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Ascension, ep. 1

On the week­end I record­ed the first episode of Ascen­sion on CBC. Tonight I watched it.

This post con­tains spoil­ers for episode 1 of Ascen­sion. You Have Been Warned.


Ascen­sion is the sto­ry, osten­si­bly, of a secret Kennedy-era gen­er­a­tion ship (named, con­ve­nient­ly, Ascen­sion) launched some­time in the 1960s toward Prox­i­ma Cen­tau­ri. As the sto­ry opens, the ship has been under­way for 51 years, con­tains 6001 peo­ple, and is near­ing what the cap­tain and XO refer to as “the Rubi­con”, or what nor­mal folks would call the point of no return. While every­one in the upper decks enjoys a dance, the low­er-deck­ers (a low­er caste, appar­ent­ly) drink their ille­gal (?) whisky (?), and a woman named Lorelei goes for a swim in a pris­tine blue pool right next to the green­ish tanks of the flu­id-recla­ma­tion sys­tems. (Must smell love­ly.) Lorelei ends up dead, the appar­ent vic­tim of an acci­dent — or is it?

Of course it isn’t.

Mean­while, on mod­ern-day Earth, the archi­tect of the Ascen­sion project, hos­pi­tal­ized after a stroke that appar­ent­ly makes him quote some­thing that sounds vague­ly like Scrip­ture, is vis­it­ed in the hos­pi­tal (or the hos­pice, maybe?) by his son. The son finds out that some­one else has been vis­it­ing Daddy‑O, and storms off to catch this inter­lop­er. The vis­i­tor turns out to be doing his Ph. D. the­sis on “the ear­ly Space Age”, and tries to talk to the son about Ascen­sion. Sounds like every­one on Earth that’s heard of it (oth­er than Mr. Ph. D.) thinks that Ascen­sion is a myth. NASA’s projects are open, says the stu­dent; Ascen­sion was a mil­i­tary project.

Back to the star­ship. Was it acci­dent, or mur­der most foul? The dis­cov­ery of a .22 bul­let in the vic­tim’s head seems to point at the lat­ter. The cap­tain orders his XO to inves­ti­gate — but keep it low-key, right, we don’t want every­one to panic.

Oh, and hey, every­one seems to be shag­ging some­one else’s wife.

I real­ize I’m sound­ing a lit­tle less than impressed with the show, and that’s prob­a­bly because I am. This episode had a lot of strikes against it:

  • Clunky expo­si­tion tum­bling from almost every­one’s mouth (“As you know, as XO, you’ll need to learn to play pol­i­tics.” “As you know, my hus­band is con­ve­nient­ly work­ing the late shift. Let’s do it here on the table.” “As you know, Ascen­sion was a pipe dream.” (Super-sub­tle cut to Ascen­sion plod­ding through space.))
  • Appar­ent­ly they worked out a sys­tem of sta­ble and con­tin­u­ous arti­fi­cial grav­i­ty in the 1960s, which makes me won­der why they’re not using it on the ISS. Here I am, thinks Saman­tha Cristo­fore­t­ti, float­ing around like a suc­ka.2
  • I kind of liked the fact that the Cap­tain’s and the XO’s uni­forms look like US Navy or US Air Force uni­forms, but (and this is nit­picky, I know, but if you’re gonna do it, do it right) the XO either needs a dif­fer­ent col­lar device or a cou­ple more stripes on his epaulets. The sil­ver oak leaves go with the Lt. Com­man­der stripes, not the Lieu­tenant ones he’s wear­ing. (Mil­i­tary folks, please feel free to cor­rect me on this. I’m get­ting my info from Wikipedia. Yes, I know.)
  • 600 peo­ple isn’t even a small town any­more. It’s a vil­lage; a ham­let. Every­one knows every­one’s busi­ness in a com­mu­ni­ty that small. But there seems to be plen­ty of infi­deli­ty going on, and the cuck­olds don’t seem to real­ize it’s hap­pen­ing. Odd.
  • The stars in the for­ward obser­va­tion lounge are awful­ly red. If they’re trav­el­ing fast enough to see a red-shift that extreme (and they might be, if the ship­board grav­i­ty is due entire­ly to con­stant accel­er­a­tion3), then you’d expect to see it to the rear of the ship, with the stars up front shift­ed to the blue end of the spectrum…
  • …and oh look, the stars just to the right of the red ones, those guys are all blue. (Also, a child actress tells us that the red stars are “death”, and the blue stars, “those are life”. I… see.)
  • Also: What the hell are those dark clouds that stream by the for­ward obser­va­tion windows?
  • Also also: Next week’s episode appar­ent­ly fea­tures an “ion cloud” (ooh, how Star Trek-y) that sneaks up on them quick­ly enough that they have only 30 min­utes to save the ship and every­one aboard her. You’ve been trav­el­ing for 51 years and you only noticed this death-deal­ing cloud of ions (I guess?) half an hour before you’re going to plow right into it? Fire your for­ward watch astronomer, then. (Pos­si­bly toward the ion cloud, in the hopes that the body might dis­perse it.)

