As I watch the last few episodes of Dollhouse, and V and FlashForward go on a lengthy hiatus probably headed toward cancellation, I can’t help lamenting the good/bad state of sf on TV.  While most recent sf films are shallow special effects monstrosities, TV sf has been working toward increasing sophistication.  One of the best was the predictably canceled Terminator series.  All of them achieve a depth of characterization and sf complexity by having an ongoing plot instead of some little weirdness conveniently resolved in 45 minutes or so (minus commercials).  The problem with the more sophisticated approach, of course, is that it becomes increasingly difficult to acquire new viewers.  No new viewers = cancellation.  Perhaps, once that more and more viewers consume their TV via the web this might not be such a problem.  If you watch on Hulu, you can pick up a series like Lost from the beginning and ride it on through to the end at any time.  From what I’ve seen so far, V probably deserves to die, but no series with a continuous plot line can thrive being absent for months at a time.  Reality crap, dozens of CSI and Law & Order clones make it but bore me to tears.  Good sf appears, then is gone.  Sigh.

Readers of The Fourth World are familiar with my interest in the politics of immigration and technology.  Sleep Dealer, set in a near-future Mexico, is a brilliant exploration of the theme.  While American sf films get worse and worse—witness the recent Star Drek—films like this and the previously mentioned District 9 are being made elsewhere.  Why critics must say it’s “disguised as science fiction” when it’s nothing but is due to the American crap that defines the genre in most peoples’ minds so that if it’s worth watching by anyone over 12, it can‘t be sf.  If the politics of “illegals” shows up in your town (and where doesn’t it?), or if you’ve ever wondered about that term “American Dream”—see this film.

Inside of a Dog:  What Dogs See, Smell, and Know by Alexandra Horowitz is an excellent book for dog lovers who want to understand their dogs better.  I was also drawn to the book because I’m revising a novel in which search and rescue dogs figure prominently, and it has been immensely helpful.  What Horowitz’s book is not is a book on dog training.  I mention this because many of the unfair attacks on the book have come from the dog trainer quarter, not surprisingly since Horowitz discredits the popular macho dominate-your-dog school of dog training based on a misunderstanding of both wolves and dogs.  I did a great deal of research on wolves when I wrote Wilderness and have kept up with the subject.  It always sets my teeth on edge when people equate dog and wolf behavior and then go on to get wolf behavior all wrong.  (If your dog trainer goes on and on about wolf packs and alpha animals, etc., I’d get a new trainer).  The book is entertaining and often touching.  (I cried at the end—but I’m a big softy).  Others have covered this territory, but none so accessibly. I highly recommend it.

When I first read about this book, I was fascinated and eager to read it, but also fearful that I’d be terribly disappointed.  I’m very fond of the noir tradition, especially Chandler.  (Bright Spot is a more science fictional homage to that genre).  I liked many things about Perdido Street Station, but Miéville’s handling of suspense wasn’t one of them.  As with the earlier book, the brilliantly imagined city is central to the novel, or in this case two cities.  One of the novel’s virtues is the sly exposition of setting, so I won’t spoil it here.  It’s quite a good detective novel and so much more.  I definitely intend to add it to the Urban Fantasy course I teach each summer.  Some might argue this isn’t fantasy at all, and if you like your fantasy laid on with a trowel, this book isn’t for you, but the fact that it seems so real is credit to Miéville’s skill as a writer, and the subtlety of the fantasy.  Hat’s off to his impeccable control of his subject.  If you let it, this book will make you see the world a little differently, rather like being inside of it, and who can ask for more than that from a novel?