Noted Tolkien scholar Tom Shippey reviews William Gibson's Spook Country.
Reading the review takes me back to the enjoyment of reading Gibson's books. I really should check out his latest two. Shippey takes issue with the failure of many of Gibson's specific predictions, but seems to me that Gibson's style, the way he evokes a cyberpunk vision, has always been far more important than specific predictions. Particularly interesting is the way he shows human beings making sense of a confusing high-tech world, creating new mythologies, new societies, new hopes, hidey-holes and homes. (Though sometimes I felt that he was putting too much undigested sociological theory into his books.)
I think the most interesting (and most relevant to this blog) part of the review is this:
"In the background, too, are thoroughly non-modern forms of occultism. This too is something which stems from and seems to fit the "cyberpunk" universe, the inhabitants of which tended to think from the start that the real world, or the significant world, was the one inside the computer, the one which did not function in physical space, which was also the world inside their minds. They had in fact become, in a way, creatures of the spirit, who frequently expressed their contempt for the brutal blundering physical world the rest of us live in—as they called it, "the meat." It's not a long way from that sentiment to belief in more traditional spiritual powers, and sure enough, in this novel (as with earlier Gibson characters) Tito thinks he gains his abilities from the voodoo-deities who protect him, whom he calls the Guerreros. Throughout the novel, too, Milgrim is reading his pilfered book about the 12th-century heresy of the Free Spirit, which he connects with modern government agencies as "a secret religion of mutually empowered sociopaths." What is a modern celebrity-figure, asks Bigend, if not a "tulpa," which he explains as a mystic Tibetan term meaning "a projected thought-form," like "cyberspace" itself a consensual mass-hallucination? That's why people keep seeing Elvis. Not very plausible, one may say. But in a world where other people's wi-fi comes through the walls and cellphone towers keep us all in an electronic net, a world where we are deluged with information, much of it wrong and most of it uncheckable, a world where celebrities are omnipresent but invisible except as pixels—well, there is a case for saying that the occult looks more and more realistic."
This has always been one of the things that fascinated me about Gibson's work. I don't think he believes occult and religious ideas refer to any objective supernatural reality. But he does a great job of illustrating the ways they can and likely will provide useful words and concepts for describing the new world human beings are creating; particularly when 'rational' 'modern' concepts fail.* This is especially true for people from the lower echelons of society, who he tends to write about.
*Here's a very limited example. Much has been made of the recent, dramatic spread of Pentecostalism around the world, which can seem counter-intuitive to modern people who think modernity equals secularization. But scholars of Pentecostalism have argued that its growth is linked to the very modern phenomena of globalization and international immigration. And if you think about it, is it any wonder that the story of Pentecost, in which the fragmented people of all races and languages come together to receive gifts of healing and spiritual power, would make a lot of sense, and be appealing to, a migrant worker? Of course it's much more complicated than that - but that's partly the kind of thing I'm talking about.
Monday, January 14, 2008
The Bible and Race
Here's a highly interesting review of a book which explores the way the Bible has often been used against racist ideas, as well as in support of them.
The book is entitled: The Forging of Racism: Race and Scripture in the Protestant Atlantic World, 1600-2000, by Colin Kidd. It was published by Cambridge University Press in 2006.
"Moreover, far from this being the incidental implication of a few verses, orthodox Christians have consistently recognized the solidarity of the human race as a core theme of both the biblical narrative and formal Christian theology: the image of God in humanity, the Fall, and original sin are predicated on the understanding that all human beings are bound together in a single, common origin, lineage, and family. The Christian tradition has consistently discerned that this doctrinal teaching has substantial implications when it comes to the issue of race. To take a typical example, the 18th-century conservative biblical scholar Nathaniel Lardner averred: "all men ought to love one another as brethren. For they are all descended from the same parents, and cannot but have like powers, and weaknesses, and wants … . For notwithstanding some differences of outward condition, we have all the same nature, and are brethren."
...
The Bible, therefore, has actually been a roadblock in the way of racists—although a barrier that all too many Christians, alas, have managed to find their way around. Kidd forcefully explains how it would have been so much easier for white southerners to have defended their "peculiar institution" ideologically if they could have accepted polygenesis. A few voices made the tempting argument that blacks were closer to soulless beasts than blood brothers but, as southerners were not generally ready to throw away their Bibles, they did not win out. The truths revealed in Scripture remained present to bear witness against them: African Americans were their brothers and sisters, co-recipients of the plan of redemption in the one, human family that is made in the image of God. The Bible was even an obstacle when it came to the stand against miscegenation: for example, was it not patently clear from the scriptural narrative that Moses had married a black woman? Even the pro-apartheid Dutch Reformed Church of South Africa was forced to concede that the Bible permitted interracial marriages."
The book is entitled: The Forging of Racism: Race and Scripture in the Protestant Atlantic World, 1600-2000, by Colin Kidd. It was published by Cambridge University Press in 2006.
"Moreover, far from this being the incidental implication of a few verses, orthodox Christians have consistently recognized the solidarity of the human race as a core theme of both the biblical narrative and formal Christian theology: the image of God in humanity, the Fall, and original sin are predicated on the understanding that all human beings are bound together in a single, common origin, lineage, and family. The Christian tradition has consistently discerned that this doctrinal teaching has substantial implications when it comes to the issue of race. To take a typical example, the 18th-century conservative biblical scholar Nathaniel Lardner averred: "all men ought to love one another as brethren. For they are all descended from the same parents, and cannot but have like powers, and weaknesses, and wants … . For notwithstanding some differences of outward condition, we have all the same nature, and are brethren."
...
The Bible, therefore, has actually been a roadblock in the way of racists—although a barrier that all too many Christians, alas, have managed to find their way around. Kidd forcefully explains how it would have been so much easier for white southerners to have defended their "peculiar institution" ideologically if they could have accepted polygenesis. A few voices made the tempting argument that blacks were closer to soulless beasts than blood brothers but, as southerners were not generally ready to throw away their Bibles, they did not win out. The truths revealed in Scripture remained present to bear witness against them: African Americans were their brothers and sisters, co-recipients of the plan of redemption in the one, human family that is made in the image of God. The Bible was even an obstacle when it came to the stand against miscegenation: for example, was it not patently clear from the scriptural narrative that Moses had married a black woman? Even the pro-apartheid Dutch Reformed Church of South Africa was forced to concede that the Bible permitted interracial marriages."
Thursday, January 10, 2008
A new fan
Hmm! Barbara Nicolosi of Church of the Masses has become a huge fan of Battleweb Galaticon... oh, sorry, Battlestar Galactica:
"I choke this out as a life-long, confirmed despiser of all shows in which people have dogfights in space ships, wear vinyl clothing and do the ER style fast dialogue only about anti-matter hyper drives instead of IV pushes. I hate sci-fi. But I love this show."
Check it out. She has some interesting things to say about the series.
"I choke this out as a life-long, confirmed despiser of all shows in which people have dogfights in space ships, wear vinyl clothing and do the ER style fast dialogue only about anti-matter hyper drives instead of IV pushes. I hate sci-fi. But I love this show."
Check it out. She has some interesting things to say about the series.
Tuesday, January 08, 2008
Fantasy of the Real
Ralph Wood has a review of Alison Milbank's Chesterton and Tolkien as Theologians: The Fantasy of the Real.
With adept recourse to an impressive (but never name-dropping) array of anthropologists and literary theorists, folklorists and linguists, philosophers and theologians, she shows that these Catholic writers engage modern and even postmodern culture by way of a revolutionary understanding of the imagination. Both writers resorted to fantasy as an escape into reality, as Tolkien liked to say. They were fascinated with fairies because Elfland, as Chesterton called it, enabled them to envision the world as wondrously magical no less than terribly contingent: as “utterly real and enchanted at one and the same time.”
With adept recourse to an impressive (but never name-dropping) array of anthropologists and literary theorists, folklorists and linguists, philosophers and theologians, she shows that these Catholic writers engage modern and even postmodern culture by way of a revolutionary understanding of the imagination. Both writers resorted to fantasy as an escape into reality, as Tolkien liked to say. They were fascinated with fairies because Elfland, as Chesterton called it, enabled them to envision the world as wondrously magical no less than terribly contingent: as “utterly real and enchanted at one and the same time.”
The reverend & the bears
Check out this sf story by Michael Bishop: Bears Discover Smut. It's about a back-sliding minister and, uh... bears.
Sunday, January 06, 2008
Michael Bishop
My obliviousness never fails to astound me. I recall reading one story by Michael Bishop that had a religious theme (it was about a computer simulation of the trial of Judas) but somehow, until recently I remained unaware of his broader interest in religious ideas, or that he considered himself a Christian.
This is from an interview in 2000 with Nick Gevers:
NG: Considering your work as a whole, your authorial philosophy seems liberal and humane, very moral in its emphasis much of the time. Is this assessment accurate? And what influences -- personal and literary -- have made you the writer that you are?
MB: "Let me confess real discomfort talking about my "authorial philosophy" because so much of what I do strikes me as intuitive and situation-directed, even though I agree with the much more dogmatic Flannery O'Connor -- long a personal icon -- that fiction should not hold up evil as good or good as evil. I part company with her, though, in seeming to suppose that the distinctions between the two are hard-edged and self-evident, or unequivocally laid out for study and acceptance in Judeo-Christian scripture. I classify myself after a lot of literal soul-searching (some, I know, would call that phrase oxymoronic) as a Christian, but a skeptical one who often picks up in prayer the whisper of the void. (John Fowles once wrote, "An answer is always a form of death," and I believe that.) In any event, it outrages me to see people treat other people as something less than human for any reason at all: race, class consciousness, religious differences, sex or sexual orientation, intellectual pride, etc. But because the human condition, along with ignorance and/or greed, continually triggers brutality, I have no shortage of outrage, and outrage often fuels my fiction.
...
"Earlier I mentioned outrage as a motivating factor for a lot of my work. The novel Stolen Faces exemplifies an early, rather bitter examination of the same theme, and yet I firmly believe -- as a Christian, as a humanist, and as a writer -- that we have it in our capacity to rectify the unjust situations and attitudes that inevitably produce outrage in the righteous. If the ground under my literary ambition has any solidity, it -- the solidity -- derives from this belief."
This is from an interview in 2000 with Nick Gevers:
NG: Considering your work as a whole, your authorial philosophy seems liberal and humane, very moral in its emphasis much of the time. Is this assessment accurate? And what influences -- personal and literary -- have made you the writer that you are?
MB: "Let me confess real discomfort talking about my "authorial philosophy" because so much of what I do strikes me as intuitive and situation-directed, even though I agree with the much more dogmatic Flannery O'Connor -- long a personal icon -- that fiction should not hold up evil as good or good as evil. I part company with her, though, in seeming to suppose that the distinctions between the two are hard-edged and self-evident, or unequivocally laid out for study and acceptance in Judeo-Christian scripture. I classify myself after a lot of literal soul-searching (some, I know, would call that phrase oxymoronic) as a Christian, but a skeptical one who often picks up in prayer the whisper of the void. (John Fowles once wrote, "An answer is always a form of death," and I believe that.) In any event, it outrages me to see people treat other people as something less than human for any reason at all: race, class consciousness, religious differences, sex or sexual orientation, intellectual pride, etc. But because the human condition, along with ignorance and/or greed, continually triggers brutality, I have no shortage of outrage, and outrage often fuels my fiction.
...
"Earlier I mentioned outrage as a motivating factor for a lot of my work. The novel Stolen Faces exemplifies an early, rather bitter examination of the same theme, and yet I firmly believe -- as a Christian, as a humanist, and as a writer -- that we have it in our capacity to rectify the unjust situations and attitudes that inevitably produce outrage in the righteous. If the ground under my literary ambition has any solidity, it -- the solidity -- derives from this belief."
Friday, January 04, 2008
Praeger trilogy
I just came across a very interesting set of books published in 2006:
Where God and Science Meet: How Brain and Evolutionary Studies Alter Our Understanding of Religion, edited by Patrick McNamara. Volume 1 is: Evolution, Genes, and the Religious Brain. Volume 2 is: The Neurology of Religious Experience. Volume 3 is: The Psychology of Religious Experience.
It's published by Praeger, and is part of the "Psychology, Religion, and Spirituality" series.
It contains contributions by quite a number of contributors, from evolutionary psychology, neurology, and religious studies. The first volume's first contribution is based on a speech by a well-known neurologist, and is a brief popular explanation of some of the latest scientific explanations as to how religion arose among human beings; given his particular audience, and his own views, he combines this with the standard-issue anti-religion arguments. Thus it has a somewhat hackneyed "Religion is a byproduct of evolutionary forces, and the Bible advocates genocide, so obviously all religion is stupid and bad and that's all we need to know" feel to it, which to me at least seems as tedious and predictable as a devout religious believer saying "Religion is a byproduct of evolutionary forces, therefore the Creator wants you all to belong to my specific religion."
Most of the other contributions are much more technical and explore fascinating ideas such as costly signaling and cooperation in game theory. Some propose sweeping new theories, while others are considerably more cautious and open-ended. The concluding essay in the first volume, by religious studies scholar/theologian Wesley J. Wildman, considers features of the preceding articles in an interesting way. He upbraids religious studies scholars and theologians for not yet paying attention to this scientific work; but he also takes issue with evo-psych experts or neurologists who aren't aware of the complexity and variety of religious thought and behaviour (which religious studies experts have spent a lot of time examining), and who feel that having a possible scientific explanation for one particular mechanism entitles them to pronounce grandly on that monolithic creature, Religion. His cross-disciplinary viewpoint and philosophical nuance are quite interesting.
It looks like this would be a great place to start if you're curious about the current state of the scientific study of religion, minus the usual polemical or apologetic slant. (Well, mostly.)
Where God and Science Meet: How Brain and Evolutionary Studies Alter Our Understanding of Religion, edited by Patrick McNamara. Volume 1 is: Evolution, Genes, and the Religious Brain. Volume 2 is: The Neurology of Religious Experience. Volume 3 is: The Psychology of Religious Experience.
It's published by Praeger, and is part of the "Psychology, Religion, and Spirituality" series.
It contains contributions by quite a number of contributors, from evolutionary psychology, neurology, and religious studies. The first volume's first contribution is based on a speech by a well-known neurologist, and is a brief popular explanation of some of the latest scientific explanations as to how religion arose among human beings; given his particular audience, and his own views, he combines this with the standard-issue anti-religion arguments. Thus it has a somewhat hackneyed "Religion is a byproduct of evolutionary forces, and the Bible advocates genocide, so obviously all religion is stupid and bad and that's all we need to know" feel to it, which to me at least seems as tedious and predictable as a devout religious believer saying "Religion is a byproduct of evolutionary forces, therefore the Creator wants you all to belong to my specific religion."
Most of the other contributions are much more technical and explore fascinating ideas such as costly signaling and cooperation in game theory. Some propose sweeping new theories, while others are considerably more cautious and open-ended. The concluding essay in the first volume, by religious studies scholar/theologian Wesley J. Wildman, considers features of the preceding articles in an interesting way. He upbraids religious studies scholars and theologians for not yet paying attention to this scientific work; but he also takes issue with evo-psych experts or neurologists who aren't aware of the complexity and variety of religious thought and behaviour (which religious studies experts have spent a lot of time examining), and who feel that having a possible scientific explanation for one particular mechanism entitles them to pronounce grandly on that monolithic creature, Religion. His cross-disciplinary viewpoint and philosophical nuance are quite interesting.
It looks like this would be a great place to start if you're curious about the current state of the scientific study of religion, minus the usual polemical or apologetic slant. (Well, mostly.)
Thursday, January 03, 2008
Favourite books of 2007
Honorable Mentions: Pirate Freedom, Black Cherry, Vimanarama, We3, Evolution and Christian Faith, Born Fi' Dead, Nine Parts of Desire, British Summertime, The Necessary Beggar, The Fate of Mice.
10. Bienfait, by Stephen L. Endicott. I read this history book for a class but it's still on this list. That tells you it's pretty good. It's the story of miners in a little town in Saskatchewan, who went on strike in 1931. The mine operators and the government did various tricky and coercive things to try to break the strike. The RCMP ended up killing three of the miners during a parade that went awry, and it went awry largely because the police were out in full force to intimidate the strikers. Anyways, the author uses oral histories, previously confidential police reports and a lot of other sources to tell a very interesting and compelling story.
9. God's Continent, by Philip Jenkins. Jenkins examines the state of Christianity and Islam in contemporary Europe. Jenkins looks closely at up-to-date data and discredits politicized myths that are bandied about by the Left and the Right (he seems to enjoy doing this in most of his books.) It's a complicated story, but I don't think Europe is going to become "Eurabia" any time soon. Highly recommended for anyone interested in contemporary Christianity or Islam, contemporary Europe, or foreign policy.
8. In Pharoah's Army, by Tobias Wolff. I picked this up almost at random at a used book store, and it really impressed me. It's a memoir about Wolff's service in the Vietnam War. Brilliantly written. At one point out I went out to pick up food and sat there reading it and then suddenly realized I was in a Vietnamese restaurant and that the immigrant owners probably had their own stories to tell.
