Andre Norton: The Gate of the Cat

Andre Norton's The Gate of the Cat is subtitled "Return to Witch World." It also serves as an entry point for new readers, such as yours truly, who picked it up off a hotel lobby shelf alongside a cruelly deceptive The Mote in God's Eye which lacked the first 162 pages (not even a chapter break!). The pace is fast, and the initial impression is that of an apocalyptic landscape akin to Return to Oz and many other iterations and adaptations of the Oz franchise. As a new reader, it is clear that the world is worse off than before, but also unknown how apocalyptic the world was prior to the witches reshaping the world. Our heroine, Kelsie MacBlair, a hunter with principles, arrives in Witch World via the standard standing stones method. Although some might find the brief inability to communicate fast tracked by telepathy cliched, the acknowledgement that the inhabitants of the world of adventure are not speaking English is welcome, It may be too much to ask for more than one language. The narrative has a quick pace and too many species to introduce, so sometimes it feels more like an "World of Witch World" encyclopedia in narrative form. Even there, a bit more exposition of the names of species and places would have helped. The conceit of Witch World is "lost knowledge of the Old Ones," so perhaps some of these lack their true names, but the books established to exist in this world must call them something! The prose is plain and economical, urging the reader on rather than encouraging lingering. The Gate of Cat is clearly the beginning of a new cycle of adventure, since it introduces a new outside protagonist while also providing a fully resolved plot in case it is the only book of the cycle, but it would be better, if this were one's first exposure to Witch World and if one liked it, to start at the beginning.

Changing Planes (Ursula K. LeGuin)

 

Ursula K. LeGuin’s Changing Planes is a collection and a reminder of a simpler age before 9/11, before Columbine, before COVID. The parables are framed by an airport experience no longer available: dozing off. Each parable takes place on a different plane (in the non-aeronautical sense of the word) with a different ethnic group or species; not dissimilar to the manga Kino’s Journey. It is best read slowly, and a return to a favorite parable, whether that is due to familiarity or perplexity, will reap additional rewards.

Afar: Dreams of Distant Lands and Times

Afar, written by Leila Del Duca (Shutter, Scarlet Witch) with art by Kit Seaton (The Black Bull of Norway, Otto the Odd and the Dragon King), is a post-apocalyptic tale that feels more fantastic than scientific and more adventurous than cynical, pessimistic, or grotesque. The setting is post-apocalyptic, but in the period when society has recovered sufficiently to have medieval tech cities along with the requisite scavenged and jury-rigged “tech” from the bad old times.  The mix of styles and the chimeras that replace the creatures of our era give a flavor of cosmopolitan fantasy. The art is gorgeous, neither too cartoony nor too realistic. The various worlds featured all feel different, even the one most similar to that of the protagonists’.

This is a character-driven book centered around our protagonist, a girl named Boetema, and the deuteragonist, her younger brother Inotu. There are five threads: the departure of the parents to become “salt shepherds” and their subsequent absence; Inotu’s tendency to get in trouble and force the siblings to move again; Boetema’s narcoleptic astral travel and speaking in tongues while asleep; Boetema’s possession of an alien girl, Lindu, and her attempt to repair the damage she caused during her first trip; and training in the astral plane under what (somewhat troublingly) seems to be the trickster spirit of the post-apocalyptic future. The thread with the parents is unlikely to be resolved until the end of the series. Inotu’s attraction to trouble is necessary to start the action, but his role is sidelined to that of narrator and interlocutor to illustrate the reconciliation and growing bond between the siblings. The possession of Lindu and the quest to fix the initial damage provides the requisite love interest (Inotu’s love interest is sidelined within the first act, but she does get a name!), and the astral travel possession sets up a love triangle that could be messy. Lindu’s boyfriend (and therefore that of Boetema possessing Lindu) is certain that the unpossessed Lindu will be fine with Boetema periodically possessing her, but Lindu herself has not spoken. In this universe, an astral traveler can only possess another astral traveler, including those not yet aware of their power. It seems likely that the similarity of the two damaged worlds will somehow allow knowledge of the other to benefit the other. The fifth thread, that of training in the astral plane, has barely started. None of the restrictions of astral travel have been elucidated and the appointment of a trickster god, who in lore led a boy to his death in the desert, does not inspire confidence – or, at least, suggests that Boetema should temper her enthusiasm and exercise caution.

