirty years out of date! David Byrne, the musical genius behind that album, however, isn’t. Byrne was a bicycling fool well before I had training wheels and US cities starting seriously integrating bike transportation routes into urban planning (though many still don’t!). Byrne’s latest scheme was working with the Department of Transportation in New York, running a design contest for bike racks as functional art. The seriously wonderful trouble was that Byrne got so worked up by the contest that he submitted his own designs--thus compromising his role as a judge. But hey, it’s all for a good cause. And who else would think of putting up a bike rack on Wall Street that’s in the shape of a dollar sign?

Byrne also regularly blogs about his daily bike trips (and his various other interests) and the wonderful things one can see from the slow road. And I second the possibilities. Just yesterday, I saw a flock of Horned Larks hanging out near a cornfield and several Eastern Tiger Swallowtails fly past me while I took a leisurely trip along some rural Indiana highways. Sure misses from the inside of an air-conditioned gas monster. But I digress...

#29: Alas, Babylon (1959) by Pat Frank

2008-07-29T15:26:00.007-05:00

“They will stand far off, in fear of her torment, and say, ‘Alas! alas! thou great city, thou mighty city, Babylon! In one hour has thy judgment come.’”--Revelation 18:10

“Thus the lights went out, and in that moment civilization in Fort Repose retreated a hundred years.”

“We are as gods and might as well get good at it.” ---Stewart Brand, Whole Earth Catalog

Pat Frank’s novel Alas, Babylon rubs shoulders with the British “cosy catastrophes” that have littered the David Pringle list so far, yet it is distinct from them in its examination of Soviet/nuclear war paranoia in the US during the 50s and 60s. So yes, the book is dated. Nonetheless, it is an entertaining journey through Cold War fears. And heck, I’m a sucker for survivalist, tear-it-down-and-build-it-back-up narratives. Aren’t you?

Pat Frank (1907-1964) is the pen name of Harry Hart Frank, a man who spent much of his life as a journalist and critic of the US government and its role in nuclear proliferation. Though AB is his best-known work, it was Frank’s third trip down the nukes-are-going-to-mess-us-up road. Previously he had written Mr. Adam, a tale about mass sterilization in the US caused by a radiation leak, and another US-Soviet knockdown like AB called Forbidden Area. But it’s Alas, Babylon that he’s known for, and it’s Alas, Babylon that made David Pringle’s cut.

The protagonist of the novel is Randy Bragg, a kind of 1950s-style slacker who lives the bachelor life on his family's estate in Fort Repose, Florida (modeled after the real town of Mount Dora). Randy is a Korean War vet, but the real military man in the family is his brother Mark, who lives in Omaha with his wife Helen and their two kids. Mark is an intelligence officer for SAC (Strategic Air Command). One day, Randy receives a telegram from Mark that reads, “Alas, Babylon.” It’s code from their childhood. Mark and Randy used to listen to their next-door neighbor “Preacher,” patriarch of the Henry family, punctuate his impassioned sermons with these two words. And Randy immediately knows what Mark is trying to tell him...nuclear war is imminent.

Mark’s family rushes to live with Randy at the family home while Mark goes “into the hole” to plan the US’ military strategy. Randy gathers goods and tells trusted friends about Mark’s warning, including his girlfriend and the Henrys next door. Almost immediately after Helen Bragg and the kids arrive, “The Day” (as it is referred to by the characters thereafter) takes place and civilization falls apart. In particular, the strategic bombing of Orlando by the Russians cuts off Fort Repose from the rest of the United States--what’s left of it--and the town quickly slips into a more primitive state. Bartering becomes the norm, governance comes at the end of a gun, and goods become extremely scarce. Luckily, Randy builds a small community of good people around himself. The Henrys grow citrus crop and raise hogs, there’s fishing from the stream just outside his home, and the group receives periodic updates from the shortwave operated by the retired admiral who lives just down the road. Add to this clan a librarian, Randy’s girlfriend and her father, the local telegram operator, and a doctor, and you’ve got a group of about fifteen that can fend for themselves...until they run out of fuel, salt, and eyeglasses. Oh, and throw in a little radioactivity and ruthless highwaymen, just to make things interesting for them.

But all of this has got me thinking, is David Pringle obsessed with catastrophe and social rebuilding? Because there’s been an awful lot of it on this list so far.

Availability
HarperCollins keeps this Cold War classic in print.

PS One of my favorite things about YouTube (really?) are all these high school kids making films about books they've read for class. Alas, Babylon is no exception...