7. Flight, volumes two or three, edited by Kazu Kibuishi. I can't really choose between them, or remember which stories were in which volumes. Wondrous collections of short comic-book stories, ranging from hilarious to chilling, from cute to mystical.
6. All-Star Superman, by Grant Morrison. Morrison does a great job of capturing the essence of Superman & Clark Kent. He's a comic-book-genius-man, this much is plain to see.
5. Eifelheim, by Michael Flynn. A 14th century priest discusses Aristotelian cosmology with crash-landed aliens in the Black Forest... just before the Black Plague comes along. My review of this remarkable science fiction novel is here. This and Mirabilis made a great tag-team. Particularly when combined with the history of science course I had just taken.
4. Doctor Mirabilis, by James Blish. This is historical fiction about the life, travails and thought of Friar Roger Bacon, the great natural philosopher and empiricist of the thirteenth century. It's very well written (some of the images and phrases are permanently etched into my brain) and it's intellectually rigorous to boot (it seems like Blish immersed himself in the primary documents). Mirabilis came out in 1964, but even at that time Blish seemed well aware of the medieval roots of the Scientific Revolution. He shows all the complexities of contemporary political and intellectual currents. This is pretty impressive, given that this sort of scholarly reappraisal only seems to have been filtering down into public knowledge fairly recently. For example, Blish thinks that Bacon was indeed imprisoned by his order for years, but shows that this was about Bacon's sympathy for the Spiritual Franciscans, and not because of his scientific views. It's a scandal that this book is out of print. (I also wrote about the book here.)
3. The End of the Affair, by Graham Greene. What can I say? It's vintage Greene. (I'd already read the other three books in his 'Catholic quartet' - The Power and the Glory, Brighton Rock, and The Heart of the Matter.) Bleak existential insights into the treacherous human heart and mysticism at the core of suffering. And when you think you've figured him out, he twists the knife a bit more.
2. Post Captain, by Patrick O'Brian. I read twelve Aubrey/Maturin novels in 2007, up to and including The Letter of Marque. I can't keep them straight in my head anymore, so this marvelous novel stands in for all of them, in all of their splendour.
1. Watership Down, by Richard Adams. Somehow I had managed to avoid this stunning and profound fantasy novel about rabbits for thirty years. Well, better late than never! If you haven't read it, you really must.
10. Bienfait, by Stephen L. Endicott. I read this history book for a class but it's still on this list. That tells you it's pretty good. It's the story of miners in a little town in Saskatchewan, who went on strike in 1931. The mine operators and the government did various tricky and coercive things to try to break the strike. The RCMP ended up killing three of the miners during a parade that went awry, and it went awry largely because the police were out in full force to intimidate the strikers. Anyways, the author uses oral histories, previously confidential police reports and a lot of other sources to tell a very interesting and compelling story.
9. God's Continent, by Philip Jenkins. Jenkins examines the state of Christianity and Islam in contemporary Europe. Jenkins looks closely at up-to-date data and discredits politicized myths that are bandied about by the Left and the Right (he seems to enjoy doing this in most of his books.) It's a complicated story, but I don't think Europe is going to become "Eurabia" any time soon. Highly recommended for anyone interested in contemporary Christianity or Islam, contemporary Europe, or foreign policy.
8. In Pharoah's Army, by Tobias Wolff. I picked this up almost at random at a used book store, and it really impressed me. It's a memoir about Wolff's service in the Vietnam War. Brilliantly written. At one point out I went out to pick up food and sat there reading it and then suddenly realized I was in a Vietnamese restaurant and that the immigrant owners probably had their own stories to tell.
7. Flight, volumes two or three, edited by Kazu Kibuishi. I can't really choose between them, or remember which stories were in which volumes. Wondrous collections of short comic-book stories, ranging from hilarious to chilling, from cute to mystical.
6. All-Star Superman, by Grant Morrison. Morrison does a great job of capturing the essence of Superman & Clark Kent. He's a comic-book-genius-man, this much is plain to see.
5. Eifelheim, by Michael Flynn. A 14th century priest discusses Aristotelian cosmology with crash-landed aliens in the Black Forest... just before the Black Plague comes along. My review of this remarkable science fiction novel is here. This and Mirabilis made a great tag-team. Particularly when combined with the history of science course I had just taken.
4. Doctor Mirabilis, by James Blish. This is historical fiction about the life, travails and thought of Friar Roger Bacon, the great natural philosopher and empiricist of the thirteenth century. It's very well written (some of the images and phrases are permanently etched into my brain) and it's intellectually rigorous to boot (it seems like Blish immersed himself in the primary documents). Mirabilis came out in 1964, but even at that time Blish seemed well aware of the medieval roots of the Scientific Revolution. He shows all the complexities of contemporary political and intellectual currents. This is pretty impressive, given that this sort of scholarly reappraisal only seems to have been filtering down into public knowledge fairly recently. For example, Blish thinks that Bacon was indeed imprisoned by his order for years, but shows that this was about Bacon's sympathy for the Spiritual Franciscans, and not because of his scientific views. It's a scandal that this book is out of print. (I also wrote about the book here.)
3. The End of the Affair, by Graham Greene. What can I say? It's vintage Greene. (I'd already read the other three books in his 'Catholic quartet' - The Power and the Glory, Brighton Rock, and The Heart of the Matter.) Bleak existential insights into the treacherous human heart and mysticism at the core of suffering. And when you think you've figured him out, he twists the knife a bit more.
2. Post Captain, by Patrick O'Brian. I read twelve Aubrey/Maturin novels in 2007, up to and including The Letter of Marque. I can't keep them straight in my head anymore, so this marvelous novel stands in for all of them, in all of their splendour.
1. Watership Down, by Richard Adams. Somehow I had managed to avoid this stunning and profound fantasy novel about rabbits for thirty years. Well, better late than never! If you haven't read it, you really must.
From an early age
What? Fredric Brown wrote "Arena?" I read that story in a magazine when I was just a child: my memory says it was in Readers Digest, though I don't know if that's true. I was really struck by it, particularly by the vulnerability of the protagonist. I mean, naked in an enclosed space, fighting for your life against some weird alien? (Maybe I read it in the bath.) A vivid sense of the story stayed with me, even though I forgot the details.
Another story I stumbled across back then was "The Sentinel." It made a big impact, too.
I also recall trying to read a strange sf book I found in my elementary school library, oddly enough. (Well, it was a very small town, and a very small school. The school was K-12 in two classrooms. So I guess the library was for all grades.) I was probably in grade 3 or 4.
Let's see if I can remember this correctly... The book was about a planet which had, due to some problems during colonization, developed a male-only society. They used biotechnology to produce new people. A female investigator comes from some off-planet authority, and along with the male narrator, discovers that girl children have been produced by this process, it's just that they were considered freakish and deformed and were killed. She upbraids the narrator for the intolerance and hypermasculinity of his unisexual/homosexual culture. There was a scene in which the narrator goes out for recreation and hurls himself with abandon into tangle of men that's like a cross between a bar brawl and an orgy.
I didn't really understand a lot of that at the time. It struck me as a weird book that was over my head. (I wonder what it was called or who wrote it... Delaney? Sturgeon?) And it was, considering that I was an 8 or 9 year-old JW kid, living in a tiny Prairie town. Still, when I look back, I realize I got a lot of early exposure to science fiction and fantasy, some of it pretty heavy stuff.
Another story I stumbled across back then was "The Sentinel." It made a big impact, too.
I also recall trying to read a strange sf book I found in my elementary school library, oddly enough. (Well, it was a very small town, and a very small school. The school was K-12 in two classrooms. So I guess the library was for all grades.) I was probably in grade 3 or 4.
Let's see if I can remember this correctly... The book was about a planet which had, due to some problems during colonization, developed a male-only society. They used biotechnology to produce new people. A female investigator comes from some off-planet authority, and along with the male narrator, discovers that girl children have been produced by this process, it's just that they were considered freakish and deformed and were killed. She upbraids the narrator for the intolerance and hypermasculinity of his unisexual/homosexual culture. There was a scene in which the narrator goes out for recreation and hurls himself with abandon into tangle of men that's like a cross between a bar brawl and an orgy.
I didn't really understand a lot of that at the time. It struck me as a weird book that was over my head. (I wonder what it was called or who wrote it... Delaney? Sturgeon?) And it was, considering that I was an 8 or 9 year-old JW kid, living in a tiny Prairie town. Still, when I look back, I realize I got a lot of early exposure to science fiction and fantasy, some of it pretty heavy stuff.
Wednesday, January 02, 2008
Sci/tech links
Top ten scientific discoveries of 2007. [via Martin]
350 is the number to remember. [via Lee]
Clive Thompson points out that we're pushing a lot of information out of our own heads and relying on computers as "outboard brains." I quite liked his closing lines:
We've come to think of human intelligence as being like an Intel processor, able to quickly analyze data and spot patterns. Maybe there's just as much value in the ability to marinate in the seemingly trivial.
Of course, it's probably not an either/or proposition. I want both: I want my organic brain to contain vast stores of knowledge and my silicon overmind to contain a stupidly huge amount more.
At the very least, I'd like to be able to remember my own phone number.
350 is the number to remember. [via Lee]
Clive Thompson points out that we're pushing a lot of information out of our own heads and relying on computers as "outboard brains." I quite liked his closing lines:
We've come to think of human intelligence as being like an Intel processor, able to quickly analyze data and spot patterns. Maybe there's just as much value in the ability to marinate in the seemingly trivial.
Of course, it's probably not an either/or proposition. I want both: I want my organic brain to contain vast stores of knowledge and my silicon overmind to contain a stupidly huge amount more.
At the very least, I'd like to be able to remember my own phone number.
Friday, December 28, 2007
Bishop's anthology
Michael Bishop writes:
"From the beginning, then, I wanted to compile an anthology of Christ fictions that showcased this same dizzying array of personal "takes" on this significant figure. After all, for nearly two thousand years, his worship, meditation, neglect, or conscious rejection has informed the corpus of Western Civilization.
I am a self-declared follower of this Christ, albeit often a doubting, shame-faced, and/or unorthodox one. Like the female Sufi mystic Rabi'a 'al-Adawiya (born in Basra c. 717), I reject the theological necessity of hellfire and paradise, and regard the stick of the former and the carrot of the latter as irrelevant to our need to love God purely, and to love God for bestowing on us the poignant, often painful benison of life. Many will find such a formulation of Christian belief deficient, heretical, or self-contradictory, but I do regard Jesus as the Son of Man and his sacrifice on our behalf as a real sacrifice. Also, at sixty-one, I am capable of no other belief but this doubt-, even heresy-, plagued system, and I am weary of apologizing to myself, and hypothetically, to others for my sustaining private credo.
The story of this crucified first-century Jew fascinates me. Clearly, it also fascinates others, and in putting together this collection of Christ fictions I hoped to manifest in my literary life a genuine devotional act. From the beginning, I understood that this motive would mean little, if anything, to some of the anthology's contributors. Indeed, why should it? One, or two, or more, might have regarded it, had I announced it upfront, as odd, if not stupid and off-putting. I also understood that this motive would have little or no impact on attracting readers, who would gravitate to this collection of their own reasons, some seeking inspiration, some illumination, some mere distraction, some corroboration of views long held, and maybe a few the fulfillment of needs hard to articulate."
That's from the Introduction (subtitled "An Epistle to the Curious") to A Cross of Centuries: Twenty-five Imaginative Tales about the Christ. I've mentioned it in this space before.
Quite by accident I stumbled across the paperback edition of this at the library and have spent time reading some of the stories, time that I should've spent on homework. Ah well.
Literarily speaking, some stories are quite good. Others, not so much. Some suffer from too much preaching - they come across as thinly-veiled attack ads. These kind of confused me at first: the attack ads were usually not that compelling.
For example, the militantly anti-religious character in "Behold the Man" gives a number of speeches that are apparently supposed to be utterly damning of Christianity; at least the religion-obsessed Glogauer can offer no responses. The author also tosses in factoids to explain aspects of Jesus' story. The thing is, having been exposed to contemporary New Testament scholarship, I've gotten a sense of the Jewish/Greek/Roman historical context and of the ways in which the Gospels aren't peasant folktales but are fairly sophisticated literary creations stemming from oral traditions. So I kept thinking things like "Hold up, what's this pagan sun god stuff? It makes much more sense to see Jesus in the milieu of 1st century Judaism..." Other, more theological, stories had me scratching my head and thinking "Well of course it's cruel to sacrifice your son. But the whole point of the Incarnation concept is that God was voluntarily sacrificing Godself." So I didn't object so much to the fact that the authors were critiquing the historical Jesus and/or the Christ of faith (though excessive preaching does ruin stories), as to the fact that the critiques often seemed factually mistaken or wildly off the mark. They didn't make much sense to me. I found myself thinking of better criticisms that could have be made, but weren't.
But then it occurred to me that the authors were criticizing the Jesus in their own heads, not necessarily the Jesus inside my head. Or they were criticizing particular forms and versions of Christianity, stories and theologies they heard from parents, televangelists, preachers, theologians, or ideas they derived from their own reading of the Gospels. People would respond to these stories based on which Jesus they had in their heads, and which historical or theological viewpoints they'd encountered. I'm sure some people will read the more positive stories about Jesus and object because in their understanding he was deluded demagogue or judgemental charlatan who shouldn't be treated positively in any way whatsoever. Was it Albert Schweitzer who said that we invariably see the Jesus we want to see, the one we expect to see? It's like Bishop says: every story is a personal "take" on Jesus.
Anyways, forgive my quibbling: I do think it's an interesting and worthwhile collection. I'm impressed by the introduction and the breadth and generosity of Bishop's selection. So far I've particularly liked Noni Tyent's "Miriam," Jack McDevitt's "Friends in High Places," Karen Joy Fowler's "Shimabara," and Bishop's "Sequel on Skorpios." My reaction to those last two was "Whoa! Can they ever write!" I'm going to have look up more Michael Bishop someday. And of course I was happy to run into Dostoyevsky, Borges and Gene Wolfe. I always am.
"From the beginning, then, I wanted to compile an anthology of Christ fictions that showcased this same dizzying array of personal "takes" on this significant figure. After all, for nearly two thousand years, his worship, meditation, neglect, or conscious rejection has informed the corpus of Western Civilization.
I am a self-declared follower of this Christ, albeit often a doubting, shame-faced, and/or unorthodox one. Like the female Sufi mystic Rabi'a 'al-Adawiya (born in Basra c. 717), I reject the theological necessity of hellfire and paradise, and regard the stick of the former and the carrot of the latter as irrelevant to our need to love God purely, and to love God for bestowing on us the poignant, often painful benison of life. Many will find such a formulation of Christian belief deficient, heretical, or self-contradictory, but I do regard Jesus as the Son of Man and his sacrifice on our behalf as a real sacrifice. Also, at sixty-one, I am capable of no other belief but this doubt-, even heresy-, plagued system, and I am weary of apologizing to myself, and hypothetically, to others for my sustaining private credo.
The story of this crucified first-century Jew fascinates me. Clearly, it also fascinates others, and in putting together this collection of Christ fictions I hoped to manifest in my literary life a genuine devotional act. From the beginning, I understood that this motive would mean little, if anything, to some of the anthology's contributors. Indeed, why should it? One, or two, or more, might have regarded it, had I announced it upfront, as odd, if not stupid and off-putting. I also understood that this motive would have little or no impact on attracting readers, who would gravitate to this collection of their own reasons, some seeking inspiration, some illumination, some mere distraction, some corroboration of views long held, and maybe a few the fulfillment of needs hard to articulate."
That's from the Introduction (subtitled "An Epistle to the Curious") to A Cross of Centuries: Twenty-five Imaginative Tales about the Christ. I've mentioned it in this space before.
Quite by accident I stumbled across the paperback edition of this at the library and have spent time reading some of the stories, time that I should've spent on homework. Ah well.
Literarily speaking, some stories are quite good. Others, not so much. Some suffer from too much preaching - they come across as thinly-veiled attack ads. These kind of confused me at first: the attack ads were usually not that compelling.
For example, the militantly anti-religious character in "Behold the Man" gives a number of speeches that are apparently supposed to be utterly damning of Christianity; at least the religion-obsessed Glogauer can offer no responses. The author also tosses in factoids to explain aspects of Jesus' story. The thing is, having been exposed to contemporary New Testament scholarship, I've gotten a sense of the Jewish/Greek/Roman historical context and of the ways in which the Gospels aren't peasant folktales but are fairly sophisticated literary creations stemming from oral traditions. So I kept thinking things like "Hold up, what's this pagan sun god stuff? It makes much more sense to see Jesus in the milieu of 1st century Judaism..." Other, more theological, stories had me scratching my head and thinking "Well of course it's cruel to sacrifice your son. But the whole point of the Incarnation concept is that God was voluntarily sacrificing Godself." So I didn't object so much to the fact that the authors were critiquing the historical Jesus and/or the Christ of faith (though excessive preaching does ruin stories), as to the fact that the critiques often seemed factually mistaken or wildly off the mark. They didn't make much sense to me. I found myself thinking of better criticisms that could have be made, but weren't.
