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This Sunday: ‘Atlantic Crossing’

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I trust you’ll be going to church this Sunday. In the evening, after the celebration and the feast, you’ll have the opportunity — 9:00 Eastern, 8:00 Central, etc. — to watch “Atlantic Crossing,” a superior miniseries I helped translate, on PBS Masterpiece. PBS has an interesting intro video, which I tried to embed, but I can’t make it work. So here’s the link.

One of the people you’ll see on the video is Alexander Eik, one of the co-writers. The other co-writer is Linda May Kallestein, my original film translation boss. But she’s shy.

Fiction, Reviews

‘The Color of Blood,’ by Keith Yocum

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For a while there, I thought I’d found a new series to follow passionately. I liked the first half of Keith Yocum’s The Color of Blood very much. But it faded in the stretch for this reader.

Dennis Cunningham is an investigator for the CIA. He’s not an agent; he investigates crimes committed against, or by, Agency operatives. His strength is interrogation, his chief method bullying. He offends people, gets them angry, and they lower their defenses and unload the truth. He has a high clearance rate, but very few friends, at Langley or anywhere else.

He’s just back from compassionate leave, after a breakdown following the death of his wife. To ease him back into the job, he’s assigned to look into the disappearance of an agent in Australia. Basically he’s just supposed to check somebody else’s work; no big deal.

But when he gets to Australia, (where he’s required by law to be accompanied by a local police officer, who turns out to be a woman who hates him on sight), he begins to suspect that the missing agent is not dead at all. He also grows curious about what that agent had been investigating. And that leads him down paths of inquiry leading to danger, both from bad guys and the unforgiving Australian outback. Along the way, he and his Australian cop escort will begin to see each other in a new way.

For reasons that won’t be hard to guess, I generally like stories about “difficult” male heroes, your Monk/House/Holmes types. I like them even better, for even more obvious reasons, when they get paired up with attractive women. So this story gratified me very much for about the first half.

But then it got out of hand (from my perspective). Dennis’s obsessive risk-taking abruptly ended my identification with him. Unsurprising perils led to not unexpected rescues. Also, there was what I perceived (I could be wrong) as a political message that seemed to me extreme.

So I won’t be continuing with this series. It was fun for a while, though. You might like it better.

Fiction, Reviews

‘The Other Emily,’ by Dean Koontz

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She was in that highest rank of beauties that inspired stupid men to commit foolish acts and made wiser men despair for their inadequacies.

One storytelling element I like very much is the book that opens with an impossibility. Dean Koontz’s latest novel, The Other Emily, is such a book. I wasn’t entirely satisfied with all of it, but it led me a merry chase up to the end.

David Thorne is a bestselling author, and very wealthy. But he lives a distanced life, ever since the loss of his girlfriend Emily. She disappeared on a California highway one rainy night ten years ago, when her car broke down. She is assumed to be one of the victims of a serial killer active at the time. David actually pays the man to visit him periodically in prison, in the hope of gleaning a clue to Emily’s fate. He’s grieving, of course, but also racked with guilt, because he should have been with her that night.

Then one evening, in a bar in Newport Beach, he spies a woman who looks exactly like Emily. Not similar to her, but precisely like her in every detail. She even talks like Emily, and seems to know things only she would know. Except that she’s the age Emily was when she disappeared, not the age she’d be today.

David plunges into a passionate affair with this mysterious woman, meanwhile embarking on an obsessive investigation to discover who she really is, where she comes from, and what she’s here for. The secret, when he learns it, will be almost unbelievable and very likely deadly.

I wasn’t entirely happy with the conclusion of The Other Emily. I thought it contrived and implausible, even on science fiction/horror terms. However, the process of reading the book provided a persistent sense of dread all along its length, and I found that very stimulating.

Cautions for language and disturbing subject matter.

Fiction, Reading, Religion, Reviews

Dune: Cynical and Yet Pro-Life

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[Reading Dune for the first time] Update 4: A couple observations on what I’ve read so far.

