Gene Wolfe on Tolkien

I have discovered a tribute written by Gene Wolfe, an honored fantasy author who is still writing. The tribute was written about Tolkien's The Lord of the Rings trilogy. The web page also includes poetry by C. S. Lewis, some other poetry, and brief correspondence between Wolfe and Tolkien.

Should be interesting to anyone with a taste for Wolfe, Tolkien, or Lewis. (In my case, all three.)

Thanks for reading.

Gene Wolfe on how to deal with myth

" 'A simple way would be to admit that myth is neither irresponsible fantasy, nor the object of weighty psychology, nor any other such thing. It is wholly other, and requires to be looked at with open eyes.' " p. 324 of Return to the Whorl: Volume Three of the Book of the Short Sun, by Gene Wolfe (New York: Tor Books, 2001) This is Horn (or Silk) the main character, reading from a randomly picked passage in the Chrasmologic writings, the sacred book of the religion of Viron. No context is given. Horn just reads this.

Thanks for reading.

Gene Wolfe's Horn on not correcting mistakes

I should go back and line out my mistake, I suppose, but I hate lining things out -- it gives the page such an ugly appearance. Besides, to line out is to accept responsibility for the correctness of all that is let stand. To correct that or any other error would be to invite you to ask me (when you read this, as I hope you soon will) why I failed to correct some other. And I cannot correct all or even most of them without tearing the whole account to shreds and starting again. My new account, moreover, would be bound to be worse than this, since I could not prevent myself from attributing to myself knowledge an opinions I did not have at the time the events I recorded occurred. No, there really are such things as honest mistakes; this account is full of them, and I intend to leave it that way. (Gene Wolfe, Return to the Whorl: Volume Three of the Book of the Short Sun. New York: Tor, 2001p. 184)

This is Horn writing, with a quill pen, so that there is no wonder that he doesn't want to "line out" an inconsequential error. But it's also interesting philosophy. Horn is the supposed author of seven books by Wolfe, his books of the Long Sun, and of the Short Sun.

Thanks for reading.

G. K. Chesterton on the importance of fantasy for children

From G. K. Chesterton, "The Red Angel," essay XVII in Tremendous Trifles (Public domain, 1909. My source is Project Gutenberg. The book may be found here.):

I find that there really are human beings who think fairy tales bad for children. . . .

If you keep bogies and goblins away from children they would make them up for themselves. . . . One small child can imagine monsters too big and black to get into any picture, and give them names too unearthly and cacophonous to have occurred in the cries of any lunatic. The child, to begin with, commonly likes horrors, and he continues to indulge in them even when he does not like them.

. . . The timidity of the child or the savage is entirely reasonable; they are alarmed at this world, because this world is a very alarming place. They dislike being alone because it is verily and indeed an awful idea to be alone. Barbarians fear the unknown for the same reason that Agnostics worship it -- because it is a fact. Fairy tales, then, are not responsible for producing in children fear, or any of the shapes of fear; fairy tales do not give the child the idea of the evil or the ugly; that is in the child already, because it is in the world already. Fairy tales do not give the child his first idea of bogey. What fairy tales give the child is his first clear idea of the possible defeat of bogey.

Thanks for reading. Read Chesterton.

Fantastic literature as a preferred medium for presenting Christian truth?

In a previous post, I considered aspects of Christianity in fantastic literature. I said that I did not think that fantastic literature was any more suitable than any other kind of literature for presenting fiction with a Christian world-view. However, in this post, I muse on the possibility that some Christian truths may be better presented in fantastic literature than in any other kind of fiction, and ask you, the reader, to respond, with other examples.

I believe that fantastic literature is an excellent place to portray an unfallen planet, inhabited by one or more unfallen rational, sentient species. C. S. Lewis did this superbly, in my opinion, in his Out of the Silent Planet (Malacandra had three such species). James Blish also considered this, from a different standpoint, in his A Case of Conscience.

Lilith, by George MacDonald, considers submission in ways that I am not sure would be possible in more realistic fiction.

Susan Palwick considers the matter of seeing Christ in other people in her The Necessary Beggar. The fantastic nature of the story makes this possible in a unique way -- the ghost of an alien speaks to a fundamentalist preacher and his faith is renewed.

I have discussed the question of vengeance in the works of Jack Vance, not because Vance writes from a Christian world-view -- he doesn't -- but because Vance uses fantasy to portray vengeance in many different ways.

