It's Conference on World Affairs time again, the week when students
and folks from the Boulder community mingle to hear lively discussions
about what's going on in the world.
Catching my ear today was a panel on the state of journalism. Most of
the participants didn't have degrees in Journalism and got into the
field by the seat of their pants, so it was fascinating to see how,
along the way, they became respected professionals.
Dan Gillmor writes a column on media and technology for The Guardian,
is author of We the Media: Grassroots Journalism by the People, for
the People (2004), a book that explains the rise of citizens' media
and why it matters. Dan did his best to appear generally
optimistic. Since the days when advertisers deserted newspapers in
favor of the Internet, the business side has been slowly improving, he
felt. The "ecosystem" of news is evolving and growing. Even think
tanks like the Cato Institute are writing about topics like civil
liberties. Glitzy startups like Vox Media are working to fill a niche
with "explanatory journalism" (everything you need to know about Syria
in a nutshell, for example). He actually envies today's students, who
he thinks will have a great future to look forward to. The one thing
he feels is being lost is local news, i.e., its watchdog role. Crooks
used to be afraid that someone may be watching.
Josh Rogin claimed to be the youngest of the panel, and got his start
working for a large Japanese daily. He talked about changes in the
way people consume news, saying it has been changing completely every
18 months. Readers found it became too hard to go to individual news
sources and began using search engines, then moved more recently to
trusted social sites (eg., Buzzfeed, and Politico). The upshot is that
he's had five jobs in 10 years, including Newsweek/Daily Beast, saying
that it's been necessary to constantly hustle to stay gainfully
employed. He's built a strong network of contacts so he can jump from
job to job if necessary. Josh's story was striking, in that to me it
resembled how engineers of the past have worked. A project ends, and
you move on to the next employer. When I went to Journalism school in
the 70s, one thing I definitely wanted to avoid was being in sales and
marketing for a living. Now marketing yourself is part of your living.
Monika Bauerlein from Mother Jones was less optimistic than
Gillmor. She said 14,000 jobs have been lost in the past decade, while
only a couple thousand have come back from new startups such as
Vox. She wants journalists to be professionals and to be paid for
their work, which is increasingly difficult. Mother Jones uses every
money-making opportunity (reader appeals and grants included) and
still barely scrapes by. She stressed how expensive it is to fund all
the journalism that people need or would like to see. Monika wasn't
totally dismissive of Josh's hustle, saying you need to get eyeballs
on your stuff, but the money problem still is there for the industry
as a whole.
Jurek Martin was the grand old man of the bunch, having worked for
decades for the Financial Times of London. He also never majored in
Journalism and originally got his job by explaining to an editor how
baseball was played. He enjoyed his career as a "gatekeeper" who took
pride in providing quality news from all over the world. He believes
in being right the first time, rather than rushing to press and later
having to correct it. "The truth will lag terribly." He also quoted
Johnson about pay: "Only a fool writes for free." He talked about
Gawker, which is thinking of paying bloggers by number of hits. "The
problem with that is that 95% of the readers are bonkers, and the
other 5% are nasty." Yet he is still optimistic that somehow,
somewhere, news, analysis and straight reporting will continue--"if we
can just find it."
In the Q&A, a number of students asked about whether it was worthwhile
to get a Journalism degree. Most of the panelists felt that it might
be worth it from a good program, especially because it might provide
valuable contacts for that first job. But a general knowledge degree
is equally helpful in teaching communication and critical thinking
skills.
One audience member asked why the media don't call "bullshit" on
liars, such as in the so-called climate debate. Jurek said it's a
valid criticism and offered an anecdote about how the Wall Street
Journal caved on investigating a Chinese oligarch for fear of seeming
"unbalanced." Gillmor was thrilled by the question, but said it is up
to the public nowadays to be their own gatekeepers, because "we have no
choice."
Monday, April 7, 2014
Wednesday, March 12, 2014
What Colorado's Cities Should Do About Fracking
The boom in oil shale and natural gas development caused by new fracturing and
horizontal drilling techniques has largely been a good thing. It's
helping America achieve that Holy Grail of "energy independence."
But here in Colorado, it has a lot of bad implications for cities. We
all know that the U.S. Constitution cedes anything it doesn't
specifically reserve for the Federal government to the
states. Likewise, anything not specifically reserved by the Colorado
constitution gets ceded to the counties and cities. So, I believe
Governor Hickenlooper when he says that our constitution specifically
allows energy development in our state on land belonging to those
who own the mineral rights.
