We Interrupt This Broadcast | Literally... But I'll Live

Ladies and gentlemen: today on The Speculative Scotsman, we're on autopilot.

And not, I should stress, because I'm busy, or better yet, busy being lazy. Oh no, not today. Today, we're on autopilot because the power company - I'll not name names - has opted, in its infinite wisdom, to cut the electricity to my entire town. From 7AM till 7PM.

At least they're being sort of symmetrical. 

(I'm the kinda guy who can get behind a thing like that. Does that make me crazy? Anyway.)

In fairness to the folks, they let us know that this was on the cards a couple of weeks ago. I mean, they didn't give us any choice in the matter, and they're demanding access to the property at an ungodly hour OR ELSE, but at least we had a little while to acclimatise ourselves to the idea. So there's that.

And I have. That is to say, in time, I acclimatised to the idea. At first, I'll admit it, I declared a state of emergency. I started stockpiling bottled water, bought in a vast amount of snacks — strictly for sustenance, you understand. Furthermore, I stuffed the laptop so full of crap to keep me distracted during this offline apocalypse that I'll have to take some serious time to delete it all after this day is done. Assuming I make it.

But of course I'll make it. I knew that even then. Still, in this day and age, the idea of a whole day without power is sort of a scary thought, isn't it? And if not scary, then cruelly, unusually inconvenient. I mean, I'm going to get nothing done.

Then it occurred to me that maybe, just maybe, no power - the absence of even the prospect of productivity - could be... brilliant.

So, long story short: today, I'm going to luxuriate - albeit temporarily - in the old ways. I'm going to go without the web, and gladly. I'm going to without the blog, without Twitter, without a connection to anything of any sort, and damn it all, I'm going to enjoy it. No video games, no movies, no music.

I'm even going turn off my mobile phone, because who needs half measures?

Can you imagine?

I can. :)

I've got what looks to be a good book: namely Caliban's War by James S. A. Corey. I've got a warm blanket. I've got a pot, enough bottled water to sink the Starship Intrepid, and a camping stove to make coffee if it comes to that. I may well be hoping it does.

Wish me luck, everyone!

And here, between you and me, if you in the near-to-far future have the chance to get off the grid for a day, pause in your mad panic buying. Take a moment, the better to remember this most excellent advice:

I'll see you all on the other side, alright?

Book Review | Redshirts by John Scalzi

Buy this book from
Amazon.co.uk / Amazon.com
IndieBound / The Book Depository
  

Ensign Andrew Dahl has just been assigned to the Universal Union Capital Ship Intrepid, flagship of the Universal Union since the year 2456. It’s a prestige posting, and Andrew is thrilled all the more to be assigned to the ship’s Xenobiology laboratory.

Life couldn’t be better... until Andrew begins to pick up on the fact that (1) every Away Mission involves some kind of lethal confrontation with alien forces, (2) the ship’s captain, its chief science officer, and the handsome Lieutenant Kerensky always survive these confrontations, and (3) at least one low-ranked crew member is, sadly, always killed.

Not surprisingly, a great deal of energy below decks is expended on avoiding, at all costs, being assigned to an Away Mission. Then Andrew stumbles on information that completely transforms his and his colleagues’ understanding of what the Starship Intrepid really is... and offers them a crazy, high-risk chance to save their own lives.

***

Now don't get me wrong: growing up, I adored Star Trek. Every week for years, come hell or high water, I would watch repeats of The Next Generation, and a little later, when Deep Space Nine and Voyager were on air, my fandom went further. I spent a truly terrifying amount of money collecting a magazine called the Star Trek Fact Files, and on the rare occasions I had pocket change to spare, I would buy the books, too.

Even then, though, at the height of my fondness for all things Federation: an emerging awareness that Star Trek was... well. Far from perfect, to put it politely. If I were feeling less forgiving, I'd say it was pretty terrible at times. What with the bad writing, the clumsy characters and the awful effects; the mad science, the tired old tropes and an overabundance of filler. The failings of the episodic formula Star Trek rarely strayed from were many and various... and yet.

