A Christmas hum vibrates through the house. Our tree glows with expansive warmth as it absorbs the heart-tugging memories of past holidays. In my house, the holiday is not a holiday without the notorious cheeseball to sanctify the blessed day. Cheeseball, a disturbingly delicious concoction of old cheddar, onions, cream cheese, spices processed into a gelatinous ball has altered the course of many a January's fitness regime. My husband's first Christmas with my side of the family found him ill-prepared to the lure of the cheeseball, falling deep into a spellbinding love that, to this day bedazzles him.
As I gather the ingredients for the making of the ball, I marvel at my December reading propensities. A very vintage month, Ursula K. Le Guin's masterwork, The Left Hand of Darkness soothed my reluctance to read old SF. Asimov aside, I place full blame on Heinlein. I just do not like that guy, hence the complete ignorance of decades of worthwhile books, and acknowledgements for amazing writers. I bow my head not only in shame but in attempt to unclog the food processor that is bravely attempting to whirl cream cheese together with cheddar. A Christmas miracle is happening folks.
My Name is Legion may have the best cover of any science fiction book in the history of science fiction. Behold the 1970s conception of robotic, SF horror! Unashamed to admit that this book came home because of this robot (for goodness sakes, look at it!), I happily discovered the three novellas within highly entertaining.
Eerily, the stories foreshadow the creation of a computer network designed to unify the global economy by tracking every aspect of a person's life. Questioning the loss of privacy, our protagonist has the opportunity to destroy his data card, placing him off-grid. Nameless, and untraceable our hero trains himself as an agent-for-hire, willing to commit unspeakable acts, all in the guise of rectitude. As the stories wind in upon themselves, the reader begins to question the protagonist's role. Who is working for the betterment of society? The perception of Big Brother, is murky and surprisingly modern in the way Zelazny approaches this quandary.
Ending my reading year off with a vintage nightcap, I look to the unexplored possibilities of 2017. May our near future be a creation of our own making, bursting with joy and kindness.
Resolutions are fast and free this week. January, the month of personal promises finds many of us trying to extend our reading piles while reducing our waist lines. While I gave up on adding more books to my steady 50, 50 I pledge, 50 I read, I am going to dip my toes slightly into the waters of hopeful intentions by reading more vintage SF.
With Heinlein effectively ending any interest I may have had with publications before 1971, I am none too excited. If anything those unsuccessful reading attempts taught me to be more thorough in my choice of grand-daddies. Thus I look to Asimov to save my day, fulfilling the Little Red Reviewer's January plea to wander the second hand bookstores in search of the classics. Which vintage books exactly are unknown as time spent in the back quarters of a used bookstore's SF section is a treasure trove of mysteries. My hope is the continuation of the Foundation series, but what I truly wish, as does many, is an Alfred Bester; the holy grail of SF classic publications.
Of any reading month, January is my busiest. I always have a pile of gift books that has to compete with my expansive library requests. With so many words to read I am slightly worried; after all, it is advantageous to remain present in the moment when raising a child, nor forsake the hubby who does seem to like my company. Balance is the key, especially when V. E. Schwab's A Darker Shade of Magic sits beguiling beside me, winking and flirting, daring me to join the magical adventure.
If there is one thing I have discovered about my reading self, I am unable to resist magic. Christmas of grade six, I received a a magic kit, complete with wand, table and 5 tricks to master. Special satin scarfs borrowed from my mother's fancy draw draped the magic table as I honed in upon my spiel, in my mind successfully dazzling those around me with my slight of hand. Magic though, magic that keeps me nose deep into a good book is the one of power, of wonder, of sparkly amazement; the magic that runs deep through Harry Potter, seeps out of The Lion, The Witch and The Wardrobe, the one that powers the blood of Merlin, Gandalf, Myfanwy. It is this magic, the magic of fantasy that has my soul. Maybe the key to 2016's resolution is discovering vintage magical space opera. Oh my!
Summers can be surprisingly anxious correlated to the grand orb of warmth, the sun. Will it shine, is it too strong, too bright; in Newfoundland the question of the season is where art thou dear summer, where art thou? When the local meteorologist is arrested on air for trafficking rain, drizzle and fog you know your impending holiday will be less beach and more cozy sofa. Although my shorts have seen the daylight twice on this trip to my nation's most easterly province, my complaints are few and far between. After all, it is August, albeit a foggy, steely grey version.
And so, as I endeavour to read Robert A. Heinlein's The Moon is a Harsh Mistress the hopeful positivity I am directing to the season has spilled over to my reading adventures. Half-way through, I confess the book lays splayed open, accusingly taunting me as I forgo it for yet another whimsical murder/mystery. Can summer truly happen if an Agatha Christie has not been read?
