Ripples in Space

Some astronomers believe they have discovered the metaphysical ripples in the fabric of space-time that were spawned 10^-37 seconds after the Big Bang. Apparently, Albert Einstein predicted the ripples, called gravitational waves, and the discovery, if confirmed, might transform our understanding of how the universe began and evolved. The gravitational waves propagate through the cosmic ocean at the speed of light; astronomers have been searching diligently, because the waves are the evidential ‘missing link’ that is necessary proof for two major theories.

http://www.nasa.gov/centers/goddard/universe/gwave.html

My layman’s understanding (to be taken with a grain of salt) of Einstein’s general theory of relativity posits that space is like a malleable blanket embedded with stars and planets, which cause the fabric of space to curve.  These curvatures in space ripple like water; the gravitational waves squeeze and stretch space in various directions.

A theory developed in the 1980s, cosmic inflation, also requires the discovery of gravitational waves to cement its reputation. Cosmic inflation theorizes that, an instant after the Big Bang, the universe expanded exponentially — by a trillion, trillion times — thereby forming a uniform cosmos in large portions of space, but also causing variations in gravity, resulting in gravitational waves.

Purportedly, gravitational waves have been detected by a radio telescope at the South Pole, the BICEP2 (Background Imaging of Cosmic Extragalactic Polarization). The results must be confirmed, but this discovery could be one of the greatest in our modern era.

When I’m think from a cosmic perspective I realize that my trivial worries are nothing in the grand scheme of things, and it is something marvelous that I am a part of this min-boggling immensity.

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For more information on the gravitational wave observation:

Discover Magazine article

An article on NASA’s site

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Carpe Noctem; a Group Exhibition

My daughter, Brynne, is part of an art exhibition that begins this Friday; it is a group gallery, which showcases works from all the students in her class at  the Emily Carr University of Art & Design. As a proud father I have to point out that one of Brynne’s works is included on the announcement card (see below). It should be an interesting exhibit; if you’re in Vancouver between March 28th and April 5th, check out The Fall Gallery on 644 Seymour St.

The other side of the card highlights a piece by Alison McLeod, one of Brynne’s classmates:

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A wonderful memory

My youngest daughter, Brynne, was watching America’s Funniest Home Videos, and I paused for a moment as a woman accidentally bonked someone’s forehead with a frying pan; a memory burbled up from the depths…

Bailey, my eldest daughter, was probably three. We had just walked to the corner store for juice; once inside the store, I headed straight to the back and turned left, down the glass-door-fridge aisle. Bailey, full of energy, decided to run down the previous aisle; in retrospect, I realize that she was racing me (to be honest, I may have known at-the-time that it was a race (I can be quite competitive)). I took three long strides and opened the glass door in front of the juices; contemporaneously, Bailey burst from around the corner, smacked into the thick glass-door, and fell backward onto the floor, landing on her posterior end. I closed the door and said, “Oh my God; I’m so sorry.”

She pushed herself back up and dusted off her knees; then she said, “Dat’s otay Daddy,” and held her arms out for a big hug.

What a wonderful memory…

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The Orenda, by Joseph Boyden

In The Orenda, Joseph Boyden shifts first-person perspective between three main characters: Bird, a Wendat (Huron) warrior, Snow Falls, a Haudenosaunee (Iroquois) teenager who has been adopted by Bird (after he killed her family in a fit of vengeance), and Christophe, a French Jesuit missionary who comes to live among the Wendat (Christophe is loosely based on a real-life Jesuit, Jean de Brebeuf). The book is a fictionalized account of what occurred during the formative years of Canadian colonization (~ 1640 – 1650) in the area that is now central Ontario (the Georgian Bay area). The different points of view signify a joint responsibility for French colonization and loss of culture, and the first-person accounts by the characters are, I suppose, an attempt to provide a balanced perspective of what occurred; however, the Haudenosaunee are represented as aggressors and antagonists in the novel and their voice, their point of view, is not well represented.

Orenda is the life-force contained in all things; people, animals, plants, stones, et cetera (somewhat similar to The Holy Spirit, Chi, et cetera).

The Orenda is a well researched historical novel, but I always approach any version of history with a grain of salt; historical accounts are recorded from a certain perspective, and the reader can never be assured of an unbiased rendering. Nevertheless, The Orenda is a book that should be read by anyone interested in the birth of colonial Canada; as such, the novel could be used as a school resource to spark discussion, although the depictions of torture are quite brutal in some sections.

I don’t think the torture scenes are as excessive as some reviewers have reported: some scenes are quite grisly, but I don’t think they are gratuitous; they add to historical context. There has been criticism regarding what some consider a disproportionate depiction and measure of torture scenes (apparently, some First Nations’ groups have insisted that this type of sadistic torture was discontinued hundreds of years before the events in the novel and that Boyden relied too heavily on the biased accounts of Jesuit’s journals. There is no way of knowing what really happened; records are subjective. This is a fictional account, and it is generally agreed that the torture described in the novel occurred at some point, so I don’t have a significant concern with these scenes in the book). Incongruously, the torture in the novel is referred to as ‘caressing’; the scenes are cruel, but are depicted as part of the culture: the torture, and a warrior’s bravery during sessions of caressing, is significant to the mood of enmity and mutual respect between the Wendat and Haudenosaunee. The caressing is not performed to garner information; rather, it is undertaken as a vindictive/spiritual ritual, and a demonstration of domination (it should be remembered that torture is still used by modern-day, supposedly civilized, humans).