And yet, I'll buy the Blu-rays. I'll go to the cinema to see the rebooted movies. Then, whenever some nugget of not-news comes along to suggest there might be another weekly series in the offing, I get all kinds of excited. It's not just nostalgia... but it's that, for a start.

Redshirts, by John Scalzi, is probably smarter than Star Trek's ever been. It's certainly funnier, and markedly more self-aware:

It was a great story. It was great drama.

And it all rested upon him. And this moment. And this fate. This destiny of Ensign Davis.

Ensign Davis thought, Screw this, I want to live, and swerved to avoid the land worms.

But then he tripped and one of the land worms ate his face and he died anyway. (p.14)

Finally, for the moment, Redshirts is in every sense a product of the postmodern era, whereas its inspiration - in all its incarnations - was rather a throwback from the first.

The plot is difficult to talk about beyond what occurs in the blurb, but suffice it to say that the captain and his recurring crew are not, as Scalzi has it, our central characters. Instead, an assortment of Ensigns rule this roost—or should I say roast? In any event, we have Dahl, Duvall, Finn, Hester and Hanson, and for a fair while, it's tough to tell them all apart. I dare say Scalzi might be making a joke even here, but the lack of differentiation between Ensigns A through E is a legitimate issue in the early-going: it makes it hard to give a hoot when one or another of them meets a meaningless end, as per the manifest destiny of all the Redshirts riding the Starship Intrepid.

Luckily, this grim thinning leaves the reader with a more manageable cast of characters, and the initially pedestrian plot soon takes a fascinating recursive turn. By way of a planet of unlikely Ice Sharks, death by exploding head, and an incursion into the underbelly of the Dub U's most famous flagship, Scalzi finally takes our impromptu away team back in time, the better to finesse his familiar universe's very fabric. To admit any more of The Narrative than that would be to give the game away—but make no mistake: it's a great game.

The most remarkable thing about Redshirts, however, isn't its onionskin story, or its smart, snappy dialogue. Scalzi's witty exposition is winning, yes, and his observation-based sense of humour comes across as incisive as ever, if not quite cutting—and thanks be for that. But these aspects, each and every one, seem secondary to a far greater motivation, for the most remarkable thing about Redshirts is its honest-to-God warmth. This is a genuinely joyous celebration of a subject near and dear to almost all our hearts, and though it is not uncritical of the weekly TV series it spoofs, Scalzi's love of Star Trek - not to mention Stargate, Blake's 7, Babylon 5 and the original Battlestar Galactica - shines through, and brightly, at every stage.

Redshirts, then, is that rare thing: a story you wish wouldn't end. Alas, it does. Several times. In quick succession. Because following the conclusion of the novel proper, three codas - sidestories of a sort - which feel, I fear, awfully unnecessary. Attempts, one suspects, to fatten up what is otherwise a very slim volume. At a push, Redshirts represents two or three hours of reading, and come the conclusion - the first one, that is - you'll want more. Much more... if not of what Scalzi has in store.

Still, if you're anything like me, you'll be glad of what little of it there is. If you have any affection at all for Star Trek and its ilk, you're going to love Redshirts, at least for as long as it lasts.

Now let's take a lesson from the text in question and end on an aside: the reason I haven't mentioned Old Man's War or Fuzzy Nation or Your Hate Mail Will Be Graded is because, for some reason - and more's the pity, methinks - I haven't yet read Old Man's War or Fuzzy Nation or Your Hate Mail Will Be Graded. If, however, Redshirts is in the least indicative of this author's output... then beam me up, Scalzi!

(I know, I know... but this is what I've had to resort to, because Joe Hill, the Borgovian Land Worm that he is, nabbed all the best puns already. "Read on and prosper," indeed.)

