Fahrenheit 451 May 15, 2011
Posted by Jeff in Uncategorized.Tags: anti-intellectual, Bradbury, Fahrenheit 451, Hugo, science fiction
add a comment
I think everybody’s at least heard of this novel, Ray Bradbury’s 1954 winner of the Hugo Award. If not, it’s the story of Guy Montag, a fireman in the not-too-distant future. But in this future, firemen don’t fight fires, they start them. Specifically, they burn books, which are illegal in this future. (I would be a Class One outlaw in this future.)
This novel shares a slightly similar theme to A Canticle for Liebowitz, in that there’s a small group of people trying to preserve the knowledge of a forgotten past. But in this case, it came about through a natural occurrence of events. Mr. Bradbury’s vision of how this future comes to pass is chillingly prophetic, and for that I give him large credit.
Wait a minute. I just thought about that phrase, “how this future comes to pass.” Something wrong with that structure. Oh well, never mind.
As I was saying, Bradbury’s foresight is made more striking by the fact that, at the time this was written, television had only been around for a few years. In the novel, television has gradually taken over the attention and the minds of the people. Books are feared and hated not only because of the knowledge that they contain, but also because of the questions they raise in readers. And society slowly evolved, helped along by the mass media exploitation of this trend, to the point that the images on the screen were all that mattered to many. Those in power controlled the images, and thereby controlled society.
And now take a look at today’s society, where everything is Flash, and Now, and What’s The Hot Thing Today? Feed my senses, not my mind. Things and people of substance and thought are scorned and ridiculed, to some degree or another. This is the author’s prophecy come true. Long-time readers of science fiction will have seen this for themselves when they tried to share their passion with others not of like mind. S-F was for a long time a “fringe” genre. It’s only in the last few years that it’s starting to shake off this mantle, but there are still many who, knowing very little about it, tend to regard not only this field scornfully but also intellectual pursuit in general. As one bit of evidence of this, consider the term “nerd,” derogatorily applied to someone who was generally more well-read than others and therefore more intelligent, and importantly more capable of critical thought.
And I fear the trend is growing because we are now in the second and third generation of this phenomenon, and parents are raising children in this atmosphere, not knowing the value in books, and learnedness. I’ll always remember the words of the late Ann Landers who said, “Those who do not read are no better off than those who cannot read.”
In reviewing my own words here, I realize that this novel resonates with me because in ways it’s a diatribe against anti-intellectualism, of which we see so many symptoms today. This thought is bolstered by the author’s own afterword, in which he relates a few anecdotes concerning the attempted editing of his work by otherwise well-meaning individuals, in order to make his work more palatable by a larger audience. In other words, a “dumbing-down” of his message. Television is full of this; it’s called “lowest common denominator” programming, a concept created by Fred Silverman, former head of CBS in the sixties and seventies.
A Canticle for Liebowitz, Pt. II May 7, 2011
Posted by Jeff in Uncategorized.Tags: Hugo, Leibowitz, science fiction
add a comment
Whew, this novel is a handful, and a headful.
I’d like to clarify something. In my previous post, I talked about how (in the novel) Man lost all his knowledge and technology, as if it were a naturally occurring event. After re-reading the book, I realized that the loss came about through purpose. The angry mobs turned on those responsible for the destruction, and soon enough didn’t even stop there.
…records and sacred books were burned, refugees were summarily seized and hanged or burned. The Simplification had ceased to have plan or purpose soon after it began, and became an insane frenzy of mass murder and destruction such as can occur only when the last traces of social order are gone. The madness was transmitted to the children, taught as they were – not merely to forget – but to hate, and surges of mob fury recurred sporadically even through the fourth generation after the Deluge. By then, the fury was directed not against the learned, for there were none, but against the merely literate.
This Simplification so thoroughly eradicated the basis of any culture that there was no seed remaining from which to sprout a reemergence of it. Instead, after four or five generations, a new culture arose, but one based on darkness and ignorance, and thus the pattern was set. Nevertheless, the monks patiently guarded the caches of knowledge, even though they themselves did not understand it, and assigned to the Memorabilia the status of Holy Relics, effectively guaranteeing their preservation.