Are there Christian truths that would lend themselves especially to portrayal in fantastic fiction? Are there authors who have used fantastic fiction especially well to consider some Christian truth? Let me know what you think, please.

Thanks for reading.

Ursula K. Le Guin's newest book

Ursula K. Le Guin is one of the great authors currently writing in English. She uses words well, without being showy, or long-winded. She is interested in the craft of writing. She creates splendid characters. She imagines "what if?" situations, and writes about important themes. She is responsible for the invention of the concept of a communication device, the ansible, that is now commonly used in science fiction writing.

Le Guin was interviewed on National Public Radio's All Things Considered on April 26. The interview includes a brief reading from her book, Lavinia, by the author. It also describes the book, which is based on work by the ancient poet, Virgil. Le Guin said that the book is, in part, about the dreadfulness of war. The link to the interview goes to a page which includes an excerpt from the book. (Lavinia was published on April 21.)

Although written about the past, I am guessing that the book will be fantastic, in some ways.

Thanks for reading. Listen to Le Guin.

Invisible in plain sight: a recurring theme in the works of Patricia A. McKillip

Patricia A. McKillip is a solid craftswoman of fantastic literature, and has been for over three decades. There's no sense of the occult in her works, and, seldom, great works of wizardry, causing disaster, or the reverse. Her characters usually face situations they don't fully understand, and the reader often feels that way, too. If that's the case, what makes her a great craftswoman? She uses words well, she knows how to create an atmosphere, and she knows how to describe life-changing experiences in her characters.

I have previously argued that rejection of vengeance is an important theme in many of McKillip's works. Another theme that occurs in some of her work is the importance of musical artistry. One of her books is named Harpist in the Wind, another Song for the Basilisk. These titles aren't accidents. Nor is that of "A Matter of Music," the longest story in her collection, Harrowing the Dragon. (New York: Ace, 2005). Another theme that occurs more than once is strange ancestry. In "A Matter of Music," even though the Jazi despise the Daghian people, some of the Jazi are part Daghian. In the Riddle-Master trilogy, Raederle is part Earth-Master. There are other examples of this in McKillip's writing.

It was while I was reading this collection that another of McKillip's themes occurred to me, that of the title. Her characters are often in plain sight, yet invisible to those around them. In "Ash, Wood, Fire," (in Harrowing) a kitchen helper in a castle is so invisible that the other workers in the kitchen have no name for her. Finally she leaves the kitchen. "Cooks, Sauces, Bakers milled bewilderedly, betrayed, calling, "Fire! Fire!" and never seeing her, while beside the door a young woman stood watching . . ." (185) This story is similar to the description of Saro in McKillip's The Book of Atrix Wolfe. In "Transmutations," a wizard's apprentice hasn't seen his female co-apprentice in her other life as a servant at a tavern, even though he goes there all the time.

But it isn't always fellow workers who don't see McKillip's characters. In her "The Snow Queen," also in Harrowing, a man doesn't see his wife, who loves him deeply. He sees another woman: "To his eye she was alone; the importunate young lapdog beside her did not exist." (154) He leaves her, and she blossoms during the separation: "For a moment he did not recognize her; he had never seen her laugh like that." (172)

In another story in the same book, a destructive villain is destroyed and dissuaded because someone sees aspects of him that no one else has ever seen. ("The Stranger")

On reflection, some of McKillip's other works have this same theme. In her Riddle-Master trilogy, some wizards hide in plain sight for centuries. Nun is a pig-herder, Suth a wild animal, Aloil a tree. And the most important character, the High One, masquerades for centuries as harpist for a false High One.

This theme is important, because we have the same problems. Probably all of us have been invisible to someone else, even though we are in plain sight. And, worse, probably all of us have overlooked a co-worker, a spouse, a store clerk, a neighbor, when we should have seen them for what they are. I'm afraid I have.

Thanks for reading.

On realness by Patricia A. McKilllip

The witch shrugged. "I have you now. You conjure firebirds out of your head. I'll have your magic out of you and then I'll change all my hens into firebirds."

"It won't be enough," Gyre told her softly. "It will never be enough. Not once you have heard its true voice and seen the face it hides. All the power I possess could not make out of all the white hens in the world a single feather of the firebird." (Patricia A. McKillip, In the Forests of Serre. New York: Ace Books, 2003, p. 178)

Ah yes. There is real, and there is unreal. The link with the book's title is to a more comprehensive post on the same book. Here's the Wikipedia article on McKillip.

