A Canticle for Leibowitz

I haven't read every science fiction novel ever published, so I can't say that A Canticle for Leibowitz --by Walter M. Miller, Jr., first published in 1960 - is unique.

But it's pretty darn unique. The setting, for one thing: in a monastery. And the protagonists? Monks. Not your standard sci-fi for sure.

I can remember getting a few pages into it and thinking - this is funny. The idea that you could write a serious novel and make it witty and fun was a revelation. (These were my early teen years; I hadn't yet read Pride and Prejudice.) Perhaps this explains, in part, my life-long prejudice against works with I AM A PIECE OF SERIOUS LITERATURE written all over them.

A prejudice, by the way, which extends to movies. Ingmar Bergman? ZZZZZZZ.

The main character of the first part (Fiat Homo, "Let there be man") is Brother Francis, a young novice at an abbey in the post-apocalyptic southwestern United States. Brother Francis - charming, naive, trusting - is another revelation. He wants to be monk (memo from the teenaged me: say what?).

Occasionally you will find a reviewer who rants about Miller's supposed pro-Roman Catholic bias; that Canticle promotes 'blind faith' and an unquestioning subservience to authority. These reviewers have apparently not read beyond the first few pages. Brother Francis - despite his devotion to the abbey, despite his trust in his superiors and his desperate longing to be allowed to profess his vows - refuses (in the face of considerable pressure from the abbot) to recant his story that he saw someone who might have been 'the blessed Leibowitz' out in the desert.

He refuses, in other words, to bend to authority, to change what he believes to be the truth even the tiniest bit. The reader admires him, even as we are also invited to understand the reasoning of the very human and politically astute abbot.

Fiat Homo ends with Brother Francis' death from an arrow to the head. He is buried by the same old man who might have been - but in the end, was not - the blessed Leibowitz.

Space Marines

In some ways I liked the sequel to Alien even better than the original. Sigourney Weaver was back, of course, along with a squad of marines. The marines were a bunch of seriously-armed-to-the-teeth dudes - and one equally armed-to-the-teeth woman. Which leads to the best line of dialogue in either film:

Male marine to female marine: "Hey Vasquez, have you ever been mistaken for a man?"

Vasquez: "No. Have you?"

The theme of corporate stupidity and greed - hinted at in Alien - plays out here in full as Ripley, the marines, a good android (wonderfully played by Lance Henricksen), and a Company shill (the usually amiable Paul Reiser) return to the planet visited by the Nostromo.

The marines are brave and (mostly) smart, but they are in over their heads: the enemy is something they don't understand, and modern weapons won't save them. Ripley understands, but she is also hampered - at least temporarily - by her own prejudice against androids. The Company shill is just that.

And did I mention there's a little girl ('Newt') to rescue?

In the end, Ripley and the little girl survive, along with (sort of) the android and one of the marines, Hicks. Hicks is the exceedingly cute one, the calm one, a leader - he's our hero to match our heroine. We see them off into hypersleep and go home reasonably happy . . . . .

Except then they die. The third movie in the franchise (Alien3, released in 1992, six years after Aliens) begins with the crash of an escape pod, and the death of Newt and Hicks.

What?

How annoying is that? Apparently James Cameron (the director of Aliens) was annoyed as well. You cannot have your audience emotionally invest in your characters, see them through perilous times, have them barely escape with their lives--

--and then kill them off in the first few minutes of the next movie. That just bites.

I decided not to see the third movie when I found out about this bit of plot. In my mind Ripley, Hicks, Newt and even Bishop the android are happy somewhere, in hypersleep or out, and alive.

In space, nobody can hear you scream

One of the all-time great movie tag lines, by the way.

I'm not a fan of scary movies. The whole 'horror' genre leaves me cold, both in books and on film. Not to mention the latest torture-porn stuff, ala Saw and Hostel. Pathetic.

But there are scary movies, and then there are scary movies. Alien combined a great science fiction look with a monster to really sink your teeth into. Or vice versa.

I found out later that there was a person inside the alien suit: one Bolaji Badejo, 7 ' 2 " and thin enough to fit inside and play convincingly non-human. Yes, the alien was not some mechanism like the shark in Jaws. Or all CG.

And I agree with those who've argued that the monster was a lot more frightening in the first movie, when you barely saw it, than it was in the sequels. You didn't know what was going after the crew; that was the genius of the thing.

So we have an unknown planet, with atmosphere so thick you can barely see through it, a bunch of strange eggs, and another alien, but this one with his chest ripped open. Setting us up for the (arguably) most famous scene in the movie: John Hurt not quite getting through his spaghetti dinner.