But in our cities, a small proportion of the residents own the mineral
rights under their houses. It would be prohibitively expensive for
cities to try to buy back those mineral rights for their citizens.
Some cities, such as Boulder, Fort Collins, Lafayette, Longmont, and
Broomfield, have declared moratoriums on drilling within their limits,
until more information can be found about the possible air and water
quality hazards of fracking. Likewise, Boulder County has declared a
moratorium. The governor thinks that is probably unconstitutional. The
courts are being called upon to decide.
But if homeowners can't keep people from drilling under their
property, what can they do? They get pegged as left-wingers without
proper scientific portfolio, cherry-picking horrors such as those
portrayed in the documentary, "Gasland."
Sure, Boulder has some million dollar houses and millionaires, but
much of that wealth is invested in their homes. In effect, they are all
just leasing the land their homes sit on. If the mineral rights owner
decides to foul somebody's nest and move on, what recourse is there?
The key word here is "penalties." Colorado has instituted stricter
penalties for air and and water pollution by energy companies. But it
doesn't have the budget to monitor every square inch of the
state. With horizontal drilling, bores can be 10,000 feet underground,
making leaks hard to detect. Furthermore, a fine can be considered
"the cost of doing business" as long as profits continue to pour in.
If cities institute their own penalties, they could fund the
resources needed to inspect for illegal emissions. Of course, there's
the chicken-and-egg problem of funding the resources before the
presumed fines would occur. By instituting larger fees for frackers, the
initial funding could be obtained. Boulder County already has
excellent water monitoring capabilities, so this might be done quite
economically. Any penalties would need to be BIG, though. Not just
thousands of dollars, but millions. That's what a house or two in the city of
Boulder costs.
There's also the problem of water, and fracking requires a lot of
it. Clean water's in short supply in Colorado, so any use of clean
city water by frackers needs to be paid for. So far, they're not very good
at cleaning and recycling the water they use for fracking.
We've seen California set the standard for gasoline mileage in car
fleets, and that has trickled up to the Federal government. We should
do the same regarding fracking in our communities, until the Feds pass
legislation that ensures private property rights. (Boulder has beaten Los
Angeles on this one. They just passed a fracking moratorium too.)
Would we be infringing on the property rights of private corporations?
Maybe, but we've had no problem doing that before. Ford Motor Company
was free to manufacture Ford Pintos, but when they burst into flames
upon being rear-ended, they were withdrawn from the market. Bad
publicity and fearful penalties can accomplish wonders.
One last aside: If you look at a picture of North Dakota at night taken from space
(image from the Suomi NPP satellite, NASA Earth Observatory), you see huge
amounts of natural gas being burned off. Are we producing too much, in our rush
to make money?
We should consider oil a strategic resource, and not engage in
greedily exporting it abroad or repeating the Teapot Dome
scandal. Instead, we should encourage and subsidize alternative energy
development to reduce our unhealthy diet of fossil fuels, a primary
contributor to America's growing array of chronic illnesses--its energy
"metabolic syndrome," if you will.
horizontal drilling techniques has largely been a good thing. It's
helping America achieve that Holy Grail of "energy independence."
But here in Colorado, it has a lot of bad implications for cities. We
all know that the U.S. Constitution cedes anything it doesn't
specifically reserve for the Federal government to the
states. Likewise, anything not specifically reserved by the Colorado
constitution gets ceded to the counties and cities. So, I believe
Governor Hickenlooper when he says that our constitution specifically
allows energy development in our state on land belonging to those
who own the mineral rights.
But in our cities, a small proportion of the residents own the mineral
rights under their houses. It would be prohibitively expensive for
cities to try to buy back those mineral rights for their citizens.
Some cities, such as Boulder, Fort Collins, Lafayette, Longmont, and
Broomfield, have declared moratoriums on drilling within their limits,
until more information can be found about the possible air and water
quality hazards of fracking. Likewise, Boulder County has declared a
moratorium. The governor thinks that is probably unconstitutional. The
courts are being called upon to decide.
But if homeowners can't keep people from drilling under their
property, what can they do? They get pegged as left-wingers without
proper scientific portfolio, cherry-picking horrors such as those
portrayed in the documentary, "Gasland."