Paul Atriedes and Lady Jessica, son and mother, are both highly trained in the Bene Gesserit order. Jessica was a nun (if that’s the right word for her position) before being sold to Duke Leto as a concubine. You can see in that statement why nun doesn’t seem like the precise word for her. Others call her a witch and call the Eastern mystical quality of Bene Gesserit ways witchcraft. But what they do doesn’t look like magic at all. It looks like highly accurate intuition, mental processing power, and even kung fu.

At the same time, Jessica frequently criticizes signs of manipulative indoctrination she finds on the desert planet. There’s no indication of universal truths or God Almighty who calls people on every planet to himself. They never speak of faith, only of training. It seems somewhat, but not entirely, secularized.

Contrasted with this is faith of the Fremen, which Jessica would say has been delivered to them by emissaries of the Missionaria Protectiva. This part of the Bene Gesserit order is defined in the glossary as being “charged with sowing infectious superstitions on primitive worlds, thus opening those regions to exploitation.” Paul looks at the honest faith of the Fremen as a seedbed for jihad.

If the Atriedes would speak of universal moral truths or spiritual realities just once, it could remove the cynical smear of every other characterization of faith. But I don’t think they will.

Despite their jaded religious training, they take a remarkably pro-life stance on Jessica’s unborn child. Several times Jessica’s pregnancy has come up, never in the bizarrely clinical way some people talk today, and at a point when she feels compelled to risk her life for the greater good, Jessica asks herself if she has the right to risk the life of her child as well. In 2021 A.D. America, that’s an incredible statement!

I’m a little worried matriarchs of the Bene Gesserit order will emerge to play the part of Big Organized Religion Bent on Evil. Maybe they won’t in this book.

Photo by Francesco Ungaro on Unsplash

Fiction, Reviews

‘Blood River,’ by C. E. Nelson

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When I run across a Minnesota mystery writer, I generally give him a shot. Usually they turn out too progressive for my taste. But C. E. Nelson’s Blood River generally avoided politics, and the writing wasn’t bad.

David Trask, our hero, is a former cop from Maple Grove, Minnesota (not far from where I live). A while back, tired of the pressures of Twin Cities policing, he moved up to Lake County Minnesota, an extensive, forested resort region. Then he ran for sheriff, and – to his surprise – won. Still, what’s the worst that could happen in resort country?

What happens is serial murder. When two fishermen are found with their throats slashed, it’s only the start of a string of brutal murders. Soon the small resort owners are clashing with the big owners, and the fishing guides are clashing with everybody, and Dave knows he’s stretched beyond his limited resources. He calls on his twin brother Don, an investigator for Minnesota’s Bureau of Criminal Apprehension. Before everything’s done, they will face a formidable killer together.

The writing in Blood River wasn’t stellar, but it was serviceable. I liked Dave and Don as characters, and the story kept my interest. The plotting was the weak point – the author comes pretty close to a deus ex machina save at a critical juncture, and the action isn’t always plausible.

But it wasn’t bad. I might read the next in the series.

Fiction, Reading, Reviews

‘People Overact, Take it Too Far’

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[Reading Dune for the first time] Update 3: I recently read the scene in which Paul sees one of the giant worms rise from the sand before him. They have this scene in the trailer for the upcoming film. Remembering that got me wondering if they had the same scene in the 1984 movie.

I know I said I didn’t want to see any more of that movie, but I don’t think the worms were the bad part. I found a WatchMojo video of ten reasons people hate Dune (1984), and now I really have seen as much as I need to see of it. Yeah, there are spoilers, but this movie doesn’t stick close to the book, so it’s matters less. And no worm rising from the sand–maybe that was the good part.

One main complaint is overacting. I remember catching an old sci-fi flick Solar Crisis somewhere in the middle. I think I started watching when Charlton Heston was on screen. After a few minutes, I thought, “Heston is the only good actor in this movie.” At least, he was the only believable figure walking around. Cut to a scene in a spaceship, and I wondered if these were the people who had been looking for clerical and janitorial work when all the real astronauts were deciding who would draw the short straws.