I can't say too much about that scene; I've seen the movie several times, but always have my eyes covered at that point.

But the alien is only one of the scary things that the people of the Nostromo are faced with. They are, in fact, dupes. They've been set up by the Company, which has sent an android along with the crew, presumably (some of this was a little hazy before the Aliens sequel) to discover potential alien weaponry, biological or otherwise, and return it to human civilization.

This being the part where human beings stupidly get way in over their heads, and possibly a commentary on messing with weaponry that could kill us all.

At the end, only our kick-ass heroine (Sigourney Weaver, on her way to becoming a major star) and the cat survive. She had argued against bringing the alien into the Nostromo in the first place, she had discovered the androids machinations - and now she's in hypersleep, heading back to Earth.

A Billion Days of -- say what?

Today's blog is about the sci-fi novel A Billion Days of Earth by Doris Piserchia, first published in 1976. I read it sometime in the 1980s, lost the book in a move from Florida to Washington state, and only recently re-read it.

I love the book. I just don't understand it. At all. Usually I don't enjoy books - or movies - that I find totally confusing. I don't like anything that feels like deliberate obscurity on the part of an author. And, as a rule--OK, Twin Peaks excepted--I don't like excessive weirdness.

Here we have a seriously weird, confusing--and often depressing--book. Which I totally enjoyed. Go figure.

The 'billion days' of the title refers to the time period of the story--3 million years from today, more or less. Human beings - the real Homo sapiens - have evolved into - gods? - who have extraordinary powers. I guess. Anyway, they can float on clouds.

Our protagonist is Rik - he's human, more or less, except he's descended from rats. The rat-people are the humans of the story. There are also lengs - dog-people, also sentient. And did I mention the zizzies, who are a combination sparrow/cat/bee, flying furred creatures with a three-foot wingspan and a stinger?

Yeah. Anyway, the story begins with the entrance--creation?--of Sheen, a lifeform (I'm echoing Data, here) made of silver. Sheen absorbs sentient beings, who then lose their independent will--and turn silver themselves.

What I find interesting about the book are the changes in tone. Sheen's actions, at first, seem almost good-natured. He absorbs a creature here and there, and has funny, almost friendly conversations with Rik, who resists him. We even have time to visit other sub-plots, including one about a family of uber-ultra-rich rat-humans, the Fillys. But somewhere around the middle of the book, things start downhill in a big way. Sheen has absorbed so many people by this time that society collapses, and the result is just as ugly as you might expect. After the initial low-key tone of the story, you feel things tip and crash down; there is a truly horrifying scene where the rat-humans are herded into a slaughterhouse and forced to choose between violent death and absorption by Sheen.

What is the author trying to say here? That society is fragile? I'm not sure.

At any rate, the end of the story brings a second shift. One of Sheen's first victims 'escapes' back to real life, and it turns out that anyone can do the same. They only have to want to. Rik gets his wife back (another sub-plot). Sheen decides he doesn't have the heart for total destruction.

And the gods (Homo sapiens) decide to leave the earth on rocket ships.

No, I don't understand the book at all. But it kept me interested, beginning to end. And if there is anyone out there who does understand it, drop me a line, heh?

The future begins again

Wow.

They brought the awesome.

Star Trek (2009) may not be a ‘great’ movie. ‘Great’ tends to get used for Serious Films in black and white, or with subtitles. American action-adventure films seen by gazillions of people need not apply.

So maybe it isn’t a great movie. But it’s sure one hell of a ride.

A joyous, funny, thrilling re-visit to the lives of people we already know very, very well. And now we get to grow up with them all over again.

Zachary Quinto has gotten a fair amount of press for being the new Spock—deservedly—but this Star Trek rides on the back of its captain, and actor Chris Pine takes it all on, and more.

I do kendo (Japanese sword fighting) and in kendo there is the idea that when you attack someone your attack is totally committed, with full spirit. In your mind you do not consider the possibility of defeat.

That’s our James T. Kirk. I’ve lost track of the number of times Kirk gets in a hand-to-hand fight in this movie – OK, there was the bar, and the fight on the drill platform, and Spock attacking him on the bridge, and we should probably count those two seriously vicious animals on Delta Vega, and a then a couple more fights inside the bad guy’s ship – and he gets his ass handed to him every single time. He is saved by (pick one) – Captain Pike. Sulu. Spock. Spock’s father. Only at the last does he manage to save himself (in the middle of another butt-kicking) by getting a hold of bad guy minion’s gun.

