Just The Caffeine Talking

A Curious Omission

Dr. Kelly and I went to see Denis Villeneuve's new version of Dune a couple of weeks ago. It was good — the director has shown himself in the past to be a skilled and faithful adapter of science fiction stories to the screen. Good acting, beautiful visuals, a good score . . . 

But no food! It's a little astonishing that a movie made by a Frenchman, set on a planet famed for its spice production, doesn't have any memorable food scenes. We see Paul and his mother eat breakfast in one scene, but not what they're eating. This production won't give Andrew Rea anything to re-create for a Binging With Babish video.

It's particularly disappointing to me because it means the film leaves out one of my favorite scenes from the book: the banquet in Arrakeen. I know why the scene was cut — it's talky, it's full of minor characters who don't play much part in the bigger story, and it's part of a sub-plot the director decided to drop from the screenplay.

Still, it's a pity because we miss the only dishes actually named in the book: langues de lapin de garenne, roast desert hare in sauce cepeda, aplomage sirian, chukka under glass, and "a true pot-au-oie." Translations: lapin de garenne is simply rabbit (odd to have both rabbit and desert hare in the same meal); sauce cepeda sounds like a mushroom sauce but I can't find a reference to it outside of the novel, aplomage may be an extraterrestrial creature — likely from a planet orbiting Sirius — the word to me looks like a kind of featherless bird; chukka is another fictional food; and a pot-au-oie would be potted goose (probably some kind of confit). The rabbit tongues are a particularly decadent-sounding dish, reminiscent of the Roman fondness for parrot tongues in garum. To me, the meal comes across as unpleasantly rich — suitable for a winter feast in a cold climate, but far too heavy for a hot desert setting.

Either Mr. Herbert was trying to convey that the dinner was a display by the Duke, with costly imported food that will impress the rubes; or he was showing that the Atreides have just come from a very different world and their preferred foods are out of place; or he just made up some cool-sounding dishes. My money's on the last option. 

Were I to write that scene, I'd have done things a little differently. For one thing, this is a society in which the nobility are paranoid about poison, which suggests the entrees should all be big common-pot dishes: soups, stews, maybe big baked pasta or rice dishes. Cactus dishes seem appropriate, as would dates. Make a big rabbit pie as the first course, followed by cactus soup, game birds with dates served over couscous, and fresh off-world fruit to inspire awe among the desert planet inhabitants.

Now I have to go start making dinner.

 

Building A New World

My first foray into teaching worldbuilding went so well I'm doing it again — only more so. This Saturday (November 6) the Pioneer Valley Writers Workshop is offering the first of a two-part online course I'm teaching. It's called "Building the Iceberg," and is all about science fiction worldbuilding.

In session 1 we'll be looking at the role of alien beings and societies in SF, and creating a worked example. Session 2, on November 13, will delve into the physical details of planets and star systems. 

This is an especially appropriate moment to offer this course again, as right now everybody's talking about Frank Herbert's Dune and Denis Villeneuve's magnificent film adaptation. Herbert's novel is acknowledged as a masterpiece of worldbuilding, and Villeneuve's film shows how to do it in cinema.

So come look under the hood with me and let's build a world!

Mysteries of the Bride

Last week a much-reduced Crack Team of moviegoers went to the endearingly ramshackle Greenfield Garden Cinema to watch a special showing of the original The Bride of Frankenstein. It's still my favorite of all the classic Universal black-and-white monster movies. Maybe The Invisible Man is in the same league, but the rest of the pack is well behind them both.

Two things struck me while watching this showing. The first is how rushed the movie seems. There's no slow buildup, no rising tension, no mysteries to be resolved. It almost feels like James Whale wanted to blow past all the boring townsfolk-with-pitchforks parts and get to the big Animating the Bride set piece at the end as quickly as he could. Despite this, the beginning scenes of the movie are a little boring, especially since Una Merkel isn't as funny as James Whale apparently thought she was. But once Ernest Thesiger as Dr. Pretorius shows up, the movie rolls right ahead on rails and is a joy to watch.

The second thing which struck me is when the movie is supposed to take place. We begin with a frame story of Mary Shelley (played by Elsa Lanchester, who of course is also the titular Bride), telling her story to Percy Shelley and Lord Byron (played by Gavin Gordon hamming it up to the nth degree). Now, we know that this literary evening took place in 1816, and the actual novel Mary wrote is set some time in the previous century.

But the movie . . . isn't. It's hard to pin down when it's happening. The police have revolvers (post 1850s), there are recognizable electric filament bulbs in Frankenstein's laboratory (post 1870s), and the one date mentioned is the plaque on a coffin from the 1890s. But it's not 1935, nor is it any time during or after World War I. There are no telephones (except for an experimental device Pretorius uses to keep in touch with the Monster), no motor vehicles, no battling gangs of veterans. I'll tentatively place it in the Edwardian era, maybe 1910 or so. 

