Discourse - Lucifer: Mansions of the Silence Volume 6 by Mike Carey

At first, it seemed that this was a fairly plot centric volume: find Elaine. Talk to God the Father.

And then wham.

Surprise visit of Holy-Shit-They-Actually-Went-There.

Yes. That is a literary term.

Meet Jill Presto:



mother to be of a magical baby because the tarot people raped her and impregnated her with it. Throughout the course of the story, the boy has become corporeal and is trying to cozy up to mother dearest, declaring his love for her and trying to convince her that she must love him too:





Then he becomes injured in the course of the story as he steps in to protect his vessel/mother.



And she does make her decision:




Please, Jill. Tell us how you /really/ feel. This is where I first began to stagger. I mean, you just don't see mothers acting like this in a lot of pop cultury things. I mean, even Gabriel still loved her demon spawn from Xena: Warrior Princess.

But then this took the cake:



Excuse me while I have a holy-shit moment.

Perhaps this doesn't seem so significant if viewed in a bubble -- but consider:

Take Fringe for example. Where "abortion" is never even mentioned as an option (even when it's later revealed that the pregnancy would probably kill both mother and child).

Then there's another show called Invasion -- it's about aliens, but what's the first symptom that aliens have been fiddling with the humans? When women stop acting like mothers. So -- you have a mother abandoning her kid (side character played by the chick that plays Peggy on Mad Men, btw). Then you have another primary character who's a doctor. She doesn't seem to be Off because she stops being such a good job. Oh no. Something's wrong because she stops being a good mom. She doesn't call her kids and tell them that she's going to be late after a big ass hurricane.

It's the Monstrous Mothers trope -- women so far perverted that they reject the very fiber of their being -- their motherhood -- and thus become irredeemable monsters.

And here this is being subverted in a glorious fashion.

Jill doesn't want to be a mother. She wants to have a career and have good sex. She is furious when someone tries to tell/force her that she needs to love this child. I really appreciate how they position love as a choice, as an action springing forth from someone's agency, instead of something natural.

It's self-validating. Individuality first, role second.



But the volume wasn't just about motherhood -- it was about fatherhood too. Because God the Father is abandoning the Silver City and randomness/chaos is about to ensue. Gabriel feels betrayed, Lucifer is hardly surprised. Though perhaps my favorite line so far in regards to Lucifer and God the Father is this:

FOR YOU ARE THE KING OF CONTRIVANCE AND MANIPULATION, MY SAMAEL, BUT IN THAT, AS IN ALL THINGS -- YOU LEARNED FROM YOUR FATHER.

Slytherins! The lot of them. And I fucking love it. I'm hoping the fatherhood theme will play out more in further episodes, but I just find the juxtaposition of a masculine character and a feminine character abandoning certain roles society has thrust upon them to be fascinating.

And, of course, I like the subversion of the typical concept of God so prevalent in Judeo-Christian societies. I mean, I don't think that "contrivance" and "manipulations" would be the first adjectives the average person would use to describe "god."

Discourse - Lucifer Volume 5: Inferno

I have to say that this is probably my least favorite of the series so far. Which isn't really saying anything because I stayed up past my bedtime reading it, Mazikeen is still my personal hero, and Lucifer is still up to his usually charismatic, trickster self.

I guess I got the feeling that this text was all about setting pieces in order for more substantial character arts and Awesome Happenings -- which is totally okay. Set-up whets the appetite for more. If every minute of everything was awesome, then there would not be an awesome.

I wasn't really expecting Mazikeen's husband to show up. That was an interesting story-line -- I like how she defeated him, how because she was a woman, nobody taught her, nobody expected her to learn -- but she did. Empowering.

I also liked the character Lys. She's been infected with humanity, she's scrabbling for her father's authority. All good stuff. Looking forward to see what'll happen next with her.

I think when one of the most tender moments was when Duma came to Lucifer's aid. There is so little compassion -- true compassion -- like that left in the world. I find it utterly beautiful wherever I see it. And when he tells Lucifer that three have defied God's will -- he looks so sad.

Speaking of compassion -- there was an odd little arc about Miss Zim'et and Sabah. There is this trope that the Big Bad is always going to want human life, babies, or some virgin -- but they wanted Sabah's tumor, thus saving his life. I wasn't really expecting that, and I thought it hinted at an interesting direction. I hope to see more of where this leads.

I guess the most surprising character was Solomon -- I wasn't really expecting him to show up. I'm glad that they kind of commentaried on that blind fanatacism, forcing them to question whether they truly are doing God's will, even if they think they are.

Good stuff.

Discourse - Lucifer Volume 4: The Divine Comedy

Unfortunately, again, I cannot remark at length about the text and must limit myself to highlights only.

Lucifer as Anti-hero, Lucifer as Character

This text introduced an interesting juxtaposition of Lucifer.

First, it begins with Lucifer revealing himself to the citizens of his newly populated world. He towers above them, a figure of strength, and a taker of no bullshit.



His first command is the forbidden commandment of worship.

This is, inherently, an image of strength. Lucifer is beautiful in his rebellion, in his absolute self assuredness, in his confidence, and, most importantly, in himself.

However, as the draws towards its end, that strength is undercut with a newly revealed aspect of his character.

It's not when he falls when the Cards attempt to establish themselves as gods in his universe. It's not when he falls prey to a magical attack from behind (a plot point simmering since volume 2), it's not even when he goes forward into hell to face the angel completely powerless (which is, ironically, an image of strength in and of itself).



It's when he converses with Death that he reveals the fragility of his character, of his inexorable will.



He does not accept death, he flings himself against her in anger and denial - and she cooly, confidently gives him a piece of her mind and advice while she's at it.



The differences between their manners is staggering -- and it adds more depth to an already complex character.

I think that's one of the reasons I love this image so much:



It incapsulates the very nature of their conversation.

And it is beautiful.

As for the anti-hero - Lucifer knows how Elaine adores him. How she loves him. How she'd do anything, absolutely anything. How young she is.

And he does not warn her that in giving life to him, she will sacrifice it for herself.



That moment is so poignantly sad.

I love how Carey isn't afraid to make it absolutely real.

Lucifer, Michael, and Yahweh

I liked how Lucifer and Michael became two sides of the same coin essentially. Lucifer is full of this inexorable will, Michael full of creative power. Without them both, the new universe would never have come to be.



They are, in a way, a circle, incomplete without the other. And this is seen even more clearly in Michael's fall.

I'm eager to see how volumes 5 and onwards will explore this circle that's sort of coming into light. And, of course, I could be misreading it, but I hope I'm not.

I love how offended Lucifer was when Death compared him to Yahweh -- even as he conveniently ignores all their other similarities: creation (the big bang encore), a first people, appearing on high and delivering a commandment - simply differing on the nature of the commandment.

It's interesting that in this and other literature about the devil, folks have always commented on Lucifer's pride, the pride that eventually lead to his downfall.

Yet, he commands people not to worship anybody -- not even him.

And, on the contrary, the god of the Bible is a jealous god, demanding the sole worship of himself.

It's just interesting, the juxtaposition of the two characters in parallel with each other.

I also liked the subtle (and not so subtle) commentary on religion. Lucifer's world was perfectly happy and content without religion -- they were beautiful and intelligent, so much so that Rachel slips into that universe with wonder and amazement.

This world - torn apart by war and there are still nations living impoverished and uneducated.

And it's only when the Cards come claiming to be gods that true, national disaster strikes.

My atheist heart thrilled.