But he does it all, every time, with full spirit. In his mind, he’s already won.

This Star Trek is angst-free. Nobody wears a bat/spider suit and whines about how unhappy they are. Even Spock is angst-free, or at least he seems like it when he’s kissing Uhura. Repeatedly.

And I haven’t even mentioned Karl Urban's Dr. McCoy - nice job - or the happy wonder that is Simon Pegg’s Scotty.

If you liked any of the previous Star Trek incarnations at all, if you like sci-fi, if you just like feeling like life can be good and worthwhile and your friends can fight at your side and you can all be something special – well, then, see this movie.

To boldly go back

This is the most light-hearted of all the Star Trek movies; the one with the most jokes, and with the actors clearly having a good time.

At the same time, it's also a movie about the threatened end of planet Earth as we know it.

You know the plot: the Star Trek-era future Earth is visited by an Enormously Powerful Alien Spaceship that wants to talk to the humpback whales. Chew some fat. See how they're doing.

Well, the species is extinct. The EPAS gets torqued off, starts to tear up Earth's oceans, and our heroes need to go back in time to pick up a humpback and then deliver it to future Earth before the planet goes phft.

A question arises here. One humpback? Oh, wait, I forgot. The whale they picked up was pregnant. And did they take two? At any rate, the possibility of re-populating future Earth with humpbacks exists.

The joke is that when the crew goes back in time (not in the Enterprise - in a Klingon bird-of-prey - see Star Trek 3) they arrive at a very recognizable twentieth-century San Francisco, where everybody is so weird anyway that our back-from-the-future space heroes fit right in. Spock needs to cover up his ears, but that's about it.

A few pieces of dialogue will give you a feel for the tone of the movie:

Kirk to crew: (as they leave the bird-of-prey, which is sitting--cloaked--in a SF city park): "Everybody remember where we parked."

Spock, being ejected from a city bus: "What does it mean, exact change?"

Lady whale doctor (disbelieving): "You're from outer space."
Kirk: "No, I'm from Iowa. I only work in outer space."

There are some wonderful set pieces in the movie, of which the rescue of Chekov from a 20th century hospital is my favorite, followed by a nice piece of comic/straight man dialogue between Kirk and Spock in lady whale doctor's pick up truck.

Lady whale doctor: "Do you guys like Italian?"
Kirk: "Yes."
Spock: "No."
Kirk: "Yes."
Spock: "No."
Kirk: "I love Italian." [looks at Spock] "And so do you."
Spock: "Yes."

Nimoy (who directed) has described his vision for the film as " . . .no dying, no fighting, no shooting, no photon torpedoes, no phaser blasts, no stereotypical bad guy."

It was a joy to watch The Voyage Home. If you're feeling depressed about (pick one): nuclear proliferation, economic meltdown, global warming, or all of the above - give it a try.

To boldly go

Ah, yes. Star Trek. So easy to make fun of, especially for fans of the trendy comic book movies, those lovers of angst.

Star Trek is probably the most successful entertainment franchise ever, and not just for science fiction. In addition to the original TV series, we have 5 spin-off series (1 animated), 10 movies (an 11th to be released next month), books, conventions, and at least one completely invented language (Klingon).

Wikipedia has a page on which the cumulative running times for all science fiction franchises are compared. Star Trek comes in first, at 22 days, 16 hours, and 56 minutes. (Second place belongs to Doctor Who, at something around 15 days. Nothing else comes close.)

Although I intended to write about the movies, I must issue a disclaimer: I haven't seen the last one (Nemesis.) I lost interest somewhere along the way, even though I loved the Next Generation series on TV. My memory of individual movies starts to get fuzzy at about number 7 (Generations).

My personal favorites among the first six movies - which starred the original cast - reflect popular opinion, with the second (Wrath of Khan) and the fourth (Voyage Home) being the top picks.

Wrath of Khan is standard melodrama, with Ricardo Montalban as the worthy adversary. What a lovely man, and may he rest in peace. I can still hear him as Khan, dying, the last words of Captain Ahab in his mouth:

To the last, I will grapple with thee… from Hell’s
heart, I stab at thee! For hate’s sake, I spit my last breath at
thee!

The movie ends, of course, with the death of Spock. I have only one quibble with this movie. (OK, two quibbles. The first: the close-up shot of the icky beasties entering into an ear looks unusually fake for a major movie.) But my major quibble is with the ending. When Kirk stands on the bridge with his old girlfriend (whoever she was) in the last minutes, watching the birth of the new Genesis planet and happily saying something like - "I feel young." - all I could think was - What's wrong with you? YOUR BEST FRIEND JUST DIED.

