Triple threat

I’m kind of a suck­er for cer­tain things:

  1. Images of galax­ies — I love the great whorls of stars that make up the vis­i­ble mass of the Universe
  2. The his­to­ry of sci­ence, espe­cial­ly physics and astronomy
  3. A clever title

So it was prob­a­bly inevitable that I’d check this book out of the library today:

I’ll let you know what I think when I’m done read­ing it.

A blast from the past

…in more ways than one.

When I was in Uni­ver­si­ty, there was a girl I knew that had a book called 10,000 Dreams Inter­pret­ed*. She point­ed one out to me, and it became my favourite dream ever:

To see a horse in human flesh, descend­ing on a ham­mock through the air, and as it nears your house is meta­mor­phosed into a man, and he approach­es your door and throws some­thing at you which seems to be rub­ber but turns into great bees, denotes mis­car­riage of hopes and use­less endeav­ors to regain lost valu­ables. To see ani­mals in human flesh, sig­ni­fies great advance­ment to the dream­er, and new friends will be made by mod­est wear­ing of well-earned hon­ors. If the human flesh appears dis­eased or freck­led, the mis­car­riage of well-laid plans is denoted.

source

Lit­tle did I know — until today — that that book was first pub­lished in 1901, and that dream’s been haunt­ing peo­ples’ minds ever since then.

____

* Or some­thing to that effect. Come on, this was 15+ years ago. Some­times I have a hard time remem­ber­ing where I put the cord­less phone ten min­utes ago.**

** Until it rings.

13 things I learned from books

But which books? See if you can guess… (Hint: They’re most­ly SF.)

  1. The road to Hell is paved with frozen door-to-door sales­men, and no one knows why.
  2. Forc­ing grunts to swear at their supe­ri­or offi­cers is a stu­pid way to build morale.
  3. If every­thing is infi­nite­ly improb­a­ble, then every­thing is equal­ly probable.
  4. If the Fast Burn is itself tran­scen­dent, and unhap­py with the direc­tion of the channedring, it may attempt to hide the jumpoff birthinghel. Also: Hexa­po­dia is the key insight.
  5. Grey-green alien skin requires a lot of soap.
  6. Even miss­ing the index and mid­dle fin­gers of his right hand, Roland is a hell of a shot.
  7. Give praise to the day at evening, to a blade when tried, and to ice when over it.
  8. Anath­e­ma” looks like a girl’s name if you’ve nev­er read a dictionary.
  9. If your full name has twelve words in it, most peo­ple will for­give you if you go by “Phaethon”.
  10. If your full name is “Hiro Pro­tag­o­nist”, you can bet your par­ents had some kind of weird relationship.
  11. One does not out­run a sub­stance that explodes at 15,000 feet per sec­ond. Also, if you’re count­ing on the police to save you, best not to antag­o­nize them while you’re sit­ting on a bomb.
  12. Chuck” and “toss” are per­fect­ly valid instruc­tions in a cookbook.
  13. No mat­ter how inter­est­ing the many-uni­vers­es-bridged-by-jump-gates premise may be, I can only read a book with that many near-rape scenes once. And it was a rough slog at that.

These are all off the top of my head, by the way. And yes, some are repeats.

On my to-be-read pile

It just keeps grow­ing like a hydra. Here are the lat­est three books:

New books

Not pic­tured: The last Bar­ti­maeus nov­el; Rain­bows End by Vinge; a graph­ic nov­el about Louis Riel; an epic poem; The Bears’ Famous Inva­sion of Sici­ly; and a bunch I can’t even remem­ber right now.

Dragons of Babel, by Michael Swanwick

AwesomeThis nov­el arrived in the mail about a day before I head­ed west, after I’d wait­ed the bet­ter part of two weeks for it (and even longer, if you fac­tor in the fact that I pre-ordered it, but that’s a whole ‘nother sto­ry, as they say).

I start­ed read­ing it on the train, and I fin­ished it in the base­ment liv­ing room of my sis­ter-in-law’s house. It’s an engross­ing read; as I neared the end, I had to force myself to slow down, to not miss any of the fan­tas­tic* details hid­den in very near­ly every sin­gle sentence.

The nov­el­’s set in the same indus­tri­al-faerie uni­verse as The Iron Drag­on’s Daugh­ter, but it’s by no means a sequel. The sto­ry starts off with Will le Fey watch­ing war drag­ons arc across the sky over his small vil­lage, bound for con­flict in some unimag­in­able war. One is shot down, and drags itself, flight­less, to Will’s vil­lage, where it declares itself ruler. It makes Will its lieu­tenant, in part because Will, unlike any­one else in town, is half-human.

