Rifts in the Stream II; tincture, the first (an excerpt from Crow’s journal)

 I saw the angel in the marble and carved until I set him free. 

Michelangelo

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I hear the call — a resonance; like the faint, echoed peal of a bell — and swim through space and time, through motes of luminous perfume and between diaphanous, white rose petals. My skin is radiant, my mind calm and deliberate.

I free them, one at a time; a gift of wings, a means of blissful escape.

Only two remain: the most virtuous and beautiful of the fallen. I meant for her to be the last; she would have facilitated his transformation, eased his anxiety and guided him. Unfortunately, he will pass alone.

She studies the empty vessels on the floor and, when she hears the shuffle of my feet, she turns her head slowly and peers at me through innocence; her pupils dilate and I shoot as she turns to run. She lurches, but continues out the door and I lose her in the twisting hallways. She is fast, but I find her again as she escapes, with him, into the outside world. I shoot and shoot at her retreating form until her mortal body collapses, finally in peace; and, as her angelic essence soars away, she flutters a wing at me in thanks.

The last one runs away into the distance. Regrettable. He is almost as dangerous as she would have been. But now is not the time to silence him; the authorities of this realm will soon arrive. I ease into a crease: back to the world I know best; from there I can wait, and watch.

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Look to Windward; a book review

Look to Windward (2000) is another of Iain M. Banks literate, grand space-operas set within the interstellar society of the Culture. For those unfamiliar, Mr. Banks has written several stand-alone novels about the Culture, an exceedingly affluent and powerful civilization that places a high value on individual rights and liberty and has an uncomfortable habit of intervening in the business of other civilizations. Their ‘interventions’ are undertaken with the Culture’s best intentions, although their secret military branch (Special Circumstances) believes that the ends justify the means, and their actions sometimes have disastrous consequences (in case the reader misses the connection, Banks gives a hint that the novel’s politics resemble affairs in our own world: he dedicated the book to the Gulf War Veterans). And it is a disastrous consequence that drives the plot of Look to Windward. Prior to the events portrayed in the novel, agents of the Culture had attempted to dissolve a repressive, hierarchical social system and their actions precipitated a devastating civil-war in the Chelgrian civilization.

There are three main threads to the story:

i) Ziller, a famous Chelgrian composer, spurned the oppressive caste-system of Chel and left his society to live with the Culture citizens of Masaq’. He has composed a new work that he will conduct during an historic event on Masaq’.

ii) Quilan, an ambassador from Chel, travels to Masaq’; allegedly on a mission to convince Ziller to return to Chel, but Quilan, a former soldier, has a darker mission that is slowly revealed as the novel proceeds

iii) a young scientist studies an inscrutable, sentient dirigible within the thriving, internal ecology of a colossal gas bubble that roams through space (as an aside, my inner-geek really appreciated this thread, which epitomizes Banks’ ability to converge and diverge).

There isn’t much wiz-bang action, and the novel develops slowly, but the threads eventually intertwine to form an interesting conclusion.

I could have done without the vindictive, sadistic assassinations at the end, and I have some other quibbles, not the least of which is the fact that I’ve yet to read a book by Iain M. Banks that has completely blown me away as a novel. He writes well, creates an intricate story, has an exceptional imagination, fills his characters with depth, and is able to maintain my interest throughout the book, but his endings leave me oddly unfulfilled. Then again, perhaps this is exactly what he intends.

Recommended

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Smart Sand

Suppose you had an object; but, for your application, you required two of them. In the near future, you may be able to place the object into a bag of smart-sand, shake it up, and the sand will sculpt itself into a duplicate. Sounds like a bad science fiction story, but the technology is being developed in the Distributed Robotics Laboratory (DRL) at MIT’s Computer Science and Artificial Intelligence Laboratory by Kyle Gilpin and his post-doctorate supervisor Daniela Rus. 

 The DRL researchers have created algorithms that can facilitate smart sand, and they have designed experiments that test the algorithms on cubes (of ten millimeters to an edge) that are constructed with simple microprocessors and electropermanent magnets (the magnetism is controlled with jolts of electricity).

The algorithms involve the manipulation of individual grains of smart sand, which pass messages back-and-forth and connect together to form a three-dimensional object. Any grains not required are not magnetized; and, when the object is removed from the bag, the unwanted grains of sand remain in the bag. After the object has been used for its purpose it can be recycled by placing it back in the bag, where the grains are de-magnetized, unlinked, and ready for use to build a different object.

The smart sand will be able to create multiple copies, and create larger objects from a small model.

