Saturday, April 24, 2010

Anti-Matter


 I like to think that there's an unspoken covenant between writer and reader.  The writer is expected to offer an entertaining, thought-provoking, cathartic*, well-written work for the reader, and the reader is presumably expected to be entertained, provoked to thought, emotionally purged, and appreciative. 

Outside of that, as with anything else in life, it's a matter of preference.  For myself, I tend to be style-driven as well as plot-driven, so I gravitate toward authors who meet my standards for a well-crafted sentence, and will frown in the middle of a reading if I realize that an author has had more than three characters "roaring in delight" during the narrative.**

My original statement about the reader-writer agreement is intended to leave a lot of room for the writer to exercise his craft, which is as it should be.  However, I have to admit to a personal rider to the original agreement: I must be able to identify with the protagonist to a certain extent, and their fate should not be one of futility.

What do I mean by that? As an example, there's a novel that I no longer own called Acts of Conscience, written by William Barton.  The main character was not terribly likeable, but when he started raping little teddy-bear shaped aliens, Barton started to lose me.  He lost me completely when he failed to make those acts of rape something that I could see as a necessary part of the plot.  As a counter-example, in the Thomas Covenant series by Stephen Donaldson, I was able to accept that the titular character commits an act of rape in the first book.  It's a tragic event, partially caused by his reaction to the unexpected remission of his leprosy, and it sets up a sequence of equally tragic events.

In my recent reading of Iain M. Banks' Matter, I had some issues involving the plotline and my view of the author/reader agreement. Broadly speaking (and unfairly simplified), the story deals with events surrounding a royal family located in the depths of a gigantic layered world.  The kingdom is just entering its industrial revolution, and there's a certain irony in this development considering their location in a world constructed by alien technology uncounted millenia ago.  The widowed king has two sons, the eldest a drunken, womanizing wastrel, the other a bookish academic, and a daughter, who has emigrated to the far more technologically advanced outside universe.

The king is killed by his closest advisor, an event witnessed by the eldest son.  In fear for his life, the prince flees the planet in search of help, accompanied by a trusted servant.  The younger son manages to evade several subtle (and not so subtle) attempts at assassination, but after being injured in an encounter with an ancient alien weapon, is beaten to death by his father's killer as he lies dying in bed. The killer is then destroyed in the alien weapon's departure for the core of the world.

The eldest son meets his sister, returning home after being informed of her father's death, and they return to the planet.  Upon their arrival, the sister discovers that the alien weapon has the potential to destroy the entire planet, and their quest for justice becomes a fight to save the world.  They confront the weapon, but find themselves enormously outmatched.  One of the other two, servant or prince, must offer themselves as a decoy to allow the sister to make a last-ditch attempt to destroy the weapon.  The prince becomes the decoy and is killed, and the sister, eviscerated, destroyed, left with nothing but her head and a fragment of spine, detonates the small antimatter reactor in her head as she lies in the clutches of the weapon.

The End.

Okay, there's a brief epilogue in which we are shown the prince's servant returning home to his family and somewhat smugly announcing his decision to run for political office in the void left by the death of the royal family, supported by riches provided by agents of the society to which the sister had emigrated.  Thank you for at least letting us know that the world wasn't destroyed, Mr. Banks.

Now, I like Banks as an author, and I realize that part of his strength is his willingness to break with convention.  I'm also sufficiently sophisticated as a reader that I don't demand that the main characters survive the novel.  However, in this case I found myself thinking that whether they'd saved the world or not, I really didn't feel that any of the characters deserved the manner in which they'd been treated.  My description above of the conclusion is not all that much more detailed than the one in the story - we're given no insight into the prince's decision to sacrifice himself, it just happens, and although his sister has had her consciousness backed up before leaving the outside universe, we are not given any opportunity to see her restored backup reflect on the original's fate.

I realize that real life is full of the murder of innocents, unacknowledged and unexplained sacrifices, and solitary, unseen final moments of martyrdom.  But honestly, if I found real life to be all that appealing, would I be reading science fiction?
- Sid

*  I use catharsis here in the technical sense as derived from the ancient Greeks, wherein it refers to an emotional release offered by the arts of theatre, music, literature, and so on.  In modern vernacular it's ended up being more related to closure after a tragic event, but originally it referred to any emotion evoked by "good art" - laughter or pleasure as well as sadness.