Will par­takes in the priv­i­leges and the awful respon­si­bil­i­ties of his role, and in short order the entire vil­lage is set against him. When the drag­on’s grip on the vil­lage is final­ly bro­ken, Will is sent into exile.

He makes his way across a Faërie beset by the rav­ages of war, and winds up in a refugee camp. From there he trav­els to Babel itself, the great tow­er that stands high as Heav­en, and joins in a con­fi­dence game that trades on the iden­ti­ty of the absen­tee King of Babel to make a lot of mon­ey. But there’s a twist; there’s always a twist…

This book is dense with infor­ma­tion, and every sen­tence serves to nudge the plot for­ward. There’s a depth and a human­i­ty to the char­ac­ters, and we see peo­ple at their best and at their very worst, some­times on the same page. Noth­ing is irrel­e­vant; every detail has its place and its pur­pose. The world of Babel is rife with betray­als, dis­ap­point­ments, tri­umphs, and tragedies.

Michael Swan­wick very much needs to be more well-known than he is. It’s a shame that hard­ly any­one will have heard of this book, much less read it.

______

* In every sense of the word.

Unpleasant realization

From the front mat­ter of Steven Brust’s Fire­fly fan-fic(ish) nov­el (found via Scalz­i’s What­ev­er):

For peo­ple who care about such things, the book was writ­ten in emacs on a box run­ning Man­drake Lin­ux, then I used OpenOf­fice to for­mat it for print­ing. The final lay­out for online pub­li­ca­tion was cre­at­ed with Microsoft Word and Adobe Acro­bat. Peo­ple who care about such things need to get a life. 

I got to the last sen­tence and thought, Aw, that’s me.

(Of course, when I read the first sen­tence, I thought, Good heav­ens, man, there’s One True text edi­tor, and that’s vi. Go go gad­get :%s/]*>//gi .

It would seem that I’m a nerd.)

I’m such a slacker

Ok, so here’s the sec­ond half of the William Gib­son Week­end sto­ry. Told as a Thurs­day Thir­teen, because that way I can kill two birds with one stone.

Signed copy
  1. That same night, there was a mul­ti-author read­ing, titled “Encoun­ters”, on the Main­stage. Six authors were on the dock­et, though one could­n’t make it.
  2. Quot­ing from the programme:

    Lawrence Hill and Lin­da Lei­th move char­ac­ters through chang­ing land­scapes. Bren­da Hasiuk, David Char­iandy, and Marie-Claire Blais [who was the no-show, IIRC] gath­er inter­sect­ing char­ac­ters in one space. William Gib­son hooks these two ends of the spec­trum and com­pli­cates it with vir­tu­al dimensions.

  3. They ran three authors, then had an inter­mis­sion, fol­lowed by the last two authors. As things were get­ting set up I saw Gib­son come in and sit in the audi­ence, over the in corner.
  4. The first three authors read from their works: Lin­da Lei­th from The Desert Lake, David Char­iandy from Soucouyant, and Bren­da Hasiuk from Where the Rocks Say Your Name. All were inter­est­ing; I par­tic­u­lar­ly liked Char­iandy and Hasiuk.
  5. At the inter­mis­sion, I went up onto the stage, and had a chat with David Char­iandy, who is per­haps my age. He’s a pro­fes­sor of Eng­lish at SFU (Simon Fras­er, not San Fran­cis­co). He was polite and enthu­si­as­tic. I also told Bren­da Hasiuk that I’d enjoyed her read­ing — her descrip­tion of rid­ing around a fron­tier town in a pick­up truck rung true, and I could almost feel the fab­ric of the seat­belt as she read.
  6. After this I glanced down into the audi­ence. William Gib­son was still sit­ting there in his chair, and there was still no one around him. What the hell, I thought, and went down into the row in front of him. I intro­duced myself, told him I’d always enjoyed his work — I read Count Zero when I was fif­teen or so, and it told me there was a whole new kind of sci­ence fic­tion, some­thing I’d nev­er read before. It hooked me.
  7. We had a brief chat, most­ly cen­tered on a) me try­ing not to say “Ohmy­godIlovey­our­work” over and over again and b) how Gib­son’s work has come clos­er and clos­er to the present.
  8. Con­sid­er: The Sprawl tril­o­gy was set in what I assume would be the 2080s or so, giv­en lit­tle hints in the nar­ra­tive. The Bridge tril­o­gy was prob­a­bly clos­er to about 2030 or so, if I had to guess. But his two lat­est works — Pat­tern Recog­ni­tion and Spook Coun­try are set in the present. The past, in fact: Spook Coun­try takes place in late 2006.
  9. Gib­son made the point that, real­ly, the world we live in now is at least as sci­ence-fic­tion­al as any­thing he’s come up with in his nov­els. Con­stant per­son­al con­nec­tiv­i­ty, the world-wide web and the Inter­net it over­lays: it reads, in some ways, like some­thing out of Neu­ro­mancer. Just add some hus­tlers and an unhealthy dose of street drugs.
  10. (True sto­ry: My sis­ter bought me Ting Ting Dja­he gin­ger can­dies for Christ­mas one year. They looked and tast­ed exact­ly as I’d expect­ed from their descrip­tion as Julius Deane’s can­dy of choice in Neu­ro­mancer.)
  11. Gib­son was very gra­cious, and I sure hope I did­n’t come across as a rav­ing fan­boy. He was very approach­able, and I kind of wish I’d have stayed longer, talk­ing, but I did­n’t want to wear out my wel­come. So I went back to my seat, and wait­ed for inter­mis­sion to end.
  12. McNal­ly Robin­son had a table set up, sell­ing the books from the authors that night, so when he came up to read, Gib­son just grabbed a copy of Spook Coun­try off the table. He reads in a bit of a monot­o­ne, some­thing I knew to expect from hav­ing seen him read on TV. What I was­n’t ready for, though, was his accent: soft and South­ern. After all, we may claim him as a Cana­di­an, but he was born in South Car­oli­na and grew up in Virginia.
  13. And that’s my William Gib­son story.