But then it occurred to me that the authors were criticizing the Jesus in their own heads, not necessarily the Jesus inside my head. Or they were criticizing particular forms and versions of Christianity, stories and theologies they heard from parents, televangelists, preachers, theologians, or ideas they derived from their own reading of the Gospels. People would respond to these stories based on which Jesus they had in their heads, and which historical or theological viewpoints they'd encountered. I'm sure some people will read the more positive stories about Jesus and object because in their understanding he was deluded demagogue or judgemental charlatan who shouldn't be treated positively in any way whatsoever. Was it Albert Schweitzer who said that we invariably see the Jesus we want to see, the one we expect to see? It's like Bishop says: every story is a personal "take" on Jesus.
Anyways, forgive my quibbling: I do think it's an interesting and worthwhile collection. I'm impressed by the introduction and the breadth and generosity of Bishop's selection. So far I've particularly liked Noni Tyent's "Miriam," Jack McDevitt's "Friends in High Places," Karen Joy Fowler's "Shimabara," and Bishop's "Sequel on Skorpios." My reaction to those last two was "Whoa! Can they ever write!" I'm going to have look up more Michael Bishop someday. And of course I was happy to run into Dostoyevsky, Borges and Gene Wolfe. I always am.
I Am Legend
I saw I Am Legend last week. I've never read the book, so I didn't really know what to expect. It was pretty good, though not great. And whadya know, it contained religious imagery. It became particularly noticeable near the end. Now, I can imagine you saying: "You must have been happy to find a relevant topic to blog about!"
Well... The religious themes struck me as rather heavy-handed. In fact, near the end one is fairly beaten over the head with it. I don't want to give anything away (just watch for posters, crosses, churches, and characters talking about God and having epiphanies.) I've checked, and apparently this material was not in the original book. An uncharitable interpretation would be that A) the moviemakers didn't know how to wrap up their story, so they introduced a deus ex machina, and B) that they wanted to cash in on the 'Christian market' that Hollywood discovered after The Passion of The Christ did so well.*
The charitable explanation would be that the filmmakers were merely tapping into widely known, archetypal religious stories (like the trials of Job, and the self-sacrificing Saviour) to give their story more symbolic resonance. I suppose one could argue that point of view. Overall, I do think the movie was worth watching.
But I still think there's a difference between the judicious use of evocative symbols on the one hand, and religious product placement on the other.
*Maybe it's a conspiracy theory, but it does help explain the clunky religious imagery in recent movies like Superman Returns. And I recall getting a pretty blatant e-mail that was doing its darndedest to market the latest Rocky movie to churches... and I've heard that they wanted to do the same thing with Rambo. Rambo! RAMBO!!! What hath Rambo to do with Jerusalem?! (This is a rhetorical question. The only answer I'll accept is "Nothing at all, sir!")
Well... The religious themes struck me as rather heavy-handed. In fact, near the end one is fairly beaten over the head with it. I don't want to give anything away (just watch for posters, crosses, churches, and characters talking about God and having epiphanies.) I've checked, and apparently this material was not in the original book. An uncharitable interpretation would be that A) the moviemakers didn't know how to wrap up their story, so they introduced a deus ex machina, and B) that they wanted to cash in on the 'Christian market' that Hollywood discovered after The Passion of The Christ did so well.*
The charitable explanation would be that the filmmakers were merely tapping into widely known, archetypal religious stories (like the trials of Job, and the self-sacrificing Saviour) to give their story more symbolic resonance. I suppose one could argue that point of view. Overall, I do think the movie was worth watching.
But I still think there's a difference between the judicious use of evocative symbols on the one hand, and religious product placement on the other.
*Maybe it's a conspiracy theory, but it does help explain the clunky religious imagery in recent movies like Superman Returns. And I recall getting a pretty blatant e-mail that was doing its darndedest to market the latest Rocky movie to churches... and I've heard that they wanted to do the same thing with Rambo. Rambo! RAMBO!!! What hath Rambo to do with Jerusalem?! (This is a rhetorical question. The only answer I'll accept is "Nothing at all, sir!")
Tuesday, November 13, 2007
Lapsarian myths
Jim Slagle has an interesting quote from historian Diane Purkiss on the history of witchcraft; or rather on the public's perception of historical witches. A snippet:
"There is no evidence that the majority of those accused were healers and midwives; in England and also in some parts of the Continent, midwives were more likely to be found helping witch-hunters. Most women used herbal medicines as part of their household skills, some of which were quasi-magical, without arousing any anxiety. There is little evidence that convicted witches were invariably unmarried or sexually 'liberated' or lesbian; many (though not most) of those accused were married women with young families. Men were not responsible for all accusations: many, perhaps even most, witches were accused by women, and most cases depend at least partly on the evidence given by women witnesses. Persecution was as severe in Protestant as in Catholic areas. The Inquisition, except in a few areas where the local inquisitor was especially zealous, was more lenient about witchcraft cases than the secular courts; in Spain, for example, where the Inquisition was very strong, there were few deaths. Many inquisitors and secular courts disdained the Malleus Malificarum, still the main source for the view that witch-hunting was women-hunting; still others thought it ridiculously paranoid about male sexuality. In some countries, torture was not used at all, and in England, witches were hanged rather than burned.
"All this has been known for some time. Yet in the teeth of the evidence, some women continue to find this story believable, continue to circulate it. Some women are still so attached to the story that they resist efforts to disprove it. The myth has become important, not because of its historical truth, but because of its mythic significance."
She also writes:
"It is often linked with another lapsarian myth, the myth of an originary matriarchy, through the themes of mother-daughter learning and of matriarchal religions as sources of witchcraft. This witch-story explains the origins and nature of good and evil. It is a religious myth..."
Every now and then someone tells me the story of the ancient matriarchal religions. They were peaceful, kind, sexually liberated, and ecologically sensitive, and they were smashed and driven underground by the evil patriarchal religions, which have been persecuting women ever since. Ecrasez l'infame, destroy the patriarchy!
I'm not a huge fan of The Patriarchy myself (or at least I try to heed what feminism has to say). And surely there were matriarchial religions somewhere in European prehistory. But I'm doubtful about the strictly historical value of the overarching original-matriarchy story. It's always seemed to me that it was indeed a kind of lapsarian myth, an account of the Fall. It's not about history or science, it's a mythic answer to an existential question, located (of course) in the misty land before history. We all tend to situate our Paradises somewhere in the past or in the future: Ah, things were good once, in the pagan classical era/the Catholic Middle Ages/pre-Columbian Turtle Island/the Enlightenment/the decent, law-abiding 1950s/the Clinton era... Or, just you wait until the Dictatorship of the Proletariat/Jehovah's Earthly Kingdom/the Enlightened Reign of Science/the Rapture/the Singularity. Things were/will be much better then, darn tootin.'
I'm not saying that such myths do not contain existential truth. Just that we should recognize when we've left history and entered mythology. Then, perhaps, we can compare our mythologies.
"There is no evidence that the majority of those accused were healers and midwives; in England and also in some parts of the Continent, midwives were more likely to be found helping witch-hunters. Most women used herbal medicines as part of their household skills, some of which were quasi-magical, without arousing any anxiety. There is little evidence that convicted witches were invariably unmarried or sexually 'liberated' or lesbian; many (though not most) of those accused were married women with young families. Men were not responsible for all accusations: many, perhaps even most, witches were accused by women, and most cases depend at least partly on the evidence given by women witnesses. Persecution was as severe in Protestant as in Catholic areas. The Inquisition, except in a few areas where the local inquisitor was especially zealous, was more lenient about witchcraft cases than the secular courts; in Spain, for example, where the Inquisition was very strong, there were few deaths. Many inquisitors and secular courts disdained the Malleus Malificarum, still the main source for the view that witch-hunting was women-hunting; still others thought it ridiculously paranoid about male sexuality. In some countries, torture was not used at all, and in England, witches were hanged rather than burned.
"All this has been known for some time. Yet in the teeth of the evidence, some women continue to find this story believable, continue to circulate it. Some women are still so attached to the story that they resist efforts to disprove it. The myth has become important, not because of its historical truth, but because of its mythic significance."
She also writes:
"It is often linked with another lapsarian myth, the myth of an originary matriarchy, through the themes of mother-daughter learning and of matriarchal religions as sources of witchcraft. This witch-story explains the origins and nature of good and evil. It is a religious myth..."
Every now and then someone tells me the story of the ancient matriarchal religions. They were peaceful, kind, sexually liberated, and ecologically sensitive, and they were smashed and driven underground by the evil patriarchal religions, which have been persecuting women ever since. Ecrasez l'infame, destroy the patriarchy!
I'm not a huge fan of The Patriarchy myself (or at least I try to heed what feminism has to say). And surely there were matriarchial religions somewhere in European prehistory. But I'm doubtful about the strictly historical value of the overarching original-matriarchy story. It's always seemed to me that it was indeed a kind of lapsarian myth, an account of the Fall. It's not about history or science, it's a mythic answer to an existential question, located (of course) in the misty land before history. We all tend to situate our Paradises somewhere in the past or in the future: Ah, things were good once, in the pagan classical era/the Catholic Middle Ages/pre-Columbian Turtle Island/the Enlightenment/the decent, law-abiding 1950s/the Clinton era... Or, just you wait until the Dictatorship of the Proletariat/Jehovah's Earthly Kingdom/the Enlightened Reign of Science/the Rapture/the Singularity. Things were/will be much better then, darn tootin.'
I'm not saying that such myths do not contain existential truth. Just that we should recognize when we've left history and entered mythology. Then, perhaps, we can compare our mythologies.
Wednesday, October 17, 2007
Rowling on religion
J.K. Rowling comments more extensively about Christian imagery in Harry Potter.
Some of this she's said before but some of it's new. In particular she comments about the tombstone quotes and the books' epigraphs. Also:
"The truth is that, like Graham Greene, my faith is sometimes that my faith will return. It's something I struggle with a lot," she revealed. "On any given moment if you asked me [if] I believe in life after death, I think if you polled me regularly through the week, I think I would come down on the side of yes — that I do believe in life after death. [But] it's something that I wrestle with a lot. It preoccupies me a lot, and I think that's very obvious within the books."
And:
For her part, Rowling said she's proud to be on numerous banned-book lists. As for the protests of some believers? Well, she doesn't take them as gospel.
"I go to church myself," she declared. "I don't take any responsibility for the lunatic fringes of my own religion."
[via Get Religion]
(I just can't help chuckling when I recall all the dire fundamentalist warnings about the Satanism of Harry Potter. Or the gleeful secularist claims about Harry Potter's implicit atheism. And now MTV, corrupter of America's youth, is setting the record straight. Ah, sweet, sweet irony.)
Some of this she's said before but some of it's new. In particular she comments about the tombstone quotes and the books' epigraphs. Also:
"The truth is that, like Graham Greene, my faith is sometimes that my faith will return. It's something I struggle with a lot," she revealed. "On any given moment if you asked me [if] I believe in life after death, I think if you polled me regularly through the week, I think I would come down on the side of yes — that I do believe in life after death. [But] it's something that I wrestle with a lot. It preoccupies me a lot, and I think that's very obvious within the books."
And:
For her part, Rowling said she's proud to be on numerous banned-book lists. As for the protests of some believers? Well, she doesn't take them as gospel.
"I go to church myself," she declared. "I don't take any responsibility for the lunatic fringes of my own religion."
[via Get Religion]
(I just can't help chuckling when I recall all the dire fundamentalist warnings about the Satanism of Harry Potter. Or the gleeful secularist claims about Harry Potter's implicit atheism. And now MTV, corrupter of America's youth, is setting the record straight. Ah, sweet, sweet irony.)
Thursday, October 04, 2007
Sturgeon on science & religion
SF Gospel has an interesting quotation from an essay Theodore Sturgeon wrote on science and religion, in 1964. Here's a snippet:
Man's hands are God's work; the work of man's hands is God's work. (I spoke—and speak—for myself, of course.) .... The recurring suggestion that there's some sort of Armageddon going on between Science and Religion is, I think, a straw man for bigots. That Science has at one time or another dealt certain kinds of Religion a heavy blow, I do not argue. I do believe, however, that what received the blow was this or that set of fixed convictions, and not Religion itself. And I think that the idea that Science and Religion must of necessity be opposed to one another is a throwback at least to the 19th Century—perhaps farther—and that to engage in this battle any more is equivalent to, and as quaint as, re-fighting the War of the Roses...
I know personally a good many scientists. Being people, they present a cross-section of convictions and attitudes quite as varied as those of any people. In the area of religion, I have met scientists far more devout than I could ever want to be. I've met unmoved, habitual, Sunday-best churchgoers, backslid Orthodoxers; agnostics, atheists, and people who just don't care one way or another.
There is no secret sect of guys with test-tubes out to destroy the temples. There are more anti-religionists outside Science than in it... and if God thinks about this at all, He probably feels that He made a cosmos quite roomy enough to contain them all."
Read more here!
Sturgeon was a great author, and I'm a big fan of his work (particularly his short stories), which displays a fine mixture of intelligence and compassion.
His father was a Methodist minister, but as an adult Sturgeon doesn't seem to have belonged to any sort of clearly defined religion or irreligion. One site says he was a vocal atheist, while Adherents, which normally gets its facts straight, has him down as "Christian (denomination unknown)." I've also seen him described as a Taoist. He could be quite critical of organized religion. My sense, from reading his work, is that he blended some Taoist ideas with some Christian ideas, while remaining wary of any set creed.
Man's hands are God's work; the work of man's hands is God's work. (I spoke—and speak—for myself, of course.) .... The recurring suggestion that there's some sort of Armageddon going on between Science and Religion is, I think, a straw man for bigots. That Science has at one time or another dealt certain kinds of Religion a heavy blow, I do not argue. I do believe, however, that what received the blow was this or that set of fixed convictions, and not Religion itself. And I think that the idea that Science and Religion must of necessity be opposed to one another is a throwback at least to the 19th Century—perhaps farther—and that to engage in this battle any more is equivalent to, and as quaint as, re-fighting the War of the Roses...
I know personally a good many scientists. Being people, they present a cross-section of convictions and attitudes quite as varied as those of any people. In the area of religion, I have met scientists far more devout than I could ever want to be. I've met unmoved, habitual, Sunday-best churchgoers, backslid Orthodoxers; agnostics, atheists, and people who just don't care one way or another.
There is no secret sect of guys with test-tubes out to destroy the temples. There are more anti-religionists outside Science than in it... and if God thinks about this at all, He probably feels that He made a cosmos quite roomy enough to contain them all."
Read more here!
Sturgeon was a great author, and I'm a big fan of his work (particularly his short stories), which displays a fine mixture of intelligence and compassion.
His father was a Methodist minister, but as an adult Sturgeon doesn't seem to have belonged to any sort of clearly defined religion or irreligion. One site says he was a vocal atheist, while Adherents, which normally gets its facts straight, has him down as "Christian (denomination unknown)." I've also seen him described as a Taoist. He could be quite critical of organized religion. My sense, from reading his work, is that he blended some Taoist ideas with some Christian ideas, while remaining wary of any set creed.
Thursday, September 27, 2007
The mystic and the material
Andrew Sullivan quotes the notable Oliver Sachs on combining atheism with mysticism.
He strongly dislikes the idea that transcendent music and the like has anything to do with 'fictious' supernatural realities. He also says: The non-representational but indescribably vivid emotional quality is such as to make one think of an immaterial or spiritual world. I dislike both of those words, because for me, the so-called immaterial and spiritual is always vested in the fleshly — in "the holy and glorious flesh," as Dante said.
Oddly enough I find that view pretty cogenial. (And I do remember C.S. Lewis warning about the Materialist Mystic.) The whole incarnational, sacramental aspect of Christianity, the whole startling paradox of the divine reality glimpsed only in the flesh and blood of a suffering and dying (and risen!) man, leads me in that very physical direction. It's not surprising he quotes Dante. On the other hand, while Christianity has strong resources with which to criticize notion of 'the spiritual' I don't think doing that necessarily leads to ruling out the existence of God as some encompassing being/reality underlying (or overarching) ordinary nature as we know it (I realize this leans towards panentheism, but so be it.) Salvation, revelation, indeed any divine manifestation can be seen as taking place in the material: salvation of the world by re-creation and resurrection, not by rapturing souls out of the world.
Let me once again highly recommend Take This Bread, which continues to move me deeply and stimulates my thinking about the sacramental and incarnational nature of food, relationships and faith. There's one bit where Miles recounts being trapped near a violent government crackdown in Mexico. She goes on to say that the incident was completely suppressed in the media and that the only people who knew about it, knew it 'in their own meat,' which is apparently a Spanish phrase - I don't have the book with me but I think it was en (something) carne? The book includes many varied experiences but she's tied them together with this powerful recurring incarnational motif, and the act of giving and receiving food. "Take, eat, this is my body, broken for you."
He strongly dislikes the idea that transcendent music and the like has anything to do with 'fictious' supernatural realities. He also says: The non-representational but indescribably vivid emotional quality is such as to make one think of an immaterial or spiritual world. I dislike both of those words, because for me, the so-called immaterial and spiritual is always vested in the fleshly — in "the holy and glorious flesh," as Dante said.
