So I checked the radio this morning to see what was on...and the only reason I kept listening was because I thought they were playing The New Radicals.
I'm secure with who I am. And when 90's rock becomes the Next Big Nostalgic Thing For Those Who Weren't Born In That Decade, the way the 80's have been for the past few years, I'll be both a visionary and a trendsetter.
(At this time, I will neither confirm or deny that roughly two minutes after the disappointing realization that the radio was not in fact playing The New Radicals, I became suspiciously excited by the words "new music from the Crash Test Dummies." Maybe I am a visionary after all.)
Thursday, April 29, 2010
Friday, April 16, 2010
The Book of the Long Sun
It seems to have been a long time since the phrase "Christian literature" was more than something good for a laugh. Ask people to name a fiction writer who's a devout believer, a deep thinker, and an excellent artist, and chances are Lewis, Chesterton, Tolkien will spring to mind. Thing is, they've all been dead for quite some time. And I've got nothing against older works (some of my favourite authors are dead! Ba-dum ching!), but as a lifelong rabid reader, and a Christian for about fourteen years now, I do have a big problem with artistic stagnation. I've read many fantastic books that embody Beuchner's idea of "the world expressing holy things in the only language it knows", but until these past two weeks I'd never read one by someone who I knew was embodying that idea intentionally - one of his characters even paraphrases the quote - and who's still alive and working, to boot! American sci-fi master Gene Wolfe has been described as "the best author you've never heard of". I'd second that motion. It's surely a sign of the apocalypse that Joe Haldeman has a Hugo, but Wolfe does not. However, the Hugos are a mob award, and something Wolfe does have is the admiration and respect of other writers, Neil Gaiman probably being his loudest and most famous fan. After reading The Book of the Long Sun, it's easy to understand why.
The Book of the Long Sun (comprised of Nightside of the Long Sun, Lake of the Long Sun, Calde of the Long Sun, and Exodus from the Long Sun, volumes published from 1993-1996) is a Dyson Sphere allegory set against the exploration of the fallout of false religion, and the free-will debate that was a very big deal at the time this story was written, as worked out by a writer who has spent many years considering and practicing the truth. Its protagonist, twenty-three year-old Silk, is an augur of the false gods, and the story opens with him receiving an enlightening vision from a largely forgotten, minor god known as the Outsider. The Outsider tells Silk that it is his responsibility to "save his manteion" (a sort of church/school/monastery, over which Silk presides), and that he should not expect to receive any help from the Outsider, as Silk is the help the Outsider has sent. Silk's interpretation of this command then sets off a chain of events which, in a series of four or five days, lead to a full-scale revolution in the city-state of Viron, with Silk at its head. Though he interprets the warning to expect no help as a warning that he will receive no help, help comes to him in such varied forms as a local high-profile thief, a couple of prostitutes, a quiet and timid nun, a talking bird with a serious fixation on fish heads, a "legitimate businessman", and even a few of the gods themselves.