***

Redshirts
by John Scalzi

UK Publication: November 2012, Gollancz
US Publication: June 2012, Tor

Buy this book from

Amazon.co.uk / Amazon.com

IndieBound / The Book Depository

Recommended and Related Reading

But I Digress | The Recommendation Engine

Some days, it's hard to be a blogger.

Some days - all your best laid plans be damned - real-life commitments rear an ugly hydra of heads to demand you attend to this thing or that thing, when all you really want to do, if the truth be told, is burble about books like a good, old-fashioned fanboy.

Alas: some days, there simply isn't an hour to set aside, and on those days - especially when there's a certain something you really want to say, or praise - the feeling of guilt, that people will be coming and going with nothing to show for it, can be... if not crippling, then certainly painfully frustrating.

But believe it or not, today's blog is about why, equally, it's awesome to be a blogger. It's about one of the reasons that arise from time to time to remind exactly you why you love doing this thing. Specifically, today's blog about a tweet I received from a reader - namely Celyn Armstrong - with a link to his Goodreads review of Kings of Morning by Paul Kearney.

You'll recall, first of all, that I really rather enjoyed Kings of Morning — indeed the entirety of The Macht Saga. Well, Celyn did too. After having read my reviews, he bought into the trilogy beginning with The Ten Thousand, and evidently didn't look back, going so far as to set down his adulation for all to see.

I only wish this sort of thing happened more often, because for a few, fine moments, it makes you feel like it's all been worthwhile. Which isn't to say it isn't otherwise... only that the rewards, and they are many and various, are rarely so naked. Maybe this is the megalomaniac in me - in all probability it is - but hearing from Celyn the other day made me feel like I'd changed the world a little baby bit. Influenced an influencer, who can help spread the good word in turn.

This, I think, is how we make our presence felt most meaningfully. This is what we leave behind, if we leave anything at all.

So please, I implore you: if you read a brilliant book or watch an awesome movie, or whatever... if you experience something superb, or perhaps something especially terrible, because a blogger has recommended you do so — and no, I don't just mean me here... then please and thank you too: take a second, and say.

You might just make someone's day. :)

E3 2012 | Who Wins When Everyone Loses?

At this very second, at the LA Convention Centre in Los Angeles, America, E3 is occurring.

Or is it?

Well, yes. Yes it is. But I think it's safe to say the best bits are behind us. There are sure to be a couple of other announcements in the days to come, but - these days, at least - the Electronic Entertainment Expo is all about the press conferences, so for me and the myriad millions whose only involvement in this annual extravaganza is which site we stream 'em from, the show's as good as over.

And what a show it was! :)

Actually, no. I'm pulling your leg again. It was rubbish. Last night I stayed up till an ungodly hour to polish off the press conferences I'd missed live, but if I'd known then what I know now... let's just say I kinda wish I'd went to bed instead.

But the show must go on! Indeed, it even had highlights.

I suppose I should know better by now, after decades of disappointment, but I had high hopes for Nintendo's presser this year. I mean, they were - and they are - the only one of the three hardware manufactures with a forthcoming console to show.

But the Wii U didn't demo very well, and the 3DS was hardly involved in Nintendo's conference at all. Speaking of: I still don't own one, but before E3 I was on the brink of buying in. Not so much now, unless they're saving a secret Legend of Zelda for some later date.

Moving onwards, if not necessarily upwards: Microsoft.

First, an admission of guilt. Most of the video games I play, I play on the Xbox 360. What can I say? I'm a sucker for achievements; Xbox Live is my go-to for online gaming; and occasionally, Xbox Live Arcade spits out something simply magnificent. If I could own only one console, it'd be my 360.

So when I sat down to watch Microsoft's conference, I was primed for awesomesauce. I got... well, a bunch of games that I'll certainly play, come the day. But that was never a question. What I wanted was a surprise, and there wasn't one.