Oddly enough I find that view pretty cogenial. (And I do remember C.S. Lewis warning about the Materialist Mystic.) The whole incarnational, sacramental aspect of Christianity, the whole startling paradox of the divine reality glimpsed only in the flesh and blood of a suffering and dying (and risen!) man, leads me in that very physical direction. It's not surprising he quotes Dante. On the other hand, while Christianity has strong resources with which to criticize notion of 'the spiritual' I don't think doing that necessarily leads to ruling out the existence of God as some encompassing being/reality underlying (or overarching) ordinary nature as we know it (I realize this leans towards panentheism, but so be it.) Salvation, revelation, indeed any divine manifestation can be seen as taking place in the material: salvation of the world by re-creation and resurrection, not by rapturing souls out of the world.
Let me once again highly recommend Take This Bread, which continues to move me deeply and stimulates my thinking about the sacramental and incarnational nature of food, relationships and faith. There's one bit where Miles recounts being trapped near a violent government crackdown in Mexico. She goes on to say that the incident was completely suppressed in the media and that the only people who knew about it, knew it 'in their own meat,' which is apparently a Spanish phrase - I don't have the book with me but I think it was en (something) carne? The book includes many varied experiences but she's tied them together with this powerful recurring incarnational motif, and the act of giving and receiving food. "Take, eat, this is my body, broken for you."
Friday, September 14, 2007
Science fiction/fantasy/faith book reviews
The Sparrow, by Mary Doria Russell, reviewed by UK Steve.
"one of the most depressing books I have ever read."
Eifelheim, by Michael Flynn, reviewed by Darwin Catholic.
"a very, very good book."
Children of Men, by P.D. James, reviewed by Cantanima.
"It's a fun little novel."
"How Christian is Harry Potter?" Sun and Shield explores the question. He includes a link to a Christian interpretation, and quotes Christopher Hitchens, who (of course) argues for its atheism. Rowling herself has referred to Christian symbolism in the book, but then again, she's only the author.
"one of the most depressing books I have ever read."
Eifelheim, by Michael Flynn, reviewed by Darwin Catholic.
"a very, very good book."
Children of Men, by P.D. James, reviewed by Cantanima.
"It's a fun little novel."
"How Christian is Harry Potter?" Sun and Shield explores the question. He includes a link to a Christian interpretation, and quotes Christopher Hitchens, who (of course) argues for its atheism. Rowling herself has referred to Christian symbolism in the book, but then again, she's only the author.
Friday, August 31, 2007
Book Review: Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep?
by Philip K. Dick. 1968. 244 p.
This novel about bounty hunter stalking fugitive androids was, as most people know, the basis for Blade Runner, one of the best science fiction movies yet made. Thus it is difficult to approach Dick's creation on its own terms, to read it without picturing the sets and actors from Ridley Scott’s film. While the book is not, perhaps, as brilliant as its more famous progeny, it is nevertheless a work of substance and can stand on its own.
After some future nuclear war, the Earth is covered in radioactive dust, a shadow of its former self. Most survivors have fled to colonies on other planets. Those who are too sick or too stubborn to leave huddle together in crumbling cities that are largely empty. The widespread extinction of natural life has produced a religion called Mercerism that focuses on empathy. Adherents are urged to own and care for an ordinary animal. Due to their rarity, however, such creatures are enormously expensive. This in turn has led to a shady market in artificial animals which convincingly simulate the real thing. What is more, the production of artificial humans, organic androids, has reached unprecedented levels of sophistication. These short-lived beings are used on the colony worlds, largely as slaves, but are forbidden on Earth. Rick Deckard ‘retires’ androids who do escape there, but the latest models are very difficult to detect. When the senior bounty hunter in his region is seriously injured, Deckard is called into action against a group of these dangerous renegades.
As is always the case in Dick’s stories, things are not what they seem. Multiple challenges to self-identity and objective reality arise. Deckard is confronted by questions about the morality of his actions and whether he himself is sane, or even human. Potentially anything in his world is fake, and just what is the difference between fake and real? For that matter what qualities define the genuine human? And what is the point of struggling on in a disintegrating world? These are all profound questions, but Dick spins them into an engaging story, albeit a disorienting one.
He also introduces us to J. R. Isidore, a rather pathetic driver (for a fake veterinarian service) whose mental faculties have deteriorated due to fallout. Isidore must go through his own spiritual crises, first in his job, then when he meets androids, and then when Mercerism is declared a fraud. While Dick stresses the fact that Wilbur Mercer is not a saviour figure, there are points of contact between Mercerism and Christianity. The description of Mercer’s cyclical martyrdom and rebirth evokes Christ’s descent into Hell and the stations of the cross.
The androids seek to destroy what they see as fraudulent human claims to empathy, claims that exclude them from being true persons. As part of this effort they try, successfully, to discredit the process by which adherents psychically identify with Mercer. While this whole plotline could easily have led into a banal lesson on inclusiveness and the evils of intolerant religion, Dick takes it in a more interesting direction. He shows that the androids really do lack empathy, and are in human terms sociopaths. He also turns the indictment of Mercerism around: it is revealed as being phony but true at the same time. Mercer continues have power, even though the compassionless androids cannot understand why. Indeed, Mercer’s ignoble, obscure origins are in fact treated as a sign of deeper authenticity, since, in Dick’s theology, genuine transcendence manifests itself among the trash and the outcasts, amidst the lowly and the weak.
In this part of the story one can perhaps hear echoes of Dick’s real-life response when a friend told him that Christ was a fraud. Dick replied that even if this was the case, it made no difference. He believed in Him anyway. This seems confused and irrational, but in this novel we might be able to glimpse what he meant. It can be seen as a statement of faith, from a highly paranoid artist, that behind all the falsehood and deception that exist in the world there is still, somewhere, a life-giving Truth worth seeking.
4 out of 5
This novel about bounty hunter stalking fugitive androids was, as most people know, the basis for Blade Runner, one of the best science fiction movies yet made. Thus it is difficult to approach Dick's creation on its own terms, to read it without picturing the sets and actors from Ridley Scott’s film. While the book is not, perhaps, as brilliant as its more famous progeny, it is nevertheless a work of substance and can stand on its own.
After some future nuclear war, the Earth is covered in radioactive dust, a shadow of its former self. Most survivors have fled to colonies on other planets. Those who are too sick or too stubborn to leave huddle together in crumbling cities that are largely empty. The widespread extinction of natural life has produced a religion called Mercerism that focuses on empathy. Adherents are urged to own and care for an ordinary animal. Due to their rarity, however, such creatures are enormously expensive. This in turn has led to a shady market in artificial animals which convincingly simulate the real thing. What is more, the production of artificial humans, organic androids, has reached unprecedented levels of sophistication. These short-lived beings are used on the colony worlds, largely as slaves, but are forbidden on Earth. Rick Deckard ‘retires’ androids who do escape there, but the latest models are very difficult to detect. When the senior bounty hunter in his region is seriously injured, Deckard is called into action against a group of these dangerous renegades.
As is always the case in Dick’s stories, things are not what they seem. Multiple challenges to self-identity and objective reality arise. Deckard is confronted by questions about the morality of his actions and whether he himself is sane, or even human. Potentially anything in his world is fake, and just what is the difference between fake and real? For that matter what qualities define the genuine human? And what is the point of struggling on in a disintegrating world? These are all profound questions, but Dick spins them into an engaging story, albeit a disorienting one.
He also introduces us to J. R. Isidore, a rather pathetic driver (for a fake veterinarian service) whose mental faculties have deteriorated due to fallout. Isidore must go through his own spiritual crises, first in his job, then when he meets androids, and then when Mercerism is declared a fraud. While Dick stresses the fact that Wilbur Mercer is not a saviour figure, there are points of contact between Mercerism and Christianity. The description of Mercer’s cyclical martyrdom and rebirth evokes Christ’s descent into Hell and the stations of the cross.
The androids seek to destroy what they see as fraudulent human claims to empathy, claims that exclude them from being true persons. As part of this effort they try, successfully, to discredit the process by which adherents psychically identify with Mercer. While this whole plotline could easily have led into a banal lesson on inclusiveness and the evils of intolerant religion, Dick takes it in a more interesting direction. He shows that the androids really do lack empathy, and are in human terms sociopaths. He also turns the indictment of Mercerism around: it is revealed as being phony but true at the same time. Mercer continues have power, even though the compassionless androids cannot understand why. Indeed, Mercer’s ignoble, obscure origins are in fact treated as a sign of deeper authenticity, since, in Dick’s theology, genuine transcendence manifests itself among the trash and the outcasts, amidst the lowly and the weak.
In this part of the story one can perhaps hear echoes of Dick’s real-life response when a friend told him that Christ was a fraud. Dick replied that even if this was the case, it made no difference. He believed in Him anyway. This seems confused and irrational, but in this novel we might be able to glimpse what he meant. It can be seen as a statement of faith, from a highly paranoid artist, that behind all the falsehood and deception that exist in the world there is still, somewhere, a life-giving Truth worth seeking.
4 out of 5
Monday, August 27, 2007
Book review: The Three Stigmata of Palmer Eldritch
by Philip K. Dick. 1964. 230 p.
“I’m inclined, as you can see, to be somewhat sympathetic to the Early- and Neo-Christian point of view, such as Anne holds. It assists in explaining a great deal.” – (p. 193)
Barney Mayerson is a precog in the Pre-Fash department of Perky Pat Layouts. His job is to foresee which styles of clothing and housewares will become popular. Leo Bulero, his boss, is chairman of the company, which manufactures doll-sized goods. His wealth and power, however, are made possible by the illegal side of his operation: the production and distribution of Can-D. The drug causes users to hallucinate themselves as living in the idealized bodies and worlds represented by the dolls and dollhouses. Most of the miserable drafted colonists living on Mars use the drug habitually to escape their bleak lives. For the masses, life on over-heated, over-crowded planet Earth is not much better. Still, for the wealthy like Bulero, there are satellite playgrounds, Antarctic resorts and clinics that can artificially evolve their customers.
But now something unexpected has happened: a ship from the Proxima system has crash-landed on Pluto. It carries the eccentrically brilliant businessman Palmer Eldritch, returned from his decade-long round trip. He brings with him an alien lichen, which he uses to start manufacturing his own drug: Chew-Z. The product’s motto? “God promises eternal life. We can deliver it.” Bulero and Mayerson must act quickly, to counter this new competition. But is Eldritch really Eldritch? Has something alien returned in his stead? Has something demonic taken possession of him? And just where does Chew-Z take its users? Bulero begins to realize that his private war is not simply about commercial rivalry. At stake is the freedom of humanity.
The Three Stigmata of Palmer Eldritch is a disorienting book, and, as is so often the case with Dick, it can be hard to tell what it all means. One senses that the author himself is unsure at times, as the characters formulate and discard explanations of events. This is partly explained by the fact that Palmer Eldritch was based on a disturbing vision Dick himself had, one he did not understand. What is clear is that the book is saturated with religious symbolism and exhibits a fascination with theological concepts (this fascination is hinted at in Dick’s earlier work and grew in later novels.) Two important themes are transubstantiation and the Fall, so we find characters using technical philosophical language contrasting ‘accidents’ with ‘essence,’ and debating original sin, along with quoting Thomas a Kempis.
Dick can be viewed as a speculative theologian, forever trying out different theories to see how they fit his experiences. (Gabriel McKee's book on Dick's religious thought, Pink Beams of Light From the God In the Gutter, is a very helpful resource to those seeking more background information.) And while he can wander off into very strange territory, in the end he usually returns to some sort of recognizably Christian theology, albeit employed in unusual ways. Despite his Gnostic leanings, Dick here also backs away from strict good-versus-evil dualism, seeking to understand how all things, even Palmer Eldritch, could spring from God, or work together for good. This compassion and speculation make Three Stigmata a highly thought-provoking read.
3.5 out of 5
“I’m inclined, as you can see, to be somewhat sympathetic to the Early- and Neo-Christian point of view, such as Anne holds. It assists in explaining a great deal.” – (p. 193)
Barney Mayerson is a precog in the Pre-Fash department of Perky Pat Layouts. His job is to foresee which styles of clothing and housewares will become popular. Leo Bulero, his boss, is chairman of the company, which manufactures doll-sized goods. His wealth and power, however, are made possible by the illegal side of his operation: the production and distribution of Can-D. The drug causes users to hallucinate themselves as living in the idealized bodies and worlds represented by the dolls and dollhouses. Most of the miserable drafted colonists living on Mars use the drug habitually to escape their bleak lives. For the masses, life on over-heated, over-crowded planet Earth is not much better. Still, for the wealthy like Bulero, there are satellite playgrounds, Antarctic resorts and clinics that can artificially evolve their customers.
But now something unexpected has happened: a ship from the Proxima system has crash-landed on Pluto. It carries the eccentrically brilliant businessman Palmer Eldritch, returned from his decade-long round trip. He brings with him an alien lichen, which he uses to start manufacturing his own drug: Chew-Z. The product’s motto? “God promises eternal life. We can deliver it.” Bulero and Mayerson must act quickly, to counter this new competition. But is Eldritch really Eldritch? Has something alien returned in his stead? Has something demonic taken possession of him? And just where does Chew-Z take its users? Bulero begins to realize that his private war is not simply about commercial rivalry. At stake is the freedom of humanity.
The Three Stigmata of Palmer Eldritch is a disorienting book, and, as is so often the case with Dick, it can be hard to tell what it all means. One senses that the author himself is unsure at times, as the characters formulate and discard explanations of events. This is partly explained by the fact that Palmer Eldritch was based on a disturbing vision Dick himself had, one he did not understand. What is clear is that the book is saturated with religious symbolism and exhibits a fascination with theological concepts (this fascination is hinted at in Dick’s earlier work and grew in later novels.) Two important themes are transubstantiation and the Fall, so we find characters using technical philosophical language contrasting ‘accidents’ with ‘essence,’ and debating original sin, along with quoting Thomas a Kempis.
Dick can be viewed as a speculative theologian, forever trying out different theories to see how they fit his experiences. (Gabriel McKee's book on Dick's religious thought, Pink Beams of Light From the God In the Gutter, is a very helpful resource to those seeking more background information.) And while he can wander off into very strange territory, in the end he usually returns to some sort of recognizably Christian theology, albeit employed in unusual ways. Despite his Gnostic leanings, Dick here also backs away from strict good-versus-evil dualism, seeking to understand how all things, even Palmer Eldritch, could spring from God, or work together for good. This compassion and speculation make Three Stigmata a highly thought-provoking read.
3.5 out of 5
Tuesday, August 07, 2007
Mini-mini reviews
Black Snake Moan - Heavily concerned with morality and religion, in spite of (or perhaps because of) the graphic sex, violence and cussin'. I think it was trying to say something subversive (subversive to modern culture, that is) about how we need to be freed from ourselves in order to be saved.
"Murder in the Flying Vatican" - An enjoyable novella by Albert E. Cowdrey, found in the August issue of The Magazine of Science Fiction & Fantasy. It's a murder mystery, set aboard an orbital monastery which is dedicated to a mish-mash of Eastern faiths. Other religions make cameo appearances. Some clever observations. It is set in a future time in which the United States is mostly a blasted desert, and 'The Christian Era' is viewed as ancient history.
The Year's Best Science Fiction: Twenty-Third Annual Collection contains at least three interesting religiously-themed stories: "A Case of Consilience" by Ken MacLeod, "Deus ex homine" by Hannu Rajaniemi, and "Angel of Light" by Joe Haldeman. I've discussed the first story here already. The second concerns people who can attain a sort of godhood when their personal technology runs out of control. Of course these new gods are immensely dangerous to everyone else, and must be stopped. The story seems to be asking the question: "Is divinity simply a matter of power, or is it some moral quality?" The third is about a religious man living in a future enclave of "Chrislam," who finds an old science fiction magazine. I seem to recall Arthur C. Clarke speculating about "Chrislam" as well. It doesn't strike me as very plausible, but who knows. The collection also contains Gene Wolfe's "Comber," and a story by Ian MacDonald entitled "Little Goddess," which I didn't read.
Storm Front, by Jim Butcher: Harry Potter meets The Maltese Falcon. Harry Dresden, private dick, undergoes all the trials and tribulations a film noir hero must, except in this case he's a wizard, too. Very entertaining. I recall reading an article somewhere about how 'film noir'-style detective stories are essentially about a lone existentialist hero making moral choices in an amoral world where authority and society can't be trusted. There's a lot to that interpretation, actually, and it comes through in this book. It makes sense to me that later volumes in the series portray a friendly Christian as a supporting character, as Mir reports, because in this book at least Butcher is very much concerned with morality. I think he'd be somewhat sympathetic to traditional Christian ethics.
Nine Parts of Desire, by Geraldine Brooks: A disturbing and educational look into the worlds of Muslim women. All the more disturbing because Brooks tries hard to be even-handed and show both sides of the story.
"Murder in the Flying Vatican" - An enjoyable novella by Albert E. Cowdrey, found in the August issue of The Magazine of Science Fiction & Fantasy. It's a murder mystery, set aboard an orbital monastery which is dedicated to a mish-mash of Eastern faiths. Other religions make cameo appearances. Some clever observations. It is set in a future time in which the United States is mostly a blasted desert, and 'The Christian Era' is viewed as ancient history.