Thanks for reading.

Firestar, by Michael Flynn

Yesterday's post was on Eifelheim, by Michael Flynn. I enjoyed the book a lot, so decided to read another by Flynn. The only other book he has written, available through our local library, is Firestar (Tor Books, 1996). So I checked it out, and started to read.

The book lacks some of the most appealing features of Eifelheim. There are no aliens, it's set in the present, and there didn't seem to be any major theological issues.

Reading on, I found theological issues, all right, but not cosmic questions -- more important ones. Some of the characters struggled with ambition, and its consequences. As Matthew 16:26 puts it: For what will it profit a man if he gains the whole world and forfeits his soul? Or what shall a man give in return for his soul? (ESV)

The book is about a program to put humans on asteroids. The guiding force behind this program is Mariesa van Huyten, a young heiress who is also intelligent, and, usually, wise. She does not use government funding, but does work with various other corporations to accomplish her goal, usually without letting their CEOs know what the ultimate goal really is. During the course of the book, she gradually sells her soul -- her idealism, her concern for others -- for a corporate and technological goal. And she knows that she has done so:

A sense that among the gains there had been losses. Hidden losses. Things she had sacrificed precisely to make those gains. Had that been what Keith had meant when he had warned her -- very nearly his last words -- that "the best things are lost in victory"? (p. 403)

It took every bit of strength in her to remind herself that Styx did not matter in the long-term scheme of things. That even she herself did not matter. Only the Goal. Always the Goal. Asteroid. Comet. It was only a matter of time. Next millennium. Next century. Next year. It did not matter. "You shall know neither the day nor the hour." Earth had to be ready. Don't let the Goal eat you up, Belinda had warned her. (p. 410)

Toward the end of the book, another warning from Belinda: ". . . Too many megawatt lasers or impulse engines . . . or asteroids . . . can distract you from the important things. . . ." (p. 520, ellipses in original)

Since the book appears to be the first of four related novels, perhaps she will re-gain her soul later. Keith is her CFO, until his death by heart attack, and the only person in the book who is unambiguously good.

Mariesa doesn't really perform any overt evil acts, or order anyone else to do so, and some rather nasty acts are done by others to her, or to her companies. But the goal consumes her so much that she uses others merely as a means to an end. As one of Ursula K. Le Guin's characters put it, in an honored science fiction work:

". . . However, the mission I am on overrides all personal debts and loyalties."
"If so," said the stranger with fierce certainty, "it is an immoral mission." The Left Hand of Darkness (New York: Ace, 1969) p. 104.

One aspect of Firestar that I didn't expect is that one of Mariesa's corporations is educational -- it makes money, or at least keeps even, by taking over failing school systems. The book includes some understanding of what teaching is about, and its problems, hardly standard science fiction fare. Some of the students from one of these schools have various important roles later in the book. One of these is the Styx mentioned in the second quote above. Belinda, mentioned in two of the quotes, is director of the educational corporation. She may be good through and through, but we don't see enough of her to know.

Another important character seems, in a way, to regain his soul. He apparently gives up a cherished ambition out of love for his wife.

I don't wish to give away any more of the plot.

Thanks for reading.

Eifelheim, by Michael Flynn

Eifelheim, (New York, New York: Tom Doherty Associates, 2006) by Michael Flynn, was a nominee for the Hugo Award in 2007. I try to keep up at least a nodding acquaintance with some of the Hugo and Nebula Award books, so I read Eifelheim, and I'm glad I did.

The Wikipedia article on the book is here. I confess -- I wrote a little of the article.

I didn't really expect to run into two important theological questions in Eifelheim, but I did. Flynn sets much of the book in Germany of the 1300s. That seems like a strange setting for a science fiction novel, but the reason so much of the book is set there is because it's about aliens crashing to earth at that time and place.

Flynn hangs two interesting theological questions on the encounter between aliens and medieval Germany. The first is, "Where is God when things go badly?" (The plague is one thing that goes badly, in this book. See here for another post, quoting Eifelheim, and an even more celebrated science fiction work, on this question.) The second question is, "Can aliens be converted to Christianity?" Flynn's answer is "yes." Some of the aliens become believers. Some of the humans think that this is monstrous, and some think that these conversions are miracles of God.

There are some more typical science fiction matters in the book. One of these is communication between species. The aliens don't look much like humans, and they don't speak as humans do. So Flynn considers communication from both technical and cultural angles. There are twenty-first century scientists in the book, and there are considerations of cosmology, and of historical research, and they are interesting.

