Dead is the New Alive.

There was no colour upon her cheek, not even upon her lip; yet there was a stillness about her face that seemed almost as attaching as the life that once dwelt there: -- upon her neck and breast was blood, and upon her throat were the marks of teeth having opened the vein: -- to this the men pointed, crying, simultaneously struck with horror, "A Vampyre! a Vampyre!"

John Polidori, The Vampyre

'What have you done to us?!' Lacrimosa screamed. 'You've taught us how to see hundreds of the damned holy things! They're everywhere! Every religion has a different one! You taught us that, you stupid bastard! Lines and crosses and circles. . . Oh, my. . .' She caught sight of the stone wall behind her astonished brother and shuddered. 'Everywhere I look I see something holy! You've taught us to see patterns!' she snarled at her father, teeth exposed.

Terry Pratchett, Carpe Jugulum

Hallowe'en: originally a festival marking the end of the Celtic harvest, it was considered to be a night when the boundary between the living and the dead grew thin. On that basis, it seems fitting to celebrate Hallowe'en with a discussion of vampires, creatures that also span the line between life and death.

Although the story of the vampire can be traced back to medieval Eastern European folklore, the vampire as modern mythology knows it originates in one place: the 1897 novel Dracula, by Bram Stoker. In the interests of accuracy, John Polidori's The Vampyre precedes it by 78 years, but Time has made its statement, and only a few hard-core fans of the nosferatu are aware of the earlier work, however influential it may have been upon Stoker.

Stoker's novel lays out the basic pros and cons of vampirism quite clearly. The powers of the vampire are legion: immortality, inhuman strength and speed, the ability to regain youth, control over vermin, the power to dissolve into a mist or dust and flow through the smallest crack, or to become a wolf or bat, to see in the dark, to control the minds of his victims, to create new vampires - an impressive array of allies, all in all.

Sadly, balancing that out is a set of rules covering the conduct and vulnerabilities of vampires that make the regulations for major league baseball sound simple. There are, of course, the things that everyone knows about: sunlight, garlic, crosses, holy water, stakes through the heart and beheading. Then there are the less well known regulations, the infield fly rules, if you will. For example, a vampire is unable to enter a dwelling unless someone has invited them in, in which case they are able to enter at will. A vampire must sleep upon the earth of their homeland, and can only cross running water at high or low tide.

I mentioned the running water rule to someone, and they said, "High tide where? Doesn't high tide sort of, move around? What if a vampire was in the middle of Canada, which coast do they have to worry about high tide at?" This takes us to the basic problem of the vampire myth. Originally laid out by a presumably Catholic Irish author in the heart of the Victorian era, it suffers from all sort of holes and flaws.

Sunlight? Okay, how about sun lamps? What portion of the solar spectra actually harms vampires? (In the first Blade movie, a full vampire is out in daylight wearing a thick coating of sunblock - but what about his eyeballs and the inside of his mouth?)

Holy water and the Cross? There's a non-vampire story by Larry Niven in which a character asks if a Moslem vampire would be afraid of a copy of the Koran, which is a perfectly reasonable question. The Terry Pratchett novel quoted above raises the strong possibility that if a vampire was vulnerable to the full range of religious symbology, they wouldn't be able to walk five feet without seeing something that was holy to someone at some point in time. And would a vampire who was an atheist before joining the undead give a damn about any of it?

What constitutes a dwelling? Could a vampire enter a public library without permission? Does a welcome mat that says, "COME ON IN" count as an invitation?

Some authors take this sort of nitpicking into account, and a lot of good stories have been written that deal with the hidden issues of vampirism. In recent years, AIDS has been a large factor, since, obviously, anyone who lives on a diet of blood is at particular risk. But does a vampire have to drink human blood to survive? There are lots of stories wherein a weakened vampire chows down on nearby rats or what have you, but I was really thinking more in terms of blood substitutes, plasma and so forth.

Finally, the question that really puts the nail in the coffin (sorry) for vampirism as a working concept is that of the predator-prey relationship. Population control for creatures at the top of the food chain is generally dealt with by the population of prey: if there are a lot of antelope running around, there can be a suitable ratio of lions. Too many lions, not enough antelope to go around, the excess lions either starve or move to another part of the veldt. What makes this problem worse for vampires is the ability to create new vampires, the ultimate pyramid scheme gone bad. A serious outbreak of vampirism would make an ebola epidemic look like a bad case of acne by comparison. Not only that, but they're immortal, so not even old age would cull the population. So where does the blood come from when everyone is a vampire?

In spite of the heavy hand of logic, vampirism has legions of fans. Vampires have become the supreme anti-heros of popular culture, with their combination of power and hidden - or not so hidden - sexuality. However, unlike UFOs and alien visitors, there doesn't seem to be any sort of substantial lunatic fringe convinced that there is a vast international conspiracy designed to hide the fact that fanged creatures actually do stalk the night in search of blood. Of course, if I were a vampire, that's exactly what I'd want people to think as well - until it was too late...

- Sid

At least he's not desperate.

Personally, I'd eat the arse out of a dead mole if it offered a fighting chance.

-Terry Pratchett on finding a cure for his Alzheimers.

On March 13th, Terry Pratchett announced to the Alzheimer's Research Trust annual conference that he would donate one million dollars to Alzheimer's research. During his speech, he reaffirmed his determination to find a cure for his condition, as per the above quote.