The story is quite interesting, but I found that some of the sections dragged, especially those depicting mundane events. The three main characters are well-portrayed: they are flawed, but noble people; however, their personalities didn’t fully engage me until the very end. I would have enjoyed more information regarding the spiritual aspects of these First Nations peoples and there was a fascinating woman in the novel — Gosling, an Anishinaabe shaman — who would have made a wonderful point of view character.

The Bird family seems to be Boyden’s genealogical connective tissue throughout his novels (perhaps his three novels are presented as a generational trilogy); one of the main characters in The Orenda is Bird, and the protagonist in Three Day Road — set mostly in the years around WW I — is Xavier Bird, who I suspect is a descendant of Bird from The Orenda; and Boyden’s 2008 novel Through Black Spruce, which is set in present day Ontario, is also apparently populated with Bird’s descendants. Boyden’s novels are stand-alone stories, but they appear to have a connection of sorts, which is alluded to near the end of The Orenda.

As a novel, I preferred Joseph Boyden’s Three Day Road; but, as an absorbing portrayal of my country’s history, The Orenda is fascinating literature.

Recommended.

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Boxer Beetle, by Ned Beauman

The story in Boxer Beetle is split into two parts; one set in present-day London, the other in the 1930s.

The 1930s sections, which inhabit the bulk of the novel, introduce the reader to Seth Roach and Philip Erskine. Seth ‘Sinner’ Roach is a gay, brutish, alcoholic, Jewish boxer with nine toes and a diminutive stature. Philip Erskine is a pompous entomologist who is obsessed with eugenics and is a repressed homosexual; he thinks that Seth Roach is a perfect specimen. While on an expedition with a fellow entomologist, Erskine serendipitously discovers a ‘superior’ beetle with wings that, when unfolded, mimic the shape of a swastika; he captures several specimens and begins to selectively breed them.

Kevin Bloom is the protagonist in the present-day sections; he is sometimes called Fishy because he suffers from a rare disease (trimethylaminuria) that causes him to exude the scent of rotting fish. Kevin collects Nazi memorabilia, a hobby that drags him into a deadly intrigue that involves Seth Roach and a letter from Hitler to Dr. (Philip) Erskine. Kevin is kidnapped by a Welsh hit-man who is hunting for information on Seth Roach.

The plots from the two differing time-frames slowly converge; in the meantime, the reader encounters an intriguing collection of characters and subjects.

This is the second novel I’ve read by Ned Beauman (the other being The Teleportation Accident), and he appears to have a predilection for disagreeable protagonists who fail as truly sympathetic characters, but are capable of providing ample enjoyment. The author also sprinkles his prose with oddly revelatory sentences (page numbers refer to the North American trade paperback edition):

“He had a mole on his neck with six long wiry hairs sticking out of it, as if a spider had been shot from a catapult and embedded itself in his flesh.”
(Ch. 6, p. 67)

“The morning light peeked in through the windows of the mortuary, pasty and trembling like the sort of ghoulish little boy who would rather see a dead girl than a naked one.”
(Ch. 8, p. 86)

“She had so many freckles that Erskine wondered if she might have stolen some from other children.”
(Ch. 13, p. 159)

There are many subjects introduced in the novel (eugenics, atonal music, Darwinism, upper-class snobbishness, Fascism, invented languages, and more) and there are several set pieces, some of which work better than others. In addition to unlikeable protagonists, the story generally exposes negative situations, and none of the characters radiate happiness; it is not an uplifting novel by any stretch of the imagination. There is humour, but it is invariably at someone’s expense. I suppose Mr. Beauman is making a point, but I appreciate a lungful of fresh air once in a while.

Boxer Beetle is nicely constructed and the different plot elements dovetail fairly smoothly, but I preferred The Teleportation Accident, which seems like a lesser novel at first, but is more rewarding as a whole. Both books, however, are enjoyable, especially if you appreciate absurd, dark humour and misfits.

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The Tiger: A True Story of Vengeance and Survival, by John Vaillant.

In The Tiger, John Vaillant employs facts and credible speculations to convey the story of a Siberian tiger (Amur tiger) that apparently planned and exacted revenge on a poacher. The main story takes place in December 1997, but the author dedicates many pages to the unique ecosystem, geography, history, economics and politics of the area (Russia’s Primorye region). The background information can be a cumbersome distraction, but adds to the depth of the story; the reader discovers the motivations of the poacher, who becomes a sympathetic character (hunting a noble, threatened animal is morally repugnant to me, but the people who live in the area have barely been able to eke out a living since Russia’s restructuring — perestroika — in the 1980s). Readers may gain insights into the negative effects that economics can have on a region, but I found some of this information redundant. For me, the background information dealing with the unique biodiversity of the region was far more fascinating: Russia’s Primorye region is at the convergence of four diverse bioregions; the boreal forest, the taiga, the Mongolian steps, and the Korean tropics.