Discourse - Lucifer Volume 3: Dalliance With The Damned

Unfortunately, this is going to be less a review and more of a highlights. So, without further adieu (since I still have Volume 4 to read and it's due back at the library tomorrow):

Lucifer as God; Angels as Demons

Still enjoying the inversion that's going on here. Lucifer makes his realm and his only command is

Bow down to no one. Worship no one. Not even me. Do you understand?

So beautiful.

And then of course one of the angels comes to the man in the form of a serpent, inspiring doubt in the man's (the man's! gender-bender) about Lucifer's role as creator as well, the paradox (so popular in Christian mythology) of freedom in slavery to a deity, polarizing opinions of good and evil, the philosophy that the end (or, in his words, the intent) justifies the means, the nature of desire, and other things of a philosophical nature that I wish I had the time to more thoroughly think about.



Still. Gender-bendery goodness, nature of good and evil, all good stuff.

Mazikeen

Yesterday, I enthused how Mazikeen didn't tie herself down to Lucifer and how she went off on a journey and how I still liked it, regardless of how much the reader saw of her journey or not.

Well. I'm here to tell you that Mazikeen's journey was bad ass.

She goes to find her identity, and is instead elected leader of the Lilim after she outwits her trial (since her fellows thought she had betrayed them by staying with Lucifer).

And when in hell, someone introduces her as Lucifer's consort? Oh no. She's having none of that.



Also, I really love how she refused to play act by costuming to the period that Hell had set as its desktop.



I also think I want her t-shirt: normal consciousness will be resumed.
I think I know my next Halloween costume. Oh yes.

So, in volume 2 she left to find her face -- a quest for identity. And then she found her identity in a role of leader of the Lilim. And when Lucifer refused to ally himself with them -- she didn't stay again. She left with her people. I think that's so great.



And you know what's also great? That Lucifer isn't threatened by her not staying with him all the damn time.

Pain As A Drug

One of the things I've learned in my writing class is that people -- and especially writers -- thrive off the misfortune of others. We love to gossip about it. Etc.

I've often thought about this -- noticing the little ways I myself take pleasure in the pain or discomfit of others (I can only speak for myself, but I think every individual has their own private bit of themselves that enjoys the non-happiness of others in their own unique way).

And that was illustrated (heh, pun) here, with the pain powder that was...orgasmic. But it was orgasmic because it wasn't true pain, not like he later describes:

One of the nobility of hell has picked me out to be her toy. Compared to you I am happy indeed. But somehow it rings like false coin. Do you remember the first lad or lass you loved? When you felt your chest was too narrow to hold your heart? When it seemed the world was made anew by your passion? And do you remember the fear that comes with love? The fear that it cannot last? The fear that you cannot be worthy of it? Truly we were not. none of us. But did it not come anyway? How we have poured our souls into another's lips and eyes. How we have died and been born again in the ebb and flow of their breath. All gone. The flesh you loved is dust. The words you whispered stir no echoes. And it may e that the one you loved most dearly sits at supper now with angels, and has forgotten your name. They think they mortify us with whips and wheels. But then, they have neither lived, nor loved. In truth -- they know nothing of pain at all.

I found that an interesting concept.

Lucifer as Anti-hero

There's this problem, see, with anti-heroes in stories. Anti-heroes walk a fine line. They can't be too base because then they'd make poor protagonists and then nobody would like them anymore.

Sometimes writers try to avoid this by defanging or declawing them, as it were. Spike sort of went through something similar (unfortunately).

It's difficult because you don't want them to stagnate and be boring, but they can't really be someone whom they're not at the same time (I fancy all characters have this problem, it's just really obvious and more noticeable with anti-heroes in my experience).

So, there are these two scenes where Lucifer is a magnificent anti-hero -- and the writers could have shied away and had him done something more palatable.

But they didn't.



First, he gives a demon a soul. I mean that's just. Wow, that's just cruel. And I'm in awe of it and yet, at the same time, that's...cruel (well, I suppose one doesn't become lord of hell for nothing). But yet - it's a testament to the multi-facetedness of the character.

The second bit was when some kids snuck into his house -- and prayed to God. Of course, he wouldn't save them for that. It reminded me of those people who are like -- and thank god my loved one survived this terrible accident when, in reality, it was because someone was a damned good doctor who gave a shit about his job.



So I really enjoyed that scene as a writer -- because Lucifer's still an anti-hero here instead of bowing out and taking the noble option -- and as a person who is appreciative of social commentary, wherever it can be found.

Discourse - Lucifer Volume 2: Children and Monsters

I really liked this one, especially in light of traditional Christian portrayal of Lucifer.

For example, it's continuously stated throughout the text that Lucifer is too proud to lie, which is in direct opposition to texts like Paradise Lost that portray Lucifer as the great deceiver (I really want to write about that but I'm afraid it's going to have to wait, cry cry cry).



My rebellious, atheistic spirit also appreciated the parallel of Lucifer to Christ: three days in "hell" -- with a kind of resurrection. I think it's good to have antagonistic characters like Lucifer - it keeps people on our toes about what we think of as good and evil.

I also enjoyed the portrayal of the angels as major assholes without a care who gets caught in the crossfire in their desire to eradicate Lucifer and expand the domain of heaven (wow, sounds almost human). In fact, one of the characters even calls them "scumbags." Again, I think this challenge of what people typically consider good is an excellent way to keep people examining their value systems.



(I wouldn't be even slightly surprised if Eric Kripke admitted he slept with both Sandman and Lucifer under his pillow.)

Finally, even though she wasn't a really player in this volume, I really appreciated the character Mazikeen. Throughout the books, she's constantly shown with a mask over her face (I don't remember if the reader ever saw her without the mask in the Sandman volumes or not), and finally, in this Lucifer volume, the reader gets to see how the other half of her face looks like.

Well, throughout the course of the action, a well-meaning character manages to heal her entirely -- in other words, her face is now completely healed.

In fact, she is beautiful.

But it isn't her face, and Mazikeen is very resentful of that someone took it from her.



I really like this on several levels.

One, her identity is not rooted in her level of attractiveness. So many times there are these stories that show women pursuing this societally constructed definition of beauty, in fact, rooting their identity in such a cause (I'm thinking of flicks like the Princess Diaries where you having the ugly duckling transformed into the beautiful swan and somehow finding herself in the journey from average jane to stunning sex-bot).

I find Mazikeen's a delightful twist on this particular trope in literature.

Two, for a long time she has served Lucifer. However, she refuses to wait for him to help her and, when he is busy with his own plots and schemes, she goes off on her own to find her face. To find her identity.

I don't know how much of her journey the reader will see, but that she just went off on her own was such a delightful and unexpected example of women going off on their own journeys. So many times, women are presented as sacrificing their own identities in order to help men along on their own coming-of-age journeys, and it was just so nice to see something different and empowering.



I am seriously crushing on Mazikeen. Not beautiful Mazikeen, but masked Mazikeen.

Just the inversion of so many tropes - so many times, masks are seen in literature as personas that hide a true identity. Yet Mazikeen uses the mask to express her identity - it is a part of her.

Yes. Much love to Mazikeen.

Discourse: A Brief Note About Lucifer the Graphic Novel

I just finished reading Lucifer: Devil in the Gateway by Mike Carey.

This is a spin off from Neil Gaiman's amazingly epic and awesome Sandman books. And if you haven't read them, go and do so. I highly recommend it because they are beautiful and wonderful.

Unfortunately, I was an idiot and dropped off this particular graphic novel (the Lucifer one) at the library because I temporarily forgot I was blogging about the books I read. Oh well, I think the strongest story was the Six Card Spread storyline anyway.

I learned two things.