The novel chronicles the long slow climb back from ignorance and superstition, in 600-year chunks, and by the end of the story Man has regained a partial understanding of the Memorabilia and from that some of his former technological achievement. But unfortunately, after all the evil that was done, it seems that Man remains imperfect, and has not really learned his lesson. The book ends on a note of Doom, but also with a thread of Hope.
In closing, I urge you to get this book and read it. It’s not a quick and easy read, but it’s a rich and satisfying novel in so many ways. Chances are that when you’ve read it, you will be glad that you did. It’s one of those that, when you finish and set it down, will sit back and say, “Whew!” Be prepared to learn some Latin, but again, I can’t find much if anything to disagree with those who regard this as the greatest science fiction novel ever written. It is epic, in the original sense of the word.
Over and out. Be well.
A Canticle for Liebowitz, Pt. I April 26, 2011
Posted by Jeff in Uncategorized.Tags: Hugo, Leibowitz, science fiction
3 comments
The Earth, 600 years after the unthinkable has happened. Total nuclear war has wiped out civilization, and what is left of mankind struggles to rebuild a world. All of Man’s previous works have perished, and little is left of the knowledge that once was. In the Utah desert, a small group of monks zealously preserves the ancient Memorabilia of a nearly forgotten era, striving to bring enlightenment to the new Dark Ages, shepherds of the long slow climb back to civilization. The story begins with Brother Francis who, with the guidance of a mysterious wanderer, stumbles upon the hidden shrine of Fallout Shelter, where he finds the Holy Relics of St. Liebowitz: the Blessed Blueprint and the Sacred Shopping List.
Some say that 1961’s Hugo winner A Canticle for Liebowitz by Walter M. Miller Jr. is the greatest science fiction novel ever written, and I can’t find much to argue with about that. I’m on my second read-through, and I dare say that I could read it a couple of more times and still get something new out of it each time. It’s a rich and complex novel, made somewhat more challenging by the liberal use of Vaticanesque Latin throughout. Those phrases were interesting enough and seemed to be important enough to the story to make me pause and look them up on Google.
Liebowitz was a pre-disaster engineer who was, unknown to our characters, one of the scientists that created the nuclear weapons which devastated the planet. The story is told from a religious standpoint, but it’s not grim and serious, nor does it try to beat you over the head with excessive proselytizing. In fact it has a humorous and practical element throughout. Did you notice the irony? That the man who contributed to so much destruction is now canonized by the characters, unaware of his role in the catastrophe. The characters are warm and real, each in their own way trying to solve Man’s problems in purely pragmatic ways. Myself having no experience in matters of religion, I found this to be mildly surprising and also endearing. Others more knowledgeable in this subject might not be surprised by that. See? Reading is learning. “The mind opens, and wisdom creeps in.” This is why I do it.
The story comes in three parts, each separated by 600 years, providing snapshots of the progress of the small abbey, built on the site of the Shrine of Fallout Shelter, in bringing civilization back to Mankind. It’s an enclave of humanity and scholarship in the midst of the brutal wilderness that once was the United States.
There’s a fascinating passage in the second part, when the Abbot climbs the nearby mountain to meet with his old friend, the hermit Jew Benjamin, who is half-mad from his solitude and sometimes believes he is several thousand years old. That is not necessarily denied in the story, and it is also hinted that he is the last of the Jews. The two friends have an interesting discussion, touching on the nature of their faiths, and how they differ from each other, and the burden to be carried because of that faith. And again, I think it accrues to the skill of the author that it’s not a dry and pontificating essay, but that while it’s deeply profound it yet manages to be funny, with plenty of jibes and barbs cast both ways between the two:
“I hear you’ve been throwing rocks at the novices who come hereabouts for their Lenten fast in the desert. Can this be true?” He eyed the hermit with mock reproof.
“Only pebbles.”
“Miserable old pretzel!”