The Year's Best Science Fiction: Twenty-Third Annual Collection contains at least three interesting religiously-themed stories: "A Case of Consilience" by Ken MacLeod, "Deus ex homine" by Hannu Rajaniemi, and "Angel of Light" by Joe Haldeman. I've discussed the first story here already. The second concerns people who can attain a sort of godhood when their personal technology runs out of control. Of course these new gods are immensely dangerous to everyone else, and must be stopped. The story seems to be asking the question: "Is divinity simply a matter of power, or is it some moral quality?" The third is about a religious man living in a future enclave of "Chrislam," who finds an old science fiction magazine. I seem to recall Arthur C. Clarke speculating about "Chrislam" as well. It doesn't strike me as very plausible, but who knows. The collection also contains Gene Wolfe's "Comber," and a story by Ian MacDonald entitled "Little Goddess," which I didn't read.
Storm Front, by Jim Butcher: Harry Potter meets The Maltese Falcon. Harry Dresden, private dick, undergoes all the trials and tribulations a film noir hero must, except in this case he's a wizard, too. Very entertaining. I recall reading an article somewhere about how 'film noir'-style detective stories are essentially about a lone existentialist hero making moral choices in an amoral world where authority and society can't be trusted. There's a lot to that interpretation, actually, and it comes through in this book. It makes sense to me that later volumes in the series portray a friendly Christian as a supporting character, as Mir reports, because in this book at least Butcher is very much concerned with morality. I think he'd be somewhat sympathetic to traditional Christian ethics.
Nine Parts of Desire, by Geraldine Brooks: A disturbing and educational look into the worlds of Muslim women. All the more disturbing because Brooks tries hard to be even-handed and show both sides of the story.
Thursday, August 02, 2007
Philip K. Dick on JWs
"In one interview, Dick discusses an account of Jehovah's Witnesses in one concentration camp who, as part of the camp bureaucracy, typed up lists of people who were to be killed each day:
Hmm. He has a point, but I think it was a bit more complicated that he thought. For one thing, I don't think JWs (or Bibelforscher) were gassed as a matter of course. I thought that those who were put in the camps were just starved and/or worked to death, unless they agreed to sign a paper rejecting their subversive beliefs and acknowledging the Fuhrer's supremacy.
When my teenaged refugee father stopped to rest in an evacuated concentration camp, he found prisoner JWs serving tea and doing other chores. An officer (I don't know if he was just Wehrmacht, or SS) explained that the JWs were used in this role because they were totally non-violent and thus trusted. All the other inmates had been evacuated* but they got to stay. My father was impressed. I think by that time he had had his fill of war, of both the Nazi and Communist variety.
*Because, you know, the Nazis just had to kill as many people as they could before they went down in defeat.
This is the essence of the unhuman... These Jehovah's Witnesses knew the situation; they knew that they and other people were going to be gassed. And yet they were typing lists, and emptying wastebaskets, whatever, as long as it didn't break some damn ordinance in the Bible like "Thou shalt not salute the flag." They'd go to their deaths rather than salute the flag, and yet they'd type up and carry lists of people who were to be exterminated!"Pink Beams of Light From the God in the Gutter, p. 17. The Dick quote is from Philip K. Dick: The Dream Connection, by D. Scott Apel.
Hmm. He has a point, but I think it was a bit more complicated that he thought. For one thing, I don't think JWs (or Bibelforscher) were gassed as a matter of course. I thought that those who were put in the camps were just starved and/or worked to death, unless they agreed to sign a paper rejecting their subversive beliefs and acknowledging the Fuhrer's supremacy.
When my teenaged refugee father stopped to rest in an evacuated concentration camp, he found prisoner JWs serving tea and doing other chores. An officer (I don't know if he was just Wehrmacht, or SS) explained that the JWs were used in this role because they were totally non-violent and thus trusted. All the other inmates had been evacuated* but they got to stay. My father was impressed. I think by that time he had had his fill of war, of both the Nazi and Communist variety.
*Because, you know, the Nazis just had to kill as many people as they could before they went down in defeat.
Tuesday, July 31, 2007
Doctor Mirabilis, by James Blish
I've been reading James Blish's 1964 novel Doctor Mirabilis, which has a certain amount in common with Michael Flynn's Eifelheim. Blish's book is set a century earlier than Flynn's, in the 1200s, but both are concerned with the roots of modern science in medieval Europe. In Eifelheim, the intellectual giants are William of Ockham, Jean Buridan, and Nicole Oresme; in Mirabilis, they are Albertus Magnus, Robert Grosseteste, Thomas Aquinas, and the protagonist himself, Friar Roger Bacon. In the endnotes Blish argues the case for Bacon being a very important influence on the overall development of the scientific method.
Mirabilis isn't exactly science fiction, except in the literal sense of being fiction about science. I suppose it's technically historical fiction. It's interesting that Blish considered it to be Volume 1 of a trilogy, along with his most enduring book, the science fiction classic (and Hugo winner) A Case of Conscience, as Volume 3, and two horror/fantasy novellas, Black Easter and The Day After Judgement together constituting Volume 2. He called this genre-spanning trilogy "After Such Knowledge," which is, I believe, a quote from T.S. Eliot: "After such knowledge, what forgiveness?"
What links the trilogy? Wikipedia says that each deals with "an aspect of the price of knowledge." The other connecting thread is Catholicism. This part is a little unusual, since James Blish was an atheist (or according to Ken MacLeod, an agnostic) when he wrote them. I once mentioned Blish in a letter to Gene Wolfe. Wolfe replied that he had known Blish slightly, and gotten the impression that he was a contrarian. If you were a Christian, Blish would take the position of an atheist; if you were an atheist, he was a Christian. Adherents.com writes of Blish: "His was an Anglican background, and he embraced Anglicanism late in life and was buried Anglican. But he apparently was an atheist during most of his SF-writing career." But there's no reference cited. The Day After Judgement, published first in 1970 (Blish died in 1975), concludes with a poetic description of an unusual theology. I'm don't know if it represents Blish's personal religious beliefs late in life or if he became an orthodox Anglican.
In any case, I'm quite enjoying Doctor Mirabilis. It's well-written (in that sharp-edged Blish style), highly intelligent, and very evocative of the era. It can also be pretty funny. I particularly liked the young, irritable Roger's clashes with his mentor Adam Marsh:
"'Tis but a Jew."
"As were three of the nine worthies of the world," Adam said gently, "and among Christians there were eke but three, as among the paynims. Since Our Lord was a Jew as well, that giveth the Jews somewhat the advantage."
Or...
"Swef, swef," Adam said. "'Twas not meant to be a test, Roger, only a diversion; whyfore so savage? A peasant girl is not a pestilence."
"Devils live in them," Roger said, the sullen fumes in his head seeming to issue forth in wreaths with the words. "They are all thieves and whores, to the Last Judgement."
"No Christian may declare another eternally damned except on pain of sin," Adam said. "How wilt thou preach, and yet have naught to do with women? They are the half of mankind."
Mirabilis isn't exactly science fiction, except in the literal sense of being fiction about science. I suppose it's technically historical fiction. It's interesting that Blish considered it to be Volume 1 of a trilogy, along with his most enduring book, the science fiction classic (and Hugo winner) A Case of Conscience, as Volume 3, and two horror/fantasy novellas, Black Easter and The Day After Judgement together constituting Volume 2. He called this genre-spanning trilogy "After Such Knowledge," which is, I believe, a quote from T.S. Eliot: "After such knowledge, what forgiveness?"
What links the trilogy? Wikipedia says that each deals with "an aspect of the price of knowledge." The other connecting thread is Catholicism. This part is a little unusual, since James Blish was an atheist (or according to Ken MacLeod, an agnostic) when he wrote them. I once mentioned Blish in a letter to Gene Wolfe. Wolfe replied that he had known Blish slightly, and gotten the impression that he was a contrarian. If you were a Christian, Blish would take the position of an atheist; if you were an atheist, he was a Christian. Adherents.com writes of Blish: "His was an Anglican background, and he embraced Anglicanism late in life and was buried Anglican. But he apparently was an atheist during most of his SF-writing career." But there's no reference cited. The Day After Judgement, published first in 1970 (Blish died in 1975), concludes with a poetic description of an unusual theology. I'm don't know if it represents Blish's personal religious beliefs late in life or if he became an orthodox Anglican.
In any case, I'm quite enjoying Doctor Mirabilis. It's well-written (in that sharp-edged Blish style), highly intelligent, and very evocative of the era. It can also be pretty funny. I particularly liked the young, irritable Roger's clashes with his mentor Adam Marsh:
"'Tis but a Jew."
"As were three of the nine worthies of the world," Adam said gently, "and among Christians there were eke but three, as among the paynims. Since Our Lord was a Jew as well, that giveth the Jews somewhat the advantage."
Or...
"Swef, swef," Adam said. "'Twas not meant to be a test, Roger, only a diversion; whyfore so savage? A peasant girl is not a pestilence."
"Devils live in them," Roger said, the sullen fumes in his head seeming to issue forth in wreaths with the words. "They are all thieves and whores, to the Last Judgement."
"No Christian may declare another eternally damned except on pain of sin," Adam said. "How wilt thou preach, and yet have naught to do with women? They are the half of mankind."
Monday, July 30, 2007
Book Review - The Fate of Mice
by Susan Palwick. Tachyon Publications, 2007.
“Go out quickly into the streets and lanes of the city and bring in hither the poor, and the maimed, and the halt, and the blind.” - Luke 14:21.
Susan Palwick’s protagonists are, almost invariably, the least, the last, and the lost: abused children (Flying in Place), refugees (The Necessary Beggar), orphans, the homeless and the stigmatized (Shelter). The stories in The Fate of Mice are no exception. Here we meet the deranged, a prostitute, other marginalized women, and a few more orphans. Even the more far-fetched characters exist on the edges of society: a laboratory mouse, a werewolf kept on a leash, the reanimated dead, and a girl whose aching heart is on the outside of her body.
The stories in this collection range from those with only barely discernible speculative elements to fairy tales and science fictional fables like “Sorrel’s Heart” or “The Old World.” In the latter humanity experiences a moral revolution, with nearly everybody becoming kinder and more responsible. This eucatastrophe makes the world a much better place, but creates unexpected problems for paranoid conspiracy theorists. On the other hand, “Elephant” is something like a Margaret Atwood story with a magic realist twist. In it, a woman who’s had a miserable life literally conceives a desperate hope that things might change.
A number of the stories use fairy tale trappings to make subtle points about injustices done to women, like the devastating werewolf story “Gestella.” In “Stormdusk” a girl discovers her long-suffering mother’s arcane origins. “Ever After” (one of my favourites) both teases out the female desperation implicit in traditional fairy godmother tales and then takes that imagery to an unexpectedly chilling conclusion. Indeed, a number of the stories in The Fate of Mice are fairly dark.
But this is not to say they are without hope. One of the dangers of spending time on the margins is that you just might meet God there. While reading The Fate of Mice, I found myself reminded of this prayer from Gene Wolfe’s Book of the Long Sun: “Obscure Outsider, be not angry with us, though we have never sufficiently honoured you. All that is outcast, discarded and despised is yours.” Most of the tales in the collection have no obvious religious elements, but the final, powerful story casts a long shadow back over the rest, hinting that God might be lurking there in the gutters and back alleys. This story, “GI Jesus,” reminded me of Flannery O’Connor (that’s high praise indeed) with its down-and-out characters and its incognito secret agent, Jesus Christ.
As with any collection, some stories were more interesting than others. I didn’t particularly care for “Jo’s Hair,” though that could be chalked up to my lack of interest in Little Women. “Beautiful Stuff” had a wonderful premise, but seemed a bit rough, like it needed another revision. All in all, though, Palwick’s stories were well-told and emotionally moving. The Fate of Mice packs a powerful punch.
4 out of 5
“Go out quickly into the streets and lanes of the city and bring in hither the poor, and the maimed, and the halt, and the blind.” - Luke 14:21.
Susan Palwick’s protagonists are, almost invariably, the least, the last, and the lost: abused children (Flying in Place), refugees (The Necessary Beggar), orphans, the homeless and the stigmatized (Shelter). The stories in The Fate of Mice are no exception. Here we meet the deranged, a prostitute, other marginalized women, and a few more orphans. Even the more far-fetched characters exist on the edges of society: a laboratory mouse, a werewolf kept on a leash, the reanimated dead, and a girl whose aching heart is on the outside of her body.
The stories in this collection range from those with only barely discernible speculative elements to fairy tales and science fictional fables like “Sorrel’s Heart” or “The Old World.” In the latter humanity experiences a moral revolution, with nearly everybody becoming kinder and more responsible. This eucatastrophe makes the world a much better place, but creates unexpected problems for paranoid conspiracy theorists. On the other hand, “Elephant” is something like a Margaret Atwood story with a magic realist twist. In it, a woman who’s had a miserable life literally conceives a desperate hope that things might change.
A number of the stories use fairy tale trappings to make subtle points about injustices done to women, like the devastating werewolf story “Gestella.” In “Stormdusk” a girl discovers her long-suffering mother’s arcane origins. “Ever After” (one of my favourites) both teases out the female desperation implicit in traditional fairy godmother tales and then takes that imagery to an unexpectedly chilling conclusion. Indeed, a number of the stories in The Fate of Mice are fairly dark.
But this is not to say they are without hope. One of the dangers of spending time on the margins is that you just might meet God there. While reading The Fate of Mice, I found myself reminded of this prayer from Gene Wolfe’s Book of the Long Sun: “Obscure Outsider, be not angry with us, though we have never sufficiently honoured you. All that is outcast, discarded and despised is yours.” Most of the tales in the collection have no obvious religious elements, but the final, powerful story casts a long shadow back over the rest, hinting that God might be lurking there in the gutters and back alleys. This story, “GI Jesus,” reminded me of Flannery O’Connor (that’s high praise indeed) with its down-and-out characters and its incognito secret agent, Jesus Christ.
As with any collection, some stories were more interesting than others. I didn’t particularly care for “Jo’s Hair,” though that could be chalked up to my lack of interest in Little Women. “Beautiful Stuff” had a wonderful premise, but seemed a bit rough, like it needed another revision. All in all, though, Palwick’s stories were well-told and emotionally moving. The Fate of Mice packs a powerful punch.
4 out of 5
Monday, July 23, 2007
Book Review: The Stoneholding
by Mark James. Stoneharp Press, 2004. 322 p.
The honest, doughty highlanders of Lammermorn have long defied Gawmage, the usurper who sits on the throne of Arvon. Surrounded by mountains, they have stayed true to the old ways, represented by aged Wilum, the Hordanu (High Bard) of all Arvon. But the Great Harmony which sustains the forces of order and good has been breaking down for a long time, and there seems to be no way to restore it. Now Ferabek, the evil overlord who pulls Gawmage’s strings, has taken a personal interest in the clanholding of Lammermorn. The Sacred Fire tended by the Hordanu has been quenched, and troops are massing to annihilate those living in the valley. Can Wilum and his young assistants Kal and Galli survive long enough to rekindle the Fire, find the lost heir to the throne, and restore the Harmony?
The Stoneholding (the first book of The Talamadh) draws on Celtic mythology and a vaguely Scottish setting. The authors (Mark James is a pen name for Mark Sebanc and James G. Anderson) are clearly and unashamedly indebted to Tolkien, as most epic fantasies are. Kal and Galli are somewhat like Frodo and Sam, though not excessively so. The Celtic religion is infused with a subtle Christian sensibility, also in the tradition of Tolkien. I thought I saw a few nods to other fantasists, such as Robert Jordan.
Those who crave epic struggles between good and evil, featuring lost royalty, reluctant homespun heroes, and desperate measures, will find much to their liking in The Stoneholding. The genre is a well-worn one, but Sebanc and Anderson manage to inject unique elements thanks to the Celtic influence. The theme of a divine harmony which sustains the cosmos is particularly satisfying. Figures such as Wuldor, Ardiel, and Hedric are handled in an appropriately mythic style: the latter two appear in a striking transfiguration sequence near the end of the book.
I felt that the dialogue was at times stilted, though my imagining the characters as having Scottish accents did make it seem more plausible. The descriptive writing was more skillful, especially in regards the natural environs of the Lammermorn. The hints and prophecies are sometimes a little too broad, but on the other hand a number of important developments caught me by surprise. Best of all, I found myself caring more and more about the main characters as the book progressed: they’re likable in a down-to-earth kind of way, particularly old Master Wilum.
3 out of 5
The honest, doughty highlanders of Lammermorn have long defied Gawmage, the usurper who sits on the throne of Arvon. Surrounded by mountains, they have stayed true to the old ways, represented by aged Wilum, the Hordanu (High Bard) of all Arvon. But the Great Harmony which sustains the forces of order and good has been breaking down for a long time, and there seems to be no way to restore it. Now Ferabek, the evil overlord who pulls Gawmage’s strings, has taken a personal interest in the clanholding of Lammermorn. The Sacred Fire tended by the Hordanu has been quenched, and troops are massing to annihilate those living in the valley. Can Wilum and his young assistants Kal and Galli survive long enough to rekindle the Fire, find the lost heir to the throne, and restore the Harmony?