I understand that they needed to do a set up for the third movie; and nobody was happier than me to see Spock back again. Still, the upbeat ending clashed with what had happened just minutes earlier; the moving and powerful scene where Kirk, separated from Spock by a glass (transparent aluminum?) wall, watches his friend die.

I'm aware that this death scene now plays as corny for all the angst-lovers out there. Gene Roddenberry first pitched Star Trek as a TV series in 1960. So this franchise is, in some ways, a child of the 1950s. Like me. Maybe we're just in tune.

I'll talk about the whales next time . . .

The Uplift War, by David Brin

I re-read this book a few weeks ago and realized that it is one of my favorite books ever. The Uplift War is part of a series of sorts - or at least that's how it is currently marketed, with Sundiver and Startide Rising being the first two books of a 'trilogy'. I think somebody decided that a trilogy sells, but at any rate this book can easily be read as a stand-alone; you will miss very little besides a few references to the starship Streaker.

The Uplift War is planet-based fiction; it is also (like, say, Downbelow Station) a book with a large cast of characters, and we switch back and forth between them, following the larger story from various points of view.

The human race has been given a lease on an ecologically-devastated planet, Garth. Along with chimpanzees--newly uplifted to sentience--they are working to bring Garth back to full health. Another galactic race--the bird-like Gubru--attacks the planet in a bid to gain it for themselves, and most of the book takes place as the humans, chimps, a couple members of an allied alien race, the Tymbrimi--and gorillas--attempt to fight back against the attackers.

Guerilla warfare, you might say; because the humans have little besides their wits and their better knowledge of Garth, and the Gubru came equipped for the fight with an armada of technologically-superior weapons.

Our heroes include Fiben, a chimpanzee with a wonderful sense of humor, Robert Oneagle, human -- and his partner in arms Athaclena, a Tymbrimi female. One of the strengths of the book is how much we end up liking and caring for these characters.

Anytime you have an alien race as part of your story you have issues of how they differ, both physically and psychologically, from human beings. Brin succeeds with both the Gubru and the Tymbrimi, making them both very alien/different and still understandable/believable.

The Tymbrimi have a 'corona' of tendrils which partly frame their face; with this corona they are able to craft 'glyphs' - half-seen expressions of their feelings and the situation. It's impossible to explain, fascinating to read about.

The Gubru are the bad guys, of course; we don't identify with them, although by the end we have some sympathy for individuals. I have to admit--I ended up imagining the Gubru as looking like Big Bird. It was impossible to shake, they'll be Big Bird in my mind forever.

Incidentally, the current paperback version of The Uplift War sports a really hideous drawing of Athaclena. That's not what she looks like. Seriously. My edition (scanned above) is what she really looks like. My edition is falling apart; I've been planning on buying the new edition and replacing the cover with mine.

Captives of the Flame

I remember C.S. Lewis commenting once--I think this was the gist--on how wonderful it was to be young and to read books for the pure enjoyment of reading; not to worry about the literary value of a work, or its sophistication, or the reputation of the author in academic circles, or whether the subject matter was in vogue.

That's how I read science fiction as a child. I read everything, and I pretty much enjoyed it all. And so I stumbled onto books that these days, as a much pickier adult, I would never choose to pick up.

To my loss, I should say. Captives of the Flame, by Samuel R. Delany (first published in 1963, or thereabouts) is one of those books that the grown-up me might not take a chance on. It is unusual for 1960s sci-fi; very moody, with poetic imagery; a little sad at the end. A young man is jailed for a crime that he did commit; he escapes and (with the help of telepathic beings from another world) tries to save his country/society from a disastrous war.

A war that the government has decided to enter into for dubious reasons; a war against something that they don't even understand.

Sound at all familiar? But we're talking the early 60s, here.

I wondered about the politics of this novel. If any. Was Delany commenting on American Cold War policies? I'm not certain, although he certainly skewers (his fictional) military bureaucracy in several scenes.

The characters made the book, for me. They are described with empathy and touches of humor. In addition to the escaped prisoner - Jon Koshar - we have his sister, Clea (a mathematician), a red-haired duchess, three teens (one a girl acrobat with white hair and blue eyes), and the seven-foot tall Arkor.

Not to forget King Uske, a young idiot manipulated by his handlers into declaring war for no particular reason.

(Yeah, OK, so what are the chances of that happening?)

And just to mix things up - Clea's fiance, Tomar - who is in the military, and who is intelligent and caring.