“Now, now, Paulo. One of them once mistook me for a distant relative of mine – name of Liebowitz.”
I’m a little more than halfway through the book, so I’m going to go finish it and report back with a final summary when I’m done. Till then, be well.
Interlude April 19, 2011
Posted by Jeff in Uncategorized.Tags: Hugo, Maia, science fiction
add a comment
You may be relieved to know that this will be a short post.
I thought you should know of the great sacrifice I am making for this site, for you, gentle reader.
I had already started reading the books on my list before I got the idea for this project. So I felt like I had to start again and re-read the first few books just so I could comment on them intelligently, without having to rely on memory.
This does not count the books I serendipitously already had in my collection. Of those I should have no problem re-reading, since I saw fit to buy them before I thought of The Hugo List – even though some of them I have (re-) read recently.
I’ve mentioned that I read voraciously. Perhaps that’s putting it mildly. Sometimes I’ll have more than one book going at the same time, and I’ve even been known to have three going at the same time. I go through books at an alarming rate. As a result, I once found myself disgruntled at my too-frequent trips to replenish my reading stock, and I bought a book for no other reason than it was the thickest book I could find, thinking that it might keep me occupied for more than a few days. The book was Maia by Richard Adams, of Watership Down fame. It tipped the scales at over 1,200 pages, and you know what? It was one of the best damn books I’ve ever read, made even more delightful because of the sheer randomness of its selection. It’s the story of a young girl; from peasant, to slave-girl, to folk-hero, to royalty, to legend. It’s the length that allows the author to present such a richly detailed world and characters, immersing one in the experience. It’s set in a decadent society, reminiscent of Rome in its waning days, full of political intrigue and, um, eccentric and jaded behaviors. So be warned, some of the imagery can be disturbing for some.
Starship Troopers April 18, 2011
Posted by Jeff in Uncategorized.Tags: Heinlein, Hugo, science fiction, Starship Troopers
2 comments
If you’ve seen the movie, be advised that it totally misses the tone of the book.
Robert Heinlein’s Starship Troopers won the Hugo award for best novel of 1960. Over half a century after its publication, Starship Troopers is on the reading lists of the USMC and the US Navy. It is the first science fiction novel on the reading lists at three of the five US military branches. Mostly a political statement, this book was extremely controversial and caused a furor when it was released. In it, he not only slammed communism/socialism, but he also took a few shots at democracy, or the silly shape it had fallen into at the time. This book is a must-read, and you might possibly learn something while being entertained. Certainly it will cause you to think.
One of its central themes was that citizenship and the right to vote had to be earned by two years of Federal service, whether in the military or otherwise, instead of just being handed to anybody who was warm and breathing. This would demonstrate that the individual was willing to make personal sacrifices for the greater good.
What a firestorm this concept created! Especially when it became widespread and the anti-war hippies of the mid-60’s found out about it. Critics labeled the book as fascist, racist, utopianistic, and pro-military. Nevertheless, it won the year’s best novel, and remains not only a classic novel, but very near to being a “household name.”
To the last charge of the book being pro-military Heinlein cheerfully agrees, saying that Starship Troopers “glorifies the military … Specifically the P.B.I., the Poor Bloody Infantry, the mudfoot who places his frail body between his loved home and the war’s desolation — but is rarely appreciated… he has the toughest job of all and should be honored.” It seems nowadays that far too many people have forgotten this principle.
Heinlein was a man of strong moral conviction, and he wasn’t afraid to let that be known, a refreshing change from today’s climate of political correctness, where one must be careful not to say or do anything that might offend another. He scoffed at the notion that another man’s opinion must be respected, saying “Why should I? If your opinions are silly, I will say so.”
Robert A. Heinlein, a troublemaker to the end. Some of his other major works take aim at other social conventions, such as marriage and religion, something he called “kicking the sacred cows.” But disagree with him or not, he always had the courage of his convictions and the strength of his morality behind him. A morality, I might add, I found to be logical and with which in a large part I agreed.