To me, however, the real meat of the book is Flynn's portrayal of a German village, set in the Black Forest, in the 1300's. He seems to have done his homework. The various characters, peasants, soldiers, Lord, and priests, ring true. Especially, their religion rings true. As Flynn put it:
I have tried to depict the milieu of the mid-fourteenth century Rhineland as accurately as possible, but that is difficult enough to do for early twenty first-century America, let alone a time and place where the worldview was so different from our own categories of thought.
For one thing, they took Christianity seriously; in many ways, more seriously than modern Bible-thumpers. At the same time, they took it more matter-of-factly. (p. 315, "Historical Notes.") Flynn certainly took Christianity seriously in this book.

It was a good read, and, as I have said, it considered two deep, and interesting, theological questions. I'm sorry that it didn't win the Hugo.

See here for a post on extraterrestrial religion.

Thanks for reading.

In the Forests of Serre by Patricia McKillip, re-done

Patricia A. McKillip is one of my favorite fantasy authors. I have written elsewhere about one reason that I like her work, namely that much of it involves a main character deciding not to seek revenge. (I suppose that makes her novels, with this aspect important, Christian, in a sense.)

Here's what another blogger wrote about her use of words:

Words seem ironically inadequate to describe the skill with which McKillip spins the English language into magic. Lyrical is one word that is often used in reviews, but it's so much more. Most of McKillip's work deals with magic, and if there is any true magic in the world, I would suspect it would be found in her use of language. I could luxuriate in work written by McKillip regardless of the story, simply to enjoyher use of words.

I agree. It is also true that McKillip can be obscure, and leave quite a bit unexplained.

In the Forests of Serre (New York: Ace, 2003) is a book that I have read four times since I got it from one of our daughters for Christmas. I believe that I have finally gotten a handle on it, and it's not McKillip's fault that it took me so long. The central theme is the heart. The word, referring to the seat of the emotions, is used over and over again, and two of the main characters give up their hearts for something else, and regret this. (They get them back.) Here are two items of evidence:

The queen's voice cut sharply at him, cold and edged with astonishment. "What is the matter with you? You came out of that forest as heartless as your father." (p. 203). Queen Calandra is Prince Ronan's mother, and married to King Ferus of Serre, who has no love, or empathy, for anyone else, certainly including his wife and only son.

He had thought the wizard's last battle would be a tale of terror and courage, feats of unimaginable magic performed with heart-stopping skill and passion, good and evil as clearly defined as midnight and noon, a heroic battle for life and hope against the howling monster that left death in every footprint and ate life to fill the unfillable void where its heart had been. Instead he was trapped in the middle of something grisly, ugly, dreary, that ate into his own heart word by word until he could scarcely stand to look at himself. (212)

"This monster, when it could not kill me, reached into me and broke my heart. . . ." (213. The Wizard Unciel has described his battle with a monster to Euan Ash, the scribe who is working for Unciel. The wizard needs all sorts of help, because he has been weakened physically and emotionally, almost to the point of death.)

I don't see how I can summarize the plot, or even describe the characters (there are nine that I would consider main characters) in anything like a post length that's reasonable, even for me. So I'll just summarize the book this way:

McKillip has again written a book with excellent use of language, describing a marvelous forest, wizardry, and a cold castle. The Princess Sidonie decides that she doesn't want to marry Prince Ronan unless he re-claims his heart. He gave it away because his first wife and child died. After numerous trips, by several characters, into and through the forest, all is well. Everyone who should have a heart does, and the two really can fall in love and be married.

Three themes that I have found in some of McKillip's other work, namely rejection of vengeance, being visible in plain sight, and having someone strange in a character's pedigree, are not prominent in this book.

I hope that my heart is present, and doing what it's supposed to do.
Proverbs 4:23 Keep your heart with all vigilance,
for from it flow the springs of life. (ESV)

Thanks for reading. Much of this post comes from a previous one.

One reason why I read fantastic literature

Today would have been my father's 103rd birthday. (He's been dead for quite a while now.)

