Endorsements!

It occurs to me if rock stars can list the manufacturers of their favorite guitars, drums, guitar strings, etc. in the liner notes of a CD, and NASCAR drivers can post who makes their brakes, their engine parts, their tires, etc., maybe I can gather some endorsements if I list who makes my favorite writing tools!

Author Mark E. Lacy uses:

Pentel Energel pens
generic composition notebooks
Oberon Design composition notebook leather tooled cover

Microsoft Surface Pro 4
ViewSonic monitors
Microsoft Office: Word and Excel
Evernote software
Google search engine
Firefox web browser

My wife would tell me … “don’t hold your breath, honey.”
Yeah, I know, it doesn’t work this way.

"Treehouse Living" and Experimental Fiction

Once in a while I decide to be daring and pick up a work of experimental fiction. You’ll know experimental fiction when you see it—it may use multiple fonts, eschew ordinary chapter structure, or perhaps take the form of something unusual for fiction, such as a dictionary. I’ve enjoyed experimental fiction by Italo Calvino, particularly If on a winter’s night a traveler and Invisible Cities. I’ve considered reading but have not yet summoned the courage to read Mark Z. Danielewski’s House of Leaves, but only because of its structure and length, not because it’s a work of horror.

Many years ago I read the “male” version of Dictionary of the Khazars, by Milorad Pavic. The fact that there are both “male” and “female” versions of this book is a dead giveaway that it is a work of experimental fiction—along with the fact that it is structured like a dictionary. The two versions of the book differ in only sixteen or seventeen different lines. I can no longer remember whether those lines are highlighted or the reader is expected to buy both versions of the book and compare them line-by-line to find what’s different. I see on Amazon there is also an “androgynous” edition of this book, but it’s not clear how it differs from the “gendered” versions.

Like Pavic’s Khazars, Elliot Reed’s A Key to Treehouse Living is arranged as a dictionary. The entries are written by the narrator, an orphaned boy who struggles to make sense of the world. This boy’s tidbits of “wisdom” give us insight into his life. The question with any book like this, of course, is, what is the plot? How do pieces that are not chronologically arranged function when structured in an interconnected alphabetical arrangement? The Kindle version makes it easy to follow hyperlinked cross-references, but the text is not nearly as hyperlinked as it could be.

I found A Key to Treehouse Living mildly interesting but frustrating to follow. One can’t help but finish reading a book like this and wonder what you have missed. Did the author explain everything needing explanation? Why did he cover this topic before this one? Which entries are important and which are whimsical digressions by the narrator? While the narrator’s nuggets of wisdom are arranged alphabetically by their defining concepts, early on the narrator explains to the reader that he couldn’t always adhere to strict alphabetical order.

Experimental fiction can be very hard to understand. We are used to following the course of a story in a linear, time-based fashion. But if the story is nonlinear, jumping between past and future and present, is it still a story? What was the author intending to do by making the reader encounter a story in this way? How does one follow a “character arc” when there is no chronological order? I would suggest experimental fiction to anyone wanting to experience something unique in their reading, but it is not likely to appeal to everyone.

Worldbuilding and Stephen King's "The Dark Tower"

Recently I checked my database on Goodreads.com to see my “most-read authors” list. I was surprised to find that Stephen King was at the top of the list, with 31 books. This was surprising, because I wouldn’t call myself a fan. Sure, I like reading his stories, but there are aspects of his writing that I don’t care for. Many years ago I decided to try his Dark Tower series. I was making progress until he mentioned a body part of one of the Challenger shuttle astronauts washing up on a beach. I thought that was in poor taste, so, in protest, I stopped reading his books. Or, I thought I had.

When I learned they were making a movie of “The Dark Tower” I decided to go back and try the books again. This time I persevered, and read all eight of them. All 5,329 pages. And enjoyed them all.