Why do I like science fiction? April 15, 2011
Posted by Jeff in Uncategorized.Tags: Heinlein, Hugo, science fiction, Spaceways, Star Trek
add a comment
This site has got me to thinking about the answer to that question, and I realize that I can’t formulate it simply or cleanly.
I have always been a voracious reader. I distinctly remember that back in second and third grade, all my teachers were astonished that I was reading far above my level. My mom was somewhat of a reader, too, and I would devour each month’s Reader’s Digest as soon as she was finished with it. My parents and their peers nicknamed me The Professor, and kidded me about reading every page of the encyclopedia (I did, pretty much.) I guess I had a thirst for knowledge, and I would read everything I could get my hands on. Maybe this shaped me into having a scientific frame of mind that I to this day still possess. As you might realize, inquisitiveness is the basis for all scientific endeavor.
And then in 1966, a TV show debuted that found its mark, and hit an eight-year old boy right between the eyes. That show? Star Trek. It had everything that boy could wish for: a dashing hero, spaceships, adventure, strange aliens, exotic locales – and science (thank you, Mr. Spock.)
Keep in mind, this was right in the heart of the Gemini and Apollo programs, so I was already resonating at that frequency. Astronauts were heroes, and every boy dreamed of becoming one.
Around this age, I encountered my first Heinlein book, a story he wrote for juveniles titled Have Space Suit, Will Travel. I enjoyed it very much, but at the time I didn’t recognize Heinlein’s greatness, and moved on to other books and other topics. I would read the occasional S-F novel, but not to the exclusion of nearly everything else.
But it was years later, in my very early twenties, that I became completely immersed in science fiction. And I remember the trigger. My brother gave me a copy of a new book by none other than Robert Heinlein, his novel Number of the Beast. And that, as the poet said, was all she wrote. After I read that, I immediately started reading everything of his that I could get, and didn’t stop there.
So what is it? Is it the science? Perhaps that’s a large part of it. After all, I am a scientist by nature, and anything scientific is going to appeal to me. I like to be entertained while reading a novel, but it also has to have an internally consistent logic to it. For example, one wouldn’t expect the characters in Lord of the Rings to hop into a Learjet and fly down to Gondor. No, they have to walk or ride a horse. (well, except for Gandalf.) The methods or techniques used have to be available within the framework of the story. The same principle applies in science fiction.
Heinlein occasionally used the term “speculative fiction” to describe his work. What he meant by that was to introduce a change, whether physical, mental, social, or technological, and then speculate about the results of that change. In the book Number of the Beast, the change was a machine that would allow one to travel among a nearly infinite number of universes. The story might as well have been set here and now, today, and the protagonists were four typical people, nothing special about them. What I got out of it most was how these otherwise ordinary people each reacted to this fantastical situation, and the possibilities that opened up to them.
Possibilities. That is what I think draws me so much to science fiction. It opens the mind, kicks it out of a narrow rut of thinking, gets it contemplating other ways, other ideas. To me, the mind is just like any muscle: If you don’t exercise it regularly, it gets flabby and weak. I like my novels to be deep and thought-provoking, something I ponder days after finishing it. That’s not to say I don’t thoroughly enjoy some cheap space opera every once in a while just for the sheer entertainment of it (see David Drake’s The Fleet, or John Cleve’s Spaceways series.)
Now to play the Devil’s Advocate: couldn’t I get that from other genres of fiction? I don’t know, I haven’t much tried. Oh, I do read other stuff. Fantasy, which is frequently lumped together with science fiction, but to me it’s a separate category. Shakespeare, Greek and Roman mythology – in fact, believe it or not, a lot of the good science fiction actually points one toward classical literature. For example, the frequent references to The Bard in Star Trek directly caused me to go out and purchase The Compleat Works of William Shakespeare – I wanted to find out for myself what all the shouting was about (that’s very much a work in progress – and I’m slowly discovering that the shouting is justified.) But as I said, I’m pre-disposed toward things scientific, so it stands to reason that I tend to gravitate toward material in that orbit.