The Stoneholding (the first book of The Talamadh) draws on Celtic mythology and a vaguely Scottish setting. The authors (Mark James is a pen name for Mark Sebanc and James G. Anderson) are clearly and unashamedly indebted to Tolkien, as most epic fantasies are. Kal and Galli are somewhat like Frodo and Sam, though not excessively so. The Celtic religion is infused with a subtle Christian sensibility, also in the tradition of Tolkien. I thought I saw a few nods to other fantasists, such as Robert Jordan.
Those who crave epic struggles between good and evil, featuring lost royalty, reluctant homespun heroes, and desperate measures, will find much to their liking in The Stoneholding. The genre is a well-worn one, but Sebanc and Anderson manage to inject unique elements thanks to the Celtic influence. The theme of a divine harmony which sustains the cosmos is particularly satisfying. Figures such as Wuldor, Ardiel, and Hedric are handled in an appropriately mythic style: the latter two appear in a striking transfiguration sequence near the end of the book.
I felt that the dialogue was at times stilted, though my imagining the characters as having Scottish accents did make it seem more plausible. The descriptive writing was more skillful, especially in regards the natural environs of the Lammermorn. The hints and prophecies are sometimes a little too broad, but on the other hand a number of important developments caught me by surprise. Best of all, I found myself caring more and more about the main characters as the book progressed: they’re likable in a down-to-earth kind of way, particularly old Master Wilum.
3 out of 5
Sunday, July 15, 2007
Book review: The Child Goddess
by Louise Marley. Ace Books, 2004. 324 p.
Jesus saith unto her, “Woman, why weepest thou? Whom seekest thou?”
(John 20:15)
Mother Isabel Burke is a Magdalene Enquirer, several centuries hence. Just as their patron saint sought after the risen Christ, the Order of Mary Magdalene is dedicated to seeking out hidden truths and shedding light in dark places. While the Vatican has permitted the ordination of female priests, many Catholics are unhappy with the idea, and so the fledgling order is eager to prove its worth.
Isabel is called upon to use her training as an anthropologist to solve a mystery on the planet of Virimund. The ExtraSolar Corporation, attempting to exploit the supposedly uninhabited planet’s resources, has stumbled upon a small group of children. A brief and violent encounter has left several people dead. In the aftermath of the clash, ESC employees have brought back a native, a little girl named Oa.
Isabel struggles through a tangle of predatory corporate and scientific interests so that she can protect and honour the girl as a human being made in the image of God. (Some of these issues will look familiar to students of the history of missions and colonialism.) At the same time, she begins to realize that there is something very unusual about Oa. To complicate matters further, Isabel must work with Simon Edwards, a medical scientist with whom she has a complex personal history.
The main appeal of The Child Goddess does not lay in its scientific ideas. Marley gives hints that allow the astute reader to unravel most of Virimund’s mystery long before Isabel and Simon. The book’s chief strength is its characters: a desperate executive, a fame-hungry scientist, a quiet longshoreman, a girl burdened with secret shame. I felt the tension and anguish between Isabel, Simon, and Simon’s wife, Anna, was conveyed especially well.
The religious elements are powerful but subtle. Isabel strives to seek, to understand while also valuing and protecting, to be a Christian humanist in a world that belittles the value of both religion and humanity. She also strives to remain faithful to her vow of celibacy, to devote herself to God. In Isabel’s time, the Church has accepted as authentic the ancient Gospel of Mary, and Marley hints at other shifts within Christianity. But Isabel is no Gnostic; in all essentials she is an orthodox Christian, devoted to Christ and to her church. Mary of Magdala is important to her, not because she represents the divine feminine, but because Mary was the first to see and proclaim the risen Christ, His first apostle.
The story also explores Oa’s spiritual life. Her spirituality centres on Raimu-ke, an enigmatic ancestor goddess. Through this and other elements of the story, Marley develops interesting insights into the nature of religious devotion, shame, self-sacrifice, exclusion, and martyrdom.
3.5 out of 5
Jesus saith unto her, “Woman, why weepest thou? Whom seekest thou?”
(John 20:15)
Mother Isabel Burke is a Magdalene Enquirer, several centuries hence. Just as their patron saint sought after the risen Christ, the Order of Mary Magdalene is dedicated to seeking out hidden truths and shedding light in dark places. While the Vatican has permitted the ordination of female priests, many Catholics are unhappy with the idea, and so the fledgling order is eager to prove its worth.
Isabel is called upon to use her training as an anthropologist to solve a mystery on the planet of Virimund. The ExtraSolar Corporation, attempting to exploit the supposedly uninhabited planet’s resources, has stumbled upon a small group of children. A brief and violent encounter has left several people dead. In the aftermath of the clash, ESC employees have brought back a native, a little girl named Oa.
Isabel struggles through a tangle of predatory corporate and scientific interests so that she can protect and honour the girl as a human being made in the image of God. (Some of these issues will look familiar to students of the history of missions and colonialism.) At the same time, she begins to realize that there is something very unusual about Oa. To complicate matters further, Isabel must work with Simon Edwards, a medical scientist with whom she has a complex personal history.
The main appeal of The Child Goddess does not lay in its scientific ideas. Marley gives hints that allow the astute reader to unravel most of Virimund’s mystery long before Isabel and Simon. The book’s chief strength is its characters: a desperate executive, a fame-hungry scientist, a quiet longshoreman, a girl burdened with secret shame. I felt the tension and anguish between Isabel, Simon, and Simon’s wife, Anna, was conveyed especially well.
The religious elements are powerful but subtle. Isabel strives to seek, to understand while also valuing and protecting, to be a Christian humanist in a world that belittles the value of both religion and humanity. She also strives to remain faithful to her vow of celibacy, to devote herself to God. In Isabel’s time, the Church has accepted as authentic the ancient Gospel of Mary, and Marley hints at other shifts within Christianity. But Isabel is no Gnostic; in all essentials she is an orthodox Christian, devoted to Christ and to her church. Mary of Magdala is important to her, not because she represents the divine feminine, but because Mary was the first to see and proclaim the risen Christ, His first apostle.
The story also explores Oa’s spiritual life. Her spirituality centres on Raimu-ke, an enigmatic ancestor goddess. Through this and other elements of the story, Marley develops interesting insights into the nature of religious devotion, shame, self-sacrifice, exclusion, and martyrdom.
3.5 out of 5
Saturday, July 14, 2007
A Case of Consilience
Check out Ken MacLeod's wonderful sf story "A Case of Consilience."
It's about a Presbyterian minister who struggles to evangelize sentient mycoids, with unexpected results.
"The Reformation. The racialist heresy. The age of the Earth. Biblical criticism. Darwin. The twentieth century had brought the expanding universe, the gene, the unconscious—how quaint the controversies over these now seemed! Genetic engineering, human-animal chimerae, artificial intelligence: in Donald's own lifetime he'd seen Synods, Assemblies and Curia debate them and come to a Christian near-consensus acceptable to all but the lunatic—no, he must be charitable— the fundamentalist fringe.
And then, once more, just when the dust had settled, along had come—predictable as a planet, unpredicted like a comet—another orb in God's great orrery of education, or shell in the Adversary's arsenal of error-mongery, the greatest challenge of all—alien intelligent life."
I have to say I was very pleasantly surprised by this story- not only does it have cool scientific ideas, it has humour, and best of all it includes some thoughtful insights into the nature of missions work and incarnational theology. MacLeod references C.S. Lewis, James Blish, Harry Harrison, Larry Niven and, obliquely, Ray Bradbury. I think he's commenting on the way Luke 8:5-8 fits in with John 12:24. And there are, no doubt, references that went over my head.
Here I had ordered the appropriate anthology from the library so I could read it, and then today I discovered it available online. D'oh! Oh well.
Here's some information on Ken MacLeod. From what I've gleaned from various places, including his blog, he's a strongly committed atheist & secular humanist. One of his greatest passions seems to be socialist politics. Why would someone of his persuasion write a story like this? I don't know,* but I'm glad he did.
*He does seem to prefer moderate religious people to the wild-eyed enthusiastic kind. Perhaps in his ideal world there would be no religion at all, but, given the stubborn endurance of religious belief, he'd rather imagine a future where Christians are mostly quiet moderates.
It's about a Presbyterian minister who struggles to evangelize sentient mycoids, with unexpected results.
"The Reformation. The racialist heresy. The age of the Earth. Biblical criticism. Darwin. The twentieth century had brought the expanding universe, the gene, the unconscious—how quaint the controversies over these now seemed! Genetic engineering, human-animal chimerae, artificial intelligence: in Donald's own lifetime he'd seen Synods, Assemblies and Curia debate them and come to a Christian near-consensus acceptable to all but the lunatic—no, he must be charitable— the fundamentalist fringe.
And then, once more, just when the dust had settled, along had come—predictable as a planet, unpredicted like a comet—another orb in God's great orrery of education, or shell in the Adversary's arsenal of error-mongery, the greatest challenge of all—alien intelligent life."
I have to say I was very pleasantly surprised by this story- not only does it have cool scientific ideas, it has humour, and best of all it includes some thoughtful insights into the nature of missions work and incarnational theology. MacLeod references C.S. Lewis, James Blish, Harry Harrison, Larry Niven and, obliquely, Ray Bradbury. I think he's commenting on the way Luke 8:5-8 fits in with John 12:24. And there are, no doubt, references that went over my head.
Here I had ordered the appropriate anthology from the library so I could read it, and then today I discovered it available online. D'oh! Oh well.
Here's some information on Ken MacLeod. From what I've gleaned from various places, including his blog, he's a strongly committed atheist & secular humanist. One of his greatest passions seems to be socialist politics. Why would someone of his persuasion write a story like this? I don't know,* but I'm glad he did.
*He does seem to prefer moderate religious people to the wild-eyed enthusiastic kind. Perhaps in his ideal world there would be no religion at all, but, given the stubborn endurance of religious belief, he'd rather imagine a future where Christians are mostly quiet moderates.
Wednesday, July 11, 2007
The Dead Lady
FYI, I recently wrote a guest post over at Speculative Faith on Cordwainer Smith's classic sf tale, "The Dead Lady of Clown Town."
Wednesday, May 09, 2007
Doc Elliot and the Credenza of Doom
Ian suggests that I take on a career as a two-fisted pulp-novel hero. It's a good idea, and I'll do it, provided he becomes my wise-cracking sidekick.
In a similar vein, check out the two new posts over at Holy Heroes!! Gabriel McKee's got some interesting thoughts on Spiderman III and the specific comics its plot is based on.
***
We now return you to this week's episode of Doc Elliot, Two-Fisted Pulp-Novel Hero:
"Someday my body will fail me - but not today!" grunted Doc Elliot, as he pulled himself hand-over-hand up a liana which dangled over the crocodile-infested waters.
"The crocodiles will have made a tidy snack of that meddlesome do-gooder," chortled Ye-lo Peril to his brutish henchmen as they stood on the cliff-side, gloating. They had shared four seconds of spiteful laughter when a bronzed hand reached up over the cliff's edge and seized Peril's ankle, pulling him off balance. "Curses!" howled the surprised, malevolent credenza trafficker as he plummeted to his doom. A frantic screaming and crunching sound was heard from the waters below, as Doc Elliot sprang back onto solid ground and quickly sent Peril's men to join their boss.
He was brushing the dust off his hands when Ian trudged up the steep trail, looking crestfallen and carrying a greasy paper bag.
"Why so glum, chum?" inquired the Doc.
"Well, I went to pick up some drinks like you asked, but they gave me these dumplings instead," muttered the sheepish sidekick.
"Ian, did you get mi-mosas and sa-mosas confused again?"
Ian slapped his forehead as a look of chagrin spread itself across his features.
Doc Elliot laughed. "That's OK, buddy," he said. "I've worked up an appetite and no mistake. We'll go pick up some tamarind sauce and have ourselves a two-fisted meal!"
Tune in next week for... Doc Elliot Versus Lady Harrington and The Sedusa-Medusa!
In a similar vein, check out the two new posts over at Holy Heroes!! Gabriel McKee's got some interesting thoughts on Spiderman III and the specific comics its plot is based on.
***
We now return you to this week's episode of Doc Elliot, Two-Fisted Pulp-Novel Hero:
"Someday my body will fail me - but not today!" grunted Doc Elliot, as he pulled himself hand-over-hand up a liana which dangled over the crocodile-infested waters.
"The crocodiles will have made a tidy snack of that meddlesome do-gooder," chortled Ye-lo Peril to his brutish henchmen as they stood on the cliff-side, gloating. They had shared four seconds of spiteful laughter when a bronzed hand reached up over the cliff's edge and seized Peril's ankle, pulling him off balance. "Curses!" howled the surprised, malevolent credenza trafficker as he plummeted to his doom. A frantic screaming and crunching sound was heard from the waters below, as Doc Elliot sprang back onto solid ground and quickly sent Peril's men to join their boss.
He was brushing the dust off his hands when Ian trudged up the steep trail, looking crestfallen and carrying a greasy paper bag.
"Why so glum, chum?" inquired the Doc.
"Well, I went to pick up some drinks like you asked, but they gave me these dumplings instead," muttered the sheepish sidekick.
"Ian, did you get mi-mosas and sa-mosas confused again?"
Ian slapped his forehead as a look of chagrin spread itself across his features.
Doc Elliot laughed. "That's OK, buddy," he said. "I've worked up an appetite and no mistake. We'll go pick up some tamarind sauce and have ourselves a two-fisted meal!"
Tune in next week for... Doc Elliot Versus Lady Harrington and The Sedusa-Medusa!
Wednesday, May 02, 2007
Take This Bread
We briefly interrupt this hiatus, because I just had to tell all a y'all about this book:
Take This Bread, by Sara Miles.
I got the book Monday evening and finished reading it on Tuesday, because it was so good. Miles is a journalist, a left-wing political activist and a lesbian. She was raised by militant atheists and remained a contented atheist until age 46. Then one day she walked by St. Gregory of Nyssa Church in San Francisco, got intrigued by the artwork, and went inside. She took communion and had a mystical experience. From there she dived into Christianity, and then started a big food pantry in the church, serving a nearby poor neighborhood.
Along the way she talks about becoming a professional cook and getting caught up in guerrilla wars in some of the world's most impoverished places. She spent time with Ignacio Martin-Baro, one of the Jesuits who was later murdered in El Salvador.
She does an amazing job of describing the hurting world, the church, humanity, the grief and terror and joy of life. There are a lot of wonderful moments when some acquaintance or random person unexpectedly says something profound. And in a sense the whole book is a beautiful meditation on the Eucharist, which she comes at from a number of illuminating angles.
I find outsiders (ie, non-churchy people) to be the best at showing me what Christianity is and can be. Miles originally had very little background knowledge of religion, and she's unabashedly human: someone who makes mistakes, cusses a lot, doubts herself, and gets furious at people. But I can think of few stories where I've seen the Holy Spirit more clearly than in Take This Bread.
PS: A heads-up to my conservative readers: Miles becomes a Christian and throws herself into doing Christ's work, but she also remains a leftie and a lesbian (in a long-term, committed relationship.)
We now return to the hiatus.
Take This Bread, by Sara Miles.
I got the book Monday evening and finished reading it on Tuesday, because it was so good. Miles is a journalist, a left-wing political activist and a lesbian. She was raised by militant atheists and remained a contented atheist until age 46. Then one day she walked by St. Gregory of Nyssa Church in San Francisco, got intrigued by the artwork, and went inside. She took communion and had a mystical experience. From there she dived into Christianity, and then started a big food pantry in the church, serving a nearby poor neighborhood.
Along the way she talks about becoming a professional cook and getting caught up in guerrilla wars in some of the world's most impoverished places. She spent time with Ignacio Martin-Baro, one of the Jesuits who was later murdered in El Salvador.
She does an amazing job of describing the hurting world, the church, humanity, the grief and terror and joy of life. There are a lot of wonderful moments when some acquaintance or random person unexpectedly says something profound. And in a sense the whole book is a beautiful meditation on the Eucharist, which she comes at from a number of illuminating angles.
I find outsiders (ie, non-churchy people) to be the best at showing me what Christianity is and can be. Miles originally had very little background knowledge of religion, and she's unabashedly human: someone who makes mistakes, cusses a lot, doubts herself, and gets furious at people. But I can think of few stories where I've seen the Holy Spirit more clearly than in Take This Bread.
PS: A heads-up to my conservative readers: Miles becomes a Christian and throws herself into doing Christ's work, but she also remains a leftie and a lesbian (in a long-term, committed relationship.)
We now return to the hiatus.
Tuesday, April 10, 2007
SF/F atonement
Here's a post-Easter thought: Christians should take a break from devising cut-and-dried technical, legalistic or systematic accounts of the doctrine of atonement. These should be avoided if at all possible. Instead, Christians should do what the New Testament so often does, and offer stories, metaphors, poetic images, like this:
Seeker: So, what do Good Friday and Easter mean, anyways?
Jane Christian: It's like Gandalf fighting the Balrog, sacrificing his life to save his friends, going down into the depths of Hell to defeat evil, at the cost of his own life. And then coming back, even greater than before, to lead his friends on to victory!