There is a set piece near the end of the book; Jon Koshar, the duchess, and Arkor inhabit the bodies of beings on several different worlds; they exist, in turn, on an asteroid; as creatures with 'slitherers' and eye-stalks, who drink liquid methane; as sentient crystals; as "an advanced species of moss"; as numbers inside a star. I can remember being blown away by the scene, which was far removed from the sci-fi story-telling that I'd known up till then.

Captives of the Flame was revised later, and re-named Out of the Dead City; it was combined with two later works to make the Fall of the Towers trilogy. I haven't read the rest of the trilogy; for me it was the kind of book that I wanted to keep as I first knew it, a single jewel in place.

The government in question

I would like to see -- just once - a science fiction movie in which the designated agents of the US government don't act like a pack of gun-happy, testosterone-crazed morons.

After I wrote that last week, I started thinking. Was I being fair? Was it true? Do science fiction movies actually portray the US government in such a negative light?

Well, two movies I’d recently seen certainly did: Starman and The Day the Earth Stood Still. And then we have Alien/Aliens; the government in question may not be specifically identified with the United States, but it’s close—and whoever they are, they’re the bad guys.

On the other hand, the US military in Independence Day is definitely testosterone-crazed and gun happy, but in that movie it’s a good thing.

(A digression: I turned to the internet to refresh my memory with the titles of other science fiction movies. Wikipedia proved a great resource; one article has all the science movies since forever, by year. It’s an endless, fascinating list, what with Santa Clause Conquers the Martians (1964) and Beware! The Blob (1972). Then there were all those great movies that I hadn’t thought about in a while: Silent Running, Twelve Monkeys, The Fifth Element (an all-time favorite). Our Netflix queue is about to get a serious makeover.)

At any rate, returning to our topic—

Perhaps I was too harsh. After all, when you are watching a movie, you know it’s a movie. An alien spaceship has landed in Central Park, 18-wheelers are dissolving in front of your eyes, and none of it is going to affect you at all.

But what if it was real? What if you were in charge of the defense of your country and a spaceship lands? What do you know about it? Nothing, probably, except that the owners of the spaceship have vastly superior technology than you do. Are they friendly? You don’t know. Maybe striking at them immediately is your one chance to save your country, your species, your planet, etc., etc.

We know that neither Keanu Reeves nor Jeff Bridges is really going to hurt us. But reality doesn’t come equipped with alien movie stars.

I think what bothered me more than the violent response – in Starman and The Day the Earth Stood Still – is the lack of reasoned discussion. It was as if government officials were, as a group, incapable of hearing an opposing point of view, incapable of questioning their own judgment. That’s the worst place to be, as even we moviegoers have, in the recent past, every reason to know.

I'll continue thinking about this topic, and I'm certainly going to be more aware, as I watch any sci-fi film from now on, of its point of view re the government and the military. We shall see . . .

Starbuck and Cylons

As usual - what with having the cheapest cable TV package possible, the one they don't tell you about and you have to ask for specifically - we didn't see this series when it started its run on the Sci-fi channel, in 2003. So we've been renting one season after another from Netflix.

(I'm talking about the 're-imagined' Battlestar Galactica, by the way - not the original 1978 TV series, which I can vaguely remember watching on an old black and white set.)

Reviewers on amazon seem to be split about the re-imagined 'Battlestar'. A minority are outraged that the original series - apparently bright and positive and full of manly men and good morals - was tampered with to make the much darker and difficult 2003 version. The majority love the new stuff, and consider the older version to be, you know, so last century.

Apparently one of the causes of outrage was changing our rules-breaking, kickass hero Starbuck - into a woman. I have to question if the people complaining about this have actually seen the new series, since Katee Sackhoff - who plays Kara 'Starbuck' Thrace - is the compleat rules-breaking, kickass heroine. She is of course an attractive woman, but I love that they don't try to make her gussied-up and pretty like a fashion model.

So I'm going with the majority on this one. I wonder if seeing the series in compressed time - sometimes two or three episodes a night, with no commercial breaks - might have a different impact on viewers than the original idea of once a week. At any rate, I've been hooked from the first 5 minutes.

We have Edward James Olmos and Mary McDonnell - two actors of a certain age, both of them wonderful - playing Commander Adama of the Galactica and the President of the Colonies, respectively (the 40 or so people ahead of McDonnell's character in the line of succession all having been killed in the main Cylon attack). We have Michael Hogan as Saul Tigh (the eXO with a drinking problem and a wife with a very interesting history). And we have a group of younger characters, including the rather remarkable Cylon 'Six.'