Is that answer enough?
Meanwhile, take a look at this short vid for a cuteness overload, and be sure the sound is up.
The Big Time April 9, 2011
Posted by Jeff in Uncategorized.Tags: Hugo, Leiber, science fiction, The Big Time
3 comments
The Hugo Awards have their own site, see here, but I actually like Wikipedia’s entry better, see here. It has a nice tidy list of winners and the runners-up for each year. Makes for a top-quality reading list.
There’s a different (competing?) series of awards, the Nebula Awards, nominated and voted upon by their peers, the Science Fiction Writers of America, see here for Wikipedia’s list. Some of the winners intersect with the Hugo winners, but not often.
One could do worse than read any of the books on either of these lists.
Cover Art
I started reading 1958’s Hugo winner, The Big Time by Fritz Leiber. The blurb describes Fritz as a young up-and-coming writer, something I found mildly amusing as it was written before I was born. Set in a far distant future (maybe, as you’ll see) in a time of war. A Time War, between the Spiders and the Snakes, who recruit soldiers for their war from past present and future. The war is fought by manipulating events in a timeline, causing changes in that timeline. In one example in the early part of the book, Einstein is kidnapped as a baby, resulting in the Americas becoming part of the Nazi Empire. But all this takes place in the background, as the novel is set entirely in a Recuperation Station, where soldiers come for R & R. Mostly it’s of a mental/psychological sort, but the Station also serves as a medical facility. It’s staffed by a small group, also from different eras of time, including our protagonist, a young lady from Prohibition-era Chicago named Greta Forzane. Her boss is Sidney, who went to school with Shakespeare…you get the idea. Because it’s set in this one small location, the book reads like a stage play, and is heavy on dialog.
I have to be honest with you, I’m not caring much for this book, but Leiber did introduce an interesting concept, the law of Conservation of Reality. It states that any given timeline is elastic in nature, and resists big changes by eventually returning to its previous shape after a small change is introduced. This is one of the themes of the book, that the contestants must work several small changes to effect any lasting change in a timeline. That would seem to address the Grandfather Paradox to a degree. Me, I don’t have an issue with the Grandfather Paradox, because I subscribe to the multiverse school of thought.
I’m not going to use up any more space on this novel. I guess I just don’t get it, just as one doesn’t necessarily like every Oscar winning movie ever made. I’ll finish it up and move on to the next one in a day or so.
Avanti April 9, 2011
Posted by Jeff in Uncategorized.Tags: Bester, Cold Equations, Hugo, science fiction
1 comment so far
I originally wanted to go through the books in chronological order starting with the first winner, 1953’s The Demolished Man by Alfred Bester, but I’m still in the process of gathering together all the novels.
Perhaps the name of Bester sounds familiar. Walter Koenig’s character in Babylon 5 was specifically named after Bester, in homage. The book is out of print, so it’ll take a little while to obtain it. Meanwhile, I’ll continue with other stuff.
It’s my belief that a lot of science fiction, with a little rearrangement of names, dates, and places, could transcribe into most any other genre, Westerns in particular. An excellent example of this is the show Firefly. Don’t get me wrong, I like the show; the characters are excellent. Or take a look at many of the original Star Trek episodes; Gene Roddenberry himself described the series as “a kind of Wagon Train to the stars.”
The stories to which this does not apply tend to stand out among the rest. Years ago I read a short story that I still remember fondly, The Cold Equations by Tom Godwin. It concerned a stowaway on a small interplanetary scout vessel with carefully calculated fuel loads and mass factors. The ship was on a medical rescue mission, delivering medicines to a world suffering from an epidemic. Consider the (semi-) famous saying, “The needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few, or the one,” and you can draw a logical conclusion to the story’s ending.
This story is memorable because it is one of the few that COULD NOT EXIST without the science in science fiction. Later, I was gratified to learn that my accolades for The Cold Equations were shared by many others in the science fiction community. If you can find a copy of it, read it. But be warned, it’s not a happy story.
jeff feldstein 