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?

I know the wisdom is that it’s a terrible thing that the president has won the Nobel Peace Prize, but my immediate response was glee.  I haven’t exactly had an excess of that lately.  I was also proud that my favorite president of the 11 I’ve been alive for had been awarded one of the most prestigious honors on the planet.  This joy and pride were soon dampened by the immediate realization that this would be seen as yet another disappointing fuckup by them what claims to know what Obama should be doing.  How can it not be good news that the President of the United States is awarded the Nobel Peace Prize?  I have faith that countless busy souls of all political persuasions are drawing breath just to answer that question until they have some other awful thing to feed on.  Frankly, it’s weird.  I keep waiting for someone to say, “Have you no decency?” but there’s just more piling on and whingeing.

So, I’d just like to say thanks, Mr. President, for changing the way the rest of the world sees us so drastically in less than a year.  Nothing short of miraculous.  Some complain Obama’s just words.  Powerful things, words.  Remember Shock, Awe, Mushroom Clouds?  Yeah.  Hope, Change, Peace—that’s real bad news.

Okay people, I need your help.  I’m on a panel at Capclave coming up October 16-18 on the subject of “Modern Classics”—novels that will be read in the future as classics in the sf/fantasy field.  I’ll keep my opinions to myself for the moment.  What is a classic, and how does a novel (film or short story) get to be one?

Last weekend, we took a brief excursion to Philadelphia.  We wanted to do something greener than our usual hop on a plane vacation, so we took our bikes to Philadelphia on the train.  Amtrak doesn’t make it as easy as it should to take your bike.  You have to be departing and arriving at a station and in a train that has baggage service, and you have to put them in boxes.  The boxes cost $15, and it’s another $5 to check them as baggage.  The boxes couldn’t be easier, however.  You turn the handlebars (or remove them), remove the pedals, and roll it into the box.  The train ride was enjoyable without having to remove one’s shoes or suffer other indignities.  Here I am in Philly loading up my bike for the return trip (sorry about the flash on the reflectors):

We arrived Friday evening and road all day Saturday and Sunday, leaving on Monday.  We rode 20 miles on Saturday and 30 on Sunday.  There are great bike paths along both sides of the river, as well as the gorgeous and wild Fairmount Park.  Philadelphia is another town that claims E. A. Poe as their own.  We haunted him while we were there, visiting a house he lived in when he was writing “The Black Cat.”  There is indeed a perfect place to wall up a corpse (and a cat).  We haunted his poster:

What’s to see from a Philadelphia bicycle trail?  Mostly, I was having too much fun to take many photos, but here’s one lovely view:

Good friend Steve Krause sent me this link to Henry Jenkins’ comments on District 9, which I find very interesting and provocative.  It’s a two-part blog, so click on.  Be warned:  There are plot spoilers.  I agree with most all his points except that the protagonist should somehow display a more overt repentance for some of his deeds.  Personally, I think the transformation of the protagonist pushes plausibility about as far as one can, and blowing plausibility for message doesn’t really serve the message.  One of the reasons I find the ending so effective is that we don’t know what’s in the protagonist’s head in the last frame.  He’s, well, alien.

How the heck did that happen?  Last year at this time I was recovering from cancer surgery.  This year I’m working on not having any more heart attacks.  I’m more fit now than I’ve ever been in my life.  I hardly know myself.  I’m one lucky man.  It’s a wonderful life, thanks to Sarah, most adored wife, and Ethel the pup.

The fiction flows, my stories find good homes, and I even have a new agent, Michele Mortimer of Darhansoff & Verrill selling my wares.  Even first novel Wilderness won’t stay dead and is being re-released in February.

I loved my classes this year and wish I could teach more.  Kids these days!  Far as I can tell, they’re fantastic.

So I’ll take 62 more years—or whatever’s on offer.  Thanks to everybody who stops by here once in a while.  I’d offer you some cake and ice cream, but I’m not supposed to eat that stuff.
Here’s a picture of Ethel and Sarah planning our next outing.  I’m sure it will be a blast:

I’m working on a story starring some of these fellows called “All the Snake Handlers I Know Are Dead.”