One thing I decided to do, early on, was to pick up a copy of the “revised and updated” Stephen King’s The Dark Tower: The Complete Concordance, by Robin Furth. Why? Because sai King went a bit beyond worldbuilding in telling the story of the Dark Tower. He did worldbuilding on steroids. And I don’t know how he did it without Robin Furth’s book on hand to keep him honest. In the Dark Tower series there are locations in this world, and places in worlds like ours that have “moved on.” There are characters that appear under one name at one time, and another name at another time. There is time travel, and stories within stories. There is the author writing himself into the story. There are creatures humanoid and otherwise. There are connections to many other works in Stephen King’s canon.

Robin Furth’s Concordance includes information on (from the back cover)

  • Characters and Genealogies

  • Magical Objects and Forces

  • Mid-World and Our World Places

  • Portals and Magical Places

  • Mid-, End-, and Our World Maps

  • Timeline for the Dark Tower Series

  • Mid-World Dialects

  • Mid-World Rhymes, Songs, and Prayers

  • Political and Cultural References

  • References to Stephen King's Own Work

Of course, this only covers what’s been published. How much else regarding the Dark Tower lies sleeping in the author’s files? Will someone come along someday, like Christopher Tolkien did with his father’s writing and notes, and build on what’s already been built?

Zarathustra and Mystery

When it comes to choosing names for fantasy characters, there are examples from history and literature that can be inspirational, or even repurposed. “Zarathustra,” or “Zoroaster” is one of those. Zoroaster was an ancient Persian prophet.

My first exposure to “Zarathustra” was via the score for a famous scifi movie.

I have blogged in the past about the sense of mystery, or mysticism, in fantasy and science fiction. I was introduced to this as a young teenager. When 2001: A Space Odyssey was released, my father took me and some of my friends to see it. The story generates all kinds of questions, including who placed a monolith on Earth to influence the evolution of Homo sapiens, and another monolith on the Moon to signal when humans first achieved space travel? What is the meaning of the "star child" at the end of the movie? I’m sure my father left the theater scratching his head and wondering why he had brought us to see this movie. I’m also sure I had some of the same questions, but the difference was I could accept that there are some questions for which there are no good answers. I was comfortable with, even relished, the mystery.

But beyond the mysteries presented in 2001: A Space Odyssey, I remember being profoundly moved by the movie’s score, and in particular, the opening theme by the composer Richard Strauss, which is the introduction to his tone poem, “Also sprach Zarathustra.” When I learned that Strauss was inspired by Friedrich Nietzsche’s famous work of the same name (in English, Thus Spoke Zarathustra), I had to read it. This was in the early 1970s, shortly before I started college. It was a time of mysticism and psychedelics and Hermann Hesse and Tolkien and black-light posters of wizards and mountains. In translation, Thus Spake Zarathustra was rendered into “Biblical” English (“thee,” “thou,” etc.), which only added to its mystery.

As it turned out, I don’t think I understood a word of it! But it impressed me, and I went on to read many other mystery-flavored works as I transitioned into college, including those of Hesse and Kahlil Gibran. Feeling nostalgic, and imagining I may decide to reread Nietzsche, I recently added a copy of Thus Spoke Zarathustra to my library.

Poul Anderson's "The Broken Sword"

Readers of my blog are aware of my respect for fantasy author Michael Moorcock and his tales of the albino anti-hero Elric. In his book Wizardry and Wild Romance, Moorcock points out a book that he holds in high regard: The Broken Sword, by Poul Anderson. Anderson is a well-known scifi/fantasy author, but The Broken Sword, published in 1954, is not so well known.

The Broken Sword, set in a supernatural and mythological Scandinavian past, tells the story of a man, living among elves, and the troll-born changeling with which he was exchanged at birth. Each man struggles to fit into the world in which he lives. Once their paths inevitably cross, these struggles only grow more fierce. The story overflows with sorcery, Vikings, epic battles, Norse gods, and sadness. The eponymous Sword, Moorcock admits, influenced his own creation of Elric’s sentient sword, Stormbringer.

As Moorcock points out, The Broken Sword is a true tragedy, something not often seen in modern fantasy. It echoes of Shakespeare, with its somewhat (intentional) archaic style. This style works well, even if it does make for slower reading. It is also reminiscent of Greek tragedy - particularly when a pair of lovers discover they are actually brother and sister.