I guess my major com­plaints about the show are a) clunky dia­logue with waaaay too much expo­si­tion hap­pen­ing, and b) a lack of sci­ence sol­id enough for me to sus­pend my dis­be­lief. (One exam­ple: you want me to believe this gen­er­a­tion ship has a con­stant 1g pulling every­one to the floor? Build the habi­tat like a torus and spin it, then. Have an exter­nal shot of the torus spin­ning. Show me that that grav­i­ty is earned.)

You want me to believe in a sci­ence fic­tion show? Then put some sci­ence in it. It does­n’t have to be rig­or­ous, dry, this’ll-stand-up-to-peer-review sci­ence, either. Just show me you made an effort.


All that said, I have set my DVR to record the rest of the series, for two reasons:

  • It’s short — there are six one-hour episodes in the miniseries.
  • Despite my com­plaints, there was enough to keep me inter­est­ed. I’ll give it anoth­er hour. Hope­ful­ly now that all the pieces are in place, and the world is estab­lished, the dia­logue will improve.

  1. 599, actu­al­ly, I guess. (Sor­ry, Lorelei. We hard­ly knew ye.) 
  2. Not real­ly. 
  3. …though 51 years at 1g accel­er­a­tion would have them mov­ing waaaaaaaaaaaaaay faster than light, which does­n’t seem to be the case. 

Miyazaki on writing

I’ve become skep­ti­cal of the unwrit­ten rule that just because a boy and girl appear in the same fea­ture, a romance must ensue. Rather, I want to por­tray a slight­ly dif­fer­ent rela­tion­ship, one where the two mutu­al­ly inspire each oth­er to live — if I’m able to, then per­haps I’ll be clos­er to por­tray­ing a true expres­sion of love.
— Hayao Miyaza­ki (source)

Celebrate Short Fiction Day

On the short­est day of the North­ern year, take some time to enjoy some short fiction.

You can thank Pix­el Hall Press for the idea.

Here’s some of my short fic­tion, free every day for you, but high­light­ed today as the sol­stice approaches:

Some of these sto­ries fea­ture strong lan­guage and adult situations.

Amazon v. English Punctuation

Appar­ent­ly Amazon.com is not a fan of hyphens (note to those with an F‑bomb sen­si­tiv­i­ty: the linked arti­cle con­tains a few). This is ludi­crous for a lot of reasons:

  1. Hyphens are absolute­ly nec­es­sary in some sit­u­a­tions (there’s the “one night­stand” vs. “one-night stand” that the ref­er­enced post brings up, and phras­es like “twen­ty-year lease”, “hun­dred-dol­lar bill”, “the whole good-ver­sus-evil trope” all use them).
  2. Hyphens1 are used in Eng­lish for var­i­ous rea­sons, and any­one who’s read most any book that does­n’t have more pic­tures than words — what my nephews charm­ing­ly refer to as “chap­ter books” — has encoun­tered them, and puz­zled out how they work. A prac­ticed read­er’s eye will sim­ply skip over them. They’re a near­ly invis­i­ble piece of punc­tu­a­tion, their func­tion in any giv­en sit­u­a­tion transparent.
  3. If hun­dreds or thou­sands of peo­ple have read a book with­out any trou­bles, then it should take more than one com­plaint to sud­den­ly make Ama­zon (or any algo­rithm with an iota of fair­ness cod­ed into it) decide to even flag a book for trou­ble, let alone remove it from circulation.

I haven’t read the book in ques­tion; I had­n’t heard of this par­tic­u­lar author before I read a post in the Fic­tion Writ­ers’ group on Face­book regard­ing this par­tic­u­lar post.

Check­ing out the pre­view of his nov­el, here are the first few hyphen/dash uses I came across:

  • …a tall, grey-haired man…”
  • …Mac-10…”
  • …Mid-thir­ties…”
  • …drug-fuelled sex act…”
  • …Not the sort of men­tal image you want of your mother-in-law…”

They all look cor­rect, in my stud­ied opin­ion. I sup­pose you could replace moth­er-in-law with moth­er in law, but even that looks bet­ter to my eye with the dash­es. (I’d spell it fueled, and I sus­pect the weapon in ques­tion is a MAC-10, but the nit­picks there don’t involve the dashes.)