1). I should really, really educate myself regarding the Tarot
2). Lucifer is a delicious anti-hero and I would kill to see Mark Pellegrino play him in a tv series (or mini series!) based on the graphic novels.

However, there was this one particular moment in the Six Card Spread issue that was very - poignant. It was set in Germany, and one of the characters, a blond-headed boy (Karl), got himself messed up with some. Well, let's just call them Nazis, shall we? They would find people who weren't like Them and beat them up. Because they could.

Unfortunately, there's another boy who has a crush on Karl. He is not German (Indian, I believe). And he is a homosexual.

And he finally gathers the strength to ask out Karl. Who meets in an alley with his Nazi friends who commence beat the shit out of him. And do something nasty to his genitalia.

It's a very disturbing scene. More so because it happens in real life.

Anyway, Karl goes out drinking with his friends, then excuses himself to piss in order to call an ambulance. He's obviously a bit emotionally distraught and when the ambulance people are being thick, he shouts that he will show them where his victim was.

While he's waiting, he runs into his employer (who is an angel, a bookstore keeper, and distraught since Lucifer has dealt him a very nasty blow) who understands what has happened. And there is an exchange between the two of them that I wish I had photographed and put up here because I think it's beautiful - even if it is maybe on the cliche side, with the focus on bullying lately, etc. Though maybe it's not, since it was published in 2001.

He told Karl that it wasn't the fact that the boy he had just beaten up (I wish I could remember his name) was attracted to him that had made him angry, but because Karl was angry with himself for being sexually aroused by him.

And I was like - yes. This.

So many people are afraid to love themselves, to accept themselves. And it's so destructive not only to the individual in question, but to those around them.

Anyway, it was particularly heartbreaking when the parents of the boy thanked Karl for calling the police, because he might not have been found alive otherwise.

That just about broke my heart.

I wasn't very old in 2001 -- only about 13, raised in an ultra conservative household where I didn't even know homosexuality existed. So to me, looking back - this seems like such a powerful thing to say. And I really appreciate that.

Anyway, excellent series so far -- highly recommend it.

Super Sad True Love Story: A Review

I finished reading Super Sad True Love Story today (I've already returned the book because I hadn't expected to blog about it, so forgive the absence of quotes to demonstrate what I'm talking about). For the most part, I enjoyed reading it. I understand it's satire -- which is something I still have trouble grasping even as English student, total fail -- which is why I was hesitant at first to publicly muse about it. However, I find myself compelled to write about it, if only to collect my thoughts.

As a dystopian novel, it's pretty brilliant. The population is obsessed with these äppäräti (computers on steroids) which rank you in the world: fuckability, attractiveness, etc etc etc. It seemed like a future stage in evolution for the people who are constantly on their social networks or buried away in their iPods. At one point, when the äppäräti is disconnected, a person commits suicide because he felt as if he couldn't really connect to anybody, that he looked out at the world and the human faces were not enough.

Kind of creepy. Kind of disturbing. Yet...I could see it happening. Maybe. It reminds me of a Victorian piece I read for class, actually, and how the author mourned that people didn't know each other in the big cities, that they were egotistically indifferent to their fellow humans (and we still criticize this aspect of the big cities even today).

The second element of satire I noticed was the quest for eternal youth in science. The protagonist worked for a company that would help their clients live forever through various processes that sounded very time consuming and expensive. And it reminded me so much of the magazines I see -- urging people to look younger, to make those wrinkles go away, color that grey hair away, to chuck everything that's human into the bin, as Rose would say. The author introduced an idea that I felt was not followed through enough: that as people underwent the processes that would make them younger, the constant rewiring of their brain synapses would change their personality.

Isn't that fascinating? Isn't that true on some sort of level -- especially if someone becomes obsessed with their appearance, their youth, their age?

I thought it was brilliant and I wish it had played a much more significant part in the text itself.

The third element of satire I noticed was how the American government was becoming positively totalitarian -- and nobody really seemed to care or notice (I especially liked the stabs to Right Wing Fox News). Everybody throughout the novel is too concerned with how fuckable they are, how much money they have, whether they are important to society to even wonder what the hell is happening around them. Self absorbent, the lot of them.

So as a dystopian novel, it works for me.

What does not work for me, was the representations of gender.

We get more of Lenny's story (the protagonist) than we get of Eunice (the token love interest). At first, he sees her as this pixie dream girl and then is shocked when he was mistaken about who she was, that she was broken and in need of fixing (this is a paraphrased quote).

This typical fare for most love stories that I've seen, I believe -- so I don't believe this is part of the satire.

Throughout the story, he muses how Eunice will raise his rankings (and she does -- he increases several hundred points in fuckability factor). This isn't really addressed in the story -- and yes, the reader sees that Eunice was using Lenny until someone better who had more to offer her (more for her to use) came along, but this is also so typical. How many stories have we seen where an average joe, usually unacttractive, is with a beautiful 80 pound woman? It's in almost every single sit com. How many stories have we seen a woman who is portrayed as simply being interested in shopping, material goods, and men who can help her achieve those things? All the time. How many stories have we seen a woman who has lousy self esteem, searching and searching for a man who will help her validate herself instead of just finding her own self-validation.

All. the fucking. time.

The only complexity that this story had to offer was that it was implied that one of the factors that influenced her decision was that the other man could help her protect her family more. But we don't really see her reasoning that out. The readers don't really get her side of the story -- not as much as Lenny's, that's for sure, and not enough to write her off as anything but typical.

Though Lenny was a product of his time, the readers could relate to more than that -- to his quest for more, for something of value and significance in the petty world in which he lived.

But with Eunice -- I didn't get that. I wanted more from her. I wanted her to be more. I'm tired of seeing women in love stories (even if they're super sad) as little more than objects of desire -- even if they're broken. And, somehow, it's supposed to absolve the guilt when we see that just as he uses her she's using him (and others) so that everybody can walk away with a cynical view of the world.

I don't mind cynicism -- I just like my cynicism to be complex.

The Man in the High Castle: A Discourse

I didn't really get a lot of it, which is embarrassing since I'm a senior in college, majoring in English. So you'd think I could put on my collegiate hat and spout off some academic jargon. Yeah, not so much.

So, I will instead explore my first impressions before I go on about my hap-hazard visit to Wikipedia that revealed some other interesting themes.

First Impressions

I really like What If It Had Happened This Way books, which is what The Man in the High Castle is (another example of which I was quite fond was Superman: Red Son). I think these books help us put things in perspective - instead of whites being empowered and privileged, other empowered people view them with prejudice, as lower "placed" individuals.

I also like the idea of "place" Dick explored - it reminded me of how empowered individuals would tell other, supposedly "inferior" individuals to "learn your place." And it's really disgusting, forcing people into these hierarchies that don't exist - or shouldn't exist. I think people who don't realize their privilege need to be able to see themselves in somebody else's shoes, and I believe this fostering of empathy is one of the greatest functions that literature serves.

It also tickled me that the titular character (oddly enough not one of the protagonists) was an author. Not only that, but his book, which revealed another alternate reality where the Allies won instead of the Axis powers, was banned. Yeah, that's right. Ban literature all you want - it just means people are going to read it and see the things you don't want them to see - perspectives will break upon them as a new dawn of realization. Literature is a weapon - the greatest weapon because it appeals to the intellect, to the brain - it wields ideas instead of fire and metal. And it is beautiful that, with all the might at their disposal, the Germans feared this book.

As I said above, the reader doesn't actually meet the author of the book, the man in the high castle, until the very last few pages, which only heightens how powerful ideas and literature and words really are. Quite elegant, really.