Moorcock calls The Broken Sword “Anderson’s finest dramatic achievement.” After reading this high praise, I had to read the book. It was a great read; I highly recommend it.

Creatures and Illustrations Thereof

Illustrations of creatures, both real and imaginary, have been part of human culture since the dawn of time. From the wall paintings of aurochs, deer, and horses on the walls of the Lascaux caves in France, to the whimsical creatures dreamed up by early explorers and depicted on old maps, capturing the essence of animals has been a fascinating part of human history.

I still have — though it is now tattered and without a cover — a copy of Francis Wardle’s Zoo Book, a gift to me over sixty years ago, before I could even read. I loved browsing through this book as a child, and I probably appreciated it more once my mother started taking us to the National Zoo in Washington, D.C. From there, I graduated to the “How and Why Wonder Book” series. Like most kids, I was thrilled by dinosaurs. Even today I have an illustrated book about dinosaurs (Dinosaurs: A Visual Encyclopedia) waiting patiently on my shelf to be read.

Imaginary creatures have been our close companions since childhood. If not the Monster Under the Bed, it was Jess, the imaginary dog my parents let me have (because it made no noise, didn’t have to be fed, and didn’t have to be walked by someone). Authors and illustrators like Dougal Dixon have extrapolated from real creatures of the present to their possible evolutionary descendants of the future (see After Man: A Zoology of the Future, and other books). Illustrator Wayne Douglas Barlowe’s Guide to Extraterrestrials and Guide to Fantasy provide great visuals of creatures we will never meet except between the covers of a book.

But the creepiest book on imaginary creatures I’ve seen in a long time is E. B. Hudspeth’s The Resurrectionist: The Lost Work of Dr. Spencer Black, a reference book by a fictional scientist with “comprehensive illustrations and explanatory texts regarding the musculature and skeletal systems [and] viscera” of “the lesser known species of the animal kingdom.” The anatomical diagrams in this book are presented as one would expect to see in a human or veterinarian anatomy book, showing the skeletal and muscular structure for almost a dozen mythological creatures, including a sphinx, a minotaur, a dragon, and a harpy.

"The Ban of Irsisri" - on Kindle for 99 cents for a limited time!

For a limited time, my epic fantasy novel, The Ban of Irsisri, is on sale for 99 cents for the Kindle version. Just go to https://www.amazon.com/Ban-Irsisri-Epic-Fantasy-ebook/dp/B07FK2SF6K. If you’re new to my blog, here’s the scoop on this novel:

The Gauntletbearer, The Swordbearer, and The Tribesman. Three men with quests to save the world from The Gatekeeper, the man trying to rule it.

Long ago, with dusty rites and moldy tomes, a powerful artifact known as the Gauntlets was fashioned for a sorcerer's hands. Promising untold power, the Gauntlets were taken and concealed for safekeeping. For ages they were lost, but now, the sorcerer Raethir Del has tracked them down. If he ignores the Ban of Irsisri and takes them, he will rain death and destruction across the lands. Three men embark on separate quests, and only their actions can enforce the Ban of Irsisri and avert the rise of incredible evil.

Enkinor, bearer of the Gauntlets, lost to the world, imprisoned by a spell transporting him from one nightmare to the next.

Visylon, warrior and Swordbearer, on whose power prophesied judgment depends.

Longhorn, nomadic tribesman, charged with the impossible - bringing these men together.

One must sacrifice desire for duty.
One must embrace healing over harming.
And one must escape the Dreamtunnel.

Blaspheming "Blade Runner"

There are cult classics when it comes to movies, and there are cult classics. Blade Runner is one. The Rocky Horror Picture Show is another. Monty Python and the Holy Grail, for sure. But why is that?

In my post, “Failed at Faulkner,” I confessed to not understanding the appeal of American novelist William Faulkner. In this post, I confess to not understanding the appeal of Blade Runner.