Known primarily for it's libertarian ideals, The Moon is a Harsh Mistress has been kicking around since the 60's. A story of revolt, it was originally released as a series in World of If subsequently winning the Hugo of '67. Heinlein's 21st century is an Earth of Federated Nations that repurposed the Moon as a penal colony; a modern Australia, if you will. Millions of outcasts bonded by geographical isolation and servitude live in cities deep under the strata. Left mainly to their own devices with Warden marking a cursory nod to the planets control, the Loonies have developed a uniquely avant-garde society. Highly developed polygamous relationships evolved from the necessities of a ratio of two men for every woman.
The story begins with Mannie, our hero, a free-lance computer tech who discovers that the Warden's thinkum dinkum is sentient with a fully engaged sense of humour. Intrigued, a precarious friendship develops with the mainframe being guided along the precarious path of humanity. This wonderfully attentive opening sequence quickly progresses from a first contact story-line to a developed portrayal of the mechanism, reaction and consequences of revolution.
Reading the grandmasters takes some patience: the reader has to actively visualize the times from which the novel was conceived. The limited exposure to 50-60's SF has been more an exploration of the author's viewpoint constrained by his own societal barriers than a glimpse into the genesis of the genre. Beyond Foundation, I have yet to read an oldie but goodie that has struck me as good. With The Moon is a Harsh Mistress abandoned, seeping out guilt on my nightstand, the passing of the reading day leaves me less likely to ever read it through. Ultimately, the success of a novel lives and dies with connection. Unlike Asimov's Foundation, Heinlein lacks the every-man knack, even though he clearly attempted that very thing through the unique slant of the prose. Creating a sense of 'The Other' would not have been a new formula during Heinlein's era but I imagine his literary perspective would have been a refreshing change. And while I admire those very abilities to create a very Luna speech pathology, it is extremely difficult to digest. Rather than invite me in, it pushes away distracting me from the plot, generating a heaviness to the tone.
The Moon is a Harsh Mistress is full with imaginative, engaging ideas. It deserves its place in the cannon of science fiction, unfortunately for this girl, the writing rather than the concepts served to distract. As I reach for yet another obscure murder from the Dame herself, I look to the rainy skies hoping not only for sun but a more positive experience with the grand-daddies of Science Fiction.
As I am embark of my first ever read of a Stranger in a Strange Land by Robert A. Heinlein I am struck by the similarities this book has to other books sitting in my bookcase. The first three pages are reminiscent to Blindsight by Peter Watts and Titan by John Varley. I like how I casually threw in two major works of fiction with one having a vampiric crew member and the other introducing you to a sentient god-like celestial body. Hey, I never claimed I was going to take things slowly. If you are going to explore sci-fi you kind of have to go for it.
Like any genre, Science Fiction is multi-faceted. There are major themes and archetypes that make it quite easy for a reader to find his or her's niche. While convenient it does tend to keep people from really exploring new authors. Then again, this might be my problem not yours. I know what I like but more importantly I know what I think I don't like. Over this year of reader exploration I am going to look deeper into those themes and document what type of a reader I truly am.
But back to the books. All three fall under the "First Contact" theme. Man builds space ship, man finds a suitable crew, man has first contact with new species, man's life becomes a living nightmare with the author successfully (or not) slipping in some type of lesson amidst all of the weirdness. For some reason this theme is right up my alley. I love the idea of being locked in a ship for possible decades with a group of people I quickly will loathe to then end up somewhere that I did not expect and have to adapt or die. What the hell is wrong with me?
Take my husband for example, this theme is not something he would gravitate to. When you are married to a man who discusses aliens in the same vein as other's discuss the war on terror, you know you really do not want to feed this person's anxiety. One of the first things he had to tell me this morning was that there is documented proof of two Russian fighter jets following a U.F.O . This was conveyed not in a gleeful, "can you believe that" tone but from a dead pan, "it's time to buy the generator and move to Newfoundland seriousness". While some families have a house fire exist strategy in play we have an Armageddon strategy. Basically it is high tail it to The Rock. We (husband) haven't thought further than that. The sad thing is you think I am joking.
So, yes if you would like go out and acquire Stranger in a Strange Land, let's read it together and discuss. And this current stage I am somewhat intrigued but somewhat annoyed.
My Name is Legion may have the best cover of any science fiction book in the history of science fiction. Behold the 1970s conception of robotic, SF horror! Unashamed to admit that this book came home because of this robot (for goodness sakes, look at it!), I happily discovered the three novellas within highly entertaining. 