The Question Marks Form

Though I like the idea of this book, I must be utterly truthful: I had a difficult time feeling anything for the characters - I had difficulties relating to any one of them. It wasn't until the very end when something struck me:

And what will that leave, that Third World Insanity? Will that put an end to all life, of every kind, everywhere? When our planet becomes a dead planet, by our own hands?

He could not believe that. Even if all life on our planet is destroyed, there must be other life somewhere which we know nothing. It is impossible that ours is the only world; there must be world after world unseen by us, in some region or dimension that we simply do not perceive.

[. . .]

Whatever happens, it is evil beyond compare. Why struggle, then? Why choose? If all alternatives are the same...

Evidently we go on, as we always have. From day to day. At this moment, we work against Operation Dandelion [nuclear warfare]. Later on, at another moment, we work to defeat the police. But we cannot do it all at once; it is a sequence. An unfolding process. We can only control the end by making a choice at each step.

He thought, We can only hope. And try.

This was like -- Doctor Who, Rosencrantz and Guildenstern are Dead, and Angel all mixed together like a Reeses Peanutbutter with an Additional Very-Delicious-But-as-of-Yet Undiscovered Component. And then, it grieved me that those different stories in different mediums from different cultures from different time periods still address the same flaws of the human condition in a different language each time -- hoping, hoping, perhaps, that eventually we'll catch on and start being magnificent instead of "eat[ing] one another."

Double grr argh.

The idea of the alternate world connected with both Dick and the Man writing alternate versions of history reminded me of a fancy I had as a child: writers discover worlds, alternate dimensions (something kinda/sorta explored in the film Stranger than Fiction). Thus, writers are excavators, mining and discovering and exploring new entire worlds - perhaps gods themselves or simply rediscovering that which already existed (it really depended on my views of inspiration at the time).

But, I never really connected this idea with the rest of the novel until I read the wiki article about the themes of the text.

Which was highly embarrassing and discomfiting because I just saw Inception on Friday and I've been thinking about it nonstop over the weekend and I should have been wondering in bright, neon green, blinking signs if Nolan had been sleeping with Dick under his pillow. And that's not even mentioning the fact that I also just finished Life on Mars over the weekend which also explores reality vs. unreal worlds.

Because seriously. With all that hovering in the brain, you'd think the implications would have hit me like a bitch-slap but it did not!

Summer is not an excuse to take off one's thinking cap, but yet I apparently did. I do humbly apologize and swear to never do it again.

So, as can be seen in the link above, the reader is presented with these various scenes of authenticity verses fraud. There are fake artifacts and there are real artifacts. There is authentic history and alternative histories (ie, both the novel within the novel and the text itself) -- and there are even examples of this within the text (when Mr. Tagomi stumbles into a restaurant where the whites won't give up their seats as Mr. Wikipedia Article informs my furiously blushing ears). And then, of course, there is the scene where Julianna discovers through the I Ching or the Oracle that the Germans and the Japanese had actually lost the war. Before I read the wiki article, I had instead considered that the definitions of "winning" and "losing" were relative - perhaps the material measurement of land or power did not equate to "winning" -- or, perhaps, that in war everybody loses. However, by connecting their discovery (that the Axis had lost) to this idea of fake vs authentic universes/dimensions/experiences really heightens the complexity of the text for me (while also increasing my pique that I hadn't formulated the connection myself).

Which means that the Novel Within the Novel of the Text is just as true as the reality in which they live and that there are other worlds - each just as true as the other - or perhaps false as the other.

Truly mind-bending.

Guildenstern: There must have been a moment at the beginning, where we could have said no. Somehow we missed it. Well, we'll know better next time.

Angel: If nothing we do matters, then the only thing that matters is what we do.

Doctor: The future pivots around you - here, now. So do good. For humanity, and for earth.

Rudolf Wegener: We can only hope. And try.

Even if there aren't other universes, even if we can't be blessed like Mr. Tagomino with a glimpse of an alternative dimension to truly give us some perspective, even if we won't have an Oracle telling us that our world isn't the real world, we still have to construct our reality. With every choice we make, every idea we believe, every word we speak or write, we construct something with lasting consequences.

Still...we should all be like Juliana:

"How strange," Juliana said. "I never would have thought the truth would make you angry." Truth, she thought. As terrible as death. But harder to find. I'm lucky. "I thought you'd be as pleased and excited as I am. It's a misunderstanding, isn't it?"

Also, very Rosencrantz and Guildenstern...

I fear that I am not being very articulate at the moment so I shall end this. Very thoughtful book, I highly recommend it. And if you want your mind reeling under this exploration of authenticity vs. non-authenticity, read it after watching Inception and Life on Mars.

The Hitchhiker's Trilogy: A Discourse

I've never actually read The Hitchhiker's Trilogy before and, due to the fact they are library books, I wasn't able to give them the attention I would have liked to have given them. Nevertheless, I have enjoyed reading them for the most part because

1. The style is wonderful
2. Marvin the Paranoid Android
3. I "get it" when 10 said that he was very Arthur Dent in that Christmas special.

Yes, toddling onwards....

The Universe, as has been observed before, is an unsettling big place, a fact which for the sake of a quiet life most people tend to ignore [. . .] For when you are put into the [Total Perspective] Vortex you are given just one momentary glimpse of the entire unimaginable infinity of creation, and somewhere in it a tiny little marker, a microscopic dot on a microscopic dot which says, "You are here." -- The Restaurant at the End of the Universe.

Very Doctor Who, I thought.

The Universe -- some information to help you live in it.

1. AREA: Infinite.

The Hithhiker's Guide to the Galaxy offers this definition of the word "Infinite."

Infinite: Bigger than the biggest thing ever and then some. Much bigger than that in fact, really amazingly immense, a totally stunning size, real "wow, that's big," time. Infinity is just so big that by comparison, bigness itself looks really titchy. Gigantic multiplied by colossal multiplied by staggeringly huge is the sort concept we're trying to get across here.

[...]

4. POPULATION: None

It is known that there are an infinite number of worlds, simply because there is an infinite amount of space for them to be in. However, not every one of them is inhabited. Therefore, there must be a finite number of inhabited worlds. Any finite number divided by infinity is as near to nothing as makes no odds, so the average population of all the planets in the universe can be said to be zero. From this it follows that the population of the whole Universe is also zero, and that any people you may meet from time to time are merely the products of a deranged imagination. -- The Restaurant at the End of the Universe.

Which, in turn, was very Life on Mars.

It is worth repeating at this point the theories that Ford had come up with, on his first encounter with human beings, to account for their peculiar habit of continually stating and restating the very very obvious, as in "It's a nice day," or "you're very tall," or "So this is it, we're going to die."

His first theory was that if human beings didn't keep exercising their lips, their mouths probably shriveled up.

After a few months of observation he had come up with a second theory, which was this -- "If human beings don't keep exercising their lips, their brains start working." -- The Restaurant at the End of the Universe

Besides generally precipitating a further loss of faith in humanity, this actually reminded me of The Screwtape Letters, in which one of the writers (the titular character probably) recommended that his young apprentice fill the world with noise, noise, NOISE so that a body could scarce hear one's self think. And sometimes, I just wonder if both Adams and Lewis actually had a point as I once more valiantly determine to no longer utter inane, mundane platitudes.

I feel that pointing out similarities in one work of fiction to three other works of fiction ought to depress me. Where is the inspiration, I ought to ask, wringing my hands. I ought to follow through with with a general bewailment over the lack of true originality, shaded with a hint of hysterics to emphasize the tragic importance of this discovery. But no. It was like running into an old friend. Hello, Sam. Fancy meeting you here on this end of the Universe. Are you surprised to see me -- if works of fiction are real, do storybook characters perhaps, somewhere deep in their subconscious, harbor suspicions that their audience is simply the delusion of overblown egos in desperate need of some perspective? Ah look - there's Lewis. Let's give him a bit of a wave and then firmly turn our backs on him for what he did to poor Susan. I say, do you remember that time you popped into the red phone box to make a call? Ever fancy it was a TARDIS in disguise?