John Christian: That simply isn't Lewisian enough. I prefer to think of it in terms of Aslan's death on the Stone Table - the penalty for Edmund's crime had to be paid, but in order to spare him, Aslan took that penalty upon himself. And in so doing, he subverted, or superverted, the old law of the Deep Magic, because he was an innocent victim, and because in a sense he was the creator of that law in the first place! This broke the old law asunder and ushered in a new age of grace.
Jake Christian: No, no, no... you legalistic Aslantutionary Lewisians! You read a primal blood-thirst, a violence right into God's supreme act of sacrificial love! No, your model is far too limited. The way to go is with Elizabeth Moon, in Oath of Gold, where Paksenarrion the great paladin gives herself up, defenceless, led like a lamb to the slaughter. Her greatest victory is not won by force of arms but by giving herself over to the torturers and killers as the suffering servant, out of love for the victims of violence. Even though the evil ones break her body, they cannot turn her away from love, or cause her to strike back in anger. Thus the ultimate powerlessness of their coercive force is revealed, and the torturers are baffled and defeated by a better, higher way. Paksenarrion is then raised in glory, and-
Jessica Christian: Pshaw! This Paksenarrionism is simply the pathological theology, or, as I prefer to call it, the patheology, which causes so many womyn to stay in abusive relationships with exploitative men, a theology fed to slaves by their masters. No, what you need to read is Cordwainer Smith's "The Dead Lady of Clown Town," in which the oppressed classes rise up in solidarity with a message of love - love for self, and for the oppressor - not a passive love, but a militant, conquering love, embodied in their leader, Joan. Her sacrifice forces the powers and principalities to acknowledge her personhood, her God-given value, and that of all her people, who are caught up in her victory, the victory which is also theirs. Thus the false consciousness is broken, the legitimating ideology of the oppressor is shown to be demonic in origin, and so-
Jenny Christian: No, Superman's death provides the-
Josephina Christian: Neil Gaiman's "The Price" is far-
Jebediah Christian: But Spock, or even Klaatu, are-
Junri Christian: When Nausicaa is resurrected-
Seeker: [Wanders off to read Archie comics as the Christians get embroiled in a shouting match]
Thanks to Mir's Good Friday post for getting me thinking about atonement in sf/f.
Oh, and I found this book on the atonement interesting, if somewhat tough slogging. The whole first section is devoted to defending the idea that metaphors can convey revealed truth as well as or better than systematic theologizing. Only once that is established does the author move on to the various biblical metaphors.
Seeker: So, what do Good Friday and Easter mean, anyways?
Jane Christian: It's like Gandalf fighting the Balrog, sacrificing his life to save his friends, going down into the depths of Hell to defeat evil, at the cost of his own life. And then coming back, even greater than before, to lead his friends on to victory!
John Christian: That simply isn't Lewisian enough. I prefer to think of it in terms of Aslan's death on the Stone Table - the penalty for Edmund's crime had to be paid, but in order to spare him, Aslan took that penalty upon himself. And in so doing, he subverted, or superverted, the old law of the Deep Magic, because he was an innocent victim, and because in a sense he was the creator of that law in the first place! This broke the old law asunder and ushered in a new age of grace.
Jake Christian: No, no, no... you legalistic Aslantutionary Lewisians! You read a primal blood-thirst, a violence right into God's supreme act of sacrificial love! No, your model is far too limited. The way to go is with Elizabeth Moon, in Oath of Gold, where Paksenarrion the great paladin gives herself up, defenceless, led like a lamb to the slaughter. Her greatest victory is not won by force of arms but by giving herself over to the torturers and killers as the suffering servant, out of love for the victims of violence. Even though the evil ones break her body, they cannot turn her away from love, or cause her to strike back in anger. Thus the ultimate powerlessness of their coercive force is revealed, and the torturers are baffled and defeated by a better, higher way. Paksenarrion is then raised in glory, and-
Jessica Christian: Pshaw! This Paksenarrionism is simply the pathological theology, or, as I prefer to call it, the patheology, which causes so many womyn to stay in abusive relationships with exploitative men, a theology fed to slaves by their masters. No, what you need to read is Cordwainer Smith's "The Dead Lady of Clown Town," in which the oppressed classes rise up in solidarity with a message of love - love for self, and for the oppressor - not a passive love, but a militant, conquering love, embodied in their leader, Joan. Her sacrifice forces the powers and principalities to acknowledge her personhood, her God-given value, and that of all her people, who are caught up in her victory, the victory which is also theirs. Thus the false consciousness is broken, the legitimating ideology of the oppressor is shown to be demonic in origin, and so-
Jenny Christian: No, Superman's death provides the-
Josephina Christian: Neil Gaiman's "The Price" is far-
Jebediah Christian: But Spock, or even Klaatu, are-
Junri Christian: When Nausicaa is resurrected-
Seeker: [Wanders off to read Archie comics as the Christians get embroiled in a shouting match]
Thanks to Mir's Good Friday post for getting me thinking about atonement in sf/f.
Oh, and I found this book on the atonement interesting, if somewhat tough slogging. The whole first section is devoted to defending the idea that metaphors can convey revealed truth as well as or better than systematic theologizing. Only once that is established does the author move on to the various biblical metaphors.
Tuesday, March 27, 2007
Book review - Eifelheim
by Michael Flynn. Tor, 2006. 320 p.
What if the first contact between humanity and an intelligent alien species occurred in the Year of Our Lord 1348?
Some sf authors would have taken this concept and written a cautionary tale in which benighted priests declare the aliens to be demons and whip mobs of superstitious peasants into a killing frenzy. After all, was that not the Age of Faith, an era of theocracy, ignorance, and fear?
What Flynn has done instead is marvelously refreshing. Eifelheim is a carefully researched depiction of Rhineland in the 14th century, showing both the bright and dark aspects of medieval civilization and the small renaissance that was underway before the Black Plague. He illuminates some of the roots of the Scientific Revolution among natural philosophers like William of Ockham, Jean Buridan, and Nicholas Oresme.
Thus when grasshopper-like aliens, the Krenken, crash near the small Black Forest village of Oberhochwald, it is in fact their good fortune to encounter the local priest. Father Dietrich is a thoughtful and discerning man, who studied under Buridan at the University of Paris, and is adept at inquiring into the natural causes of things. His somewhat cool rationality is combined with deep Christian faith, which motivates him to display charity and hospitality to the stranded travelers.
Flynn does a wonderful job of depicting people who live in an Aristotelian universe attempting to communicate with beings that possess a post-Einsteinian science. The Krenken, in turn, are baffled but fascinated by human imagination and Christian ethical concepts. The complex religious, social and political arrangements of the era are brought to vivid life, such as the conflicts between the Great Houses, or between the radical “Spiritual Franciscans” and their enemies. But this is not simply a novel of ideas: the characterization is finely done, and one comes to sympathize deeply with the people of Oberhochwald, and even some of the Krenken. These are complex people with both virtues and foibles, and Flynn neatly sidesteps the stereotypes you might expect. Father Dietrich can seem almost too good to be true at times, but readers also come to know his faults and past sins.
While most of the novel is set in the 14th century, there is an interesting parallel tale about two scientists in the 21st century who stumble across the mystery of Oberhochwald. The town later became known as Eifelheim and was abandoned by human beings. Some interesting (but highly speculative) science is tossed around, while the social and emotional worlds of post-modern academics are portrayed with a certain amount of humour.
Stories involving the Black Plague rarely end happily, though there are more survivors in Eifelheim than there are in Connie Willis’ Doomsday Book. Still, as in Willis’ novel, what matters most is not death itself, but how that death is met. Dietrich and others display faith, hope and love in the face of a great tragedy.
Well-written and insightful, Eifelheim is one of the most sympathetic fictional depictions of medieval Christianity I have had the pleasure to read, approaching A Canticle for Leibowitz in its sophistication. This novel is a must for Christian fans of sf and anyone interested in the medieval era.
(Eifelheim is an extended version of Flynn’s 1986 novella of the same title, which was nominated for a Hugo Award.)
4.5 out of 5
What if the first contact between humanity and an intelligent alien species occurred in the Year of Our Lord 1348?
Some sf authors would have taken this concept and written a cautionary tale in which benighted priests declare the aliens to be demons and whip mobs of superstitious peasants into a killing frenzy. After all, was that not the Age of Faith, an era of theocracy, ignorance, and fear?
What Flynn has done instead is marvelously refreshing. Eifelheim is a carefully researched depiction of Rhineland in the 14th century, showing both the bright and dark aspects of medieval civilization and the small renaissance that was underway before the Black Plague. He illuminates some of the roots of the Scientific Revolution among natural philosophers like William of Ockham, Jean Buridan, and Nicholas Oresme.
Thus when grasshopper-like aliens, the Krenken, crash near the small Black Forest village of Oberhochwald, it is in fact their good fortune to encounter the local priest. Father Dietrich is a thoughtful and discerning man, who studied under Buridan at the University of Paris, and is adept at inquiring into the natural causes of things. His somewhat cool rationality is combined with deep Christian faith, which motivates him to display charity and hospitality to the stranded travelers.
Flynn does a wonderful job of depicting people who live in an Aristotelian universe attempting to communicate with beings that possess a post-Einsteinian science. The Krenken, in turn, are baffled but fascinated by human imagination and Christian ethical concepts. The complex religious, social and political arrangements of the era are brought to vivid life, such as the conflicts between the Great Houses, or between the radical “Spiritual Franciscans” and their enemies. But this is not simply a novel of ideas: the characterization is finely done, and one comes to sympathize deeply with the people of Oberhochwald, and even some of the Krenken. These are complex people with both virtues and foibles, and Flynn neatly sidesteps the stereotypes you might expect. Father Dietrich can seem almost too good to be true at times, but readers also come to know his faults and past sins.
While most of the novel is set in the 14th century, there is an interesting parallel tale about two scientists in the 21st century who stumble across the mystery of Oberhochwald. The town later became known as Eifelheim and was abandoned by human beings. Some interesting (but highly speculative) science is tossed around, while the social and emotional worlds of post-modern academics are portrayed with a certain amount of humour.
Stories involving the Black Plague rarely end happily, though there are more survivors in Eifelheim than there are in Connie Willis’ Doomsday Book. Still, as in Willis’ novel, what matters most is not death itself, but how that death is met. Dietrich and others display faith, hope and love in the face of a great tragedy.
Well-written and insightful, Eifelheim is one of the most sympathetic fictional depictions of medieval Christianity I have had the pleasure to read, approaching A Canticle for Leibowitz in its sophistication. This novel is a must for Christian fans of sf and anyone interested in the medieval era.
(Eifelheim is an extended version of Flynn’s 1986 novella of the same title, which was nominated for a Hugo Award.)
4.5 out of 5
Monday, December 18, 2006
Book Review - Infinite Space, Infinite God
edited by Karina and Robert Fabian. Twilight Times Books, 2006. 230 p.
The Roman Catholic Church enjoys a unique and paradoxical place in science fiction. For most early writers, the march of Science and Progress meant that religion would have little place in the future, and the least likely organization to survive would be the Roman Church. Was it not hidebound, superstitious, repressive? Modern rationalists inherited Protestant polemics and reserved special wrath for Catholicism as the implacable enemy of science, reason and freedom.
And yet... the Roman Church's great age and size, its vivid colour, its certainty, made it hard to ignore. If you had to include religion in your story, would you rather have a Congregationalist minister wearing a suit and tie, or a robed pontiff, enthroned in glory? What about all that stained glass and candles, incense and beads and statuary? A time-honoured code of sin and virtue, salvation and damnation? All this means that Catholicism has been more likely to turn up in science fiction than any other Christian denomination, even if only in a bit part, or as the detestable villain of the piece. Even the angriest of Catholicism's opponents viewed it as they would a car wreck - horrible, but strangely hard to look away from.
Of course, there's another side to the story. A careful examination of history shows the Roman Church frequently promoting the growth of science, as well as occasionally coming into conflict (or at least tension) with it. It's possible to find Catholics conducting Inquisitions but also Catholics opposing them, Catholics conquering native peoples and Catholics defending them, Catholics oppressing and Catholics liberating, all acting (at least in their own minds) as faithful servants of God.
In the field of science fiction, there have been faithful Catholics who knew these facts and who worked to build bridges between tradition and modernity, science and religion. For example, Anthony Boucher (aka Anthony Parker White) was an early, influential science fiction editor who loved the genre and his Church, and whose classic short story "The Quest for Saint Aquin" brilliantly reflects those two commitments.
Infinite Space, Infinite God, a new anthology, follows in Boucher's footsteps. Edited and compiled by Catholic science fiction fans, the stories in this collection all imagine the future role of the Roman Church. Not all of the writers involved are Catholics, but their tales are respectful and envision a Church against which the gates of Hell have not prevailed.
As is the case with any anthology, the quality of the writing varies from story to story. Some of the writers are veterans, while others are still honing their skills. Nonetheless, I enjoyed the majority of these offerings, and was more than once borne away by a concept that at first glance seemed unpromising.
Among my favorites was Colleen Drippe’s “Brother John.” John Melchior is a thug-turned-monk, who along with his order tries to bring the Gospel to a lost space colony. One hears echoes of the early Jesuits in his struggles with the authorities, the natives, and himself.
Another memorable tale was “Stabat Mater,” by Rose Dimond. I always find stories about unconventional Popes interesting, whether it’s the African Pope from Russell’s Children of God, or the improverished Pope in Wolfe’s “How the Whip Came Back.” Dimond’s Pope has “one foot and four toes in the grave” but is striving to end a war and ensure the survival of the Church on other planets. The main character, Theresa, has a special task entrusted her by the Virgin Mary, and tries to carry it out in the face of destruction and despair.
Other stories will stay with me, like Tim Myers' “Brother Jubal in the Womb of Silence,” which is about a hermit practicing contemplation on the Moon. “Hopkin’s Well” by Adrienne Ray, channels R.A. Lafferty’s sardonic wit and sense of the absurd in a tale of church-state tension on Mars. “Our Daily Bread,” by the editors, Robert and Karina Fabian, relates the story of a hard-working Catholic deacon on an asteroid mining operation.
The Fabians’ introduction and prefaces provide interesting information, though I would suggest reading the section prefaces after you read the related fiction, so as to approach the stories on their own terms.
All in all, Infinite Space, Infinite God is an interesting addition to the field that will appeal to most fans of Christian-themed science fiction.
3.5 out of 5
(ISIG is currently available as an e-book, and will be released in print as of August 2007. Here's my interview with the editors.)
The Roman Catholic Church enjoys a unique and paradoxical place in science fiction. For most early writers, the march of Science and Progress meant that religion would have little place in the future, and the least likely organization to survive would be the Roman Church. Was it not hidebound, superstitious, repressive? Modern rationalists inherited Protestant polemics and reserved special wrath for Catholicism as the implacable enemy of science, reason and freedom.
And yet... the Roman Church's great age and size, its vivid colour, its certainty, made it hard to ignore. If you had to include religion in your story, would you rather have a Congregationalist minister wearing a suit and tie, or a robed pontiff, enthroned in glory? What about all that stained glass and candles, incense and beads and statuary? A time-honoured code of sin and virtue, salvation and damnation? All this means that Catholicism has been more likely to turn up in science fiction than any other Christian denomination, even if only in a bit part, or as the detestable villain of the piece. Even the angriest of Catholicism's opponents viewed it as they would a car wreck - horrible, but strangely hard to look away from.
Of course, there's another side to the story. A careful examination of history shows the Roman Church frequently promoting the growth of science, as well as occasionally coming into conflict (or at least tension) with it. It's possible to find Catholics conducting Inquisitions but also Catholics opposing them, Catholics conquering native peoples and Catholics defending them, Catholics oppressing and Catholics liberating, all acting (at least in their own minds) as faithful servants of God.
In the field of science fiction, there have been faithful Catholics who knew these facts and who worked to build bridges between tradition and modernity, science and religion. For example, Anthony Boucher (aka Anthony Parker White) was an early, influential science fiction editor who loved the genre and his Church, and whose classic short story "The Quest for Saint Aquin" brilliantly reflects those two commitments.
Infinite Space, Infinite God, a new anthology, follows in Boucher's footsteps. Edited and compiled by Catholic science fiction fans, the stories in this collection all imagine the future role of the Roman Church. Not all of the writers involved are Catholics, but their tales are respectful and envision a Church against which the gates of Hell have not prevailed.
As is the case with any anthology, the quality of the writing varies from story to story. Some of the writers are veterans, while others are still honing their skills. Nonetheless, I enjoyed the majority of these offerings, and was more than once borne away by a concept that at first glance seemed unpromising.
Among my favorites was Colleen Drippe’s “Brother John.” John Melchior is a thug-turned-monk, who along with his order tries to bring the Gospel to a lost space colony. One hears echoes of the early Jesuits in his struggles with the authorities, the natives, and himself.
Another memorable tale was “Stabat Mater,” by Rose Dimond. I always find stories about unconventional Popes interesting, whether it’s the African Pope from Russell’s Children of God, or the improverished Pope in Wolfe’s “How the Whip Came Back.” Dimond’s Pope has “one foot and four toes in the grave” but is striving to end a war and ensure the survival of the Church on other planets. The main character, Theresa, has a special task entrusted her by the Virgin Mary, and tries to carry it out in the face of destruction and despair.
