The Lake of the Sun, the Bay of the Dawn.

Rather than true channels in a form familiar to us, we must imagine depressions in the soil that are not very deep, extended in a straight direction for thousands of miles, over a width of 100, 200 kilometers and maybe more. I have already pointed out that, in the absence of rain on Mars, these channels are probably the main mechanism by which the water (and with it organic life) can spread on the dry surface of the planet.

Giovanni Schiaparelli, Life on Mars

The Google home page kindly informed me this morning that today was the birth date of Giovanni Virginio Schiaparelli (1835-1910). This 19th-century astronomer's name may not be known to everyone, but generations of science fiction fans owe an enormous debt to Signore Schiaparelli - or, to be more accurate, to the mistranslation of his work.

In 1877, Mars was in a particularly favourable position for observation, and Shiaparelli, at that point director of the Brera Observatory near Milan, took advantage of this opportunity to make detailed observations of the planet's surface. Using these observations and additional data from the next decade, he produced maps of Mars which remained the standard until space probes allowed for more accurate images.

But when Schiaparelli's work was translated into English, the Italian phrase "canali", intended to refer to the channels that he had observed, was translated as "canals" - creations of intelligence rather than environment. The debate regarding life on Mars that was started by this minor alteration was to continue for almost one hundred years, until Mariner 4 sent closeup pictures of Mars back to NASA in 1965.

Regardless of the position of the scientific community, the idea of vast canals spanning a desert planet resonated with the science fiction community. That was the Mars that I first read about when I started reading science fiction, a dying planet inhabited by the descendants of a fallen civilization older than our own, desperately fighting a losing battle against the ever advancing sands. This is the Mars of Planet Stories, the Mars of Ray Bradbury's Martian Chronicles, the Mars of H.G. Wells' War of the Worlds, the Mars known as Barsoom to its inhabitants in Edgar Rice Burroughs' John Carter novels.

However, Schiaparelli is more deserving of praise than the common translation error about canals would suggest. As he made his initial observations of the Martian surface, he began to name the various geographic features that he saw, and those names have left Schiaparelli with a lasting heritage.

Just as the broad flat plains of the Moon were commonly referred to as "seas", Schiaparelli used a similar convention for Martian names, giving us The Sea of Sirens, the Bay of the Dawn, and the Lake of the Sun. Other names came from mythology, the Bible, or history. But regardless of its origins, the geography of Mars has a sort of lyrical poetry to it: Tharsis, Chryse, Ophyr, Thyle, Cydonia, Elysium - they almost seem to have been chosen as locations for adventure and fantasy.


Current scientific theory has it that there may be no life at all on Mars, and science fiction authors have sadly and reluctantly moved on from tales of dying civilizations and fallen empires on our sister world. Now science fiction tends to look ahead to life on Mars as it would be lived by colonists from Earth, and, more ambitiously, to the prospect of terraforming Mars. Who knows, if technology can some day match imagination, a future generation of Mars-born humans may be able to stand on the shore of the Bay of the Dawn and see the sun glinting off the waves.

- Sid

P.S. In addition to reminding the world about Schiaparelli's birthday, Google has added a Mars option to Google Earth. (Thereby calling for a new name for the product, if you think about it.)

Even two seems like a lot, when you think about it.

"Do you add to the blog on a regular basis, like do you work on a topic for a while and then post it sort of on a schedule, or just as it comes? Inquiring Cloins want to know..."

Colin Campbell

Since Mr. Campbell, whose Campbell Brothers blog was the inspiration for The Infinite Revolution*, has expressed some curiousity about my process via e-mail, I thought it only appropriate to take a moment and do a posting on posting. I suspect that anyone who does blog postings on an area of interest rather than as a diary ends up doing one of these meta-media things, so I might as well get mine out of the way.

I don't have any sort of set schedule for postings. It's just something I do for fun, and as such there's no reason to sit down every two days and force myself to write something. However, I have to say that life is full of inspiration and opportunity for topics. As an example, let's look at the last week or two.