It's hard to figure out where to begin discussing this story, because my main goal is to convince whoever's reading this to read it, and it's not an easy story to summarize, and probably even harder to sell. It's what is commonly referred to in literary circles as "hard" or "high-concept" sci-fi, a genre that isn't quick or simple, very off-putting in its appearance but ironically often more accessible to those who avoid sci-fi as a whole because it's primary concern is story, whereas "low" sci-fi is more concerned with setting and all the trappings of the genre. It's also a dense work of literature, and I don't mean long, I mean dense. Averaging under five hundred pages per volume, and totaling just over a thousand in trade paperback format for the whole shebang, The Book of the Long Sun is easily half the length of the average epic and/or high-concept sci-fi/fantasy story. However, nothing's missing, and no space is wasted. Wolfe accomplishes this in two ways that are somewhat radical in the literary world: first, he dispenses with traditional descriptive writing, offering visual descriptions only as immediately necessary. For example, when Silk first encounters one of the mechanical military "guard dogs" known as taluses, Wolfe offers a description of the talus only as necessary to convey the experience of encountering one. In other words, that initial description is visually incomplete, and it is only until later in the story - when it becomes important to understand what a talus looks like - that he paints the rest of the picture. It's an unusual device that takes some getting used to, but it leaves nothing out and it's absolutely brilliant. It keeps the story moving where other stories take a time-out to gawk. The second way in which Wolfe tells a full and thoughtful story in a flowing and economical fashion is by thinking. As anyone who reads this blog can attest, the hardest aspect of writing is communicating one's full intentions while being concise. The Book of the Long Sun is packed with big ideas, ethos, theologies and philosophies that Wolfe has evidently been pondering for years, probably decades, and which he manages to fully express in the space of two to four sentences. For example, towards the end of the second or beginning of the third volume (I'm afraid it's gone back to the library, so I can't be more precise), Silk has a conversation in which an android, explaining how the world is (having much more empirical knowledge on that count than Silk), makes a casual mention of how "chems" (chemical people) are more valuable than humans, because chems take seventy or eighty years to make, and are not easily replaced, but humans are quick and easy to make, and we grow them inside ourselves. It's a loaded thought on the value of life and casual attitudes towards sex; there's at least a whole semester's worth of bioethics class to be had out of that one brief exchange, and it is typical of Wolfe's writing throughout the whole story. It's intelligent, it's masterful, and it's art. It also makes the book one that's not suitable for reading in short chunks.
Originally, I flipped through the book and resolved not to read it because it was full of "made up" words, and I can't stand books like that. They get tacky and annoying very quickly. Then my husband sold me on the absolutely fascinating story, and I realized two very important things about Gene Wolfe. The first was that every other sci-fi or fantasy book I've read which is packed with alternate words for everyday things is a cheap imitation of Wolfe. The second was that his words aren't "made up" - they're either archaic and unfamiliar English, or logical progressions thereof. The world in which The Book of the Long Sun is set is one in which several generations have passed, and for the common folk language has morphed and evolved into a strange sort of bastard patois which, once you get the hang of it, makes sense and is also ingenious. For example, street people and soldiers using various forms of the word "chill" to refer to killing, or someone being dead. What's a current slang for killing? Putting someone on ice! British slang, mostly the offensive sort, works its way in to substitute for common American curses, like "shag" and its variants in place of "fuck" et al., which I find quite funny as a lot of people I know consider British cursing to be appropriate, to not be swearing, to be unoffensive, which is absolutely ludicrous, but it happens. My absolute favourite language twist of Wolfe's has to be the word "lily" substituting for "truth". We say "gilding the lily" or "don't gild the lily" to refer to embellishing something that's so perfect and beautiful it needs to enhancement or alteration. Just like the truth. Brilliant.
In the end, though, what makes The Book of the Long Sun truly worth reading is what makes any book truly worth reading: its deep and thoughtful message, one easily and often hijacked by hysteria and hyperbole, does not take precedence over the quality of the story. Nor does the quality of the story take precedence over the message, relegating it to a backseat. Here, message and story are equally important, depending on and complimenting each other, and quality and artistic integrity is never sacrificed as they all too commonly are when writers have a Big Idea. Anyone who's read a good book or watched a good movie that had something to say knows that there's no reason why story and message shouldn't coexist in perfect harmony. If you aren't sure what that harmony looks like, may I suggest reading Gene Wolfe. And if you've ever read an article about who sci-fi is the best genre for exploring and explaining the human condition, but weren't convinced, The Book of the Long Sun should be suitable proof.