The future is interesting, but make sure that you don’t fall into the smart sand…

Check out the MIT News article for more information and a video that demonstrates the algorithm using a simplified 2-D example.

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The world’s fastest punch

[image found at Space Oddity’s Spore Blog]

The peacock mantis shrimp (aka the harlequin mantis shrimp and the painted mantis shrimp) is not a true shrimp, but a species of crustacean (Odontodactylus scyllarus). Their habitat is in the Indo-Pacific, from Guam to East Africa.

The peacock mantis shrimp range in length from about three to eighteen centimeters (1.2 – 7 inches) and their most unusual feature is small appendages, called dactyl clubs, that they use to smash through mollusk shells, the heads of small fish, bivalves, and even glass aquarium walls (they make interesting and colorful aquarium specimens, but they must be kept separate from other creatures, and the walls of their aquaria must be constructed of shatter-proof acrylic).

The dactyl club appendages have been studied by chemical and material engineering scientist David Kisailus and his associates at the University of California, Riverside.

The striking surface of the club is highly crystallized hydroxyapite (a variety of calcium carbonate (bone material)), which provides superior compressive strength. Beneath the calcium carbonate, chitin is cross-layered in a dense array to prevent the formation of fractures. The sides of the club are also constructed of chitin, which places the club under compression. The club’s structure allows it to endure incredible impact forces. The animal’s punching velocity of 80 km/h (50 miles/h) is the fastest ever recorded and the punch acceleration is equivalent to a .22 caliber handgun.

David Kisailus and his colleagues have plans to use their findings to create materials for synthesis and engineering use in protective sporting equipment, crash-resistant vehicles, and body armor.

The combination of intriguing colors (predominant shades of green, with orange legs and anterior spots) and super-human punching abilities begs for a new comic-book super-hero…

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Ray Bradbury, 1920-2012

Ray Bradbury, the famous science-fiction/fantasy writer, passed from this world last night; he was ninety-one. His most well-known novel, Fahrenheit 451 (the temperature at which paper ignites), has often been misinterpreted as a rant against censorship; it was, according to Bradbury, a cautionary tale about how television destroys interest in reading.

[image from listal.com]

I recall many of his short-stories (especially those found in The Martian Chronicles), but one story in particular (All Summer in a Day) has stuck with me because of its poignant ending (which I won’t give away); in the story, a girl’s family emigrates to Venus: the girl hates Venus because it always rains, except once every several years when the sun briefly peeks through the thick cloud-cover. It is a sad story, but it reminds me of Vancouver, where people appreciate sunshine more than most.

Ray Bradbury won many awards, including; the O. Henry Memorial Award, the World Fantasy Award for Lifetime Achievement, the Grand Master Award from the Science Fiction Writers of America, and a Pulitzer Special Citation (2007).

He had some interesting views for a science fiction writer: he disdained video games, ATMs, and the internet, and generally distrusted technology (he had a fear of flying and rode on transit or a bicycle rather than driving).

Ray Bradbury is considered a prime mover of speculative fiction onto the map of mainstream literature.

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Venus in Transit

 Depending where in the world you are, a rare astronomical event will occur either June 5, or June 6. In the western hemisphere, the transit of Venus will begin in the afternoon on June 5, but in the eastern hemisphere, the transit can be observed starting at sunrise on June 6 (and, unfortunately, there are places in the world from which it can’t be viewed).

Venus will pass across the sun and will appear as a dark spot that will take almost seven hours to journey across the face of the sun [image from TopNews.in].

The transit of Venus will not occur again until 2117.

But, please, don’t try to view the event with the naked eye. To view the transit safely, use either Solar eclipse glasses, or Welder’s glass (#14 or darker).

Venus will appear as a rather smallish speck; so, if you don’t have excellent eye-sight, it may be better to view the event at a local astronomy club, park, or nature center.

The event can be viewed on-line at:

Slooh.com

The Exploratorium, from San Francisco

The Bareket Observatory in Israel

Astronomers Without borders, from the Mount Wilson Observatory in California

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Snow Country, a book review

Snow Country (originally, Yukiguni, 1948), a novel by Yasunari Kawabata, takes place at a mountain resort on the west-coast of one of the Islands of Japan. In the introduction, the translator, Edward G. Seidensticker, explains that the novel is filled with the ‘essence’ of Haiku.

The arc of the story portrays a bleak love affair between a geisha and a somewhat cold-hearted dilettante. It is a story filled with loneliness; both characters strive for a connection, but they are unable to cross the gulf of differences.

The book also acknowledges the shadow of western influence and its effects on Japanese traditions.