Sure, Boulder has some million dollar houses and millionaires, but
much of that wealth is invested in their homes. In effect, they are all
just leasing the land their homes sit on. If the mineral rights owner
decides to foul somebody's nest and move on, what recourse is there?
The key word here is "penalties." Colorado has instituted stricter
penalties for air and and water pollution by energy companies. But it
doesn't have the budget to monitor every square inch of the
state. With horizontal drilling, bores can be 10,000 feet underground,
making leaks hard to detect. Furthermore, a fine can be considered
"the cost of doing business" as long as profits continue to pour in.
If cities institute their own penalties, they could fund the
resources needed to inspect for illegal emissions. Of course, there's
the chicken-and-egg problem of funding the resources before the
presumed fines would occur. By instituting larger fees for frackers, the
initial funding could be obtained. Boulder County already has
excellent water monitoring capabilities, so this might be done quite
economically. Any penalties would need to be BIG, though. Not just
thousands of dollars, but millions. That's what a house or two in the city of
Boulder costs.
There's also the problem of water, and fracking requires a lot of
it. Clean water's in short supply in Colorado, so any use of clean
city water by frackers needs to be paid for. So far, they're not very good
at cleaning and recycling the water they use for fracking.
We've seen California set the standard for gasoline mileage in car
fleets, and that has trickled up to the Federal government. We should
do the same regarding fracking in our communities, until the Feds pass
legislation that ensures private property rights. (Boulder has beaten Los
Angeles on this one. They just passed a fracking moratorium too.)
Would we be infringing on the property rights of private corporations?
Maybe, but we've had no problem doing that before. Ford Motor Company
was free to manufacture Ford Pintos, but when they burst into flames
upon being rear-ended, they were withdrawn from the market. Bad
publicity and fearful penalties can accomplish wonders.
One last aside: If you look at a picture of North Dakota at night taken from space
(image from the Suomi NPP satellite, NASA Earth Observatory), you see huge
amounts of natural gas being burned off. Are we producing too much, in our rush
to make money?
We should consider oil a strategic resource, and not engage in
greedily exporting it abroad or repeating the Teapot Dome
scandal. Instead, we should encourage and subsidize alternative energy
development to reduce our unhealthy diet of fossil fuels, a primary
contributor to America's growing array of chronic illnesses--its energy
"metabolic syndrome," if you will.
Saturday, February 8, 2014
Review of Tenth of December by George Saunders
I read a lot of speculative fiction and like to alternate it with
reading classic fiction. Occasionally, I'll dip a toe in contemporary
literature, sampling some authors like Don DeLillo, Cormac McCarthy,
or George Saunders. Such forays often leave me feeling lost at the
crossroads of Depression Street and Anxiety Boulevard.
What is it about contemporary literature that makes it so
disquieting? Is it the schadenfreude to be derived from the
artful, horrific dissection of societal problems, neuroses, and
suffering? You damn right.
Certainly the lines have blurred between science fiction, fantasy,
horror, and other genres, but you can still expect scifi to be fairly
clean and simple. A typical short story explores an unusual
idea, future extrapolation, or scientific possibility in 5,000 words or
less. A few obstacles, then a resolution, one way or the other.
But reading a typical short story by George Saunders is like getting
on an elevator that hasn't passed inspection. "Trust me," it
says. "Huh, a talking elevator," you say. "You'll be fine," it
says. But you almost never are fine. Going up? The first few floors
can be hilarious, even exhilarating, and the characters are
adorable. You're loving the ride. Then you hear a strange
clunk. Someone has injected some Darkenfloxx into the air. The
carriage shudders, and then you're falling, rapidly approaching
terminal velocity. It's not just the terror of falling. It's the
crushing sadness of knowing that someone you love is going to
die... Or maybe they won't. (Think good Scarlett O'Hara thoughts.)
If you have anxiety tendencies like I do, a Saunders story can cause
you to put your hands to your face like Stefon on "Saturday Night
Live." This is just too bizarre, you giggle to yourself. Then it's got
you by the short hairs. Saunders is an acknowledged and highly
decorated master, like Harlan Ellison.
The eponymous story appeared in the October 31, 2011 issue of The New Yorker.