The Book of the Long Sun (comprised of Nightside of the Long Sun, Lake of the Long Sun, Calde of the Long Sun, and Exodus from the Long Sun, volumes published from 1993-1996) is a Dyson Sphere allegory set against the exploration of the fallout of false religion, and the free-will debate that was a very big deal at the time this story was written, as worked out by a writer who has spent many years considering and practicing the truth. Its protagonist, twenty-three year-old Silk, is an augur of the false gods, and the story opens with him receiving an enlightening vision from a largely forgotten, minor god known as the Outsider. The Outsider tells Silk that it is his responsibility to "save his manteion" (a sort of church/school/monastery, over which Silk presides), and that he should not expect to receive any help from the Outsider, as Silk is the help the Outsider has sent. Silk's interpretation of this command then sets off a chain of events which, in a series of four or five days, lead to a full-scale revolution in the city-state of Viron, with Silk at its head. Though he interprets the warning to expect no help as a warning that he will receive no help, help comes to him in such varied forms as a local high-profile thief, a couple of prostitutes, a quiet and timid nun, a talking bird with a serious fixation on fish heads, a "legitimate businessman", and even a few of the gods themselves.
It's hard to figure out where to begin discussing this story, because my main goal is to convince whoever's reading this to read it, and it's not an easy story to summarize, and probably even harder to sell. It's what is commonly referred to in literary circles as "hard" or "high-concept" sci-fi, a genre that isn't quick or simple, very off-putting in its appearance but ironically often more accessible to those who avoid sci-fi as a whole because it's primary concern is story, whereas "low" sci-fi is more concerned with setting and all the trappings of the genre. It's also a dense work of literature, and I don't mean long, I mean dense. Averaging under five hundred pages per volume, and totaling just over a thousand in trade paperback format for the whole shebang, The Book of the Long Sun is easily half the length of the average epic and/or high-concept sci-fi/fantasy story. However, nothing's missing, and no space is wasted. Wolfe accomplishes this in two ways that are somewhat radical in the literary world: first, he dispenses with traditional descriptive writing, offering visual descriptions only as immediately necessary. For example, when Silk first encounters one of the mechanical military "guard dogs" known as taluses, Wolfe offers a description of the talus only as necessary to convey the experience of encountering one. In other words, that initial description is visually incomplete, and it is only until later in the story - when it becomes important to understand what a talus looks like - that he paints the rest of the picture. It's an unusual device that takes some getting used to, but it leaves nothing out and it's absolutely brilliant. It keeps the story moving where other stories take a time-out to gawk. The second way in which Wolfe tells a full and thoughtful story in a flowing and economical fashion is by thinking. As anyone who reads this blog can attest, the hardest aspect of writing is communicating one's full intentions while being concise. The Book of the Long Sun is packed with big ideas, ethos, theologies and philosophies that Wolfe has evidently been pondering for years, probably decades, and which he manages to fully express in the space of two to four sentences. For example, towards the end of the second or beginning of the third volume (I'm afraid it's gone back to the library, so I can't be more precise), Silk has a conversation in which an android, explaining how the world is (having much more empirical knowledge on that count than Silk), makes a casual mention of how "chems" (chemical people) are more valuable than humans, because chems take seventy or eighty years to make, and are not easily replaced, but humans are quick and easy to make, and we grow them inside ourselves. It's a loaded thought on the value of life and casual attitudes towards sex; there's at least a whole semester's worth of bioethics class to be had out of that one brief exchange, and it is typical of Wolfe's writing throughout the whole story. It's intelligent, it's masterful, and it's art. It also makes the book one that's not suitable for reading in short chunks.
