Rejecting the Roots of Science Fiction

I know, I know, I am a broken record about this stuff. But it never ceases to amaze me (in an unhappy way) how the so-called writers of Science Fiction, seem to be in such a huge hurry to run away from the roots of the field. I’ve read and listened to all the many arguments — pro and con, from both sides — about how Campbell rescued the field from the Pulp era, but then New Wave in turn rescued the field from the Campbell era. So it might be true that we’re finally witnessing the full maturation of SF/F as a distinct arena of “serious” literature, but aren’t we taking things too far? Does anyone else think it’s a bad idea for the field to continue its fascination with cultural critique — the number of actual nutty-bolty science types, in SFWA, is dwindling, while the population of “grievance degree” lit and humanities types, in SFWA, is exploding — while the broader audience consistently demonstrates a preference for SF/F that might be termed “old fashioned” by the modern sensibilities of the mandarins of the field?

Brad R. Torgersen, “The Martian and Mad Max

Singing with English Nightingales

NightingaleEnglish Nightingales don’t actually exist. They are migrants from Central Africa up in the north country for a bit of holiday. Most of them go to Europe, but some come from families that have always holidayed in England and they aren’t going to upset Grandma by suggesting the Black Forest or the Provence Alps (especially not after Freddie ran off with that scarlet thrush last autumn; Grandma’s barely gotten over that).

Musician Sam Lee holds special performances in the woods of southeast England where the nightingales sing around this time of year.  “Lee’s show presented an opportunity to focus, fully, on what a nightingale actually sounds like, miles from the nearest road,” writes Sam Kinchin-Smith. “Much to my surprise, its stop-starting, self-counterpointing quality reminded me of nothing so much as James Brown’s ‘get on up’ scat.”

Hear that sound and read more about nightingales in Kinchin-Smith’s LRB piece.

Shakespeare’s Illustration of the Eucharist

In Act 3, Scene 3 of The Tempest, several ‘strange shapes’ bring in a banquet, on which Alonso proposes to feed. But Ariel, by means of a ‘quaint device,’ causes it to vanish and confronts them with their own sin: ‘But remember/(For that’s my business to you) that you three/From Milan did supplant good Prospero’ (3.3.68–70). The prospective feast becomes an act of remembrance, restoring a memory of themselves that disbars participation until that memory has restored them to repentance.

Peter J. Leithart spells out some of the details, drawing on David Aers and Sarah Beckwith essay on Holy Communion in Cultural Reformations.

‘The Glenlitton Murder,’ by E. Phillips Oppenheim

The Glenlitton Mystery

E. Phillips Oppenheim has become a fallback author for me. An English writer who flourished in the 1930s, he wrote mysteries and thrillers a little more sophisticated (in my view) than comparable stuff of the period. I find his stories a little palid compared to the contemporary kind, but they keep my interest, and I can get them cheap for my Kindle.

The Glenlitton Murder is pretty standard Oppenheim. The main character is a member of the English nobility – Andrew, Marquis Glenlitton. When we meet him he’s hosting a party at Glenlitton, his country estate, introducing to his friends his new wife, Felice, who is half French and half Russian. During the evening, Felice retires to her bedchamber, claiming a headache. She sleeps, and is awakened by movement in her room, and a gunshot. A male guest, who has entered the room, is killed. The police quickly assume that the burglar must have killed the man. But Felice is not telling everything she knows…

No great pulse-pounder, The Glenlitton Murder is a serviceable mystery novel to pass the time. Felice is the old-fashioned kind of female character, kind of clinging and helpless by our standards. Theoretically that ought to please me, but even I found her a tad soppy.

Recommended for those who like the older approach to storytelling. Nothing objectionable here.

Taking counsel of my fears

The following may be the result of depression, and therefore irrational. I’ll check back when I’m feeling more cheerful, to see how it holds up. But I’ve come to a kind of peace with the 2016 election cycle. It’s the kind of peace described by Tacitus, who said of the Romans in Britain, “they make a desert, and call it peace.”

I’ve decided that (barring changes in the strategic situation which are entirely possible) I’m going to vote for Trump this year. Not out of principle, not out of patriotism, but out of despair.

Signs of the Times

I read three articles online this morning, which all together helped me to clear my mind. They were these: Continue reading Taking counsel of my fears

‘Locked In,’ by Jeff Shelby

Locked In

Author Jeff Shelby has several mystery series going, but my favorite is his Noah Braddock series, featuring a surfer/private detective in San Diego. Noah defies all your (or at least my) presuppositions about surfers, being a thoughtful and highly ethical character.

A couple books ago, Noah killed the man who murdered his girlfriend, who was a San Diego cop. The last novel found him living incognito in Florida, surfing unfamiliar waves. But now his ethics have caught up with him, and the beginning of Locked In finds him heading back to San Diego with his friend Carter. He has decided he can’t live as a fugitive. He needs to face up to this.

He contacts his girlfriend’s old partner, who puts in a word with the District Attorney’s office. The DA, an imperious woman, offers him a deal – an “assault” is rumored to have happened at the University of San Diego, during a party involving the baseball team. He is to find out what he can about it. She will tell him nothing more. If he satisfies her with his answers, she’ll see that the charges against him are dropped (he killed a cop killer, after all). He agrees, with some discomfort, and steps into a world of lies, cover-ups, and self-serving deception, all the while mourning his lost love.