And then, I imagine, we all could have hooked arms with each other and gallivanted all over the Universe together - because that's what friends they do.

Number Two's eyes narrowed and became what are known in the Shouting and Killing People trade as cold slits, the idea presumably being to give your opponent the impression that you have lost your glasses or are having difficulty keeping awake. Why this is frightening is an, as yet, unresolved problem.

He advanced upon the Captain, his (Number Two's) mouth a thin hard line. Again, tricky to know why this is understood as fighting behavior. If, while wandering through the jungle of Traal, you were suddenly to come upon the fabled Ravenous Bugblatter Beast, you would have reason to be grateful if its mouth was a thin hard line rather than, as it usually is, a gaping mass of slavering fangs. -- The Restaurant at the End of the Universe

It was generally inconvenient to read this because I happened to be sitting in the doctor's office, waiting an obscene amount of time, and everybody knows it's impolite to laugh out loud (wildly and uncontrollably) in such a dour establishment.

But believe me, I was in hysterics on the inside. Especially since it seemed he was poking fun at all the body language tropes so many writers fall prey to (such as The Nod, the Turning-on-the-Heel, and the Biting of the Lip, etc).

It is worth mentioning at this point that I did read the Trilogy (though, due to an impending due date and a mess of other books to read, skimmed the last two and a half), I only had a pen handy for, well, only one of the five.

However, I did sally forth to find a pen when a certain passage in So Long and Thanks for all the Fish caused me to nearly cry:

A crash of sorrow on the shores of earth. [. . .] A fugue of voices now, clamoring explanations, of a diasaster unavertable, a world to be destroyed, a surge of helplessness, a spasm of despair, a dying fall, again the break of words.

And then the fling of hope, the finding of a shadow Earth in the implications of enfolded time, submerged dimensions, the pull of parallels, the deep pull, the spin of will, the hurl and split of it, the fight. A new Earth pulled into replacement, the dolphins gone.

Then stunningly a single voice, quite clear.

"This bowl was brought to you by the Campaign to Save the Humans. We bid you farewell."

And then the sound of long, heavy, perfectly gray bodies rolling away into an unknown fathomless deep, quietly giggling.

I don't understand why - perhaps it's because dolphins understand the human condition (plight?) and seem to be more aware that we are in desperate need of saving or that we ought to just buckle down and save ourselves or something.

It was, simply, unexpectedly poignant.

Wicked: A Discourse

I saw Wicked when I was in San Francisco.

It was amazing - high up on the balcony, a map of Oz serving as a curtain. Giant clockwork gears serving as a stage, more gears constructing the towers of the town, the castle, the Emerald City.

Tick-tock, tick-tock.

Surprisingly, Madam Morrible's Tick-Tock assassin did not make an appearance in the stage - nor was the Dragon Clock much a part of it. It leaves me wondering why the entire stage was composed of mechanical gears, grinding and grinding. Perhaps it's a metaphor of fate - which is odd because Elphaba, aka the Wicked Witch of the West, dodges her assumed "fate" with a lovely deus ex machina. After all, the opening number takes great pains to tell the audience that the wicked die alone (and they deserve it too, no doubt), thereby establishing a theory that features the world as black and white instead of shades of grey. Of course, the entire point of Wicked is complicating these assumed truths about wickedness and goodness and evil so I still don't see how the tick-tocky mechanicalness fits into everything. A clock is predictable - if the world was predictable it wouldn't be shades of grey - unless the very shades of greyness of everything is predictable.

Alright, now that I've given myself a headache overanalyzing one symbol I'll conclude with this: I really dug the set. It felt very steampunk. Even though it wasn't, of course.

Wicked The Play is vastly different from Wicked the Novel. Even though I believe that Maguire was too anxious to show off his SAT vocabulary (in ways detrimental to the story), I still love his revisioning of the tale. I also love elements of Wicked the Play's revisioning of the novel.

In the novel, the origin stories of the Tin Man and Scarecrow (though we do get a glimpse of the Cowardly Lion) are not addressed like they were in the Play. I prefer the Play's treatment of these characters. I liked that they were present in the musical, in comparison to their absence in the novel.

I particularly felt that the Tin Man was especially dark. Sure he's silver and a little adorable in the film with the saccharine powdered Judy Garland and, even though he has no literal heart, he has plenty of emotional heart.

Not so in the play. When Elphaba is painted as a wicked witch in need of a good old fashioned witch hunt (complete with pitchforks), he proclaims from the balcony --

And I will heartlessly murder her!

And the line thrilled me from my head to my toes and everything in between because it's so obvious and yet I've never really thought about it before. I mean - really!

As for the Scarecrow, in the novel Elphaba suspected (wrongly) that the Scarecrow could be her lost love, Fiyero. In the play, the scarecrow really is her lover -- and I really, really adored this because it just complicated things so much. There are threefold reasons why I adore this element to the play:

When he's on his knees in a cornfield with a red sky - surrounded by guards, confronted by G(a)linda, he is then carried away out of the foreground. Out of the spotlight, he and his captors become silhouettes. His hands are bound above his head to the shaft of spear, hands clawed over the piece of wood. The imagery, of course, foreshadows his fate to be the Scarecrow -- but for the brief moments he's silhouetted and bound, he's so fragile. I just found the image to be extremely powerful.

Elphaba turns Fiyero into a scarecrow because she was trying to save him, yet, at the same time -- a scarecrow is a thing. In the movie, the scarecrow wants a brain. In the play (and to a lesser extent the novel), Fiyero is, at first, quite frivolous and petty. Ultimately, Elphaba literally objectifies him when, before, her objectification was simply metaphorical when they both sang, "As long as you're mine" -- because, really, only objects can belong to someone. People shouldn't belong to people, even if it's in the name of love. And of course, whatever brains he once had is now replaced by straw...interesting how abstract heartlessness became concrete in the case of the Tinman but abstract brainlessness doesn't. Hum. Still, if someone took my brain away I would feel as if I had been obscenely violated -- of course, this isn't really addressed in the play. Too dark for show tunes, I suppose.

Despite the problematic conception of turning Fiyero into a scarecrow, I still understand why she did it -- I empathize with her:

Let him feel no pain
Let his bones never break
And however they try
To destroy him

This musical number was absolutely amazing. I need to see it again!

In the book, Fiyero actually died very abruptly. I prefer the play's vision (even though i disagree with their happily ever after bow). It's easy to feel guilty about being the cause of a lover's death, as Elphaba was in the novel -- it's more difficult understanding and experiencing the consequences of turning someone you love into a scarecrow. Death is the easy way out: it's final, it's inevitable. Everybody dies -- but not everybody ends up as a scarecrow.

Despite my fondness for the play, I really, really could not stand G(a)linda. She was a stereotypical blonde on steroids. It made me nauseous. I feel that her character -- even as it grew up a little towards the end -- could have been more complex. I'd also have liked a better reason for her betraying Elphaba (telling the wizard and the Madam that her weak spot was Nessarose) than the fact she was peeved that Elphaba had somehow taken Fiyero away from her. That is a very tired reason. I also think that Elphaba's, G(a)linda's, and Fiyero's relationships could have been developed more. It felt a little contrived: well, it would be cool if this happened so this could happen next!