Originally, I flipped through the book and resolved not to read it because it was full of "made up" words, and I can't stand books like that. They get tacky and annoying very quickly. Then my husband sold me on the absolutely fascinating story, and I realized two very important things about Gene Wolfe. The first was that every other sci-fi or fantasy book I've read which is packed with alternate words for everyday things is a cheap imitation of Wolfe. The second was that his words aren't "made up" - they're either archaic and unfamiliar English, or logical progressions thereof. The world in which The Book of the Long Sun is set is one in which several generations have passed, and for the common folk language has morphed and evolved into a strange sort of bastard patois which, once you get the hang of it, makes sense and is also ingenious. For example, street people and soldiers using various forms of the word "chill" to refer to killing, or someone being dead. What's a current slang for killing? Putting someone on ice! British slang, mostly the offensive sort, works its way in to substitute for common American curses, like "shag" and its variants in place of "fuck" et al., which I find quite funny as a lot of people I know consider British cursing to be appropriate, to not be swearing, to be unoffensive, which is absolutely ludicrous, but it happens. My absolute favourite language twist of Wolfe's has to be the word "lily" substituting for "truth". We say "gilding the lily" or "don't gild the lily" to refer to embellishing something that's so perfect and beautiful it needs to enhancement or alteration. Just like the truth. Brilliant.
In the end, though, what makes The Book of the Long Sun truly worth reading is what makes any book truly worth reading: its deep and thoughtful message, one easily and often hijacked by hysteria and hyperbole, does not take precedence over the quality of the story. Nor does the quality of the story take precedence over the message, relegating it to a backseat. Here, message and story are equally important, depending on and complimenting each other, and quality and artistic integrity is never sacrificed as they all too commonly are when writers have a Big Idea. Anyone who's read a good book or watched a good movie that had something to say knows that there's no reason why story and message shouldn't coexist in perfect harmony. If you aren't sure what that harmony looks like, may I suggest reading Gene Wolfe. And if you've ever read an article about who sci-fi is the best genre for exploring and explaining the human condition, but weren't convinced, The Book of the Long Sun should be suitable proof.
Saturday, April 3, 2010
Dialogues of the Week!
Oh, it's a close tie - between new episodes of Fringe and Human Target (shocking, I know).
From Fringe, Episode 2.16, "Peter", where Walter explains and confesses himself to Olivia after she has become able to see objects from the other universe, and now knows that Peter is one of them. In this scene, a flashback to 1985, Walter has seen his double (or, as he likes to call him, "Walternate" - isn't that great?) make a critical error in observation that will result in him missing the cure for Peter's terminal illness, thus ensuring that Peter 2 will meet the same fate as Peter 1, and resolves to cross over to prevent this from happening.
Dr. Carla Warren: Walter, I'm sorry, but you can't.
Dr. Walter Bishop: Yes, yes, I think I can.
Dr. Warren: No, I mean you can't. Shattering the wall between universes would rupture the fundamental constants of nature...
Walter: ...That's just a theory; we don't know it to be true.
Dr. Warren: It's a good theory, it's why we've been lying to the military and telling them it's impossible... Walter. There has to be a line somewhere; there has to be a line we can't cross.
Walter: (after a long pause) I've always considered you as a scientist, Dr. Warren, despite your personal needs for religious claptrap. I see I was wrong.
Dr. Warren: "I am become death, the destroyer of worlds."
Walter: Don't you quote Oppenheimer to me!
It was a fantastic episode of what surprisingly became a fantastic show, packed with great twists on the standard cliches, and the series is well worth taking a look at. Caveat: you may want to avoid the introductions of most episodes, in which the deaths of the week usually occur, as those deaths are of the sci-fi/horror variety (think Alien or The Thing) and tend to be extremely nauseating.
On HumanTarget 1.10, "Tanarak", a standard tale of a mining company trying to cover up the nature of an unnatural, chemical-related death that's elevated out of the standardized drudge through great acting, great direction, doing things like watching Mythbusters (in the episode's climactic scene, main character Chris Chance grabs a flare gun to blow up a semi instead of using his sidearm, since gas tanks are made to not blow up simply by being punctured or shot - but a flaming puncture is a whole other story!), and, of course, great writing. This week goes again to Jackie Earle Haley's Guerrero, as he blackmails the mining company's corporate fixer:
Guerrero: (entering the startled fixer's car) Whoa, hey Taggart! Been awhile!...Oh yeah, I get it. I could be recording this, right? If I were you, I wouldn't say a word either. So here's the deal. I know you're working with Agrius. You're scrubbing evidence over this whole propylide mess, and I also know, dude, even if you destroy it all, you're keeping one folder for yourself, the one with the really good stuff in it. The one that guarantees you get paid on time, they never mess with you. Problem is this: this company's going down, bro. I think we both know there's no reason for you to be anywhere near it when it does. Make sense? ...Oh, what's in it for you? Dude. How about doing the right thing? How about just the satisfaction of knowing you helped a really good person out of a rotten situation (breaks down snickering) dude, I'm messing with you! I know where you live! And you know it! Tom's Diner, Nineteenth and Pine. Just leave the folders in the back booth by the can, okay? Tell your wife I said hi. (exits the car) See you, Taggart!
