Fiction, Reviews

Out of the Soylent Planet by Robert Kroese

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“You know what’s good for adventures,” asked Rex Nihilo, apparently sensing an opportunity to make a sale. “Malarchian military grade plastic explosives. I’ve got a whole hovertruck load.”

“We don’t need any explosives,” said Uncle Blauwin.

The boy looked like he was going to cry. “First you won’t let me go into town to get energy fluxors and now you won’t let me have any military grade explosives. I hate you and this gosh-darned desert planet!”

Communication is about context, and comedy is about context, which means all communication is comedy. That, kids, is logic.

In this prequel to the sci-fi comedy Starship Grifters, if you’re familiar with a general sci-fi context, you’ll get the jokes–the more familiar, the more jokes. Mm, the smell of logic just gets you in the eye, doesn’t it?

A few years ago, I blogged on the second book in this series, Aye, Robot, and I found Out of the Soylent Planet to be a funnier story. The con man Rex Nihilo attempts to unload a truckload of plastic explosives, fails, rolls to plan B, fails, and then finds himself unloaded onto an isolated planet that’s locked down so tight even cans of creamed corn are contraband. The planet is mostly barren. Its civilization is built around producing an artificial nutritional substance called Slop. “It’s not food. It’s Slop!” Since readers would be thinking Slop is made from people, our heroes come across a corporate video that neatly explains that rumor away.

Rex and his robotic Girl Friday, SASHA, go through several silly romps and clever escapes. And explosions. Lots of explosions. Good fun.

I listened to the J.D. Ledford audiobook version, which added to the comedy with good timing and particular word emphases. I laughed aloud many times.

Fiction, Reviews

‘Doomed Legacy,’ by Matt Coyle

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I’ve been following Matt Coyle’s series of hard-boiled mysteries starring Rick Cahill for some time. I like the books quite a lot, but Doomed Legacy proved to be about as dark as its title.

Rick, when he was first introduced, was a loner private eye in San Diego, a disgraced cop who kept office hours in a booth in the steak house where he moonlighted as host. Through his subsequent adventures we’ve seen him reintegrate into human society. Now he’s married and the father of an 18-month-old daughter, the light of his life. At his wife’s request, he’s changed his business model from crime investigation to safe, routine background checks for various businesses.

She knows that he suffers from CTI, “the football player’s disease.” Brain damage from getting hit over the head too many times. What he hasn’t told her is that it’s progressing. He suffers from headaches and memory loss, but the worst of it is the rage attacks. He’s afraid he might endanger the people he loves.

One morning he argues with his wife, which makes him short-tempered when he meets with Sara Bhandari, his contact with Fulcrum Security, of his biggest client. She wants to meet somewhere out of the way, where her colleagues won’t see her. She tells him she’s concerned about some of the people whose security checks have been passed by a new investigative company they’ve hired recently. She thinks the people should never have been cleared, and thinks the investigators are up to something. Rick agrees to look into it as a favor, but he’s in a bad mood and leaves rudely. Something he regrets.

He regrets it even more three days later when, having been unable to reach Sara, he goes to her house and finds her dead – raped and murdered. The police identify the m. o. of a serial rapist in the area, and blame it on him. But Rick isn’t so sure.

Then Sara’s sister hires him to investigate the death. But she fires him abruptly when bad reports (false ones) start spreading about Rick’s own security work. That won’t stop him, of course. It’s personal now. But he has no idea how powerful the people he’s challenging are. And he has no idea the effect it all may have on his family.

I liked Doomed Legacy. It read well except for a couple typos. The occasional references to Christianity and prayer were positive.

But it’s a dark story. I hope the next one proves happier for Rick.

Fiction, Reviews

‘The Saga of Hallfred the Troublesome Skald’

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A scene from a production of “Hallfred Vandraadeskald” presented by the Norwegian National Theater in 1908. Photo property of Nationalteatret.

Another Icelandic saga, read by me in The Complete Sagas of Icelanders. (Unfortunately, I can’t find another translation in print anywhere.) I’m reading through a section of skald’s sagas, from which you may infer that The Saga of Hallfred the Troublesome Skald is another story of a poet.

Hallfred’s Saga bears some (actually a lot of) similarity to Kormak’s Saga, the subject of my last saga review. Like Kormak, Hallfred falls in love with a girl at home in Iceland, fails to show up for their wedding, and harasses any other suitors who appear. Also like Kormak, he sails abroad to make his fortune as a Viking.