I grew up in rural Sawyer County, Wisconsin. My parents were able to acquire a dairy farm, with a few cows. Until my brothers and I were old enough to do the milking, my father did it. (This was all by hand.) He had a radio in the barn, and he would also do something that must have been very rare -- he read while he milked. He propped a pulp fantastic magazine on one leg, milked, and read, and turned the pages as needed. I got to read some of what he did, and it was mostly science fiction and fantasy. This was back in the middle of the twentieth century. A. Merritt was one of the authors I remember. A. E. Van Vogt was another. I'm sure that there were lots more.

I'm sure that there have been other influences, such as finding Tolkien while I worked as a student library assistant while in college, and finding the Narnia books while looking for something to read while a science graduate student, but my father's influence was part of it.

Thanks for reading.

Science in Le Guin's Left Hand of Darkness

I have recently posted (see here and here) on Ursula K. Le Guin's 1969 novel, The Left Hand of Darkness (LHD). I wish to continue this series, by musing briefly on the science in this work.

LHD is science fiction, in that Le Guin attempts to extrapolate from the science of today to the science of the future, on other worlds. It is hardly original with me to note that the products of magic and science might be difficult or impossible to distinguish (imagine Frodo trying to understand a cell phone). But there are no wizards in LHD. (Le Guin does have such in her fantastic Earthsea -- see here for one of my posts on that fictional world.)

Although she didn't invent the ansible for LHD -- she had already written about it, and, since she imagined it, so have others -- this device to communicate instantaneously across immense distances plays a role in the book.

The Gethenians are said to be the result of genetic engineering, carried out by the Hainish, a long time before the time of the action in LHD.

Le Guin, as usual, pays attention to the ecology of Gethen, and includes descriptions of how the climate might have influenced the biology. She also has a character say that the rapid adaptation of machines by humans on earth had a significant cost, a cost which the slow development of Gethenian industry has avoided.

Le Guin also pays some attention to psychological or neurological science. Telepathy is one of the abilities of Genly Ai, the Envoy to Gethen, and he is able to teach Estraven to develop this ability to some extent. The most remarkable mind power of the Gethenians is their ability to Foretell the future. They do this by combining minds, in a more or less controlled way, although there seems to be some art in the practice, not just science.

There is mention of various inventions, including electric automobiles, guns, radio, and the Chabe stove, a remarkable device that weighs a few pounds, yet can heat and light a room for months. Le Guin doesn't explain how this device might work, unfortunately.

Thanks for reading.

Religion in Le Guin's The Left Hand of Darkness

In a previous post, I mused about Ursula K. Le Guin's great novel, The Left Hand of Darkness (1969) (LHD). Here's more.

Le Guin says that she is a Taoist. I don't know any more about Taoism that I can find in the page that the previous sentence links to, which is the Wikipedia article on the subject. I am guessing that, when Le Guin says this, she is speaking more of her philosophy than of her religion, although the two are often intimately intertwined, at least in Christianity and materialism.

There are two religions in LHD. One of these is the Yomeshta cult, which seems to be the official religion of Orgereyn, one of the two countries on the planet Gethen in which the action of the book takes place. The other country, Karhide, is described, by Estraven, the most important Gethenian character, as not a kingdom, but a family quarrel. It is subdivided into many small principalities, villages, and households. The people have many beliefs. Some are Yomeshta. Some follow the way of the Handdara. This lifestyle is the most interesting to Le Guin, and to her readers. Karhide is more interesting than Orgeryn.

The Handdara is a religion without institution, without hierarchy, without vows, without creed; I am still unable to say whether it has a God or not. The Left Hand of Darkness (New York: Ace, 1969) p. 57. Genly Ai, the Envoy, a native of earth, describing his findings, after a few years spent on Gethen.

"Well, in the Handdara . . . you know, there's no theory, no dogma. . . ." The Left Hand of Darkness, p. 222. Estraven, a Gethenian who follows the Handdara way, to Genly Ai. First ellipsis in original.

The interesting parts of the Handdara way include their disciplines. Adherents practice controlled starvation, in part as a way of surviving this harsh environment when little or no food is available. They can go into dothe, a state allowing for prolonged exertion, and physical feats. For example, Estraven carries Genly Ai, who is heavier than he, a long distance through the snow. After dothe, the practitioner must have an extended rest period. The Handdara are also able to foretell. A group of them, led by a Weaver, and including at least one member who is coming into sexual readiness (which is cyclical among most Gethenians), one pervert -- person who is permanently sexually ready, and "zanies" (psychotics) are able to answer specific questions about the future. This ritual is performed at physical risk to the participants, and only if the person who wants an answer pays an acceptable price. Often the answer does not tell what the questioner wanted to know -- in one case, a Gethenian asked when he would die, and he was told, in effect, on the 22nd, but not which month or year. According to the Handdara, the Yomesh cult is the result of a Gethenian forcing a Weaver and associates to answer a question, "What is the meaning of life?" which implies that the answer was not valid.