One of the great additions to the re-imagined series is the idea that some Cylons are 'skin-jobs' - that is, they look and can act exactly like humans. This leads to consequences, which are just now - in the last weeks of the last season of the series - being played out.

Now if I can only figure out how to get a hold of the final episodes . . .

Star Rangers

I've been watching Battlestar Galactica -- via Netflix -- and we've just gotten to the point where our heroes have found Earth. Or at least what they think is Earth - I have my doubts about its actual identity. Anyway, the planet they were so desperately searching for is a blasted, post-nuclear wasteland.

They are all very sad about this. But the series isn't over yet.

Star Rangers (aka 'The Last Planet') by Andre Norton is another story about finding a long-forgotten Earth. In this case, however, the weary crew of a spaceship -- the spaceship being a poorly-maintained relic of a dying galactic civilization -- crash lands on the planet by accident, and for most of the book neither they nor the reader knows that this accidental discovery is the original home of the species.

(There are some nice hints along the way. The green of the vegetation here seems somehow the best and the purest green, unlike the blue-greens or the yellow-greens of other planets they've known.)

The moment in which they find out where they really are ("Terra of Sol - man's beginning!") is a moment of sheer wonder and science fiction glory. Earth had been abandoned by (most of) its people, who left to find the stars. The crew members have a vague memory of this abandonment - it has been a story handed down over the long generations - and now they see the ancient 'Hall of Leave-Taking' for themselves. Kartr - our protagonist - thinks to himself:

"There --why, right there had sat the commanders, and behind them crews and colonists! And so they must have gathered, shipful after shipful for years - maybe centuries. Gathered, spoke together for the last time, received their last orders and instructions - then went out to the field and the waiting ships and blasted off into the unknown - never to return."

Wow. Of course, my personal fantasy at the time (early 1960s!) was to leave Earth myself, permanently. ASAP. So, together with a strong theme element of telepathy (very cool) the book was this adolescent's dream.

I will mention one slightly iffy plot point; shortly after our hero crew crashes on the planet they discover another spaceship has crashed there a few months before. Then, about the time they realize what planet this is, another spaceship lands (and is soon destroyed.) Although the various passengers on these ships are necessary to the story, it does seem a little funny that - after Earth has been (nearly) deserted for millenia - it is suddenly beseiged with crashing spaceships.

Did you notice the 'nearly' deserted bit? Yes, there are still people on the planet. They have retreated to a pre-technological society, and the author describes them somewhat like pre-colonial tribes of native Americans. She does not condescend to them however, and one of our heroes remarks that the people who did not leave Earth - and who have lived there ever since - simply made the choice that seemed best to them at the time.

And indeed, it is the choice that our heroes make as well. Rather than attempt to live in one of the old cities, with some technological comforts, Kartr and his crew decide to strike out and live off the land as newcomers. The end of the old galactic civilization is the beginning, for them, of something new.

Stargate

No, it's not that Stargate - not the movie, or the TV series, which have now evolved into the Stargate franchise.

(Not that I'm opposed to franchises on principle. I'm really looking forward to the new Star Trek movie, and Star Trek, my friends, is the Borg queen of all franchises.)

Anyway. This Stargate is a 1976 novel by Stephen Robinett, who has published a few other novels, and a book of short stories - Projections - which I used to own and can no longer find. It's probably around the house somewhere.

Ironically, the novel involves a large ring which can teleport things, and I have to wonder if Robinett ever considered suing the movie people for stealing his idea, but--in truth--other than 'ring' and 'teleportation' the stories are nothing alike.

Stargate is 'near' science fiction; that is, it is set on Earth, with people who have lives a lot like yours or mine. There are cars. Lawyers. Old folks' homes. On the other hand, there is some advanced technology, notably the Jensen ring, which is basically a transporter. Cool. You walk into the ring in New York, and walk out in San Francisco.

The plot of the story involves our hero - a young engineer - building a huge Jensen ring in space, in order - no, no, not in order for humans to visit the stars - in order to . . . wait for it . . . mine other planets for metals.

Yeah, I know. Still, this is one of the novels I turn to when I want to read something fun and relaxing. The style is very breezy, written in a self-deprecating first-person by Bobby, our young engineer hero. The other characters, including Dolores, his lawyer girlfriend, and the 70-something 'old guy' who Bobby turns to for help - are well-drawn, and everybody banters alot. You know how I love banter.

It's a relatively short book, funny, and has a happy ending. Now if only transporters were real.