As pre­sent­ed, this is a ludi­crous sit­u­a­tion, one that I sure­ly hope Ama­zon will correct.

(It might be nice, though, to read Cor­mac McCarthy’s The Road with some punc­tu­a­tion. Actu­al­ly, no; I can’t envi­sion a punc­tu­a­tion sys­tem that would ever make The Road a nice read. Not even scratch-‘n’-sniff daisies and smi­ley faces on every page.)


  1. Fine, hyphens and var­i­ous species of dash. Typog­ra­phers know the dif­fer­ences, and can lec­ture you at length about them. For the sake of brevi­ty I’m lump­ing them all — utter­ly incor­rect­ly — under the “hyphen” ban­ner. Mea cul­pa

You learn something new every day (II)

Part I (almost entire­ly unrelated).

Some­how I’ve man­aged to go my entire judo career — 17+ years — with­out try­ing to use Sil­vio’s famous1 hip-throw grip (ie, grab­bing the gi at the hip, just above the belt) to per­form hane-goshi2, which is my favourite hip throw, if not my favourite judo tech­nique3 bar none.

Hane-goshi

Tonight I tried it, and the world, sud­den­ly, was my oys­ter. At least as far as hane-goshi was concerned.

My judo friends will know what I’m talk­ing about. (Espe­cial­ly the ones that knew Sil­vio. Have a drink in his mem­o­ry tonight, if you’re so inclined. I intend to.)


  1. Or infa­mous. 
  2. “Spring­ing hip” throw. 
  3. ie, tokui waza

Rebutting Yann Martel

This past week­end I spent 2½ all-too-short hours with ten oth­er Man­i­to­ba writ­ers in a round­table with Man Book­er-prize win­ning author Yann Mar­tel. There was a great deal said about writ­ing: the whys and where­fores, the hows, the fact that no one real­ly writes for mon­ey. (Mon­ey’s nice, but you write to write. To exor­cise demons, to enter­tain, to process the world — all these come long before mon­ey, assum­ing that mon­ey ever comes.)

There were at least three genre writ­ers there, and the dis­cus­sion came up of lit­er­a­ture vs. genre. I was pleased that Yann was­n’t the snob­by type that gazes down his nose at the appar­ent ghet­to of genre. (In fact, I may be snob­bier — he read The Da Vin­ci Code to its end, where­as I gave up on it at about page 60.)

One point that he made, how­ev­er, kind of stuck in my craw. He claimed that lit­er­a­ture can wring emo­tion from a read­er far more effec­tive­ly than SF, or fan­ta­sy, or mys­tery ever can. He posit­ed that in 100 years’ time, Stephen King will be large­ly for­got­ten, but Dick­ens will live on, because the read­er con­nects on a deep­er, more emo­tion­al lev­el. He said he can’t think of a sin­gle SF nov­el that’s made some­one cry.

Well, here are two nov­el that suc­ceed­ed in mak­ing me tear up:

  • Cir­cuit of Heav­en, by Den­nis Dan­vers — It’s Romeo & Juli­et for the mind-upload­ing set, in essence. Star-crossed lovers, sep­a­rat­ed by the life that may come after death.
  • The Dark Tow­er, by Stephen King. The chap­ter that did it for me is “In This Haze of Green & Gold”. If you’ve read the saga, you know why. (Also, “ ‘Olan” kind of got me, too.)
https://www.tumblr.com/myjetpack/23725103159

Tiens, cherchons le mot juste

Tonight, I watched a pair of amaz­ing home-grown doc­u­men­taries at the Evans The­atre: the 3rd film in the Warpaths tril­o­gy, sub­ti­tled Sil­ver Cross­es, for the memen­to received from the gov­ern­ment by moth­ers and wives of the men killed in action dur­ing the First World War; and Shaun Cameron’s Tales from the Eddy, a look back at Bran­don’s famed Prince Edward Hotel, whose open­ing was delayed by the loss of its fur­ni­ture in the Titan­ic dis­as­ter, and whose igno­min­ious end could have (per­haps) been avert­ed if the list of pro­pos­als before City Coun­cil had been ordered differently.

Warpaths: Sil­ver Cross­es, like its two pre­de­ces­sors, was an amaz­ing look at the effects of a glob­al con­flict on the lives of local folks (specif­i­cal­ly, the Bowes fam­i­ly of Bois­se­vain, MB). I enjoyed it immense­ly, as I knew I would. Kudos to Marc George and Gra­ham Street for a fit­ting cap­stone to an impor­tant series.