So how is Mary Shelley in 1816 telling a story which takes place a century later? Well, she's not called the First Science Fiction Writer for nothing. I don't know if this was a deliberate choice by the moviemakers or a happy accident, but the film The Bride of Frankenstein is literally a movie about a science fiction story. This even means any anachronisms can be explained away as Mary Shelley's fault, since she couldn't predict the dawn of the 20th century with perfect accuracy. 

Anyway, it's a cracking good movie, perfect to watch on Halloween. Highly recommended.

 

 

Auction Action!

Today the Friends of Deerfield are launching an online auction to raise funds for Deerfield's 350th anniversary celebration in 2023. Items for sale include antiques, sports memorabilia, gift cards, and artworks. But my readers may be especially interested in the books.

We've got signed collections of first editions by Western Massachusetts SF and fantasy authors: Elizabeth Bear, me, John Crowley, Paul Park, and Allen Steele. If any of you are collectors, this is a gold mine. Note that all of the authors have asked to not be told how much their books fetch at auction. (I probably won't be able to avoid seeing it myself.)

The auction ends November 15, so keep checking the page to see how the bidding is going. I've heard that the last few hours can get really exciting. Here's the link again.

Let the bidding begin!

The Day of Gold

Fall in New England is famous for its beauty. People come here from all over the country to go "leaf-peeping" in the countryside. In Deerfield we're ready for them with scented candles, artisanal baked goods, microbrews, maple candy, fossils, crafts, and restaurants.

But when does Fall begin? On September 22 I heard a radio host announcing the "official" beginning of Fall, as that day is the autumnal equinox — the time when the Earth's tilted axis is side-on to the Sun, so that all over the world the days and nights are of equal length. In the northern hemisphere the nights are going to get longer, in the southern hemisphere they're going to get shorter, but in late September we all have the same amount of daylight. It's the start of astronomical autumn, which lasts until the winter solstice in late December.

However, that's only one definition. Other dates for the start of autumn are the beginning of the grain harvest season, which in pre-modern Europe was August 1; or Labor Day, when summer vacation ends and well-dressed people switch to winter styles. In warm climates, where Fall is a fairly abstract concept anyway, the season is simply the months of September through November.

For me, Fall in New England starts with the Day of Gold, which isn't marked on any calendar. It's the day that the ferns and the birch trees on my land have lost their summer green, but haven't yet withered to brown. For just a little while, everything is golden wherever I look. Then I know that Fall has really arrived.

Captain Opposite

I've noticed an interesting approach to writing genre characters, one which also applies to roleplaying games and other media as well: take an iconic character and make up someone who is as opposite to that character as possible.

When Michael Moorcock wanted to write a "sword and sorcery" epic, he didn't make his main character a clone of Robert E. Howard's Conan the Barbarian. Instead he made up Elric of Melnibone, who is Conan's opposite in almost every way. Where Conan is a barbarian, Elric is the scion of his world's most advanced and decadent civilization. Where Conan is a warrior who enjoys a good fight, Elric is skilled in magic and intrigue as much as swordplay. Conan fights his way to the throne of Aquilonia, while Elric begins as a hereditary Emperor and ultimately abandons his throne and kingdom.

When Patrick O'Brian began writing a series of Napoleonic-era sea stories based on the life of Thomas Cochrane, he didn't make his main character a clone of C.S. Forrester's Horatio Hornblower. Instead he made up Jack Aubrey. Where Hornblower is a progressive Whig with suspiciously 20th-Century attitudes, Aubrey is a reactionary Tory. Where Hornblower is tone-deaf, Aubrey is a skilled musician. Where Hornblower is diffident and shy with women (mostly), Aubrey is an enthusiastic womanizer. And where Hornblower is isolated and lonely in command, Aubrey has the constant friendship of Stephen Maturin.

Some authors even do it to themselves. L. Frank Baum's first Oz novel centered on Dorothy, a girl from Kansas swept off to Oz by a tornado and trying desperately to return home. His second centered on Tip, a boy native to Oz who is running away from home. With the help of magic, Dorothy gets back to Kansas and resumes her old life. Tip is transformed into Ozma and begins an entirely new existence as a Lovely Girl Ruler. 

One of my mottoes is "Constraints inspire creativity," and I think this is a perfect example. Using the "Captain Opposite" method one gets two sets of constraints, and their intersection can generate wonderful creativity. The first constraint is of course making the character the opposite of an iconic genre character. But it goes beyond simple negation. The second constraint is that Captain Opposite still has to work as a genre character himself. 