Which is why I believe that a conglomeration of the novel and the play would make a most excellent tv show. Not a movie because a movie has to be too short -- but a tv show.

And I hated the ending of the play. Elphaba should have stayed dead, like she stayed dead in the book. The novel's ending was tragic. It was so tragic, I was a little shocked and numbed when I read it. I was all exclamation points and question marks and saucer eyes in a dumbfounded shake of the head. In the novel, Dorothy is attempting to go to the castle to apologize to Elphaba for killing her sister. But when Elphaba accidentally sets her broom on fire, Dorothy cries out, I'll save you as she dashes a bucket of water on Elphaba's head.

That's tragic and poignant and deeply heartbreaking.

But the play ended it with a cake that had too much sugar in its frosting and a bow too perfect to be real. My, what a convenient trap door (or should I call you deus ex machina instead?) that was.

Though I have to say, the way they had the "death" scene take place behind a curtain -- and Dorothy as a menacing shadow girl with pigtails -- was pretty brilliant.

But I still don't approve. The perfect little ending for the witch who had lost so much strips away the gravitas of the play, the seriousness of the question it posits at the beginning. A totally contrived ending about as real as a man made of straw.

Other than that, I loved it!

The Chocolate War: A Discourse

I honestly have no idea why I have never read this book before now.

I decided to simply read a new book for my thematic unit instead of going with something I've already read. Stay the cries of "Overachiever You Wench" because I was simply drawing a blank about stories that were about inhibited identity.

I really like The Chocolate War because it demonstrates how flawed social structures can become, how dangerous tradition can be, and how important it is for just one person to have the guts to say no. I also like how real the book was - there was no closure, no happy ending - Cormier didn't provide the message people wanted to hear, he didn't lie to the audience.

It was staggering. It was relentless.

It was a total downer.

And I appreciate that. I love that, even as it makes me uncomfortable, even as I howl like some kid -- it's not supposed to end like that.

One of the most powerful scenes in the book is this right here:

[Brother Leon has accused Bailey of cheating] "But look at the evidence, Bailey. Your marks -- All A's, no less. Every test, every paper, every homework assignment. Only a genius is capable of that sort of performance. Do you claim to be a genius, Bailey?" Toying with him. "I'll admit you look like one -- those glasses, that pointed chin, that wild hair..."

Leon leaned toward the class, tossing his own chin, awaiting the approval of laughter, everything in his manner suggesting the response of laughter from the class. And it came. They laughed. Hey, what's going on here, Jerry wondered even as he laughed with them.

...

Brother Leon whirled around. "Are you perfect, Bailey? All those A's -- that implies perfection. Is that the answer, Bailey...Only God is perfect, Bailey."

...

Cut it out, Brother, cut it out, Jerry cried silently.

...

A voice boomed from the rear of the classroom. "Aw, let the kid alone."

...

Brother Leon regarded them pityingly, shaking his head, a sad and dismal smile on his lips. "You poor fools," he said. "You idiots. Do you know who's the best one here? The bravest of all?" He placed his hand on Bailey's shoulder. "Gregory Bailey, that's who. He denied cheating. He stood up to my accusations. He stood his ground! But you, gentlemen, you sat there and enjoyed yourselves. And those of you who didn't enjoy yourselves allowed it to happen, allowed me to proceed. You turned this classroom into Nazi Germany for a few moments. Yes, yes, someone finally protested...A feeble protest, too little and too late....You did well, Bailey. I'm proud of you. You passed the biggest test of all -- you were true to yourself....Of course you don't cheat, Bailey," his voice tender and paternal. He gestured toward the class..."Your classmates out there. They're the cheaters. They cheated you today. They're the ones who doubted you -- I never did."

I think -- that is one of my greatest fear. That I am that classmate who said nothing. Who did nothing. Apathy, stagnation, zombie.

Gosh.

I don't ever want to betray myself or my brethren. But sometimes...sometimes...I wonder...if I already have.

2001: A Space Odyssey: A Discourse

I recently finished reading A Space Odyssey though, honestly, I had to re-read the title to make sure that it wasn't some doppleganger I was reading because it started with cave men.

And that's just about as far from space as one can possibly get.

I'd also like to take this opportunity to say that whoever created Stargate was obviously sleeping with a Space Odyssey under his pillow. I mean really, I'm surprised they didn't break copyright.

Not that I mind because I don't.

Running into such blatant inspirations doesn't get me all twisted into a pretzel. It's like cruising along in a space ship (maybe on a teeming planet like Coruscant) and running into an old friend who is also another friend of a different friend of yours!

Mutual friends!

Now. Let me bring out my mass paperback with a dazzling flourish (you'll just have to imagine it).

Though birth control was cheap, reliable, and endorsed by all the main religions, it had come too late; the population of the world was now six billion...

I laughed. And then I cried.

A few mystically inclined biologists went still further. They speculated, taking their cues from the beliefs of many religions, that mind would eventually free itself from matter. The robot body, like the flesh and blood one, would be no more than a stepping-stone to something which, long ago, men had called "spirit."

And if there was anything beyond that, its name could only be god.

Oh. My. Deity.

I can't decide which to say first: DOESN'T THIS SOUND FAMILIAR or STARGATE (complete with enthusiastic squees) or THOU ART GOD! YES, YOU, I MEAN YOU ARE GOD!

Call it the Star Gate.

zing!

But the age of the Machine-entities swiftly massed. In their ceaseless experimenting, they had learned to store knowledge in the structure of space itself, and to preserve their thoughts for eternity in frozen lattices of light. They could become creatures of radiation, free at last from the tyranny of matter.

Into pure energy, therefore, they presently transformed themselves; and on a thousand worlds, the empty shells they had discarded twitched for a while in a mindless dance of death, then crumbled into rust.

Ancients!

The thing's hollow -- it goes on forever -- and -- oh my God! -- it's full of stars!"

I wish to be immortal so that I, too, might see a gate full of stars.

Okay. Time for serious thoughts:

I'm really not sure what I think of this. I mean, I admit, I devoured it, like I do all new things.

But I'm not really sure what I think about the aliens helping mankind at the beginning, or with David's transformation at the end. For the record, when Daniel Jackson underwent a similar transformation on Stargate, I wasn't sure what I thought of that from a purely philosophical-ish point of view.

When David is approaching the faux hotel suite, the book itself says,

He was moving through a new order of creation, of which few men had ever dreamed. Beyond the realms of sea and land and air and space lay the realms of fire, which he alone had been privileged a glimpse. It was too much to expect that he would also understand.

He did not understand, and that's a pretty big deal for me. Failure to understand something or someone is the cause of so many ills in the world, whether large or small, it seems such a pity and a bit troubling that his evolution was upped a few notches.

It took years for the aliens themselves to ascend -- why should it be different for David?

I mean, ignoring the obvious reason that he'd be dead before then...

I was also expecting HAL to be in it more -- every time mentioned Space Odyssey it was like, HAL this and HAL that and he's in it for like...a few pages at best.

Though his death scene was tragic. I was sad.

Also, the novel made me very wistful.

It's 2010 now and we are so far from Clarke's 2001.

Changing Planes: A Discourse

Changing Planes is actually a bundle of short stories about switching planes or dimensions while whiling the time away at those miserable things called air ports. Though there isn't a lot gadgetry or cyborgs, I would consider Changing Planes scientific if only because it asks and obliquely answers various "what if" questions. Since the narrator is a native of Earth's plane (or so it's implied), her reactions toward the society, culture, and history of the planes she visits are described in detail, fulfilling Asimov's requirement and, since it is mostly focuses on the people, it also provides ample opportunity for exploration of the soul.