That said, Halo 4 looks pretty impressive. I hadn't imagined that 343 Studios could possibly trump Bungie, but the Forerunner weapons alone got me all kinds of excited - more than I have been for a Halo game since I supposedly finished the fight - and I can't wait to try my hands at the neat new combat scenarios the demo delivered.

So there was that.

But if anyone won E3 this year, it was Sony, surely. I don't remember much about what happened between their first and final demo, but those two showcases alone absolutely blew me away. Further to the words we had about Kara not a week or so ago, Beyond is Quantic Dream's new project, and it looks awesome, as expected. Furthermore, it looks like it might just be more of a game than Heavy Rain, and that's got to be good.

Plus, they shaved Ellen Page.

But it was the last game Sony showed that made the ordeal of E3 this year worthwhile for me. We'd seen a little of The Last of Us in advance, but the gameplay demo was absolutely amazing.

The Last of Us is the next game to come from Naughty Dog, developers of the Uncharted series, and it shows. The encounter mechanics appear to be heavily scripted, but the sheer desperation of the scuffle between our main man - and the little lady that's tagging along with him - and a floor-full of guys with guns left me breathless. The climactic brutality, too. Sure, we only saw an isolated vertical slice of the experience entire, but if The Last of Us has a few more of those in store, it could out-innovate even Bioshock: Infinite.

Which didn't feature in any of the pressers at all, alas.

Nor did Grand Theft Auto V.

And of course nobody said anything about Half-Life 3, or Half-Life 2 Episode 3, or whatever that game is called in its current incarnation.

So never mind.

That is, unless I'm missing something major. Any suggestions?

The Scotsman Abroad | Little Green Men and Big Blue Dudes

Oh, Avatar. For all your faults, I haven't forgotten you. In fact, nearly three years on, I remember you as fondly as any fanboy. Sure, you were awfully silly, but equally, you were sweet, and - no two ways about it - you were breathtaking to boot.

So when I heard sci-fi stalwart Stephen Baxter would be writing a book about the science behind your fiction, I got quite excited. I dusted off my thinking cap and steeled myself for a marathon rewatch.

But you weren't ready yet.

You weren't ready until very recently, even. You took years longer than you were supposed to... but that's alright. I was still open to your science.

I'll tell you this, though: I wasn't expecting it to be quite so sensible.

With more than $2 billion in the bank before it had even hit home video (where it shattered the stats all over again) James Cameron’s Avatar is the highest grossing film of all time. That’s the fact of the matter.

As to the fiction, well... we all remember the broad strokes. The blue people. The big ol’ tree. The incredible flora and fauna. Lest we forget the baddies who laid wanton waste to all of the aforementioned in their unabashedly allegorical quest for the mythical mineral unobtanium.

Good times, right? But obviously well outwith the realms of possibility.

Actually, as it happens, one of the most extraordinary things about Avatar - an all-round extraordinary exemplar of epic SF at the cinema in any event, be damned the backlash - is its oftentimes painstaking engagement with that very thing: possibility. Rarely is the relationship between science fact and science fiction portrayed with such determined attention to detail, especially in a blockbuster of Avatar’s caliber, and it’s easy to grasp why. It’s one thing to be honest, after all, and quite another to be entertaining, but to be both must be doubly difficult — and that, I think, is a conservative estimate.

(continue reading)

Which is to say my most recent review for Tor.com went live a little while ago. 'Twas of The Science of Avatar by Stephen Baxter, and I really rather liked it... that is, with a couple of caveats. You need only click through the link to read the rest.

Please and thank you! :)

Comic Book Review | PunisherMAX Vol. III: Castle and Vol. IV: Homeless

This is the end, my friends.

In the first half of PunisherMAX - collected in the trade paperbacks Kingpin and Bullseye, which I reviewed together here - Scalped's Jason Aaron impressed the hell out of me with his willingness to develop, on a fundamental level, a classic Marvel character that had been treading water for decades. All of a sudden there were stakes again. Heroes and villains alike, re-envisioned as if they existed in the real world rather than some impenetrable, comic-book bubble. And in the real world, narrative logic often fails to prevail. Good people suffer for nothing. Bad people get away with it, whatever it is, all the goddamned time. Shit happens, we say.