After all, making a sea captain who isn't Horatio Hornblower should be pretty easy: make him incompetent, cowardly, arrogant, and ultimately a failure. (And in fact George MacDonald Fraser did just that with his Harry Flashman.) But what makes Aubrey a classic character in his own right is that he is Hornblower's foil — but also his equal. He works as the anti-Hornblower but still gets to do all the Cochrane-inspired exploits. (In fact, my personal opinion is that by stripping away Hornblower's anachronistic ideas about personal hygiene and democracy, O'Brian makes Aubrey a more realistic and vivid character.)

Similarly, Moorcock's Elric still works as a Sword 'n Sorcery hero, despite being the kind of person Conan routinely beheaded in his own climactic battles. Howard famously made Conan the sort of person whose first instinct is to fight his way out of a situation, which was perfect for the pulp action stories Howard wanted to tell. Moorcock's Elric, by contrast, hates the vampiric magical sword which keeps him alive. His efforts to avoid fighting get him into more and more trouble — and build the reader's anticipation for the inevitable moment when he does finally pull out Stormbringer and start swinging.

So, here's an exercise for the next time you're writing in a genre with iconic characters: try to create a Captain Opposite. An anti-Sherlock Holmes who still solves baffling crimes, an anti- James Bond who still thwarts Britain's secret foes, maybe even an anti-Batman who still battles supervillains. If you can think of other examples I'd love to hear about them in the comments.

 

AlbaCon 2021!

It takes more than an endemic to keep Albany's long-running SF convention down. AlbaCon 2021 is going on tonight and through this weekend, but only in virtual form.

I'll be there, participating in four events:

At 10:00 a.m. on Saturday the 18th I'll be part of a panel discussing "No One Goes to Space Anymore." Given that we just watched four private passengers launch into orbit, I'm going to be questioning the premises of that topic.

At 11:00 a.m. I'll be talking about "Why the DCU and the MCU Are So Different."

After a short break for lunch I'm doing a reading from The Godel Operation at 1:30. 

And then from 2-6 p.m. I'm running an online Weird War 1 game, "The Black Khan."

Afterward, drinks in the hotel bar. First round's on me.

 

Food Bragging: Harvest Edition

When you belong to a farm share, you get the vegetables in season, and you get as many as the farmers have produced. This means one must learn to deal with huge waves of vegetables, often more than can be eaten in a week. We're just past peak sweet corn season, so we're still getting half a dozen ears a week. Skip a day or two and it starts to accumulate.

I discovered a nice way to burn up accumulated fresh corn, especially the ears which have been sitting for a few days: make a pie. Tonight's dinner was corn pie and a salad of heirloom tomatoes and fresh lettuce.

How do you make a corn pie? Not hard. It's your favorite savory pie crust, with a large onion, some celery, half a dozen ears of corn cut off the cobs, a couple of sliced hard-boiled eggs, and parsley. To thicken the filling, one recipe I found suggested making a puree of some of the corn and mixing it with another egg to help it set. 

Not especially difficult to make, though what with preparing the filling, making the crust, assembling the pie, and then baking it, this is not at all quick. Save it for a weekend if you're pressed for time.

Now I just have to figure out what to do with a peck of hot peppers. Any ideas?

The Zydeco Operation

The Godel Operation comes to Acadiana! On Wednesday, September 22, I'll be doing a reading and signing at southwestern Louisiana's premier book shop, Beausoleil Books of Lafayette, from 6 to 8 p.m. The event is free and all are welcome.

Come on down and hear some of the adventures of Daslakh and Zee in the Billion Worlds of the Tenth Millennium! I'll answer any questions and sign whatever is put in front of me. 

Did I mention this bookstore has a wine bar? That's the hallmark of a truly advanced civilization.  

A Chilling Analysis

This article, "The Good Death — Cancel Culture and the Logic of Torture," by Christopher Van Eecke takes a look at the phenomenon of online Twitter mobs and their fetish for destroying lives and inflicting public humiliation on people. He finds a useful — and disturbing — parallel in the public torture and executions of past centuries. The fact that the worst excesses of "cancel culture" come from people who loudly praise themselves for their empathy and compassion is particularly grotesque.

Bari Weiss has a personal account by academic Peter Boghossian of his experiences as the target of a Twitter mob. What's particularly awful in his story is the way he was abandoned by his institution and his colleagues. I don't know if it's cowardice or malice, but this will only end when people running large institutions like academia, government, and corporations stop going along with these witch-hunts and lynch mobs.

It must end soon, because our society will not survive if it doesn't.