Reading the "Tenth of December" collection at about the same time as
The Atlantic editor Scott Stossel's January/February 2014 feature, "My
Anxious, Twitchy, Phobic (Somehow Successful) Life," puts me in an odd
frame of mind. Stossel says he is subject to many phobias, anxieties,
and fears, and has coped over the years via psychiatric therapy,
drugs, and booze, yet he hasn't found a good answer. Although we live
in an uncertain world and a stressful society, he feels a lot of the
problem is certainly chemical, yet science can't seem to alter these bad
chemicals in a way that's very helpful or permanent. Gulp. Shades
of Vonnegut's "Breakfast of Champions."
reading classic fiction. Occasionally, I'll dip a toe in contemporary
literature, sampling some authors like Don DeLillo, Cormac McCarthy,
or George Saunders. Such forays often leave me feeling lost at the
crossroads of Depression Street and Anxiety Boulevard.
What is it about contemporary literature that makes it so
disquieting? Is it the schadenfreude to be derived from the
artful, horrific dissection of societal problems, neuroses, and
suffering? You damn right.
Certainly the lines have blurred between science fiction, fantasy,
horror, and other genres, but you can still expect scifi to be fairly
clean and simple. A typical short story explores an unusual
idea, future extrapolation, or scientific possibility in 5,000 words or
less. A few obstacles, then a resolution, one way or the other.
But reading a typical short story by George Saunders is like getting
on an elevator that hasn't passed inspection. "Trust me," it
says. "Huh, a talking elevator," you say. "You'll be fine," it
says. But you almost never are fine. Going up? The first few floors
can be hilarious, even exhilarating, and the characters are
adorable. You're loving the ride. Then you hear a strange
clunk. Someone has injected some Darkenfloxx into the air. The
carriage shudders, and then you're falling, rapidly approaching
terminal velocity. It's not just the terror of falling. It's the
crushing sadness of knowing that someone you love is going to
die... Or maybe they won't. (Think good Scarlett O'Hara thoughts.)
If you have anxiety tendencies like I do, a Saunders story can cause
you to put your hands to your face like Stefon on "Saturday Night
Live." This is just too bizarre, you giggle to yourself. Then it's got
you by the short hairs. Saunders is an acknowledged and highly
decorated master, like Harlan Ellison.
The eponymous story appeared in the October 31, 2011 issue of The New Yorker.
Reading the "Tenth of December" collection at about the same time as
The Atlantic editor Scott Stossel's January/February 2014 feature, "My
Anxious, Twitchy, Phobic (Somehow Successful) Life," puts me in an odd
frame of mind. Stossel says he is subject to many phobias, anxieties,
and fears, and has coped over the years via psychiatric therapy,
drugs, and booze, yet he hasn't found a good answer. Although we live
in an uncertain world and a stressful society, he feels a lot of the
problem is certainly chemical, yet science can't seem to alter these bad
chemicals in a way that's very helpful or permanent. Gulp. Shades
of Vonnegut's "Breakfast of Champions."
Friday, January 10, 2014
Review of Redshirts: A Novel with Three Codas by John Scalzi
A happy and prosperous New Year!
Just getting around to reading last year's Hugo winner, "Redshirts."
Besides being a popular hit, this small masterpiece demonstrates that
the author knows all the rules of scifi writing and how to break
them, much to our delight.
The hilarious Prolog kicks off with one of the security detail officers on the Intrepid, a Star Trek-like starship, being killed by a massive, carniverous Borgovian land worm while on an away mission to the planet below. Before his untimely demise, Ensign Davis keeps having thoughts that don't seem to be his own. They also seem to be
violating the rules all fiction writers are held to by their editors, namely, to avoid background exposition at all costs. We immediately
suspect that Davis is being taken for a ride a la "Stranger Than Fiction," wherein he finds himself to be the main character in a novel over which he has no control of the narration happening to him.
Soon we learn that all the "redshirts" (junior officers) aboard
the Intrepid are aware of a high mortality rate on away missions. New
recruit Andy Dahl and his friends begin to seek the reason
why. The Intrepid is like any other ship in the fleet, yet its
mortality rate has gone up sharply. (Could this be due to another
demand we see from editors and producers, namely, that constant
obstacles be thrown in front of the characters to keep the action
going?) Gradually they become convinced they are fictional characters
in a television show from the past.
After an entertaining and laws-of-physics-bending trip to the year
2012, they meet their lookalike actors and manage to convince the
writers of the tv show to stop killing them off. Satisfied, they
return to their spaceship and live happily ever after. But people in
the real world are left shaken by the impossible turn of events. Did
they really meet these visitors from another world, or have they simply
gone crazy? The novel concludes with three touching and
thought-provoking codas, as each character contemplates the example
set by his or her fictional doppelganger.