Tales from the Eddy was an eye-open­ing expe­ri­ence. I moved here years after the hotel was demol­ished; I nev­er knew a sky­line with its impos­ing bulk in it. For the last two decades I’ve heard peo­ple rem­i­nisce about the Eddy, usu­al­ly with that far­away look in their eyes, and I must admit, I rolled my eyes a lit­tle (inward­ly, any­ways). It’s just a hotel, I would think. How grand could it be, really?

Very grand.

I learned a lot about Bran­don’s hey­day in the hour-and-change that the doc­u­men­tary was up on the screen. Dozens of still frames of the hotel’s inte­ri­or and exte­ri­or showed me just how amaz­ing the Prince Edward was in its day. For what­ev­er rea­son, see­ing the skate park that has been built where the hotel used to stand — com­plete with help­ful paint­ed labels mark­ing LOBBY and PLATFORM to indi­cate rough­ly the extent of the build­ing’s one­time foot­print — struck me quite hard.

Entropy grinds away at us. That could be tonight’s theme, I sup­pose. But we keep push­ing back against it, and I think I like that theme better.

Watch­ing Shaun’s doc­u­men­tary, I felt a strange emo­tion, a nos­tal­gia for some­thing I nev­er knew. If the Ger­mans don’t have a name for it, sure­ly the French do.

The Hallowe’en Tally

Hallowe'en tally

For those that can’t read my scrawl:

  • But­ter­fly [A lit­tle girl in pur­ple. It was her first Hal­lowe’en, I’m guess­ing, since her mom was video­tap­ing the whole thing, and, as she walked away from my door, I heard her say, I got can­dy!]
  • Princess w/ par­ka [because this is Canada]
  • Bun­ny
  • Clown
  • Pup­py
  • Lion
  • Spi­der­man
  • Baby [ie, no costume]
  • Par­ka-clad werewolf
  • Spi­der-witch
  • Nerd [with a big wad of tape hold­ing her glass­es togeth­er at the nose — oh, the memories]
  • Zom­bie
  • Bat­man
  • 2 witch­es
  • Black Queen [Spades? Clubs?]
  • Zom­bie
  • Blue Man
  • Bur­lesque Hat Gal [Could­n’t see much cos­tume — par­ka — but she had one one of those minia­ture top hats bur­lesque per­form­ers wear (fas­ci­na­tors?)]
  • Princess in parka
  • Creepy Clown
  • Zom­bie [These last two were quite a bit old­er — late teens — and showed up just before 9 o’clock]

At 9:45 PM I shut off the out­side lights and called it a night.

And now, if you’ll par­don me, there’s a Wun­der­bar with my name on it. Mmm­m­m­m­mm, left­over candy.

Today’s writing lesson

…cour­tesy of an io9 arti­cle about Hell­rais­er.

[…] I think what the mon­sters in movies have to say for them­selves is every bit as inter­est­ing as what the human beings have to say. That’s why in stalk and slash films I feel that half the sto­ry is miss­ing. These crea­tures sim­ply become, in a very bor­ing way, abstrac­tions of evil. Evil is nev­er abstract. It is always con­crete, always par­tic­u­lar and always vest­ed in indi­vid­u­als. To deny the crea­tures as indi­vid­u­als the right to speak, to actu­al­ly state their case, is perverse—because I want to hear the Dev­il speak. I think that’s a British atti­tude. I like the idea that a point of view can be made by the dark side.
—Clive Barker
(empha­sis mine) 

I think it’s a Cana­di­an atti­tude, too. Or maybe I lean more to the British than the Amer­i­can point of view on such matters.

I’m not par­tic­u­lar­ly fond of hor­ror films, and so I’ve nev­er actu­al­ly seen Hell­rais­er. Now I sort of want to.

Intruders & Prowlers

Yes­ter­day I saw this great pho­to of two Lego jets, the A‑6 Intrud­er and the EA-6B Prowler:

Grumman A-6E Intruder and EA-6B Prowler updated

…which remind­ed me of my hal­cy­on days as an Air Cadet, attend­ing Air Stud­ies1 Camp in Pen­hold, Alber­ta. My Air Stud­ies flight2 was named “Prowler Flight” for the EA-6B Prowler, which was the Elec­tron­ic War­fare ver­sion of the A‑6 Intruder.

Back then I did­n’t think any­thing of the nomen­cla­ture, but now it strikes me as a lit­tle… creepy. I have to won­der, is there a plane out there code-named “Stalk­er”?


  1. Think “Flight School Lite”. 
  2. A flight is pret­ty much the Air Force equiv­a­lent of a pla­toon