A major theme I noticed was that of exploitation, whether it was citizens of a plane doing it to other citizens of the same plane, or evil Corporate earthlings taking over someone else's Islands and turning them into a capitalistic, 365 day a year, holiday theme parks (or something similar). Sometimes, though, the question was poised about whether it was good that other cultures should ignore the visitors and the culture they had to offer.

Anyway, here are my thoughts on some of the particular stories:

Porridge on Islac

A plane where experimentation with genetics went out of control. People are sterilized, some can no longer give birth because of the ban. A woman who is 4% maize, named Ai Li A Le, had to give up her own daughter because of the experimentation:

My daughter lives in the North Sea. On raw fish. She's very beautiful. Dark and silky and beautiful. But -- I had to take her to the seacoast when she was two years old. I had to put her in that cold water, those big waves. I had to let her swim away, let her go be what she is. But she is human too! She is, she is human too!"

She was crying, and so was I.

I think so much is said in this simple quote. Perhaps her daughter is a selkie, perhaps not. But all children must grow up. All children must find their own way, their own pond, and be who they are. But, despite whatever choices we make in life, we are still human.

I think sometimes, underneath dogma and opinions and reason, we forget that.

The Silence of the Asonu

People who live with animals value the charm of muteness. It can be a real pleasure to know when the cat walks into the room that he won't mention any of your shortcomings, or that you can tell your grievances to your dog without his repeating them to the people who caused them.

I think in this very Sound Driven world, silence is underrated. I think in C.S Lewis's The Screwtape Letters that the demon had something to say about noise. I don't remember because it was so long ago, but I think the idea was to make it so noisy that one literally could not hear one's self think. The noise would assault the senses, sound would barrage the soul -- all the while making it impossible to sit down and simply think properly about something.

Those who can't talk, and those who can talk but don't, have the great advantage over the rest of us in that they never say anything stupid. This may be why we are convinced that if they spoke they would have something wise to say.

This is why I like to keep my mouth shut in college, blogs (comments, not entries obviously), and the like.

However, the minute this story became interesting to me was when Le Guin wrote,

Since the Asonu don't talk, do they, in fact, listen?

A fascinating question, which wasn't really pursued in the narrative (at least, I didn't get that impression).

The narrative went on to say how people would follow certain members of the Asonu, writing down the few words they spoke, in an attempt to glean the meaning of their Hidden Wisdom. The short tale culminates in the kidnapping of a young child by a man who wished to teach her how to talk -- in other words, he hoped that by changing her environment she would continue to speak and therefore share with him the Wisdom of the Asonu.

For a year or more she had been whipped and beaten regularly "to teach her to talk," her captor explained, "because she's stubborn." She was dumb, cowering, undernourished, and brutalized.

When will people stop attempting to change other individuals to conform to their own ideas or standards? It is disgusting.

So. Can people really listen unless they themselves talk?

Talking, for me, is one way to be intimate with Ken (another way is cuddling). So I guess, in a way, talking is like sex (for me). It takes two to Tango, and it takes two to have a conversation. Can a conversation be had when one side ceaselessly listens? I wouldn't want that. As a writer, I love sharing experiences. I love having people respond to me -- it is a sharing of ideas. Like Water Brothers, I like to have Word Siblings.

Of course, all that rambling above misses the point. Perhaps a person can listen forever unless busy with their own thoughts, but I, personally, would find it unfullfilling.

Feeling at Home with the Hennebet

This one was completely...serene and slightly Strawberry Fields Forever.

Remember how Asimov said Science Fiction was the reaction to technology, and I thought it could also include the culture that resulted from technology/alien races/whatever?

Well this chapter here of Changing Planes was a perfect example of that.

At first, the narrator finds that the folks of Hennebet are very similar to her -- but the longer she stays, the more she realizes how completely different they are.

They were well-tempered. They were good-tempered. It was not a virtue, an ethical triumph. They simply were good-natured people. Very different from me.

The narrative then meandered towards self identity -- something that I wasn't expecting.

If for one moment of your whole life you know that you are, then that's your life, that moment, that's unnua [Hennebet word for "universe"], that's all...when you get old, you know, you keep being here instead of there, everything is here.

Thou art god, perhaps?

...[I] brought up the word citizen on my translatomat. It said that the Hennebet word for citizen was person.

Citizens of the universe, each and every one of us?

Perhaps that is what we become when we cease drifting, always trying to be somewhere else or over there as we attempt to understand ourselves and become here?

As I said, fascinating story, and I'm not really sure I understood it all.

Season of the Ansarac

The Ansarac: a bird like people who migrate -- who live two kinds of lives.

When the Bayderac came to our plane, they told us our Way was mere instinct and that we lived like animals. We were ashamed.

When the Ansarac protested, the Bayderac said:

'All that will change. You will see. You cannot reason correctly. It is merely an effect of your hormones, your genetic programming, which we will correct. Then you will be free of your irrational and useless behaviour patterns.'

"We answered, 'But will we be free of your irrational and useless behaviour patterns?"

I believe it speaks for itself.

Social Dreaming of the Frin

The Frin: people who share each other's dreams.

"The purpose of our dreams," says the philosopher Sorrdja of Farfrit, a strong dreamer of the ancient Deyu Retreat, "is to enlarge our souls by letting us imagine all that can be imagined: to release us from the tyranny and bigotry of the individual self by letting us feel the fears, desires, and delights of every mind in every living body near us."

A few blogs back I said that Science Fiction was very heavy on the theme of Individuality. Here, Le Guin writes of the "bigotry of the individual", which is a very unique aspect of individuality.

Sometimes, I think, people can be so caught up in themselves, that they don't take time to consider someone else's point of view. That is very dangerous, I think.

And dreams are such funny thing -- like the core bits of the soul popping to the surface for however brief.

What an intimate thing, to share dreams -- or nightmares, even. Hmm.

For them, dream is a communion of all the sentient creatures in the world. It puts the notion of self deeply into question. I can imagine only that for them to fall asleep is to abandon the self utterly, to enter or reenter the limitless community of being, almost as death is for us.

It's like the Borg, only on a parallel universe. And not for the rest of your life.

Timequake: A Discourse

This is the truth:

I was not expecting Timequake to be slightly autobiographical, but something a tish more timey-wimey.

But that's okay, because Vonnegut is still my hero. And, in light of that fact, there were still tons of interesting things in this book.

A Timequake is when the Universe recedes, forcing the inhabitants to relive x number of years of their lives. For the novel, it was ten years. Life is a constant deja vu, where you can't change anything until it finished. And then free will finally kicks in again.

I say in speeches that a plausible mission of artists is to make people appreciate being alive at least a little bit. I am then asked if I know of any artists who pulled that off. I reply, "The Beatles did."

...

Henry David Thoreau said most famously, "The mass of men lead lives of quiet desperation."

So it is not one whit mysterious that we poison the water and the topsoil, and construct ever more cunning doomsday devices, both industrial and military. Let us be perfectly for a change. For practically everybody, the end of the world can't come soon enough.

...

That there are such devices as firearms, as easy to operate as cigarette lighters and as cheap as toasters, capable at anybody's whim of killing Father or Fats or Abraham Lincoln or John Lennon or Martin Luther King, Jr., or a woman pushing a baby carriage, should be proof enough for anybody that, to quote the old science fiction writer Kilgore Trout, "being alive is a crock of shit."

This is actually a theme that shows up especially at the beginning of the novel: a scientist working on the H- Bomb comes home to his wife, a pediatrician. As he works to build a bomb to go kablooey on thousands of people -- children included, she works towards healing the children. Odd, isn't it?