As for Genly Ai, there is little to indicate his religion, except that, once, when Estraven recites a poem with these lines:
Light is the left hand of darkness
and darkness the right hand of light.

Genly Ai sketches the yin and yang symbol, which is sometimes associated with Taoism, and asks Estraven if he is familiar with it (p. 222). The Gethenian is not.

Thanks for reading.

The Left Hand of Darkness, by Ursula K. Le Guin

The Left Hand of Darkness (1969) is one of two novels by Ursula K. Le Guin to be honored with both the Nebula and Hugo awards. (The other is The Dispossessed.) The first link in this paragraph is to the Wikipedia article on the novel, which discusses some of its aspects. I shall muse about some, too.

The novel gained notoriety because it described a race or species of humans who had no permanent sexual orientation. For most of the time, they are neither male or female. For a few days of each cycle, their sexual organs develop, and they experience intense sexual desire. They may become either male or female, depending on environmental cues. This makes such sentences as "the king was pregnant" possible. It allowed Le Guin to explore the importance of sexual roles in our own society, and to speculate about this fictional one, which lacked them. It also, by implication, examined the way the English language deals with such roles. (In case any one is interested, the novel is not about heavy breathing and ripping off clothing.)

In spite of our interest in sexual roles, and of the excellence of Le Guin's imagination, I submit that the novel is really about a more fundamental issue, communication and understanding.

The Ekumen is a loose organization of civilizations on many planets. When Gethen, where the novel takes place, is discovered, it sends individuals to Gethen, to learn as much as they can about life on this planet. These people are unobtrusive, and their origin was not discovered by the Gethenians. Then, Genly Ai, a dark-skinned male from Earth, is sent publicly, as the first Envoy from the Ekumen. It is his job to obtain permission to bring down the other personnel of his mission from the Gethenians, who are in stasis near the planet, and to start them on the road to joining the Ekumen. To do this, he must communicate in two languages not his own, with cultures not his own, and to beings whose gender orientation is not his. The cultural difference includes shifgrethor, a social fabric which the Envoy doesn't understand fully. It is something like face saving. He stands out physically, because he taller and darker than most Gethenians, and is in permanent kemmer, or sexual readiness. Genly Ai must use all his skills to communicate with the Gethenians, to understand them, and for them to be able to reciprocate.

The Ekumen wants Gethen to join it primarily so that communication of ideas will be possible. Gethen is seventeen light years from the nearest member planet, so trade will not be practical.

Genly Ai communicates with a number of persons, including the King of Karhide, one of the nations of Gethen, with some of the political leaders of Orgeryn, a rival nation, with many ordinary folk, and especially with Estraven, who is prime minister of Karhide as the book begins. It develops that, of all the leaders, only Estraven has really understood his mission, and the implications of it.

Gethen, or Winter, is a cold planet. Le Guin has done a superb job of describing how this fact influences eating, dress, transportation, and architecture, and of describing the weather and the climate. The cold of Gethen makes several parts of the book possible, especially an epic journey across the ice by Estraven and Genly Ai. During this trek, they learn to communicate telepathically.

One aspect of communication is the ansible. Using this, the Envoy tries to convince King Argaven that he really is an ambassador from other worlds. Argaven asks Genly Ai to ask the Ekumen what makes a man a traitor (he considers Estraven one). The Ekumen attempts to answer, across interstellar space, but the answer is no better than he could have obtained on Gethen.

Finally, a little on the structure of the novel. Much of it is Genly Ai's journal, or recollections. Much of it is Estraven's journal, sometimes giving a different viewpoint of the same events. There are also other viewpoints.

The only way to really grasp this great novel is to read it. And, although it is easily readable, it should be read more than once.

I plan to post again on this book. Thanks for reading.

A subsequent post considers religion in this novel.

Where is God when things hurt us badly?