That’s something I’ve appreciated in what I’ve read of Dune so far. The characters, at least the good ones, aren’t peevish and bratty. Actually, Baron Vladimir Harkonnen is not only evil, he’s full of bile. He probably wakes up every morning with a leer, but he gets little lime light in Book One, so he doesn’t weigh it down. Duke Leto, the Sean Bean character in this part of the story, has flaws, which Paul notes, but is predominately an admirable man. One of the native politicians feels pressed to like the Duke against his better judgement because he naturally commands loyalty. He inspires fidelity with his passion and generosity.

The overacting, what there may be of it, comes across as cutthroat politics. The president of Ukraine, Volodymyr Zelensky, is quoted as saying, “Politics is like bad cinema — people overact, take it too far. When I speak with politicians, I see this in their facial expressions, their eyes, the way they squint. I look at things like a producer. I would often watch a scene on the monitor, and the director and I would yell, ‘Stop, no more, this is unwatchable! No one will believe this.'”

I hope I don’t get much of it in the rest of Dune. It would ruin the whole experience.

Image by Parker_West from Pixabay

Publishing, Writing

Writing pains, prolonged

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Demonstration of Proper Writing Position, from Hill’s Manual of Social and Business Forms. Wikimedia Commons.

Nearing the end of my formatting/proofreading of The Year of the Warrior text, in hopeful pursuit of a new paperback edition.

I approached this project with some trepidation. I had fond memories of writing the book, and I didn’t want to be disillusioned by the reality. I had an awkward idea that parts of it must be pretty bad, and I didn’t want to stare into that void.

Overall, I’m pleased. Where the book is good, I think it’s pretty good. Sometimes my prose can soar. I make interesting use of poetry, both original poetry and psalms, and I think those passages function a little like a movie score, raising the emotional level of the whole exercise. I am my own John Williams.

But there are flabby spots. I’m way too preachy toward the beginning of Part 2, The Ghost of the God-Tree. I don’t think I’d make that mistake today – I wrote this more than 20 years ago, and I hope I’ve learned a few things about my craft. I think I won’t be entirely ashamed to sell this book. A little ashamed, yes, but also proud, overall.

Today was a beautiful day in Minneapolis, 70 degrees and sunny, as we all watch reports of the Chauvin trial from the corners of our eyes. We hope for the best, but it’s hard to imagine a scenario that isn’t pretty awful. A Chinese restaurant I patronize quite a lot opened for indoor dining again today, and I was there for lunch. It was nice, but I had a sense, as I sat there among a multi-ethnic crowd, that we were all uneasy.

At times like this, one is tempted to ask, “Does novel writing matter?”

And I answer, “Of course it does.”

I have a delusion that somewhere in Heaven, Erling Skjalgsson is pulling for me. And Father Ailill, or someone like him.

Writing

Writing pains

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Writing a book has sometimes been compared to giving birth. I can’t speak to the comparison; it’s for female writers to comment on such matters – not that I generally listen to female writers these days.

But I was in metaphorical labor last night, working on the new Erling book, King of Rogaland. As I’ve already mentioned, I’ve finished the first draft, but that’s very far from finishing the job. I’ve been particularly concerned about the second half, which seemed to cover the plot ground way too fast, and to be insufficiently linked to the first half. So I took one character, whom I’d sent offstage at about the half-way point, and signed him on for another tour of duty. I also decided I needed some more fantasy action. All yesterday, when I wasn’t working on proofreading The Year of the Warrior, I was thinking about a scene to insert.

Thinking is the embarrassing part of writing. It doesn’t look like you’re doing any work. It also doesn’t feel like you’re doing any work. It only amplifies that voice in your head that keeps telling you you’ve lost it… if you ever had it at all.

In the C.S. Lewis story collection, The Dark Tower and Other Stories, there’s a story called “Ten Years After.” It was, I believe, the last attempt Lewis ever made to start a novel (it’s about Helen of Troy). But it’s very short. By the time he wrote it, Lewis was near the end of his life. His health was failing (something glossed over in both filmed versions of “Shadowlands”), and he’d never really gotten over his wife’s death. He just couldn’t find the energy or creativity to write fiction anymore. He decided he was past it.

That was how I was feeling yesterday, when I set about plotting my new scene. I’m several years older than Lewis was when he died, after all – although my health is better, and I’ve insured myself against bereavement by successfully avoiding almost all meaningful relationships. But I was still wondering if I had it in me to write an imaginative scene.