The cherry on top here is really that, in a three-man operation, the smallest one is their creepy, dangerous thug. It's a great running visual.
From Fringe, Episode 2.16, "Peter", where Walter explains and confesses himself to Olivia after she has become able to see objects from the other universe, and now knows that Peter is one of them. In this scene, a flashback to 1985, Walter has seen his double (or, as he likes to call him, "Walternate" - isn't that great?) make a critical error in observation that will result in him missing the cure for Peter's terminal illness, thus ensuring that Peter 2 will meet the same fate as Peter 1, and resolves to cross over to prevent this from happening.
Dr. Carla Warren: Walter, I'm sorry, but you can't.
Dr. Walter Bishop: Yes, yes, I think I can.
Dr. Warren: No, I mean you can't. Shattering the wall between universes would rupture the fundamental constants of nature...
Walter: ...That's just a theory; we don't know it to be true.
Dr. Warren: It's a good theory, it's why we've been lying to the military and telling them it's impossible... Walter. There has to be a line somewhere; there has to be a line we can't cross.
Walter: (after a long pause) I've always considered you as a scientist, Dr. Warren, despite your personal needs for religious claptrap. I see I was wrong.
Dr. Warren: "I am become death, the destroyer of worlds."
Walter: Don't you quote Oppenheimer to me!
It was a fantastic episode of what surprisingly became a fantastic show, packed with great twists on the standard cliches, and the series is well worth taking a look at. Caveat: you may want to avoid the introductions of most episodes, in which the deaths of the week usually occur, as those deaths are of the sci-fi/horror variety (think Alien or The Thing) and tend to be extremely nauseating.
On HumanTarget 1.10, "Tanarak", a standard tale of a mining company trying to cover up the nature of an unnatural, chemical-related death that's elevated out of the standardized drudge through great acting, great direction, doing things like watching Mythbusters (in the episode's climactic scene, main character Chris Chance grabs a flare gun to blow up a semi instead of using his sidearm, since gas tanks are made to not blow up simply by being punctured or shot - but a flaming puncture is a whole other story!), and, of course, great writing. This week goes again to Jackie Earle Haley's Guerrero, as he blackmails the mining company's corporate fixer:
Guerrero: (entering the startled fixer's car) Whoa, hey Taggart! Been awhile!...Oh yeah, I get it. I could be recording this, right? If I were you, I wouldn't say a word either. So here's the deal. I know you're working with Agrius. You're scrubbing evidence over this whole propylide mess, and I also know, dude, even if you destroy it all, you're keeping one folder for yourself, the one with the really good stuff in it. The one that guarantees you get paid on time, they never mess with you. Problem is this: this company's going down, bro. I think we both know there's no reason for you to be anywhere near it when it does. Make sense? ...Oh, what's in it for you? Dude. How about doing the right thing? How about just the satisfaction of knowing you helped a really good person out of a rotten situation (breaks down snickering) dude, I'm messing with you! I know where you live! And you know it! Tom's Diner, Nineteenth and Pine. Just leave the folders in the back booth by the can, okay? Tell your wife I said hi. (exits the car) See you, Taggart!
The cherry on top here is really that, in a three-man operation, the smallest one is their creepy, dangerous thug. It's a great running visual.
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