Stanley Kubrick’s Boxes

2008-07-29T10:57:00.003-05:00

TV writer and essayist Jon Ronson was given quite an opportunity after Stanley Kubrick’s death; he was allowed to go through the renowned American director’s “boxes”---decades worth of intense research material Kubrick collected (and never got rid of) for all his projects, kept meticulously organized at his English estate. The boxes contain everything from photo stills of doors, architecture, and possible droog hats to fan mail, both praising and cranky, organized by city of origin (!). Ronson has now made a fifty-minute documentary musing about the ~~four~~ five years he spent going through the boxes. The end result both illuminates and enhances the enigma that was Stanley Kubrick. Enjoy.

PS I recommend reading Ronson's The Men Who Stare at Goats, which is a romp through the history of the American military's obsession with the paranormal.

Klaatu, say it ain’t barada nikto!

2008-07-17T10:49:00.004-05:00

For the most part, Hollywood does what Hollywood does and I just shrug. Other than avoid their rehashed hash as much as possible, what can I do? It has gotten to the point where Hollywood produces close to zero original screenplays. Instead, it mines old movies, tv shows, even Disney amusement park rides for source material. It seems to me, coming from the perspective of a soon-to-be-no-more bookseller, that a lot of novelists are even writing their books as first drafts of screenplays. I’m sure Chuck Palahniuk is already exercising his vocal chords for his eventual commentary track on the special edition DVD release of Choke---a film that hasn’t even hit the theaters yet. Anyway, enter The Day the Earth Stood Still, starring **shudder** the Keanu. Keanu is fine and all in certain roles, such as Neo, but as Klaatu? Really?

The original TDESS is with no doubt one of the greatest science fiction films ever made. The story of space traveler Klaatu arriving on Earth to warn us that our flirtation with insanity (i.e., nuclear armament and war paranoia) had consequences that the rest of the universe could not ignore was a paradigm shift for sf filmmaking. No tentacled, Earth-women-lusting, monstrously strong aliens here. Klaatu is a messenger of peace; the villains are us. This point is tragically made in one of the very first scenes of the movie. Klaatu holds a small metallic device in his hand as he first steps out of his spaceship. A young solider assumes it is a weapon and fires on Klaatu, and the device is destroyed. Klaatu sadly explains that it was a gift for the president and was a machine that could help humans study life on other planets. As the movie continues, Klaatu refuses to negotiate only with the US (or the USSR for that matter) just because of its military might and economic superiority. Rather, he demands conference with humanity as a whole. In the end, the only way he is able to achieve this is by addressing a collection of the world’s leading scientists---and not only ones with white faces (this was 1951 mind you). It's a truly moving film that came out at just the beginning of H-bomb paranoia.

Granted, the 1951 Robert Wise film itself was an adapted screenplay, based on the short story “Farewell to the Master” by Harry Bates, but the film stands on its own and is significantly different from the original story in many ways (including nixing the twist ending). I’m sure this new version will also be significantly different from the previous film. For instance, the Keanu-as-Klaatu version will be dreadful. We’ll see if I’m wrong.

Colbert Green Screen Winner

2008-07-11T08:15:00.000-05:00

Thomas Michael Disch, 1940-2008

2008-07-08T15:06:00.005-05:00

Tom Disch committed suicide on July 4.

I haven’t been able to get that sentence out of my head the last few days. I didn’t know the man personally and I can’t even begin to understand what pain he must have been going through to take that action, but I respected the hell out of his writing and the whole thing makes me really, really sad. One of the strongest, most thoughtful voices of the New Wave is gone.

Disch didn’t only wear an sf hat, he was also a poet, essayist, and children’s book author. He wore an image of a tough-as-nails New Yorker, though he was born and raised in the Midwest. He’s probably best known for Camp Concentration and 334 (both of which appear on Pringle’s list, along with On Wings of Song), two pieces of literature I’d gladly put in the hands of any reader. But my favorite book by him is his first novel, The Genocides. On the face of it, it’s just a simple horror fantasy about giant plants taking over the Earth. Underneath that, a brilliant study of human nature and our relationship to the environment lurks--Disch was always a cogent critic of society and culture. He even took sf as a whole to task in Dreams Our Stuff is Made Of, one of the best social histories/critiques of the genre I’ve ever read, if rather angry and presumptuous at times.

In the last years, Disch was a moody, darkly insightful writer on his web journal Endzone. And friends have suggested that he was particularly so because of the death of his longtime partner Charles Naylor in 2005. He was apparently living a meager life in a rent-controlled apartment in New York when he took his life. I don’t know what else to say. The whole thing just sucks.

Star Trek XI First Look

2008-01-29T15:08:00.001-06:00