Other stories will stay with me, like Tim Myers' “Brother Jubal in the Womb of Silence,” which is about a hermit practicing contemplation on the Moon. “Hopkin’s Well” by Adrienne Ray, channels R.A. Lafferty’s sardonic wit and sense of the absurd in a tale of church-state tension on Mars. “Our Daily Bread,” by the editors, Robert and Karina Fabian, relates the story of a hard-working Catholic deacon on an asteroid mining operation.
The Fabians’ introduction and prefaces provide interesting information, though I would suggest reading the section prefaces after you read the related fiction, so as to approach the stories on their own terms.
All in all, Infinite Space, Infinite God is an interesting addition to the field that will appeal to most fans of Christian-themed science fiction.
3.5 out of 5
(ISIG is currently available as an e-book, and will be released in print as of August 2007. Here's my interview with the editors.)
Monday, December 11, 2006
Book Review - Trackers
by Kathryn Mackel. WestBow, 2006. 311 p.
Trackers returns us to the half-ruined world of the Birthright Project, picking up with our young heroes shortly after Outriders left off. Brady is in charge, Ajoba is in trouble, and both Timothy and Niki are in love with people they can’t have.
As before their foes are twisted “mogs” (modified animals) and the power-hungry leaders of Traxx. But there is a new enemy: a demonic presence has begun manipulating events in a bid to destroy Horesh and even the hidden Ark itself. The trackers and outriders find themselves caught up in a complex web of subterfuge and ever-increasing violence.
Trackers is quite a bit darker than Outriders, with instances of torture and rape added to the fighting of the first volume. Though this is marketed as a ‘young adult’ book, I would not recommend it to younger teens. Still, these elements aren’t gratuitous, but stem from Mackel’s depiction of the unglamorous reality of evil. There’s also a sense of heightened moral danger: the young characters are not only battered physically, but are faced with extremely difficult decisions.
As with Outriders, there were a few places in Trackers that seemed rushed, as though drafted sections had been left unrevised. Nevertheless, I kept getting caught up by the twists and turns of the compelling story. It’s hard not to care what happens to these characters. There are also several vision sequences involving demonic enemies which are chillingly surreal.
Mackel’s story will appeal primarily to Christians who will recognize and respond to her biblical symbolism (this time the story of Moses makes an appearance). Her approach seemed less specifically evangelical in this volume, with one exception: I’m not sure all Christians would identify doubt as the primal sin which gave rise to all others. (What about pride, disobedience, or selfishness?) All in all, though, I enjoyed this spiritual tale and look forward to reading the final book in the Birthright trilogy.*
3.5 out of 5
*And there had better be one, too, Mr. Publisher!
Trackers returns us to the half-ruined world of the Birthright Project, picking up with our young heroes shortly after Outriders left off. Brady is in charge, Ajoba is in trouble, and both Timothy and Niki are in love with people they can’t have.
As before their foes are twisted “mogs” (modified animals) and the power-hungry leaders of Traxx. But there is a new enemy: a demonic presence has begun manipulating events in a bid to destroy Horesh and even the hidden Ark itself. The trackers and outriders find themselves caught up in a complex web of subterfuge and ever-increasing violence.
Trackers is quite a bit darker than Outriders, with instances of torture and rape added to the fighting of the first volume. Though this is marketed as a ‘young adult’ book, I would not recommend it to younger teens. Still, these elements aren’t gratuitous, but stem from Mackel’s depiction of the unglamorous reality of evil. There’s also a sense of heightened moral danger: the young characters are not only battered physically, but are faced with extremely difficult decisions.
As with Outriders, there were a few places in Trackers that seemed rushed, as though drafted sections had been left unrevised. Nevertheless, I kept getting caught up by the twists and turns of the compelling story. It’s hard not to care what happens to these characters. There are also several vision sequences involving demonic enemies which are chillingly surreal.
Mackel’s story will appeal primarily to Christians who will recognize and respond to her biblical symbolism (this time the story of Moses makes an appearance). Her approach seemed less specifically evangelical in this volume, with one exception: I’m not sure all Christians would identify doubt as the primal sin which gave rise to all others. (What about pride, disobedience, or selfishness?) All in all, though, I enjoyed this spiritual tale and look forward to reading the final book in the Birthright trilogy.*
3.5 out of 5
*And there had better be one, too, Mr. Publisher!
Saturday, December 02, 2006
Book Review - Outriders
by Kathryn Mackel. WestBow Press, 2004. 288 p.
How often have you read stories about radical environmentalist evangelicals having adventures in a post-apocalyptic world? Probably never, right? Kathryn Mackel’s world gets full points for creativity. It’s got transmogrified giants, out-of-time armor, messenger sparrows, delivery whales, geneticist-sorcerers, and much more.
Aimed at a teenaged audience, Outriders depicts a future in which cataclysmic wars have ravaged the Earth. Most humans live in brutish feudal states. Practically the only surviving advanced technology is a kind of genetic manipulation that mutates humans, animals and plants. Thought to be magic, it is wielded aggressively by sorcerers who seek ever greater power for their respective kingdoms. The natural world, already damaged, is being twisted out of existence for short-term gain.
But all is not lost. A faithful remnant, guided by angels, has preserved or rediscovered the high technology of days gone by. With it, they construct an Ark beneath the polar ice and send out outriders to gather in specimens of all Earth’s surviving species, for study and conservation. These young men and women must risk life and limb to battle the forces of the feudal strongholds, gather animals, and protect and evangelize the oppressed, humans and mutants alike.
Mackel’s writing is crisp and catchy, appropriate for teens with short attention spans. At times I felt the prose became disjointed and clunky, but there were also places where the style worked quite well, along with some very funny bits. Besides their heroic duties, the characters have typical young-person concerns – romantic interests, identity crises and growing pains.
Outriders alludes to a number of vivid biblical stories, like those of Jonah, Noah, and Josiah. There are struggles with very literal demons, as well as more mundane (but still moving) temptations and crises. My sense is that this book was designed primarily for evangelical audiences; non-Christians might find the spiritual themes somewhat confusing or intrusive. There’s a praise-and-worship song which is occasionally sung by the characters that seemed out of place to me, but that may just reflect my tastes in religious music.
Some readers may see parallels with SF classic A Canticle for Leibowitz. Aside from the theme of a remnant trying to preserve technology along with religion, there are references in both works to a time after the wars when a resentful humanity rose up and spitefully destroyed what was left of science and learning. I was also reminded of R.A. Lafferty’s story "And Walk Now Gently Through The Fire," which has range-riding representatives of the apostolic Church working with untainted animals and being assailed by demons in a world that’s fallen apart.
I would call this a work of science fantasy – there are science fiction elements, but with an overlay of swords and supposed sorcery. Occasionally the underlying science, as well as some of the action sequences, strain the limits of credibility, so SF purists may be unhappy. However, those who are seeking an exuberantly inventive adventure tale will be rewarded.
3.5 out of 5
How often have you read stories about radical environmentalist evangelicals having adventures in a post-apocalyptic world? Probably never, right? Kathryn Mackel’s world gets full points for creativity. It’s got transmogrified giants, out-of-time armor, messenger sparrows, delivery whales, geneticist-sorcerers, and much more.
Aimed at a teenaged audience, Outriders depicts a future in which cataclysmic wars have ravaged the Earth. Most humans live in brutish feudal states. Practically the only surviving advanced technology is a kind of genetic manipulation that mutates humans, animals and plants. Thought to be magic, it is wielded aggressively by sorcerers who seek ever greater power for their respective kingdoms. The natural world, already damaged, is being twisted out of existence for short-term gain.
But all is not lost. A faithful remnant, guided by angels, has preserved or rediscovered the high technology of days gone by. With it, they construct an Ark beneath the polar ice and send out outriders to gather in specimens of all Earth’s surviving species, for study and conservation. These young men and women must risk life and limb to battle the forces of the feudal strongholds, gather animals, and protect and evangelize the oppressed, humans and mutants alike.
Mackel’s writing is crisp and catchy, appropriate for teens with short attention spans. At times I felt the prose became disjointed and clunky, but there were also places where the style worked quite well, along with some very funny bits. Besides their heroic duties, the characters have typical young-person concerns – romantic interests, identity crises and growing pains.
Outriders alludes to a number of vivid biblical stories, like those of Jonah, Noah, and Josiah. There are struggles with very literal demons, as well as more mundane (but still moving) temptations and crises. My sense is that this book was designed primarily for evangelical audiences; non-Christians might find the spiritual themes somewhat confusing or intrusive. There’s a praise-and-worship song which is occasionally sung by the characters that seemed out of place to me, but that may just reflect my tastes in religious music.
Some readers may see parallels with SF classic A Canticle for Leibowitz. Aside from the theme of a remnant trying to preserve technology along with religion, there are references in both works to a time after the wars when a resentful humanity rose up and spitefully destroyed what was left of science and learning. I was also reminded of R.A. Lafferty’s story "And Walk Now Gently Through The Fire," which has range-riding representatives of the apostolic Church working with untainted animals and being assailed by demons in a world that’s fallen apart.
I would call this a work of science fantasy – there are science fiction elements, but with an overlay of swords and supposed sorcery. Occasionally the underlying science, as well as some of the action sequences, strain the limits of credibility, so SF purists may be unhappy. However, those who are seeking an exuberantly inventive adventure tale will be rewarded.
3.5 out of 5
Monday, November 20, 2006
Book Review - The Golden Gryphon Feather
by Richard Purtill. Daw Books, 1979. 160 p.
Purtill is a Catholic philosopher and Tolkien scholar, and The Golden Gryphon Feather was his first published novel. It is the story of a girl named Chryseis, who is sent as tribute to M’nos of Kaphtu, along with 13 other young Athenians.
Blending mythology with what is known of Minoan civilization, Purtill spins a tale of the gods and heroes of the ancient world which is reminiscent of Lewis’ Till We Have Faces or Wolfe’s Soldier of the Mist. One exciting theme involves the acrobatic bull-leaping dance which the Minoans depicted in their art.
As with many first novels, the writing here is a little uneven. It’s the characters all tend to speak in a similarly crisp, matter-of-fact fashion which can make them a little hard to distinguish from one another. The main character is an interesting and competent girl, but she’s sometimes a little too competent. Exotic threats and life-threatening problems seem rather humdrum when Chryseis, Ariadne, and their friends are on the case.
The thought-world of the Greeks comes to life in a respectful and vivid manner. Purtill constructs an intriguing history and genealogy of the many pagan gods, demigods and monsters which is consistent with a belief in one supreme God, along the lines of Tolkien’s Silmarillion or Wolfe’s The Wizard Knight.
The Golden Gryphon Feather is the first book of a trilogy which continues in The Stolen Goddess and The Mirror of Helen.
3 out of 5
Purtill is a Catholic philosopher and Tolkien scholar, and The Golden Gryphon Feather was his first published novel. It is the story of a girl named Chryseis, who is sent as tribute to M’nos of Kaphtu, along with 13 other young Athenians.
Blending mythology with what is known of Minoan civilization, Purtill spins a tale of the gods and heroes of the ancient world which is reminiscent of Lewis’ Till We Have Faces or Wolfe’s Soldier of the Mist. One exciting theme involves the acrobatic bull-leaping dance which the Minoans depicted in their art.
As with many first novels, the writing here is a little uneven. It’s the characters all tend to speak in a similarly crisp, matter-of-fact fashion which can make them a little hard to distinguish from one another. The main character is an interesting and competent girl, but she’s sometimes a little too competent. Exotic threats and life-threatening problems seem rather humdrum when Chryseis, Ariadne, and their friends are on the case.
The thought-world of the Greeks comes to life in a respectful and vivid manner. Purtill constructs an intriguing history and genealogy of the many pagan gods, demigods and monsters which is consistent with a belief in one supreme God, along the lines of Tolkien’s Silmarillion or Wolfe’s The Wizard Knight.
The Golden Gryphon Feather is the first book of a trilogy which continues in The Stolen Goddess and The Mirror of Helen.
3 out of 5
Thursday, November 09, 2006
Book Review - The Golden Age
by John C. Wright. Tor, 2002. 336 p.
The Golden Age is the first volume of a science fiction trilogy. Its title has two or possibly three meanings. It is the label given to a bright time in the far future, when humanity enjoys unprecedented peace, wealth and knowledge. It also refers to the Golden Age of science fiction, when authors like A.E. van Vogt and Isaac Asimov shaped the genre with epic, galaxy-spanning tales. Wright seeks to recapture that same sense of wonder in 21st century science fiction. It may also be a reference to the fabled Golden Age of Greek mythology, as Wright’s tale is heavily influenced by a classical sensibility.
Phaethon, the protagonist, lives in a hugely complex civilization which spans the entire densely populated solar system, from the surface of the sun to frozen Neptune. The denizens of this civilization are descended from humans, but have split into a great many different kinds of life. These are classified mainly by what style of brain they use, since they can change body types quite readily. There are mass-minds, disembodied intelligences, super-intuitive Warlocks, purely logical beings, and a whole host of others, most integrated with highly advanced computers to one degree or another. Wright imagines a dazzling array of technologies, but manages to keep them intelligible and interesting to primitive contemporary humans.
Phaethon finds himself at a year-long masquerade ball full of delights and wonders. But soon questions begin to surface as he stumbles into puzzling situations and realizes that something is wrong with his memories. He resolves to find the truth, a decision that leads him to encounters with a mysterious Neptunian, the last remaining soldier of his civilization, various powerful Peers, massively intelligent Sophotechs, and even the Earthmind Herself, the personification of all combined terrestrial computer intelligence.
Wright’s tale is a very old one – the story of a rebel who becomes disaffected with utopia. Nevertheless, he tells it with freshness, verve and style, pulling the reader into a fascinating society. We witness a high-stakes legal battle waged by brilliant computers, a theatrical eco-system performance, and philosophical debates between post-human leaders. And even a utopia can become the site of unimaginable danger.
Wright was an atheist when he wrote this novel (he has since converted to Christianity). However, his philosophical orientation was a conservative one, influenced by classical Stoicism. Therefore, unlike many contemporary atheists he was deeply concerned with truth, beauty and an objective standard of morality. This is clearly reflected in The Golden Age, and in his adventures Phaethon wrestles with many questions of ancient philosophy, which are given new meanings in an incredibly technologically-developed age. Religious readers will find much to reflect on and agree with here. On the other hand, there is also a theme of Romantic or Promethean defiance, the lone hero struggling against the restraints of convention, about which such readers will likely be more ambivalent.
Thus The Golden Age is enjoyable both as an exciting tale set in a mysterious future and also an intellectually stimulating work of scientific and philosophical extrapolation. I’m eagerly looking forward to reading the other volumes.
4 out of 5
The Golden Age is the first volume of a science fiction trilogy. Its title has two or possibly three meanings. It is the label given to a bright time in the far future, when humanity enjoys unprecedented peace, wealth and knowledge. It also refers to the Golden Age of science fiction, when authors like A.E. van Vogt and Isaac Asimov shaped the genre with epic, galaxy-spanning tales. Wright seeks to recapture that same sense of wonder in 21st century science fiction. It may also be a reference to the fabled Golden Age of Greek mythology, as Wright’s tale is heavily influenced by a classical sensibility.
Phaethon, the protagonist, lives in a hugely complex civilization which spans the entire densely populated solar system, from the surface of the sun to frozen Neptune. The denizens of this civilization are descended from humans, but have split into a great many different kinds of life. These are classified mainly by what style of brain they use, since they can change body types quite readily. There are mass-minds, disembodied intelligences, super-intuitive Warlocks, purely logical beings, and a whole host of others, most integrated with highly advanced computers to one degree or another. Wright imagines a dazzling array of technologies, but manages to keep them intelligible and interesting to primitive contemporary humans.
Phaethon finds himself at a year-long masquerade ball full of delights and wonders. But soon questions begin to surface as he stumbles into puzzling situations and realizes that something is wrong with his memories. He resolves to find the truth, a decision that leads him to encounters with a mysterious Neptunian, the last remaining soldier of his civilization, various powerful Peers, massively intelligent Sophotechs, and even the Earthmind Herself, the personification of all combined terrestrial computer intelligence.
Wright’s tale is a very old one – the story of a rebel who becomes disaffected with utopia. Nevertheless, he tells it with freshness, verve and style, pulling the reader into a fascinating society. We witness a high-stakes legal battle waged by brilliant computers, a theatrical eco-system performance, and philosophical debates between post-human leaders. And even a utopia can become the site of unimaginable danger.
Wright was an atheist when he wrote this novel (he has since converted to Christianity). However, his philosophical orientation was a conservative one, influenced by classical Stoicism. Therefore, unlike many contemporary atheists he was deeply concerned with truth, beauty and an objective standard of morality. This is clearly reflected in The Golden Age, and in his adventures Phaethon wrestles with many questions of ancient philosophy, which are given new meanings in an incredibly technologically-developed age. Religious readers will find much to reflect on and agree with here. On the other hand, there is also a theme of Romantic or Promethean defiance, the lone hero struggling against the restraints of convention, about which such readers will likely be more ambivalent.
Thus The Golden Age is enjoyable both as an exciting tale set in a mysterious future and also an intellectually stimulating work of scientific and philosophical extrapolation. I’m eagerly looking forward to reading the other volumes.
4 out of 5
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