Vonegutt described World War II thus: "civilization's second unsuccessful attempt to commit suicide."

Chief among manmade epiphanies for me have been stage plays. Trout called them "artificial timequakes." He said, "Before Earthlings knew there were such things as timequakes in Nature, they invented them." And it's true. Actors know everything they are going to say and do, and how everything is going to come out in the end, for good or ill, when the curtain goes up on Act One, Scene One. Yet they have no choice but behave as though the future were a mystery.

Perhaps that is the allure of chance music: every sound is an adventure.

What hit me really hard that night, though, was the character Emily's farewell in the last scene, after the mourners have gone back down the hill to their village, having buried her. She says, Good-by, good-by, world. Good-by, Grover's Corners...Mama and Pap. Good-by to clocks ticking...and Mama's sunflowers. And food and coffee. And new-ironed dresses and hot baths...and sleeping and waking up. Oh earth, you're too wonderful for anybody to realize you.

"Do human beings ever realize life while they live it? -- every, every minute?"

Torchwood had an episode about this. It was called "Random Shoes."

Why is everyone in such a hurry to die?

Every minute should be an adventure.

[when asked if he memorized a lot of Shakespeare] "Yes, dear colleague, including a single sentence which describes life as lived by human beings so completely that no writer after him need ever have written another word...: 'All the world's a stage, and all the men and women merely players.' "

Life as an Artificial Timequake

or



I think they both agree that tragedy is always an option, no matter what sort of stage we're on.

And that's just sad.

When the timequake ended, two things were said:

Wake up! Wake up! You've got free will again and there's work to do!

and

Wake up! Wake up! You were sick but now you're well again!

...I asked Kilgore Trout for his ballpark opinion of John Wilkes Booth. He said Booth's performance in Ford's Theater in Washington D.C, on the night of Good Friday, April 14th, 1865, when he shot Lincoln and then jumped from a theater box to the stage, breaking his leg, was "the sort of thing which is bound to happen whenever an actor creates his own material.

I think this passage, towards the end of the novel, nicely puts a series of questions and ideas readers can ponder if they so wish:

If humans have free will, then life is not a Timequake (or a stage on a play).
If humans have free will, we drop bombs on Japan or assassinate presidents and musicians or people in general.
Is that why humans wish to die? (Vonnegut also relates a story of a musician who cries, "Shoot me while I'm happy!")

If humans do not have free will, then we are characters in a play -- someone else's continuous Timequake.
I humans do not have free will, then humans are sick. If humans decide to adlib their way through life, as did Booth, does that mean we are really better? (see quote above)
Is that why humans wish to die?

I have heard of an eastern monarch who once charged his wise men to invent him a sentence which would be true and appropriate in all times and situations. They presented him the words, 'And this too shall pass away.'

So let's wake up and smell the roses before they're gone too.

There's work to do (work that doesn't include assassination or murder or wars). Bikes won't ride themselves. There's sex to be had and stories to write.

Life to be lived.

Other random thoughts:

[when folks advised Newton to brush up on theology]I like to think they did this not because they were foolish, but to remind him of how comforting and encouraging the make-believe of religion can be for common folk.

To quote from Kilgore Trout's story "Empire State"...: Science never cheered up anyone. The truth about the human condition is just too awful."

I've often described atheism as walking over sharp rocks with bare feet. However, walking somewhere is better than never poking one's head out the cave to see what, exactly, is making all those shadows.

...Bernie and Trout had both, since their earliest adolescence, played games in their heads that began with this question: "If such-and-such were the case in our surroundings, what then, what then?"

Ie, Science Fiction.

She died believing in the Trinity and heaven and Hell and all the rest of it. I'm so glad. Why? Because I loved her.

I wish my extended family were big enough to be happy that I was happy in my beliefs for the simple reason that they loved me. I wish I were big enough to give them the same gift.

And even in 1996, I in speeches propose the following amendments to the Constitution: Article XXVIII: Every newborn shall be sincerely welcomed and cared for until maturity.

Aritlce XXIX: Every adult who needs it shall be given meaningful work to do, at a living wage.

...

Article XXXI: Every effort shall be made to make every person feel that he or she will be sorely missed when he or she is gone.

I think that one speaks for itself.

All quotes taken from Timequake by Kurt Vonnegut

The Moon is a Harsh Mistress: A Discourse

One female (most were men, but women made up for it in silliness) had a long list she wanted made permanent laws -- about private matters. No more plural marriage of any sort. No divorces. No "fornication" -- had to look that one up. No drinks stronger than 4% beer. Church services only on Saturdays and all else to stop that day. (Air and temperature and pressure engineering, lady? Phones and capsules?) A long list of drugs to be prohibited and a shorter list dispensed only by licensed physicians...she even wanted to make gambling illegal...

Thing that got me was not her list of things she hated, since she was obviously crazy as a Cyborg, but fact that always somebody agreed with her prohibitions. Must be a yearning deep in human heart to stop other people from doing as they please. Rules, laws -- always for other fellow. A murky part of us, something we had before we came down out of trees, and failed to shuck when we stood up. Because not one of those people said: "Please pass this so that I won't be able to do something I know I should stop." Nyet, tovarishchee, was always something they hated to see neighbors doing. Stop them "for their own good" -- not because speaker claimed to be harmed by it.

Robert Heinlein, I frakking love you (except when I don't).

This -- this -- is honest. This, is Science Fiction making timeless social commentary. This paragraph is relevant today, yesterday, and tomorrow.

Unfortunately, it is also an example of Heinlein's sexism. Though there are strong female characters, they are often (but not always) exceptionalized in a condescending sort of way, silly or not as smart as someone else (usually a man), etc; I guess it's kind of a mixed message, but the silly adjectives happened often enough to be rather annoying.

The Moon is a Harsh Mistress is about the lunar colonies becoming independent from earth. There are some interesting characters (a sentient computer named Mike, for example) and some interesting ideas on political themes.

Which, really, was the only downside with the story as far as I could see -- sometimes it was heavily political (to the point that it didn't seem like the characters) and sometimes I lost interest (I know, I'm working on being less shallow, more deep when it comes to politics -- wip).

Despite that, though, there were some really interesting ideas about politics that I found fascinating:

[when a politician asked how the newly formed government was to pay for itself since involuntary taxation was out of the question] Goodness me, sir, that's your problem. I can think of several ways. Voluntary contributions just as churches support themselves...government-sponsored lotteries to which no one need subscribe...or perhaps you Congressmen should dig into your own pouches and pay for whatever is needed; that would be one way to keep government down in size to its indispensable functions whatever they may be. If indeed there are any. I would be satisfied to have the Golden Rule be the only law; I see no need for any other, nor for any method of enforcing it. But if you really believe that your neighbors must have laws for their own good, why shouldn't you pay for it? Comrades, I beg you -- do not resort to compulsory taxation. There is no worse tyranny than to force a man to pay for what he does not want merely because you think it would be good for him."

Legislation for someone else's own good. Doesn't that sound familiar?

The sentiment is later emphasized when the narrator, Manuel, is arrested on earth because of the different marriage practices on the moon (polygamy, interracial -- not same-sex that I noticed but coming from Heinlein not surprising).

This raises another essence of Science Fiction which I have overlooked:

Science Fiction is very big on individuality. Some of the most common and dangerous enemies are those entities that take away a person's individuality whether it be shoulder humping parasites (The Puppet Masters by Heinlein and others), the Borg (Star Trek), or government (Moon is a Harsh Mistress).

Our individuality is the most precious thing we own. It should never be taken away.

Also, all quotes from Moon is a Harsh Mistress of course.