Well, shit happens on almost every page of PunisherMAX, and let me tell you this thing: very little of it is good. But bloody as it is, and unremittingly grim, it's also, equally, absolutely fucking fantastic. If I had thought - for a single, solitary second - that this lamentably limited series couldn't get any better, I'd be eating my words as we speak. Because it can. Because it does. But after Kingpin and Bullseye, I had good reason to expect the best.

Castle, for its part, picks up some time after Bullseye's shocking conclusion, with our bloody, broken and seemingly beaten anti-hero behind bars at last. After "punishing" a corrupt cop and being caught assaulting the Kingpin's impenetrable skyscraper, Frank finds himself locked up in a maximum security prison, surrounded by criminals on all sides... but with no way to make them pay! Instead, he turns inwards, remembering his family, and the sadistic circumstances by which he came to lose them.

Oddly, then, this third volume - of a total of four - is essentially a retelling of The Punisher's origin story, yet ye need not fear: it is not, not by any stretch, the tragic but by now over-familiar origin story fans of the franchise know to the last letter. Superficially, I suppose, the exact same things happen: after a career of killing remarkable even amidst the terrible violence in Vietnam, Frank returns home to New York City, only to find his family caught in the crossfire of a mob shoot-out in Central Park. As they bleed out in his arms one after the other after the other, to add insult to injury, The Punisher takes shape in Frank's fast-hardening heart.

However, where before Frank Castle was a victim of all this, fundamentally a family man driven to a dark place by the wickedness visited upon his nearest and dearest, PunisherMAX isn't so sure of his innocence. The continuity of Aaron's retcon is infinitely more perverse than the clear-cut conflict between the forces of good and the legions of evil that birthed The Punisher in the first. I won't give the game away, but let's say that in a very real sense, Castle implicates Frank in the deaths that have made him the murderer he is.

And Castle is just the calm before the storm, because of course Aaron isn't content to simply lock up The Punisher to rot, and throw away the keys. In Homeless, the fourth and final trade paperback collecting this stunning story arc - indeed the complete series - he breaks out of jail (with some surprising assistance, as it transpires) to wage one last on his arch-enemy: the so-called Kingpin of crime. But this time, they'll fight to the death. By the end, only one man will be left standing... and even then, no-one's truly safe in this series.

And I really do mean no-one.

If Kingpin and Bullseye were surgical strikes of a sort, these two concluding trades represent shock and awe on an epic yet still intimate scale. One senses Aaron is holding nothing back, and the rewards wrought by this no-holds-barred attitude are truly awesome, meanwhile Steve Dillion has never in recent memory been better, or ballsier. With amazing layouts and marvelous clarity, he captures the ugliness of Aaron's bastard cast of characters and the city they lay waste to like no other artist could. 

This, thus, is definitive. Never mind Garth Ennis' hallowed run on The Punisher under the Marvel Knights umbrella: PunisherMAX by Jason Aaron and Steve Dillon takes the cake, the pastry... the very dough, damn it. It's so incredibly good that I'm actually sort of bowled over that it exists to being with. After all, it ends; a real rarity in comic books — as discussed in my review of the first two trades. And though The Punisher will live on in other forms - there's already a separate ongoing series, penned by Queen and Country's Greg Rucka... which I'll probably check out eventually - it's hella hard to imagine how anything else bearing the brand at hand could live up to PunisherMAX's unforgettable finale.

I don't care if you've never given a crap about this character. PunisherMAX will make you care. Like so many of Frank Castle's unwitting targets, in fact, you'll have no choice in the matter. Unlikely as it sounds, PunisherMAX is as groundbreaking in its way as any of the medium's other high watermarks. And let's face it: Watchmen isn't half as much fun.