But this is where his story distinguishes itself. Hallfred ends up at the court of King Olaf Trygvesson (whom you may remember from my novel, The Year of the Warrior). Hallfred seems to be a predecessor to every song writer who ever nagged record producers in Nashville or Las Angeles. The king has other things on his mind than listening to songs, but he finally agrees to give Hallfred a hearing, calling him a “troublesome skald” (vandræðaskáld). In the event the song pleases Olaf, who accepts Hallfred as one of his court poets.

But this happens at the peak of Olaf’s evangelistic zeal.  Receiving the king’s offer (actually a threat) of baptism, Hallfred makes a counterproposal. He wants Olaf himself to be his godfather, a singular honor. Like a squeaky wheel, Hallfred gets what he wants. But his relationship with the king is an uneven one. He seems to have trouble getting the swing of Christianity. He falls out of favor when he invokes the old gods or falls into heathen customs. Then the king sets him to various tasks to regain favor, opening up opportunities for the kinds of adventures that always show up in sagas.

Although Hallfred’s saga is not one of the best in terms of its artistry, it is interesting for the picture it gives of the religious transition in Iceland in the 11th Century. As compared to Kormak’s Saga, one senses the pressure of the new faith as it alters people’s mores. Hallfred’s attentions to another man’s wife are treated more seriously here, less as merry pranks, and his family urges him to let it all go. In the end even Hallfred decides to leave the woman’s husband alone.

One of the saga’s main weaknesses is that, although it’s based on Hallfred’s own poems, the saga writer appears to often misunderstand them. Poetic allusions (always very thick in Viking poetry) are mistaken for statements of fact. Thus, a man uses a heathen sacrificial trough as a weapon, highly unlikely in real life. Or Kormak’s great enemy is named “Gris,” which means pig. I would suspect that’s an insulting name Hallfred bestowed on him, rather than the name he actually carried. (Pigs enjoyed higher status among the Vikings than they do with us, but I’ve never heard of any Viking actually named “Pig.”)

In short, The Saga of Hallfred the Troublesome Skald is a flawed saga which contains, nonetheless, numerous points of interest for the saga enthusiast.

Fiction, Reviews

‘The Redemptive Return,’ by J.R. and Susan Mathis

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Book Number Three in the Father Tom Mysteries is The Redemptive Return. This review ought to be taken with a grain of salt, though, because my emotional reaction to it probably colors my judgment.

Father Tom Greer, as you may recall from my previous reviews, is a priest who entered the ministry late in life, having been a husband and a widower already. Before that, he was engaged to Helen Parr who (by one of those coincidences which are a little too common in this series) is now a police detective in the town of Myerton, Pennsylvania, where Father Tom also serves, in his own way. The fact that they are still attracted to one another is a complication in both their lives.

One day Tom gets a call from his sister Sonya, with whom he rarely communicates. It sounds like she’s running away from someone, and she desperately wants Tom to find something (he can’t hear what) and help somebody named Chrystal.

Tom isn’t sure what to do about this call. Sonya is a drug addict (supposedly in recovery now), and he’s gotten such calls from her before. They’ve never meant anything. He lets it go.

Shortly thereafter he hears from his mother. Sonya is dead. Her body was found in a dumpster.

And it’s all his fault.

Tom doesn’t want to go home, with all its unresolved issues, but he knows he must. What surprises him is that Helen shows up next to him on the plane, having taken personal leave to help him out.

Is that a good thing or a bad thing?

Because of my own personal history, I found The Redemptive Return hard to read. So I’m incapable of saying whether this element (dysfunctional family dynamics) of the story is handled well or not.

However, it seemed to me the book suffered from what I’m sure others before me have called “Bond Villain Syndrome,” where the villain pauses long enough in the process of killing the hero to explain his/her criminal genius at length – giving the cavalry time to show up and save the day.

Finally, my big problem with the book was the resolution (at this point in the ongoing saga) of Father Tom’s relationship problem with Helen. An arrangement is worked out with the approval of his bishop. I’m not a Catholic, but I found it improbable in the extreme. Both ecclesiastically and psychologically.

I won’t pan The Redemptive Return, but I think it’s relatively weak. Readable, though.

Music

Sunday Singing: Who Shall Ascend the Mountain of the Lord

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“Who Shall Ascend the Mountain of the Lord” performed by The Redeemer Choir of Austin, Texas

This week’s hymn of ascension is a new one, as hymns go. Edmund P. Clowney (1917-2005) taught practical theology and was the first president of Westminster Theological Seminary in Philadelphia. He published this hymn, based on Psalm 24, in 1987.