It took me several attempts over the years, but I persevered and finally succeeded in watching the original Blade Runner movie (in particular, the version designated “The Final Cut”). And for the life of me, I just don’t see why this movie has generated a cult of fans. For those few out there who have not seen Blade Runner, let me simply say that the story concerns a not-too-distant dystopian future in which “replicants” (think, cyborgs, artificial people) come close, through advanced biotechnology, to resembling humans. The replicants pose a danger because they will do anything to claim humanity and blend in with humans. Not surprisingly, the theme of the story concerns what it means to be truly human.

Perhaps I might appreciate Blade Runner more if I took a class in film appreciation. Then maybe I could fathom its impact (good or bad) on viewers and critics. Blade Runner seems to be a movie you have to study to best appreciate it, and I’m not accustomed to studying any movie. I can grudgingly admit the movie’s dystopian setting may have influenced the use of dystopian settings by later movies. That’s about the only positive thing I can say. On the other hand, while we all know a musical score can make or break a movie, unfortunately, the soundtrack by Vangelis felt spotty and didn’t move me.

So what about Blade Runner 2049? In this movie, replicants can procreate, and thereby claim humanity. I found the storyline easier to follow, but at times confusing. Sure, the setting was very familiar: dark, polluted, crowded, consumeristic, dystopian, post-industrial, just as in the first movie. But wouldn’t things have changed more in the thirty years since the time the first movie took place? And the soundtrack, powered by synthesizers, provided a connection back to the original movie. But the movie was too long, and the reappearance of Harrison Ford, who starred in the first movie, did nothing for me.

I’m afraid I won’t be offered membership in the Blade Runner cult. And I probably wouldn’t appreciate membership if I was offered it.

"The Calculus of Friendship" by Steven Strogatz

In The Calculus of Friendship: What a Teacher and a Student Learned about Life While Corresponding about Math, Cornell University math Professor Steven Strogatz shares some of the correspondence he shared over several decades with his high school calculus teacher, Don Joffray.

The book is short, and a quick read if you don’t try to follow too closely the mathematics the two correspondents toss at each other. The two men reverse roles over time — originally Strogatz was the student, but in time he becomes the teacher. Along the way, Strogatz and “Joff” share the joy of being challenged by interesting math problems. But their interaction, while lively, is also frequently sporadic. Neither man (particularly Strogatz) seems comfortable in becoming a friend who shares more than just a love of math and the highlights of day-to-day life. It is only as the two men grow older that they bridge the gap and communicate their more personal feelings. Both men suffered the kinds of personal losses common to most of humankind, but they each failed to share their vulnerability and need for emotional support. One can appreciate the special bond between these two men, even as one can imagine what a deeper relationship might have brought them.

Yes, mathematics is key to this story. But the real theme is friendship, what brings us together, and what we may miss out on by not opening up on a deeper level.

"Elric: The Ruby Throne"

I don’t usually read graphic novels, but I made an exception for Elric: The Ruby Throne, by Julien Blondel et al. Years ago I enjoyed reading Michael Moorcock’s fantasy tales of the albino anti-hero Elric, so when I learned Moorcock himself praised the illustration and story-writing that went into The Ruby Throne, I decided to give it a try.

Because I have so little experience with graphic novels, I can’t judge Elric: The Ruby Throne against others. But I can say that it was interesting, dynamic, and very well conceived. (I must add that this story is really only for adult readers — in showing the decadence of Melnibone’, the kingdom Elric rules, the writers and illustrators present considerable nudity, violence, and horror, as well as dashes of cannibalism and sex.)

Reviews of this book and its sequel on Amazon.com are polarized. In many ways, the Elric portrayed in these books is very different from the one in the original novels by Moorcock. Because Moorcock praised the graphic novels, the evolution of the original Elric to one far more dark suggests Moorcock might have crafted Elric differently from the beginning, if allowed. Or, perhaps his own imagining of Elric has evolved over the fifty years or more since the first Elric story was published.

The fact that I plan on reading the next volume following this one say a lot regarding how well I enjoyed this one.