** William Forstchen, The Lost Regiment:  Rally Cry.

Wednesday, April 21, 2010

The Gripping Hand.



We were discussing movies on a Friday night a couple of weeks ago at the Frog, since my friend Chris had finally seen Avatar.  Apparently Chris was initially willing to avoid it all together due to the mixed reviews he'd heard, but he was talked into going by his brother, who felt it heralded the dawning of a new era in filmmaking.

And perhaps it does.  Personally, I think that Avatar is one of a number of movies that demonstrate a variety of techniques and approaches that pave the path for the perfect adaptation of some classic of science fiction.  We have Avatar's flawless 3-D representation of an alien world, the impressionistic visions of 300, Sin City and The Watchmen, and the hard-edged realism demonstrated in District 9.  The only question is which novel to adapt for this breakthrough film?

Chris' instant response was "Ringworld."  After a moment's consideration, I told him that he could take any stuffed toy he wanted from the top shelf.

Larry Niven's 1970 award-winning novel would be a perfect candidate for a big-screen blockbuster.  Futuristic settings, exotic locations, non-humanoid aliens who are major characters, a plotline which is part adventure, part romance, part mystery, and part travelogue, and of course the Ringworld itself, a massive construct on a mega-planetary scale.

I mentioned this idea to Dave, one of my co-workers who is a serious science fiction fan as well, and he agreed.

"Yeah, yeah, I just re-read Ringworld a couple of months ago, that would be great."  Then his eyes went distant for a moment.

"Or you know what would be good?  Frederik Pohl's Heechee series, I'd like to see those books done as movies.  Or the Benford series, the Galactic Center books, I read those not too long ago."

I agree completely - either of those two series would certainly offer a more involved plot line than Ringworld, but they would both present an equally unique vision on film.

But then, there's a long list of books that would offer material of equal excellence for adaptation:  C.J. Cherryh's Downbelow Station, Niven and Pournelle's The Mote in God's EyeEnder's Game, by Orson Scott Card,  Neuromancer by William Gibson, the David Brin Uplift series, The Forever War, Snow Crash, Hyperion, Childhood's End, Stranger in a Strange Land, The Fountains of Paradise, the Amber series, The Stars My Destination, The Snow Queen, the Pern books, The Peace War...

*  *  *

One of the books that I listed above is The Mote in God's Eye, which deals with humanity's first encounter with an alien race.  Said aliens - the Moties -  have three arms, two small ones for everyday use, and one massive one that they use for heavy lifting and so on - the gripping hand, as they call it.

This three-way approach to things has affected their speech, as well.  Whereas we would discuss an issue on the basis of "on one hand, or on the other hand", the Moties conclude with "but on the gripping hand" to indicate the real point of a debate.

In this case, on one hand, there is obviously a plethora of brilliant science fiction novels that would be ideal subjects for movie adaptations.  On the other hand, Hollywood's caution in this area may be justified:  adaptations from SF novels are more noted for their failure than their success.

On the gripping hand?  State of the art 20 years ago would have allowed for adaptations from most if not all of the books I've listed.  Aren't we long overdue for someone to do the same thing for science fiction that Peter Jackson did for fantasy with the Lord of the Rings movies?

In other words, what are we waiting for?
- Sid

Monday, April 19, 2010

"Casual yet commanding."



RED SHIRT Cologne is made for the young, modern man of the Galaxy who doesn't hesitate, who revels in being alive today.
Every now and then, I stumble across something that illustrates a degree of ... commitment, let's say, to the genre that we lesser mortals can only admire, never equal.  This time, we present for your viewing pleasure....
Star Trek Cologne.

Yes, Star Trek Cologne..."Leave Logic Behind" with the scent of Pon Farr, or "Boldly Go" with Tiberius, a casual yet commanding scent

And if at some point in the future you're unable to think of a suitable birthday or seasonal gift for me, please god do not waste your money on buying one of these fine products with me in mind.  Even if I did wear cologne, in my opinion it would be a demonstration of remarkable personal courage to dab on a bit of Red Shirt before heading out on any sort of "away mission".
- Sid