Noah Braddock is an excellent, sympathetic continuing character, and I enjoyed Locked In very much. Cautions for language and adult subject matter.

Wasting Away

My family has been spending many hours in the hospital lately, because my dad was admitted for what they thought was lymphoma at the time. Now it appears to be a different and more severe form of cancer. He’s had some other complications over the last two weeks, but they all seem fairly minor compared to the main threat. I’ve teetered back and forth on the likelihood of his overcoming it. Right now, I’m hopeful we will make it to the end of this blind alley and back into the sunlight without getting mugged.

He has made my flesh and my skin waste away;
he has broken my bones;

he has besieged and enveloped me
with bitterness and tribulation;

. . .

The steadfast love of the Lord never ceases;
his mercies never come to an end;

they are new every morning;
great is your faithfulness.

“The Lord is my portion,” says my soul,
“therefore I will hope in him.” (Lamentations 3:4 –5, 22–24 ESV)

I wholeheartedly endorse my Lord’s steadfast love and unceasing mercy, but I feel the wasting away more closely than ever.

Update: My dad passed away in the afternoon of May 14. Half of my family was there when his heart began to beat irregularly. My sister called me to say I should come to the hospital, which was the second such call this week, the first for breathing irregularities on Thursday. Ten minutes later, she called again to say he’s gone. Thank you for your prayers. He left an admirable legacy as a servant to his church, family, and community.

‘Assisted Murder,’ by Jeff Shelby

I’m a fan of mystery writer Jeff Shelby, especially his Noah Braddock novels (of which I’ll be reviewing the latest tomorrow). He also writes a “cozy series” called the Moose River Mysteries. This is probably a good economic decision – “cozies” written for a female audience comprise, as far as I can see, more than half of the mystery market. I keep trying to cultivate a taste for this genre, but alas, no joy.

The Moose River series involves the Gardner-Savage (blended) family, Jake, Daisy, and four kids, who live in Moose River, Minnesota. But in Assisted Murder they fly to Florida, for Jake’s grandmother’s 100th birthday, and also to do Disney World. They encounter Grandmother Billie (grumpy) and Aunt Gloria (high-energy and ditzy), who both live in a retirement community. They also encounter several of their friends, who prove as driven by competition, lust, and jealousy as any assemblage of younger people. This is underlined when Aunt Gloria’s worst enemy is discovered murdered in her (Gloria’s) house, and the police make her their chief suspect.

I suspect that Assisted Murder would be a highly amusing read for members of its intended audience, with the cute, bickering kids and the not-so-cute, bickering geriatrics running amok in their various ways. Didn’t work for me, of course, but I have no objection to make for those who like this kind of thing. Pretty family-friendly.

‘The Innocent,’ by Harlan Coben

The Innocent, Harlan Coben

Olivia thought again about how the abused always take the path of self-destruction. They simply could not stop themselves. They take it no matter what the consequences, no matter what the danger. Or maybe, as in her case, they take it for the opposite reason – because no matter how much life has tried to beat them down, they cannot let go of hope.

Another Harlan Coben book in my current little Coben binge. I didn’t love this one, The Innocent, quite as much as I loved Caught, which I reviewed a couple inches down the page. But it’s still a superior book.

Matt Hunter is an ex-con who works as a paralegal. He served a sentence for manslaughter. He’s married to a beautiful woman, Olivia, and they’re deeply in love with each other. She’s just learned she’s pregnant.

And their life is a lie. Olivia isn’t who she says she is.

A nun in a nearby Catholic school is murdered in her room. Police find phone records linking her to Matt’s family. Olivia goes away on a “business trip,” and Matt gets a video on his cell phone, showing her in a bedroom with another man.

Matt sets about finding out the truth – and he refuses to believe Olivia has betrayed him.

The plot is convoluted. The characters are numerous and textured, sometimes surprising us as is Cobin’s style (and I like that). We visit the sordid world of “exotic” dancing, which is not pretty. But the conclusion moved me as much as that of any novel I’ve read in a while.

Recommended. Cautions for violence (but not explicit), sexual situations (also not explicit), and only mild profanity.

When The Church Doesn’t Feel Triumphant

Abandoned Church Building .

Russell Moore on the church in America and our intersection with public policies in today’s New York Times. We are not a majority white church anymore more nor should we want to be.

The Bible calls on Christians to bear one another’s burdens. White American Christians who respond to cultural tumult with nostalgia fail to do this. They are blinding themselves to the injustices faced by their black and brown brothers and sisters in the supposedly idyllic Mayberry of white Christian America. That world was murder, sometimes literally, for minority evangelicals.

Alan Noble talks about  the politicization of our morals and how that has raised fences around our communities.

Politics do not (or at least should not) define us, but cultural values that are traditionally wrapped up in political movements impact our perception of our neighbor. If politicians and the pundits who support them regularly speak about immigrants as threats to our country or view poor minorities as drains on our economy, or if they mock Christian voters as backwards bigots and pro-life advocates as anti-woman, it shapes the way we envision one another. We grow skeptical of one another, hostile, and cynical. In a word, we become less neighborly.