Theresia hugged her knees. "It hurts," she said again.
"Why has God abandoned us?" Gregor asked.
Dietrich tried to pry Theresia's arm loose so he could lance the last pustule. He did not think that it mattered. "God will never abandon us," he insisted, "but we may abandon God."
The mason swept his arm wide, relinquishing his grip on Theresia's shoulder. "Then where is He in all this?" he shouted. Theresia flinched at the bellow and he immediately took a more tender note and stroked her hair with his great stubby fingers.
Dietrich thought of all the reasoned arguments, of Aquinas and the other philosophers. He wondered how Joachim would have answered. Then he thought that Gregor did not need an answer, did not want an answer, or that the only answer was hope. Michael Flynn, Eifelheim. New York: Tor, p. 297.

"Katherine," Roche called.
. . . "What is it?" she demanded.
He looked at her solemnly. "We must not give up hope," he said.
"Why not?" she burst out. "We're up to eighty-five percent, and we haven't even got started. The clerk is dying, Rosemund's dying, you've all been exposed. Why shouldn't I give up hope?"
"God has not abandoned us utterly," he said. "Agnes is safe in His arms."
Safe, she thought bitterly. In the ground. In the cold. In the dark. She put her hands up to her face.
"She is in heaven, where the plague cannot reach her. And God's love is ever with us," he said, "and naught can separate us from it, neither death, nor life, nor angels, nor things present -- "
"Nor things to come," Kivrin said.
"Nor height, nor depth, nor any other creature," he said. He put his hand on her shoulder, gently, as if he were anointing her. "It was his love that sent you to help us."
She put her hand up to his where it rested on her shoulder and held it tightly. "We must help each other," she said. Connie Willis, Doomsday Book. New York: Bantam, 1992, p. 381.

These were, and are, important science-fiction novels. Eifelheim was a nominee for the Hugo Award in 2007. Doomsday Book won both the Hugo and Nebula awards. Although both are clearly legitimate science fiction works, the crisis of faith posed by the title of this post is a central part of each book, and, in both cases, one of the things that hurts badly is the black plague in Europe of the 1300s. They both present answers. In Eifelheim, it is God's love, expressed through the unselfish love of fellow creatures, hope of heaven, and hope of ultimate redemption. In Doomsday Book, it is God's love, and that love expressed through the unselfish love of fellow creatures.

Thanks for reading.

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January 8: I have received some comments, for which I am grateful. I have responded to one of those comments in this subsequent post (which includes the entire comment), and to another.

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Added Jan 21, 2008: I have come to see that there is a serious omission in my musing on this subject, which I have attempted to repair with a fourth post on the subject.

Two Quotes from On Blue's Waters, by Gene Wolfe

On Blue's Waters: Volume One of the Book of the Short Sun, by Gene Wolfe (New York: Tor, 1999) is the first of a trilogy of fantastic novels. Wolfe is a good writer. He considers lots of ideas. Here are two quotations from the book:
Immediate action is the soul of war, as I learned many years ago by observing General Mint. It is not the soul of peace. (p. 185)

Listen all you phantom readers. Buildings are temporary, ideas permanent. (p. 348)

Thanks for reading!

Gene Wolfe's "Long Sun" books

Often, when I write about literary works, I try not to give away the plot, because I suppose that, once in a while, there may be someone reading this blog who has never read the work under discussion, but decides to try it. This post will be my first one about the four "Long Sun" novels by Gene Wolfe. In this case, the plot is so complex that I'm not sure that I could give it away. Let me rephrase that. The basic plot can be described in a sentence or two, but such sentences would leave out important and interesting parts of these stories. This is not surprising, since many critics, and readers, would say that Wolfe belongs on any reasonable short list of the best writers of fantastic literature who write in English. I will not try to hide the plot in the posts I write about these books.

Here's the basic plot: The Whorl is an enormous hollow spaceship, which is gradually deteriorating. Silk, a young priest, has a spiritual awakening, which culminates in his congregation leaving The Whorl at the end of the fourth book.

The four books are Nightside the Long Sun, Lake of the Long Sun (both 1993, and combined into Litany of the Long Sun, 1994) Caldé of the Long Sun (1994) and Exodus from the Long Sun (1996) which latter two were combined into Epiphany of the Long Sun (1997).

The population of the Whorl is large, probably at least millions, and lives on the inside of this giant space ship, which is mostly an enormous hollow space, with the people living in cities on the inside of the outer wall. (There are tunnels in the wall, and some people live in the tunnels.) The Long Sun is the object that illuminates the interior of the Whorl. It is an artificial sun, apparently suspended along the axis of the ship, and there is a mechanism which sequentially darkens parts of the Whorl's interior, so that there is night and day in this great ship.