The unusual suspects

Ah, yes – and now, by popular demand . . .

I’ve been asked to make a list of sci-fi novels that aren’t on the usual lists. You know the usual lists – the 20 best sci-fi novels of all time, etc., etc. Usually headed by Dune or the Foundation series.

(I have nothing against either of those books, by the way. Dune is great, and the Foundation series – although it reads a little dated, to me – is obviously one of the classics.)

But we need another list, a list of the less obvious suspects. I was originally challenged to come up with twenty. Twenty turns out to be beyond me, a least for the moment. Let’s start with five:

The Last Planet, by Andre Norton. This was originally titled Star Rangers. It was one of the very first sci-fi novels that I read, and I can still feel the sense of wonder. It’s oriented towards younger readers, I suppose. I don’t care. Ideas/themes: telepathy and mental powers, aliens, post-technological civilizations, return to a lost Earth.

This isn’t the novel that started me on sci-fi, but it’s probably the novel that got me permanently hooked.

The Uplift War, by David Brin. OK, this one is better known, and more recent, and might even have ended up on a list or two. The best, most complex, most entertaining talking-animals story ever. Ideas/themes: Evolution of species to sentience, aliens, star wars, information technology.

Brin has a knack – and as a writer, let me tell you, it’s a definite talent – for names. Fiben. The Gubru. And my favorite: Uthacalthing.

Captives of the Flame, by Samuel R. Delany. This is another older book (first published in 1963), and introduced me – as a very young reader – to sci-fi novels as prose. Strange, beautiful, and a little sad. Themes – OK, this one I’m going to have to re-read first. But I do remember one thing; a corrupt government starts a war against something they don’t understand, and when there is really no need for a fight.

The Female Man, by Joanna Russ. Full-on, in your face, sci-fi meets 70s feminism. Need I say more? Over the top but highly entertaining. Yes, it’s dated, but who cares?

Planet of the Apes, by Pierre Boulle. I have a distinct memory of reading this book. I am something like 12 years old. It is the middle of the night and I cannot stop reading until I’ve finished it. At the end, astonished, I burst into tears.

And no, the final scene – in the book – has nothing to do with the Statue of Liberty.

I’ll keep thinking about this, and add to my list. I’m already thinking of two that I missed – Timescape, by Gregory Benford; and Stargate, by Stephen Robinett. Stay tuned!

Tripoint

I've always been a fan of 'hard' science fiction; this means different things, I suppose, to different people. To me it means an emphasis not necessarily on a currently realistic scenario--because let's face it, we aren't getting those Star Trek transporters any time soon--but on the set-up and development of a story in a society with an advanced technology.

And once you've set up the rules, you have to follow them. Gregory Benford's Ocean of Night series comes to mind, here. And not in a good way. His set-up in the first books of the series is fabulous, but by the end (Sailing Bright Eternity) Benford and his characters have wandered off into the 'esty' (S-T, the space-time continuum) where, as far as I could tell, anything can happen.

And when anything can happen, nothing is all that interesting.

But back to Cherryh-- One of her many strengths is that she sets up the rules of a society and its technology and then sticks to them. Her hard science novels--I'm thinking of Cyteen and Regenesis of course; also Downbelow Station, Tripoint, Merchanter's Luck, Rimrunners, Finity's End and the Pride of Chanur series--have a common underpinning of faster-than-light space travel. Faster-than-light involves 'jumps' (Cherryh's version of making time through hyperspace). Jumps aren't fun for humans, who need to be tranked down for the experience.

A new human culture has evolved--or the old culture has split into three: we have planet-dwelling humans, station-dwelling humans, and ship-dwelling humans. They don't necessarily think the same way or have the same goals.

And my favorite bit--ship dwelling humans can't imagine wanting to live on--of all things--a planet. Where there's . . . . dirt. Eeeuuww.

Now add strong characterizations--definitely another Cherryh strength--and you have a recipe for a good sci-fi novel. In Tripoint--my favorite, along with Rimrunner--we have an in-depth exploration of life aboard an FTL ship. I love the combinations here. Not only astronavigation--but also details of making sandwiches in a ship's galley. Not only Planck's equation--but the wonder of a ship-bound human seeing a real tree in a station greenhouse.

"If a leaf's fallen," the guide told them, "you can keep it."

The details are all there, and all true, along with the difficulties of a hot-headed young man--kidnapped!-- starting life over with his father and half-brother. Neither of whom he trusts worth a damn. It's a fantastic read. It ought to have been a blockbuster of a best-seller.