- Sid

P.S. Surprisingly, the Internet is thick with pictures of dead moles, I was spoiled for choice when looking for an image.

"I ATE'NT DEAD."

"Luck is my middle name," said Rincewind, indistinctly. "Mind you, my first name is Bad."

Terry Pratchett, Interesting Times

When I learned that Terry Pratchett had been diagnosed with a rare form of early onset Alzheimer's, I was horrified. Out of all the things that could happen to such a brilliant and subtle mind, there's an awful irony to Pratchett getting Alzheimer's, like finding out that a tightrope walker was going to lose their sense of balance. Following is his full statement, as originally posted on illustrator Paul Kidby's web site:

AN EMBUGGERANCE

Folks,

I would have liked to keep this one quiet for a little while, but because of upcoming conventions and of course the need to keep my publishers informed, it seems to me unfair to withhold the news. I have been diagnosed with a very rare form of early onset Alzheimer's, which lay behind this year's phantom "stroke".

We are taking it fairly philosophically down here and possibly with a mild optimism. For now work is continuing on the completion of Nation and the basic notes are already being laid down for Unseen Academicals. All other things being equal, I expect to meet most current and, as far as possible, future commitments but will discuss things with the various organisers. Frankly, I would prefer it if people kept things cheerful, because I think there's time for at least a few more books yet :o)

Terry Pratchett

PS I would just like to draw attention to everyone reading the above that this should be interpreted as 'I am not dead'. I will, of course, be dead at some future point, as will everybody else. For me, this maybe further off than you think - it's too soon to tell. I know it's a very human thing to say "Is there anything I can do", but in this case I would only entertain offers from very high-end experts in brain chemistry.

I'm not sure if I was more astonished or impressed when I read that Pratchett is handling the situation with "mild optimism" - this explains a lot about the origins of Carrot's personality, if you ask me. I then watched a video of Pratchett doing an appearance at Barnes & Noble in New York, and I'm sorry to say that his comments on the situation struck me as having a slight air of denial about them.

However things should turn out in the short run (I say the short run because, as Pratchett points out, we'll all be dead at some future point) at least Pratchett has created, and hopefully will continue to create, a marvelous legacy for future generations of appreciative readers.

- Sid

P.S. I looked at hundreds of quotes from Pratchett in search of something appropriate for this posting, an experience not unlike eating two pounds of chocolate at once - it's great to start, but after a while you feel overwhelmed somehow. Regardless, I was pleased to stumble across a statement very similar to Zamyatin's:

Revolutions always come around again. That's why they're called revolutions.

Terry Pratchett, Night Watch

"Twas the night before Christmas."

In spite of its religious origins, Christmas has ended up as the ultimate fantasy holiday, an odd blend of wish fulfillment, time travel and good will. Santa Claus somehow fills innumerable stockings overnight - but how? Tachyon reindeer? Teleportation technology? Cloning? Sorry, no, none of those options are ever mentioned, which indicates that the tradition of Saint Nick defies scientific explanation. NORAD's annual announcements about Santa's progress around the globe just seem wrong, somehow - one would expect that Kris Kringle's exploits are taking place on a plane removed from that of radar and tracking satellites.

The holiday season occupies an interesting role in the SF/fantasy canon, with several prominent examples to demonstrate the extremes. An often overlooked (or miscategorized) example is Dicken's A Christmas Carol, a ghost story mixed with time travel that sets the standard for the concept, as witnessed by the countless adaptations and reworkings of the character of Scrooge and his Christmas Eve experience. Doctor Who pays tribute to Dickens' contribution in the episode "The Unquiet Dead", which coincidentally takes place on Christmas Eve, 1869. And, given C. S. Lewis' almost militant Christianity, it's always surprised me a little that Father Christmas makes an appearance in The Lion, The Witch and the Wardrobe, although to be fair the history of the original Saint Nicholas is a deeply Christian one.

The oddest entry in the canon would have to be Harlan Ellison's short story, "Santa Claus versus S.P.I.D.E.R", which portrays Santa Claus as a James Bond-influenced superspy whose red suit makes him into a walking armoury. The second oddest may be Clive Barker's "The Yattering and Jack", wherein a demon reanimates the Christmas turkey as it sizzles in the oven. (Anyone planning to cook a turkey tomorrow, imagine if the damn thing battered its way out of the oven and attacked you.) H. P. Lovecraft's "The Festival", a quietly horrifying description of "traditional" holiday celebrations, runs a close third.

Terry Pratchett gives us one of the best long-form tributes to the season in Hogfather, which deals with the Discworld version of Santa Claus. It's easy to take Pratchett's pork-dispensing character as a simple parody, but, as with all of Pratchett's creations, the underlying elements that he references provide a fascinating perspective on the evolution of mythic figures.

However, when I started this posting, one work came immediately to mind as the most memorable seasonal piece: Arthur C. Clarke's short story, "The Star", an uncharacteristically somber piece for Clarke. A Jesuit scientist, part of an expedition to the Phoenix Nebula, discovers that the supernova which produced the nebula destroyed a civilization not unlike our own. His other discovery shakes his faith:

There can be no reasonal doubt: the ancient mystery is solved at last. Yet, oh God, there were so many stars you could have used. What was the need to give these people to the fire, that the symbol of their passing might shine above Bethlehem?

- Sid