The tune, about a hundred years older, is by the Irishman Sir Charles Villiers Stanford. You’ll notice it’s different than many hymn tunes in its triumphal openness. Each verse ends on a high note, perhaps to lift our heads up to Christ above us. With that it doesn’t feel neatly wrapped. It feels as if it anticipates more to come.

The words are under copyright, so I will copy only the first verse here.

Who shall ascend the mountain of the Lord,
to search the mystery in heaven stored,
the knowledge of the Holy One adored?
Alleluia!

Blogs, Socials, Music, Non-fiction, The Press

But How Are You Really? Well, Journalism Is Dead

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This week, I had one of those frequently repeated conversations about what we mean when we greet others with “Hello” and “How are you?” An earnest person might think it’s dishonest to ask someone how they are doing without expecting an answer and may feel a burden to share transparently when others ask them. You may have heard someone argue that Christians shouldn’t say they are fine when they aren’t fine; they shouldn’t paint on a smile when they’re going through a hard time.

But honesty doesn’t require complete transparency. That would expose us all to the fixers, who don’t know when to listen and when to advise. Greeting one another with a word or phrase is essentially verbal acknowledgement. We see and maybe recognize each other. We ask each other how’s the day or the doing or life at large as a way of well wishing. If we’re close to each other, we’ll want more than that, but even then, it may not be the time for it.

We can thank Thomas Edison for popularizing the word hello as a good way to answer the phone. Alexander Graham Bell (why do we give his full name so often? why not Alex Bell or Alexander G. Bell?) wanted us to us say ahoy, as if we were called out to someone in the distance. Prior to the phone, hello was a common word of surprise, which I suppose is the reason Bertie Wooster and co. say, “What ho!” regularly. The Online Etymology Dictionary says there are records from 1849 that show hello, the house as “the usual greeting upon approaching a habitation” in the American west.

Yes, yes, I suppose we should get on to other things, shouldn’t we?

Vocabulary: Here’s a good word for everyday use.

via Cian McCarthy/Twitter

Journalism: News outlets aren’t dead, but their owners may be trying to kill them. Ted Gioia has a compelling piece on news sites that wanted our clicks so bad they killed themselves, and now big news outlets appear to want to die the same way. “The company tried to maximize clicks with shallow gimmicks, when it should have been worrying about the articles themselves.”

Conservatism: A right-wing movement wants a big reset. John Ehrett says critics label it different things, but vitalism is a good name for it. “In place of Ronald Reagan’s famous ‘three-legged stool’—free-market economics, military interventionism, and religious conservatism—the new vitalists would burn the place down altogether, and host a festival around the pyre.”

Bruce Springsteen: “He paints his masterpiece of America as a brand and what it does to people. To me, Nebraska is an album-length description of how America has struggled to find its soul, has never had much of an identity beyond the brand that’s been sold over and over again to people living here. But lives are lived behind the brand, and Springsteen is unearthing them, exposing them to the light.” That storytelling was formed by a love of Flannery O’Connor.

Photo by Eugene Zhyvchik on Unsplash

Fiction, Reviews

‘The Value in Our Lies,’ by Colin Conway

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I’m quite taken with Colin Conway’s The 509 series of police procedurals, set in eastern Washington state. It deals with cops in the Spokane area, and the cast of officers tends to change from book to book. In The Value in Our Lies, we have a new hero – or at least a new main character. If he’s shown up in the series before, it was only as a minor player.

James Morgan works on the Spokane PD Criminal Task Force. He’s corrupt, but not by his own standards. If he pockets some of the drugs found at a crime scene, it’s not for his own use or profit – it’s to pay off informants. If he takes a sexual favor from a prostitute, who does that hurt? If he cuts procedural corners, that’s just part of the game. In his world there’s only Us and Them – working cops vs. the crooks (and often the Brass). For Morgan, there’s pretty much nothing in his life but the Job.

Word on the street says a new gang has moved into town, but nobody seems to know anything tangible, not even his snitches. A prostitute informant of his is being beaten by her pimp, and Morgan cares about this more than he ought to. A friend of a friend is getting blackmailed and comes to Morgan to get him out of the jam. And Internal Affairs is giving him heat.

Morgan is a liar. Lying is part of the way he does his job. But the lies are starting to pile up on him. Will they get somebody killed?