Just getting around to reading last year's Hugo winner, "Redshirts."
Besides being a popular hit, this small masterpiece demonstrates that
the author knows all the rules of scifi writing and how to break
them, much to our delight.
The hilarious Prolog kicks off with one of the security detail officers on the Intrepid, a Star Trek-like starship, being killed by a massive, carniverous Borgovian land worm while on an away mission to the planet below. Before his untimely demise, Ensign Davis keeps having thoughts that don't seem to be his own. They also seem to be
violating the rules all fiction writers are held to by their editors, namely, to avoid background exposition at all costs. We immediately
suspect that Davis is being taken for a ride a la "Stranger Than Fiction," wherein he finds himself to be the main character in a novel over which he has no control of the narration happening to him.
Soon we learn that all the "redshirts" (junior officers) aboard
the Intrepid are aware of a high mortality rate on away missions. New
recruit Andy Dahl and his friends begin to seek the reason
why. The Intrepid is like any other ship in the fleet, yet its
mortality rate has gone up sharply. (Could this be due to another
demand we see from editors and producers, namely, that constant
obstacles be thrown in front of the characters to keep the action
going?) Gradually they become convinced they are fictional characters
in a television show from the past.
After an entertaining and laws-of-physics-bending trip to the year
2012, they meet their lookalike actors and manage to convince the
writers of the tv show to stop killing them off. Satisfied, they
return to their spaceship and live happily ever after. But people in
the real world are left shaken by the impossible turn of events. Did
they really meet these visitors from another world, or have they simply
gone crazy? The novel concludes with three touching and
thought-provoking codas, as each character contemplates the example
set by his or her fictional doppelganger.
Saturday, December 28, 2013
Review of The Darwin Elevator by Jason Hough
Darwin Elevator by Jason M. Hough begins with an interesting mystery
about the appearance of a mysterious space elevator delivered by a
ship in high earth orbit above Darwin, Australia. What looks like
a boon for humanity is soon overshadowed by a plague that wipes out
almost all humans, except for some who basically become vicious
subhuman monsters. Close proximity to the elevator provides immunity,
so Darwin has become the last city on earth. Unfortunately, the aura
of immunity around the elevator seems to be disappearing.
The main characters are fairly likable: Skyler Luiken, a
rough-and-tumble Dutch pilot who runs a crew of immune scavengers, and
Tania Sharma, a scientist working for the richest man on earth, as they
try to unravel the connection between the elevator and humanity's
ultimate fate.
About a third of the way in, the preponderance of action became a
"Walking Dead" episode, and most of the crew had been killed in
various battles. Zombie's not my favorite genre, unless it's the
subtle kind, like "Les Revenants," so I lost interest every time the
story turned away from the basic mystery, flipping through pages until
the plot resumed. The novel does build momentum, however, with the
action increasing in intensity toward the ending and a new discovery
encouraging us to come back and read the sequel.
"Darwin Elevator" does everything right, but it seems to lack what I
look for in a story: real human emotion (other than fear or
adrenaline-revved survival instinct). Despite the fact that a plague
has turned most of humanity into animalistic zombies, it doesn't
really tell us what we can learn from the story of Darwin, or what it
means to be one of the last original humans. Not surprising,
since this is probably just the first installment in a series.
about the appearance of a mysterious space elevator delivered by a
ship in high earth orbit above Darwin, Australia. What looks like
a boon for humanity is soon overshadowed by a plague that wipes out
almost all humans, except for some who basically become vicious
subhuman monsters. Close proximity to the elevator provides immunity,
so Darwin has become the last city on earth. Unfortunately, the aura
of immunity around the elevator seems to be disappearing.
The main characters are fairly likable: Skyler Luiken, a
rough-and-tumble Dutch pilot who runs a crew of immune scavengers, and
Tania Sharma, a scientist working for the richest man on earth, as they
try to unravel the connection between the elevator and humanity's
ultimate fate.
About a third of the way in, the preponderance of action became a
"Walking Dead" episode, and most of the crew had been killed in
various battles. Zombie's not my favorite genre, unless it's the
subtle kind, like "Les Revenants," so I lost interest every time the
story turned away from the basic mystery, flipping through pages until
the plot resumed. The novel does build momentum, however, with the
action increasing in intensity toward the ending and a new discovery
encouraging us to come back and read the sequel.