The characters in this graphic novel are black, but race is not a theme. The action is present, but not overwhelmingly grim. Even the necessary parental abandonment is downplayed. Afar is recommended for 11 to 14-year-olds, leaning towards girls, but not necessarily, given the preponderance of female leads in YA books.

Archon 35: A Personal Retrospective

I'd better write this before I begin to forget the details!

I'd dipped my toes into Wondercon several times (whenever I wasn't camping that weekend), and I recently went to WorldCon in Reno; I'd even been to St Louis before. This was, however, my first Archon. I didn't announce my status ahead of time too publically - too many horror stories about maltreatment of noobs. I loaded up on books in the hallway, but didn't buy so much in the dealer's room - I'm a bibliophile, not a collector. The Science Fiction Poetry Handbook by Suzette Haden Elgin is good! I'm also caught up on Avengers history in time for the movie, in case there are any continuity nods. I had a nice chat with Sara Harvey, whose book Convent of the Pure I bought at WorldCon but have not read yet (the cover is far too salacious to display in public). I also bought a modern pulp hero story - the equivalent of steampunk. Unfortunately, pulp heros tend to be popular in rough economic times.

The panels I attended had the following themes: Superman, Firefly, Dr. Who, steampunk, and writing panels. The Superman panel proposed that he was a distillation of several characters (Hugo Danner, Doc Savage, etc.) and not original at all. But then, that is also the description of Casablanca! The Who panel was more interesting for meeting people (I am tired of Rory and Amy!),  especially Paul, Rosemary, and Beth, but the Firefly panel was livelier. Firefly is a good example of a show where the quality made a short run a lasting work. The steampunk panels were fascinating, and, as I posted on the FB Archon site, taught me an appreciation of steampunk. The writing panels were very informative - Rachel Neumeier had interesting points, and I may have to thank Michael Tiedemann for his advice on non-monetary social status markers. One of the downsides of the panels, however, was the level of rudeness among the audience. Such poorly socialized convention members are one of the reason that science fiction, fantasy, and gaming are in public disrepute.

The costumes! O the costumes! The costumes were fantastic. The emphasis was fantasy or steampunk. Some of them were ill-advised or made when the wearer was thinner. There was a lot of cross-dressing (most notably the group who dressed as the X-Women), but Beth reminded me that I live in a strange little bubble where cross-dressing is more acceptable than other cities. I watched the Masquerade, which was amazing - some contestants must have spent a fortune. My favorite costume was a tie between the Weeeping Angel and Kasey MacKenzie's Kaylee (Firefly) outfit.

The parties went into the early morning, but my disdain for drunken idiots and my inability (even in college) to pull an all-nighter prevented me from partaking much.

If people left Sunday, they missed the flying shark.

The Doubletree, where I stayed, was nice, connected to the Gateway Center (sans Aboriginal teleporter) by a bridge over a ditch. Nothing fancy, but flyover country seems to remember that it is a hospitality industry.

Big Hike 2011 - Alamere Falls

I said I would write about the hike to Alamere Falls, and a Scout is trustworthy, so here it is. I should also point out that the addition of another Scout leader, more experience in photography than I, has exculpated me from the lack of photos herein.

We passed the bird sanctuary, and parked when we ran out of road. The weather was grey and chill, but everyone was in high spirits. We started walking north on the Coast Trail, past the picnic tables where less hardy souls might stop. The vistas of the ocean were stunning, and our path lay between a steep above and a steep below. There were several lakes along the Coast Trail, although most remained hidden from view, and those which were visible were small, even by the broad definition of the West. There was an element of track and field in our journey, for the recent deluge had brought down several trees and created stunted versions of the lakes along our path. None were so bad as the time my fellow trekkers discovered the end of a reservoir across our path, but they were big enough to present a dilemma. The haste of youth compelled many to keep a pace that forbade natural observation; the flora and fauna along the way were varied and denizens of mutiple biomes. There was plenty of miner's lettuce.The soup made from it is bland, but at least has less chance of poisoning the ravenous 49er than improperly prepared acorns.