The writing in The Value in Our Lies is sometimes rough. An editor would be a good investment. But the characterization in the book is big league. Morgan isn’t a likeable character, and he’s clearly self-destructive. But one can’t help sympathizing with him sometimes, and occasionally he even earns our fleeting admiration. The plot was pretty gripping too.

I recommend The Value in Our Lies, with cautions for language and mature subject matter.

Fiction, Reviews

‘Perfect Record,’ by Kerry J. Donovan

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Sean Freeman, a central character in Kerry J. Donovan’s police procedural Perfect Record, is a master locksmith, one of the best in spite of his youth. He also has computer skills. So when he arranges to come to the attention of DB Parrish, a London gangster with a weakness for diamonds, Parrish quickly recruits him as his security chief. Sean has personal reasons for needing the kind of money a job with Parrish’s organization will bring in. But he soon learns that working for Parrish means selling your soul. He’ll be required to do things way beyond the limits of his fairly flexible ethics, and the price of failure is a serious beating – if he’s lucky.

So he starts putting out clues for the police, hoping there’s a detective out there smart enough to figure them out. Finally this brings him to DCI David Jones of the Birmingham Serious Crimes Unit. They begin a cautious dance in which jewelry of great value – and innocent lives – are at stake.

I wasn’t entirely happy with Perfect Record, but that was for purely personal reasons. The character of our hero, DCI Jones, is an interesting one (all the characters are good, in fact), but he’s supposed to be an aging curmudgeon and Luddite. The kind of man who won’t have a computer in his home and dislikes the new building he works in out of loyalty to the old one, despite the fact that it’s more comfortable and efficient than its predecessor.

And yet when it comes to Political Correctness, Jones toes the line. He will stand for no sexist language or use of unenlightened titles (like Mrs.) among his officers. If you’re looking for crude cop banter, á la John Sandford, you won’t find it here. I think I can speak with some authority on the subject of curmudgeons as a class, and PC talk is one of the things we tolerate least in real life.

Nevertheless, I have to admit the story is neatly told, with some very nifty (and delightful) surprises at the end. Neat twists generally involve diminished believability in any story, which is the case here. But as pure entertainment, Perfect Record is very close to perfect. The language is relatively mild.

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Princess Elizabeth Gave Us the Hymn of Psalm 23

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I heard recently that after the Civil War, Americans began using Psalm 23 in funerals and it took on nostalgia for many people. Believers were in the habit of singing psalms back then and were moving toward hymns.

When you think of a traditional melody for Psalm 23, what do you think of? Is this Crimond? The wedding of Princess Elizabeth and Philip Mountbatten in 1947 put that tune on the world stage. Donald Keddie writes:

The music director of the Royal Wedding, William McKie (1901–1984), visited Balmoral in Scotland and heard one of Princess Elizabeth’s ladies-in-waiting, Lady Margaret Egerton, singing a descant of Psalm 23 to CRIMOND, accompanied by Princesses Elizabeth and Margaret. McKie wanted to include something Scottish in the Royal Wedding, and Psalm 23’s pastoral imagery fit the bill perfectly.

Unable to find the music for the descant and with two days to go to the wedding, McKie wrote down the music himself shorthand and taught it to the Abbey Choir. The composer of the descant, William Baird Ross (1871–1950), was later surprised to hear his arrangement on the radio broadcast.

The fame of the Royal Wedding made Psalm 23 to CRIMOND a Christian pop song of its era. The brighter, more joyful tune gave new life to the psalm. As a result, American Protestants of all denominations began singing Psalm 23 to this tune, and American Presbyterians embraced a metrical psalm from their own tradition again.

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My warrior days

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I suppose it’s a lack of imagination that drives me more and more to YouTube for videos these days. I could probably think of some contemporary issue to complain about, but… what’s the use? As far as I can tell, we’re dancing on the edge of the volcano. I have lots of opinions, but little cheerful to say.

Anyway, I don’t think I’ve shared this old, old video before. Didn’t actually know it was out there. It’s a video produced by a brewing company (not sure what the connection is), offering footage of my Viking group’s combat activities in several locations on several occasions. This was back when I was new to “live steel” combat. Since then I’ve declined, retired, and sold my mail shirt (you can recognize it at the beginning and end of this video by the red material around the collar, where my padded gambeson protrudes) to a younger man.

Most of the guys in this video, to the best of my knowledge, have retired from the sport, like me. Some are old friends who are no longer friends. One that I know of is dead.

But on the bright side, I finished my translation job — for which I turned in a substantial invoice — and now they want a little more work, on some touching up they’re doing on the script. Happy to oblige, friends. Happy to oblige.