Whirlwind Weekend

This week­end I: saw, and had a brief chat with, William Gib­son; did nage-no-kata with the head of the Cana­di­an Grad­ing Board for judo, and also had a brief intro to the first set of ju-no-kata; drew Darth Vad­er in Cray­ola cray­on; and heard the cutest ver­sion of the ABC song I think I’ll ever hear.

Fri­day
I took the day off, since I want­ed to be able to get to the read­ing at 2:30 PM. I left town about 11:30 AM, a lit­tle lat­er than I meant to, but isn’t that always the way? Bar­reled down the high­way, got into the city at about 1:15 PM or so, then made my way through the tail end of the noon rush to Portage Place. The read­ing was at the McNal­ly Robin­son book­store on the main floor, in the lit­tle eatery there. I got into the store, and the food smelled so good. I regret­ted eat­ing at McDon­ald’s in Portage, but I’d been hun­gry.

There weren’t any tables free. There were, how­ev­er, quite a few tables with one per­son at them, and most of them looked like they were there for the read­ing. I was just try­ing to fig­ure out who I was going to approach when two women got up from a table direct­ly in front of the read­ing area and said they were leav­ing, and I could have their table if I want­ed. Uh, yes. Thanks.

So I sat down, and the wait­er came around, brought me a water and a menu. I ordered a root beer and wait­ed. It was 2:00 PM, half an hour yet to go. A girl showed up, look­ing like she need­ed a seat, so I offered her a spot at my table. We chat­ted about writ­ing for a while, then the read­ing began.

William Gibson and John Havelda
William Gib­son (L) and John Havelda 

Gib­son read from his lat­est book, Spook Coun­try, which I fin­ished read­ing last week, and thor­ough­ly enjoyed. It’s set in the present day; as he’s said in recent inter­views, the present is pret­ty much sci­ence fic­tion these days. After he and the poet John Havel­da did their read­ings, there was about a half an hour Q&A with the audi­ence. Some good ques­tions were asked, on the nature of lan­guage (both authors like to play with lan­guage; Gib­son, after all, coined the term cyber­space back in nine­teen-eighty-what-have-you, and Havel­da is (IIRC) a Hun­gar­i­an poet, raised in Eng­land, now liv­ing in Por­tu­gal with his Por­tugese wife), on the future of books, and the like. After­wards I was one of the first in line, and I got my beat-up old copy of Mona Lisa Over­drive* signed by Gib­son.

to be continued…

________

* I could­n’t find my copy of Neu­ro­mancer.

Thin Air

…is the name of the Win­nipeg Writ­ers Fes­ti­val, and this year one of the speak­ers is William Gibson.

I ful­ly intend to be there for at least one of his events.

Bone

If you haven’t read Bone yet, you real­ly should.

I won’t say any more*, because I should be writ­ing my own zom­bie-lawyer epic, but here are pas­sel of reviews.

* Except this: I did­n’t want it to end. As I approached page 1200**, I found myself torn: I could­n’t wait to turn the page and see just how every­one was going to get out of this jam, but I want­ed to pace myself, because I did­n’t want to get to the end­ing. No mat­ter how good an end­ing it was (and I feel it was just about per­fect), it would still be The End. I want­ed to stay with all of them—the Bone cousins, Thorn, Gran’­ma Ben, the red drag­on, even the stu­pid, stu­pid rat creatures—just a lit­tle longer.

It’s been almost for­ev­er since I read a book that made me feel that way.

** Yes. It’s a com­ic. Yes. It’s clear of 1300 pages long.