We descended to Wildcat Camp, where we ate our lunch. The weather was still chill and windy. After all had finished their repast, we went down to the beach, or tried to. The path ended in a wide stream, impossible to cross without removal of shoes. Although such an action is one of the hazards of hiking, the temperature did not incline me to do this as a first option. One of the boys, however, leapt down from the collapsed mudbank and sank up to his knees. Others, less eager to cool their legs and feet, discovered the path across a higher and smaller part of the stream using logs: even here, a judicious leap was necessary.

The stroll along the beach to Alamere Falls was refreshing as a change from the usual packed dirt trails. The boys wandered close to the water and suddenly fled (with varying degrees of success) from the inrushing waves. The. Alamere Falls is a mile south of Wildcat Camp. It is forty foot high, and the recents rains had swollen it. The beach was very narrow here, so that the more timid boys had to retreat to the rock shelves below the cliff to remain dry. It reminded me a bit of Henneth Annu^n (although according to past Scouts, I should be in Orthanc, since they cast me as Saruman).

If Alamere Falls was like Henneth Annu^n, then the way up to the top of the falls was truly like the Pass of Gorgoroth (the movie version). The way up was hidden from a casual eye, steep and inconveniently stepped, and it would be inadvisable to look down. I would not recommend a second ascent, but everyone reached the top safely, and none will forget the experience.
The challenge of Alamere Falls, however, was not over. In order to reach the trail, it was necessary to leap across a deep channel, where a careless misstep would result in a twisted ankle at best. Some boys hesitated in their calculations, but eventually everyone made it across. It is sobering to think that this was a normal obstacle for my pioneering ancestors.

The weather worsened, as though the sky gods (and I don't know the name of the Miwok or Ohlone one) had been restraining themeselves until we were all homeward bound. The rain poured down and down, and did not cease. We were all eager to reach the shelter of the cars, but I marvelled at the sight of an ill-prepared trio headed out. One of the trio was carrying a city umbrella and wearing shoes more fit for Temple than trail. His female companion did not look pleased. I feel sure that their lack of preparation will strain their relationship. I was cold by the time we reached the cars, and made a note to protect my core more thoroughly next time.

Hangeul, or No Dyslexic Elves

Recently, I decided that I should learn some Korean, since I spend a great deal of time in a Korean-owned cafe. At the very least, I could learn the basic pleasantries associated with cafe life. Hangeul, the Korean script, is well known for being linguistically sound and astonishingly perceptive, although that language, it must be admitted, is the language of 15th century Korea. The official history has King Sejong as the inventor of the script, although some more recent studies have suggested a connection between Hangeul and 'Phags-pa script, invented in Tibet under Kublai Khan as an international script.

The basic principles of Hangeul were that each block should be square, in order that it look like "proper", i.e., Chinese, writing, and that the block be composed of the consonants which make up a syllable. Although Hangeul looks like a string of Chinese characters, it is much easier to disentangle the parts. The progress of time, both in phonetic change, assimilation, and increasing stylization of the "characters", has created some difficulties, but they are hardly insurmountable. My goal, for now, is to master the jamo (some of which are phonetically complex, but treated as a single graphic unit). The more I examine the jamo, the more I understand why the lovely Miss Moon grasped the principles of my Egyptian hieroglyph homework so quickly.

The systematic structure of the jamo may be linguistically inspired, but as some wag said of Tolkien's tengwar, there is no such thing as a dyslexic elf (I'm sure Tolkien would have found Hangeul fascinating). Some of the diacritics which are used to distinguish various vowels in Korean are minimal, even after the most recent reform of the script, a luxury which small linguistic communities can manage more easily than large democratic ones. It's easy for the Anglophone, accustomed to letters more distinct in shape, to confuse /a/ and /eo/. I can recognize the dental series (d, t, tt) but my brain appears to want that series to open in the same direction as the velar (g, k, kk); this is probably a conflict between the accurate picture of tongue placement and orthographic consistency. If I did not desire regularity in writing, Hangeul would not fascinate me so much! My greatest difficulty, however, is differentiating /oe/, /wi/, and /ui/; I have mastered the regular and iotated forms. The cafeteria method of learning Korean does not enlighten me on the rules of vowel harmony in Korean, leaving some vocalic pronunciations a mystery.