Regenesis

I would say that Regenesis is not so much a sequel to Cyteen as a continuation. Maybe that's splitting hairs. But it takes up within about a month of when Cyteen leaves off, which engenders a slightly odd feeling in its readers, many of whom have been waiting two decades to read the thing. We're twenty years older, but Ari Emory is still eighteen.

What Cherryh seems to be most interested in is relationships. She has developed a fully-realized society - Cyteen, with born-humans and azi - and she takes a detailed look at the lives of a large handful of its inhabitants.

Ari's relationship with Florian and Catlin. Ari with Jordan. Ari with Yanni.

Justin with Grant. Justin with Ari--who admits, in a nice bit of low-key dialogue, that's she's been in love with him, like, forever.

Ari and Justin and Yanni with Giraud and Denys Nye, both now deceased.

Finally-- Justin with Jordan, who are more or less son and father; the evolution of this relationship constitutes a major thrust of the book. Cherryh has written before about a father and son--in Tripoint; and about a mother and a son--both in Tripoint and Finity's End. The author's family relationships are always fraught, and occasionally you want to take one of these characters and whap him upside the head, but it's grown-up stuff and all part of the fun.

I did miss--unavoidably--one of the charms of the first book, which was the description of Florian and Catlin growing up. And in fact, if I was to bemoan anything about the sequel, it's that--although Catlin is always around in the background--we hear very little specifically about her.

On the other hand, the character of Jordan Warrick--newly back from Planys; brilliant, drunk, and fighting mad--provides several great scenes, and a fair amount of humor.

The genius of Regenesis--as with the original novel--is that Cyteen is a real place. That's no small accomplishment. I don't remember any other future society that established itself so firmly in the imagination. Cyteen exists--now let's go see what's happening down in Reseune and Novgorod.

And let's hope that Cherryh has at least one more visit to the planet left in her.

The new CJ Cherryh has arrived

Regenesis - the sequel to Cyteen - is here after only a twenty-year wait or so. I've just started it - stay tuned!

The Day the Earth Stood Still

Preliminary comment #1: I don't know what the title means. The action doesn't take place in one day, or at least that wasn't my impression. And the earth doesn't stand still. Maybe someone can enlighten me on this point.

Preliminary comment #2: I haven't seen the original. People always seem to think the originals are better, and yet I've seen 1950s-era movies, and they're terrible. Not just the special effects, either; the acting is terrible. Maybe this one was an exception.

Preliminary comment #3: I like Keanu Reeves.

So, are we all set? Good. The movie was . . . OK.

Keanu Reeves was great. He makes a wonderful alien, as other reviewers have noted, and the moment when we first see him in a suit was a nice visual joke. (Hello-o-o, Mr. Anderson . . .)

The child (Jaden Smith) was cute, and a decent actor. Jennifer Connelly was very thin. That's all I could think about, looking at her. Wow, you're like a toothpick.

I remember Connelly from The Rocketeer--a movie which I loved, by the way--and in that one she was the perfect, bright-eyed 1940s girl to go with Billy Campbell's gorgeous, bright-eyed 1940s boy.

Here she looks worried alot - and thin.

The special effects were good, but these days that almost goes without saying. I particularly liked the plague of tiny mechanical locusts (you'll remember the disintegrating 18-wheeler from the movie trailer--that's their handiwork). And the scene where we are introduced to their extremely fast method of reproduction was nice and creepy.

Now, I'm a special-effects afficionado, as I think I've said before - but I'm going to reverse myself here, and claim that in this case the story would have benefited from a simpler telling. More time to get to know our alien and our heroine. Even a little banter, maybe. The one scene where the movie really came alive for me was a quiet piece of dialogue between Reeves and John Cleese, playing a Nobel-winning scientist. They both sounded thoughtful, intelligent; two real individuals, discussing something important.

Because the message is an important one, and the movie approaches it in an interesting way. We know (or at least some of us do) that human beings--by their bad habits, their over-consumption, and their sheer numbers--are causing environmental damage to the Earth.

The movie asks: Do we have the right to destroy a planet? And what will it take for us to change? The situation (Al Gore absolutely hit it right on the head) is inconvenient. It is inconvenient to think we might not be able to continue as we wish. It is inconvenient to think that we can't have whatever we want to have.

It is just damned inconvenient that life can't be all Christmas morning, with shiny packages (big screen TVs! $1.50 gasoline!) spilling endlessly from under the tree.

The Day the Earth Stood Still wants us to consider whether we can change our behavior to save our lives. And I can only say that - IMHO - this question is probably worth a little more dialogue.