Caldé is the title given to the ruler of Viron, the city where Silk lives. Although I can't determine the origin of the word, I would guess that Wolfe found it somewhere. He has a genius for finding obscure ones. Some used in these books are manteion, the house of worship of the religion of Viron; Maytera, the title of females dedicated to the service of the religion -- think nuns; Prolocutor, the head of the religion; Ayuntiamento, the government of Viron; and The Juzgado, the prison.

Here are some key on-line references about Gene Wolfe's "Long Sun" series.

The Wikipedia article is here.

Nick Gevers, Wolfe critic par excellence, has written about the four books, and about connections with Wolfe's other works. In this article, he presents evidence for such connections, and argues that Silk, the main character, is a Christ-figure. In this one, he considers Silk further, and also discusses augury, an important part of the books. (See here for the Wikipedia article on augury. This page discusses Augury in the ancient world.)

Dave Langford has written reviews of the books. These are found here.

Somewhat shorter articles on the series are found here and here, in web pages that also contain material on additional Wolfe works.

The author, Wolfe, has responded to some questions about the book, sometimes cryptically, sometimes more clearly.

I have posted about Wolfe previously, here.

Thanks for reading.

Sunspots 137

Things I have recently spotted that may be of interest to someone else:

Politics:
Paul Hyde, of the Greenville [SC] News on how universal healthcare isn't nearly as bad as some would have us believe, with statistics.

Computing:
Bonnie, on a case of Internet deception, with serious consequences.

The bad stuff out there is getting even more scary. A CNet article discusses viruses/trojan horses/botnets/etc. sponsored by governments, and coming with a guarantee that they'll be effective, no less. Wow, and ouch!

Literature:
Excerpts from a splendid interview with Connie Willis (nearly five years ago, by Locus magazine) in which she, among other things, says that seeking immortality is a secular religion in North America, and pooh-poohs the idea that you can't find real life in books.

"Fear Not The Compass," from Christianity Today, by Jeffrey Overstreet. Among other things, the article discusses Philip Pullman's agenda in The Golden Compass (and the other two books of the trilogy, and complains that some Christians went way overboard about the Harry Potter books and movies.

A Slate commentator thinks there is too much shopping and other consumerism in Disney's Enchanted .

Christianity:
He Lives asks if the New Testament is anti-semitic.

This week's Christian Carnival is here. For information on these Carnivals, go here.

Thanks for reading! Keep clicking away.

The Weirdstone of Brisingamen, by Alan Garner

I recently re-read Alan Garner's The Weirdstone of Brisingamen (see here for a brief Wikipedia article on the book). The book I have was published by Ballantine of New York in 1960.

Although the book has two children, perhaps 11 or 12 years old, as two of the main characters, it's not particularly a children's book. I am giving away parts of the plot in the post.

This is Garner's first published novel, and has, I suppose, some faults because of that inexperience. It is fantastic literature. The children, and their guardians, interact with elves, witches, and other fantastic creatures. One fault is that Garner throws in a lot of mythology, and from at least two different sources. (He may have made some of it up, too.) Brisingamen (who does not appear as a character, but, of course, provides part of the title) is from Norse mythology, while Angharad, who appears, is from Celtic lore. Much of the material in the book is Norse in origin. Garner is a native of Cheshire, England, and some of the book is said to be based on local legends. New entities, whatever their source, appear with little or no explanation.

In spite of the legend-dropping, the book is compelling. I wish to mention two features.

One of them is that Garner holds back a relationship between two of the main characters -- they are brothers, perhaps identical twins -- until the end of the book. He writes that one of them, the evil one, became evil because he made a bad choice ". . . in his lust for knowledge he practised the forbidden arts, and black magic made a monster of him." (55-56) In the end, this evil character redeems himself as he dies by helping his good brother, also a wizard.

This theme, of studying things that should not be studied, occurs elsewhere, of course. Saruman is an example. Unfortunately, Saruman, though he had the opportunity in Tolkien's novels, did not redeem himself at all.

The other aspect is an underground journey that gives me chills whenever I read it, and I must have read it at least five times over the years. (I confess -- I have a little claustrophobia) Colin and Susan, brother and sister, travel, with two dwarves, through caves and mines where they don't know whether they are ever going to see the light of day again, and where they have to squeeze, swim under water, and gasp for breath. Garner describes this in enough detail to make it really scary, at least to me. It's the main thing I remember about this book.

Thanks for reading!