Recent Reading: The Lightning Thief

I read The Lightning Thief by Rick Riordan partly because I knew a movie of the book was being made and I wanted to check how solid the mythology was. I like Harry Potter, but the distortions of Latin get on my nerves. Rowling clearly knows enough Latin to get it almost right. Imagine my joy, then, when I discovered an exclamation in Homeric Greek in The Lightning Thief! The first book of the Percy Jackson series reminded me a bit of John Christopher's initial offering in the The White Mountains trilogy due to a careful balance of a full story within a projected series.

The Latin and Greek in the book is grammatical and colloquial. The book follows the standard literary convention that only obscenities remain untranslated, although I doubt the intended audience would realize quite how offensive the phrase 'eis korakas' truly is in Ancient Greek. Riordan extends his untranslated expletives beyond the vocative (the lazy man's foreign language) and even includes the plural imperative of a deponent verb. For those of you who lack the ars grammatica, that means he used a verb form which is passive in form, but active in meaning; that's a level of detail which many grade school Latin students would miss.

The reason for the movement of the world of Greek mythology to the United States is well presented, even if it does show the usual bias towards New York. Riordan has solved creatively the problem of a limited (and previously killed) roster of Classical monsters. The monsters themselves are true to the traditional mythology, and dwell in the appropriately iconic cities and regions. The choice of the entrance to the Underworld is a little surprising, although there is a certain logic to it.

The trio of heroes (an apt term for this subcreated world) fill the Harry Potter mode of main character, best friend, and opposite gender friend/potential love interest, but the character interaction placed between the desperate attempts to avoid assassination (this is a children's fantasy, after all) rings true and explores a lesser known dynamic between two gods, or rather their children. The Lightning Thief compromises as little as possible the occasionally sordid interactions between the Olympian gods - this is a relief from the bowdlerization of many other tales.

I thoroughly enjoyed this book, and I can endorse it as a Classics major and occasional fantasy fan.

The Weekend

After a rather dull Friday, more notable for my contemplation of the Great San Francisco Bay Oil Spill rather than any particular work I accomplished. Mom and I went to ACT to see The Rainmaker, of which I had a vague memories due to a hazily remembered movie verison of the broadway version of the play. The performance was wonderful and piercing, ddep thoughts expressed in vivid language.



On Saturday, I had the first half of Scouting for Food, in which the Scouts hang the bags on the doors. This year, however, the bags had been replaced by door hangers in an attempt to reduce litter. The sky was beginning to cloud over. The cubs, a chief component of this outing, arrived late, and too few of our own were in attendance. I would have preferred to go with one of the Scout groups rather than sitting at Broadway and Lyon, but I accepted my role.



After the Closing Circle, I returned to Maple Street and Mom and I rushed over to Berkeley to see the CCA (California Classical Association) performance of Argonautika written by Mary Zimmerman. I found it remarkable how different yet equally true interpretations of a character such as Jason could be. There were occassional moments of pretentiousness. Theorizing in drama should be in character, and I found the zodiacal interpretation awkwardly presented. It also occurred to me that the figure of St Christopher may have more to do with Jason bearing Hera than the grim chthonic ferryman Charon.


Once the curtain had fallen, the rain had increased greatly. I went over to Another Change of Hobbit and picked up the copy of Donaldson's Fatal Revenant. Then I read it as I awaited the return of my beautiful Amy, for I had foolishly left my key in San Francisco. Initially, my plan was to got a certain restaurant along Shattuck, but Amy persuaded that she was tired and that I ought to get some food to eat in. So trudged through the rain and acquired the comestibles. She returned and we had dinner together.



This Sunday, Rod Dugliss spoke at St James on the state and office of the diaconate, to which I remember his appointment, Later, there was a sale of goods and trinkets to benefit Palestinian Christians, and I attended the last Via Media discussion, which was on mission (although not quite what Amy would mean by 'mission'). When I went to Kaju for coffee, Seiko was harried and Lindsey Berkovich was there with her husband.