"Darwin Elevator" does everything right, but it seems to lack what I
look for in a story: real human emotion (other than fear or
adrenaline-revved survival instinct). Despite the fact that a plague
has turned most of humanity into animalistic zombies, it doesn't
really tell us what we can learn from the story of Darwin, or what it
means to be one of the last original humans. Not surprising,
since this is probably just the first installment in a series.
Tuesday, November 19, 2013
Mars Calling!
It was thrilling to watch the launch of the MAVEN mission to Mars from Cape
Canaveral yesterday. We wish the spacecraft godspeed during its 10-month-long
journey to the Red Planet. Third Flatiron is excited that its next anthology will be
Mars-themed. "Redshifted: Martian Stories," is due out December 1, and we'll be
dedicating it to the MAVEN scientific team, many of whom are based right here in Boulder, Colorado. Here's the great cover design by Keely Rew and the lineup of authors:
Table of Contents
Eurydice in Capricorn by Neil James Hudson
Make Carrots, Not War by Maureen Bowden
Colorblind on the Red Planet by Vince Liberato
The Journal of Miss Emily Carlton by Lela E. Buis
The Canary and the Roach by Ian Rose
For Sale: One Red Planet by Jeff Hewitt
Cadaver by Robina Williams
No Ravens on Mars by Martin Clark
The FALCON by Jaimie M. Engle
First Step by Jason Lairamore
MarsMail by Michael McGlade
And a Pebble in Her Shoe by Kara Race-Moore
The Read Planet by Chuck Rothman
The recognition this week of the 50th anniversary of John F. Kennedy's
assassination also brought back some sad memories. The image of little
Caroline Kennedy taking her mother's hand to comfort her brought tears
to my eyes.
Wikipedia.org notes: On November 29, 1963, following the death of
President Kennedy, his successor Lyndon B. Johnson issued Executive
Order 11129 renaming both NASA's Merrit Island facility and "the
facilities of Station No. 1 of the Atlantic Missile Range" (a
reference to Canaveral AFB) the "John F. Kennedy Space Center". He had
also convinced the governor of Florida to change the name of Cape
Canaveral to Cape Kennedy.
Confusion ensued, and ten years later, Cape Canaveral became Cape
Canaveral again. Well, at least for this week, it'll be Cape Kennedy
in my heart.
Canaveral yesterday. We wish the spacecraft godspeed during its 10-month-long
journey to the Red Planet. Third Flatiron is excited that its next anthology will be
Mars-themed. "Redshifted: Martian Stories," is due out December 1, and we'll be
dedicating it to the MAVEN scientific team, many of whom are based right here in Boulder, Colorado. Here's the great cover design by Keely Rew and the lineup of authors:
Table of Contents
Eurydice in Capricorn by Neil James Hudson
Make Carrots, Not War by Maureen Bowden
Colorblind on the Red Planet by Vince Liberato
The Journal of Miss Emily Carlton by Lela E. Buis
The Canary and the Roach by Ian Rose
For Sale: One Red Planet by Jeff Hewitt
Cadaver by Robina Williams
No Ravens on Mars by Martin Clark
The FALCON by Jaimie M. Engle
First Step by Jason Lairamore
MarsMail by Michael McGlade
And a Pebble in Her Shoe by Kara Race-Moore
The Read Planet by Chuck Rothman
The recognition this week of the 50th anniversary of John F. Kennedy's
assassination also brought back some sad memories. The image of little
Caroline Kennedy taking her mother's hand to comfort her brought tears
to my eyes.
Wikipedia.org notes: On November 29, 1963, following the death of
President Kennedy, his successor Lyndon B. Johnson issued Executive
Order 11129 renaming both NASA's Merrit Island facility and "the
facilities of Station No. 1 of the Atlantic Missile Range" (a
reference to Canaveral AFB) the "John F. Kennedy Space Center". He had
also convinced the governor of Florida to change the name of Cape
Canaveral to Cape Kennedy.
Confusion ensued, and ten years later, Cape Canaveral became Cape
Canaveral again. Well, at least for this week, it'll be Cape Kennedy
in my heart.
Thursday, October 17, 2013
Review of Neptune's Brood by Charles Stross
It's always frustrating to contemplate the vastness of the cosmos,
especially in view of the fact that we can't travel faster than
light. That means covering the distance to even the nearest star would
take years at best. Add to that the fact that it's improbable we could
even travel at even a small fraction of that speed. Add to that fact
the fact that we are fragile beings and that seemingly empty outer
space is really filled with deadly radiation.