About a week and a half ago, I discovered that my Friday night dinner-and-drinks friend Chris, who is familiar with Terry Pratchett's work, is (or was, he's fickle) a big Harry Potter fan, likes Fafhrd and the Grey Mouser, and is gradually weaning himself away from World of Warcraft, had never heard of Michael Moorcock's Elric series. Well, rather than bending the poor fellow's ear for half an hour, I'll probably do an Elric of Melniboné posting to get that out of my system.

I received my income tax refund this week, and as a result did a little non-necessity shopping this weekend. Picked up a copy of the straight to DVD movie Stargate: The Ark of Truth and found that it compared unfavourably to the Firefly and Farscape post-series movies, another good topic for a posting. I also bought a copy of The Crow - comic book adaptations have been uneven as well, lots of grist there for the mill.

I'm currently reading a couple of books (they're in different rooms, if you're wondering how that works) that both deal with hostile or possibly hostile technologically superior aliens. Aliens - good topic, that, one of the big SF concepts as well as being one of the major foundations of the genre as established by H. G. Wells. Wells gave us time travel, space exploration, alien invasion, genetic manipulation (The Food of the Gods) and invisibility, just to name a few of the major themes that he introduced. This one is probably two postings, I've been toying with an H. G. Wells piece for some time.

And so it goes... I've also got a few partial drafts in progress, as well as doing ongoing research for the global/racial/feminist postings. It's difficult sometimes, because I worry about having the right titles and opening paragraphs, not to mention picking out all those quotes. Irritatingly, I find that I tend to compose bits of the postings in my head when I'm at the gym, and end up either forgetting them or trying to scribble them down in my workout log book between sets.

Sourcing images is fun too. In this case the graphic at the top of the page is taken from xkcd, a webcomic of "romance, sarcasm, math and language." Taken without permission, frankly - the Internet is like that - but I'll be happy to remove the image if they complain and at least I've credited them and linked to their site. I've done scanning, pulled images from .avi files, and learned the Unix command that provides a workaround for the fact that Apple disables the screen shot keyboard command when DVD's are playing.

All in all, I find it to be a pleasant little hobby. At one point I was considering taking a class in science fiction as literature, but I think that blogging has removed that desire by giving me a forum to speak my mind without having to worry about being graded.

- Sid

*Much as axe murder was the inspiration for brain surgery.

Three thousand tubes of what?

I'm currently reading Arthur C. Clarke's Prelude to Space, written in 1947 and set in 1978, which describes a first mission to the Moon. Clarke points out in his introduction to the 1977 reprinting of the novel that, "On July 20, 1969, all the countless science-fiction stories of the first landing on the Moon become frozen in time, like flies in amber. We can look back on them now with a new perspective...for we know how it was really done and can judge the accuracy of the prediction."

Clarke's description of the mission varies considerably from the final result, but not so much that the novel has the anachronistic feel of Jules Verne or H.G. Wells. (Actually, I find that Wells holds up much better than Verne over time, but that's another topic.) However, the part that really jumped out at me, sixty years in Clarke's future, was the following conversation after a tour of the ship's cockpit:

"It's a bit overwhelming, but not so very much worse than a transcontinental jet's cockpit."

"It is if you know what goes on behind all those panels," said Matthews grimly. "Arnold Clinton - that's the electronics king - once told me that there are three thousand tubes in the computing and control circuits alone. And there must be a good many hundreds on the communications side."

Three thousand vacuum tubes? I almost laughed out loud - relying on a system like that to go to the Moon would be like having someone say that a battleship would only be able to sail if none of the light bulbs on board burned out. Now, admittedly, when Clarke was writing the book, state-of-the-art computing was represented by ENIAC, which had close to 18,000 vacuum tubes and weighed 27 tons. The next time that you have a problem with your computer, remember the gentleman in the image at the left of this paragraph, who is troubleshooting a problem in ENIAC by looking for a dead tube - see, Vista's not that bad after all, is it.

Coincidentally, the needs of the Apollo program for a more reliable system for use in the Apollo Guidance Computer led to concentrated research into the development of the integrated circuitry that replaced the vacuum tube and which is now used in virtually every piece of electronics in existence. Sadly, the AGC crashed five times - only in the computer sense, fortunately - during the landing approach to the Moon by the Eagle module.

- Sid