Komako, though partially trained in Tokyo, is a geisha at a mountain resort. Mountain geishas are considered to be unsophisticated (compared to the geishas of Tokyo) and are little more than stylized prostitutes. Komako falls in love with Shimamura; but, in her heart, she knows that the love-affair has no future and she is destined to fall from grace as she ages. She suffers through Shimamura’s indifference, is filled with bitter melancholy, and longs for salvation.

Shimamura became wealthy through inheritance. He visits the mountain resort three times during the length of the novel. He is married, with children, and comes to the resort to ‘relax’ in the hot springs. Apparently, this type of vacation (without family) was common in Japanese society. Shimamura enjoys Komako, but has designs on a younger woman, Yoko. So, here we have a married man, cavorting with a geisha (and he knows Komako is in love with him), thinking about yet another woman. He wants to feel like a sophisticated man, but he is immature and indolent, as demonstrated by his belief that he is an expert in western ballet, but has only read about them and has never bothered to watch one.

The novel relates the story subtly. Many authors would have further enumerated, dissected, and analyzed the story-line; but, in this little gem of a book (not quite two-hundred pages), the reader must pay attention. The ending is quite abrupt, and it is left to the reader to decide what happens to a certain character, although there are hints throughout the book that signify the author’s intent.

Recommended.

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Rift in the Stream I; prelude

I’m Kurt Lambda.

Dalia doesn’t know I’m writing this; it is my one secret. I think my story is important, but she thinks I should stay off-the-grid.

This is an attempt to transcribe some salient details of my life.

Dr. Jhertzen once told me that perceptions skew reality and memories create a fantasy-world that incorporates portions of the truth, but our minds modify events to more closely resemble how we would have liked the events to have occurred, thereby placing us in a more exalted milieu.

(Dr. Jhertzen lied about a great many things, but I don’t think that was one of them)

My crèche was more varied than most — at least that’s what I gather from talking to others (mainly Jessie, a Beta, and the most altruistic being I’ve ever met). We had members of most groups from Beta to Mu. I was the only Lambda; apparently, we were almost as fragile as the Alpha constructs.

We were raised in a sterile, controlled environment, and the outside world was a frightening experience when I first escaped into it.

I was sure the yawning heavens would suck me into the blue oblivion and I thought the swaying trees and burgeoning traffic were monsters, and the noises of the city were shrieks, groans, howls, and digestive rumblings. I was frozen with fear, but Jessie’s conviction pushed me with the strength of love.

After reviewing what I’ve written, I realize I’ve gotten too muddled; conversely, I’ve mentioned enough to convey what I’d hoped. A fair start, all things considered.

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Patterns

Sometimes patterns open mnemonic pathways; yesterday, my wife’s umbrella unfolded recollections of Howie S., licorice, cartography, Mrs. Haffington, chess, mountains, the 1970s, birds, Spirograph, mandalas, and rain:

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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For Whom the Bell Tolls

Many of the books that I admired decades ago have fallen flat when I’ve returned to them. Fortunately, For Whom the Bell Tolls is not among them. It’s not perfect, but the perfect novel doesn’t exist: one must leap over innate weaknesses to understand genius.

This was — and still is (I’m about half-way through the re-read) — my favorite Hemingway novel, and includes one of my favorite fictional-female characters (a strong, metaphysical, forty-eight year old gypsy woman, Pilar: the de-facto leader of a small group of resistance guerrillas). It is set during the Spanish revolution — the prelude to WW II — and has a vein of carpe diem (and Buddhist sensibility) running through it:

“You have it now and that is all your whole life is; now. There is nothing else than now. There is neither yesterday, certainly, nor is there any tomorrow. How old must you be before you know that? There is only now…” (Robert Jordan’s thoughts; Chapter 13, p. 185)

I’ve read reviews that claim the novel moves like cold molasses, and I understand readers thinking that way, but the matrix of the story has a depth that is unusual in fiction. The characters are diverse and the tension is palpable.

Highly recommended.

 

Addendum, 2012-06-06: I just finished the novel and enjoyed it more than the first time I read it a couple of decades ago. Hemingway was a journalist in the Spanish Civil War, and I think he saw himself in the role of Robert Jordan. Like the ‘Englés,’ Hemingway’s father committed suicide; unfortunately, unlike Roberto, Ernest Hemingway’s demons arrived before he had the opportunity to escape his father’s paradigm.

For Whom the Bell Tolls is a book about humanity: love, loyalty, cowardliness, courage, the enjoyment of the present moment, comradery, altruism, and fighting for an ideal against reason.

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