Oh, well, we must give up on space operas, right? Not if you're
Charles Stross. His latest effort, "Neptune's Brood," takes place in a
time when humans have staked a claim on a 50-light-year span of space
and can carry out business in pretty much real time. The fun part is
finding out how have they have done it. I was reminded of Vernor
Vinge's "A Fire Upon the Deep." In his universe, the speed of light
slowed down the further toward the center of the galaxy you got.
Part of Stross's solution is to make humans a lot less fragile. Almost
everyone has replaced their biological cells with cybernetic
"mechanocytes" that can mold to different shapes and hold the memories
and personality of humans. But it still takes years to physically
travel to the next star system. A network of laser beacons has been
arduously established over a 2,000 year period so that if a person
wants to travel abroad, they merely ship their "soul" aboard a laser
beam to the next beacon and assemble a body at the other end. It's
very costly, of course, so an intricate system of "slow" money has
been set up to finance colonization, while "fast money" is used within
local systems. FTL remains only a dream, and everybody knows it.
The action of Neptune's Brood takes place when forensic banker Krina
Alizond-114 stumbles upon the biggest swindle the galaxy has ever
seen. Recently arrived in the Dojima System in search of her sister,
she dodges assassins and sails aboard a Church of the Fragile ship
(crewed by a literal skeletal crew and headed by Lady Cybelle, its
Borg-like priestess) to the water planet of Shin-Tethys. Forced to
assume the shape of a mermaid and diving to the impossible depths of
Shin-Tethys, Krina meets her sister and learns that their mother, the
original Sondra Alizond-1, was involved in the destruction of a
legendary colony thousands of years ago. And now she is coming to
collect the spoils of the long con, even if she has to destroy her
daughters to do it.
Krina finds an ally in the form of a privateer who survived the colony
destruction and holds an ace up his hairy, ratlike sleeve that can
defeat the evil Sondra. We suspect that it must be FTL, but it
isn't. Quite nicely done, Charles.
especially in view of the fact that we can't travel faster than
light. That means covering the distance to even the nearest star would
take years at best. Add to that the fact that it's improbable we could
even travel at even a small fraction of that speed. Add to that fact
the fact that we are fragile beings and that seemingly empty outer
space is really filled with deadly radiation.
Oh, well, we must give up on space operas, right? Not if you're
Charles Stross. His latest effort, "Neptune's Brood," takes place in a
time when humans have staked a claim on a 50-light-year span of space
and can carry out business in pretty much real time. The fun part is
finding out how have they have done it. I was reminded of Vernor
Vinge's "A Fire Upon the Deep." In his universe, the speed of light
slowed down the further toward the center of the galaxy you got.
Part of Stross's solution is to make humans a lot less fragile. Almost
everyone has replaced their biological cells with cybernetic
"mechanocytes" that can mold to different shapes and hold the memories
and personality of humans. But it still takes years to physically
travel to the next star system. A network of laser beacons has been
arduously established over a 2,000 year period so that if a person
wants to travel abroad, they merely ship their "soul" aboard a laser
beam to the next beacon and assemble a body at the other end. It's
very costly, of course, so an intricate system of "slow" money has
been set up to finance colonization, while "fast money" is used within
local systems. FTL remains only a dream, and everybody knows it.
The action of Neptune's Brood takes place when forensic banker Krina
Alizond-114 stumbles upon the biggest swindle the galaxy has ever
seen. Recently arrived in the Dojima System in search of her sister,
she dodges assassins and sails aboard a Church of the Fragile ship
(crewed by a literal skeletal crew and headed by Lady Cybelle, its
Borg-like priestess) to the water planet of Shin-Tethys. Forced to
assume the shape of a mermaid and diving to the impossible depths of
Shin-Tethys, Krina meets her sister and learns that their mother, the
original Sondra Alizond-1, was involved in the destruction of a
legendary colony thousands of years ago. And now she is coming to
collect the spoils of the long con, even if she has to destroy her
daughters to do it.
Krina finds an ally in the form of a privateer who survived the colony
destruction and holds an ace up his hairy, ratlike sleeve that can
defeat the evil Sondra. We suspect that it must be FTL, but it
isn't. Quite nicely done, Charles.
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