The events that inspired the book are spun into a captivating tale that is equal parts mysticism, folklore, and science. Tigers generally only attack humans when provoked; however, after killing the poacher, Vladimir Markov, the tiger, for reasons unknown, continues to attack other people in the area. A small group of men from the government wildlife protection agency must track down the calculating, vengeful carnivore in its own element.

Overall, the book was enjoyable, informative, and very well researched and written, but the story of the vengeful tiger is stretched a bit thin through the book.

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Winter Sunrise

Winter sunrise

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Walking through the

Forest; dark verdure,

Gnarled fingers working

Phthalo clay.

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I exhale, admiring the

Pearl-shrouded purity,

That frozen moment before

An in-drawn breath.

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High above me

A hawk rides the sunlight,

Splayed tail ablaze;

Luminous amber, rust-red.

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I soar upward, yet sink inward…

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Back on earth, now,

I continue along my path

With a renewed appreciation

Of the unfathomable.

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Angelmaker, by Nick Harkaway: a book review

Nick Harkaway is John le Carré’s son (Harkaway and le Carré are both pseudonyms), and the two apparently share a love of espionage, but Harkaway veers away from his father’s genre, into an amped-up amalgam of espionage, pseudo-steampunk, crime fiction, romance, adventure…

I finally decided that Angelmaker is pulp fiction with literati ambitions. It is also quite humourously absurd.

The protagonist, Joshua Joseph Spork, repairs clockworks. Joe’s father, Mathew ‘Tommy Gun’ Spork, deceased, was the infamous king of London’s criminal underground. Joe decided to turn his back on his father’s ‘business’; instead, he followed in the footsteps of his paternal grandfather, who owned an antique clockworks shop. As the novel begins, Joe somehow becomes involved with the Ruskinites, an extremely dangerous sect, and an unknown branch of the government, in the guise of two odd men, Mr. Titwhistle and Mr. Cummerbund (“These are our actual names, I’m afraid” Mr. Titwhistle explains to Joe).

There is an assortment of colourful characters in the book, for example: Edie Banister, an octogenarian spy (my personal favourite); Shem Shem Tsien, a dastardly villain and Edie’s arch nemesis; Polly Cradle, Joe Spork’s love-interest and definitely not a shrinking violet; and Françoise ‘Frankie’ Fossoyeur, a frenetic super-genius who invented (among other things) the Apprehension Engine, a mechanical beehive — complete with mechanical bees — that may be a doomsday machine, but is possibly a machine created for the betterment of mankind. There is also a secret-service cult, the monastic ‘Ruskinites,’ who have come under the control of Shem Shem Tsien (cast as a handsome, but evil, Fu Manchu type).

The novel slips between genres, for the most part quite smoothly, and I really enjoyed the set up, but I didn’t enjoy the second half quite as much as the first: there is too much comic-bookish over-kill. I think I would have enjoyed portions of the novel much more as a younger man; perhaps I’ve become a fuddy-duddy.

The book becomes increasingly restless as the end nears and the lead-up to the climax is quite tumultuous; there are some riveting sections, but the ending passes rather quickly after the big build-up.

Harkaway juggles numerous balls, managing to maintain the integrity of the story quite impressively. All-in-all it is quite a delightful novel, but I think that some additional editing and a little more focus could have improved the book; it is an entertaining read, and there is some truly fine writing, but there are uneven portions as well.

After re-reading the above I realize I’ve been harder on the novel than I’d intended; it really is a rollicking good read, quite well written, and I’ll be sure to read more by the author.

Angelmaker is Nick Harkaway’s second book; I haven’t read his first novel, The Gone Away World, but I will. He also has a new novel out later this year (Tigerman; July 2014 in Canada) that I’ll find the time to read.

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A frosted sunrise

I went for an early walk this morning. The sun was just rising, the flora was frosted; and the air was cool, near freezing. A beautifully brittle glow pervaded the environs. I took many pictures (with my ‘unsmart’ cellphone), and the photo below comes closest to the wondrous sensation I felt; an indescribable beginning to my day…

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My favourite reads in 2013

I didn’t read as many books in 2013 as I usually do, and I read no non-fiction books, which was a bit of a surprise when I looked back at my reading spreadsheet for the year. I also noticed that my reading choices weren’t as challenging as I would have expected. It was an interesting year nonetheless, and my dozen favourite books (not including books that I’d read previously) of 2013 were (alphabetically, by authors last name) …

The Algebraist, by Iain M. Banks

The Teleportation Accident, by Ned Beuman

The Einstein Intersection, by Samuel R. Delany

Riddley Walker, by Russell Hoban

The Investigation, by Stanislaw Lem

The Fortress of Solitude, by Jonathan Lethem

The Razor’s Edge, by Somerset Maugham

All the Pretty Horses, by Cormac McCarthy

On Chesil Beach, by Ian McEwan.

The Scar, by China Meiville

A Tale for the Time Being, by Ruth Ozeki

Special Topics in Calamity Physic, by Marisha Pessl

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