But I came up with something. I think it’s good. It took a lot of thought, and it took time to gel, and it didn’t come together until I’d gone to bed, so I had to turn the lamp on to note it down, but I have a scene. I’ll get on it tonight.

Fiction, Reviews

‘Ghost of a Chance,’ by Dan Willis

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Will it surprise anybody if I tell you I’m kind of a snob when it comes to my reading? Probably not. I mean, I don’t read only Russian or French books, but I sometimes pre-judge novels, especially by genre. I think of myself as a high fantasist, both in my reading and writing. Light urban fantasy, I’ll confess, feels a little like slumming to me. But I must confess, I’m enjoying Dan Willis’s Alex Lockerby novels. They’re fun.

At the end of the previous novel, Alex, a runewright/private eye in a 1930s New York City where magic works, saved the city from a sorcerous disaster. But there was a price – he drained a lot of his life energy in the process. Now his hair has turned white and his hands shake – which is deadly for his bread-and-butter business, drawing precise runes to help people find lost dogs or spouses.

But he hasn’t been forgotten. In Ghost Of a Chance, when a “ghost killer” starts murdering people in locked rooms, one of the tabloid newspapers starts claiming Alex is showing the police how to solve the crimes. It’s not true, and it only makes the cops more hostile to him than they already were. Meanwhile, a woman whose husband has disappeared hires him to find him, and an eminent sorcerer/industrialist makes a bet with Alex to locate an experimental motor that’s been stolen from him.

Alex can’t draw his runes anymore. Which means that he’s going to have to rely on plain deduction to do the job the old-fashioned way. Is he up to it? Or will he find himself locked up for interfering with the police, as they keep threatening? Or even dead?

The prose in the Alex Lockerby books is not of the very highest quality, but the plots move right along and the characters and colorful and lively. Your entertainment dollar will not be wasted. I wish the author had studied up more on one of his characters, though, one who is supposed to be an actual historical figure. I won’t say who he is, but he seems to have changed a lot of his skills and philosophy in this universe.

Publishing, Writing

The return of ‘The Year’

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I hope I’m not raising cruel hopes among my millions thousands hundreds dozens (!) of longsuffering fans, but I guess I can tell you I’m in the process of trying to produce a new paper version of The Year Of the Warrior. Ori Pomerantz helped me out in the early stages, and now I’m proofreading a file to submit to a printer. (As you may be aware, Baen Books continues to sell the e-version, but our contract gives me the right to produce a tangible book. I note that the cover above was designed back in 2018, so this has been a long time coming.) It’s always a little awkward, when I’m selling books at Viking events, to tell people that the one Erling book I have for sale in dead tree form is Number Two in a series. TYOTW on paper will mean I’ll have books One and Two both (or One, Two and Three if you count TYOTW as a double. Which it is.). I think that’ll go over well.

Assuming there is a Viking Season this summer. If there isn’t, the money I plan to pay a printer will be sunk costs in my basement for a while.

So I’m re-reading The Year Of the Warrior for the first time in… a decade? Two decades? A long time. What do I think of it?

All in all, I’m pleased. There’s some weak spots, some sentences I’d recast or streamline. And the plotting, especially at the beginning, is occasionally forced. But a lot of the prose reads just fine to me, even moving in spots.

There are errors of fact. Some things I got wrong about Viking life, which have been clarified for me in the many years since. I wish I’d known that Erling’s father, according to a saga I’d never seen when I was writing, was killed in a thrall uprising while he was a boy (I spackled that story over in West Oversea). Other errors I won’t mention, because I’ve already repressed them.

I’m not fixing any errors in this version. “What I have written, I have written,” as a not-so-great Roman said. I think I need to own my mistakes along with my successes. It’s all on the record.

I’d forgotten some details. Erling’s shield shows two eagles (I need to mention that again; it’s thematically important). Father Ailill has a box bed in his house.

Anyway, I haven’t gotten an estimate from the printer yet, but I expect it won’t be cheap, especially with that beautiful cover by Jeremiah Humphries. So that’s where my stimulus money is going. Which is too bad, because I just got brake work done on the car…