Blogroll

Bookish marginalia

Evidently it will require some sort of spring thaw for substantive posting to resume. Hence:


A wonderful thing about a book, in contrast to a computer screen, is that you can take it to bed with you.

Daniel J. Boorstin

Blogroll changes

As a lifetime South Dakotan, I know winter doesn’t end until sometime in April. Still, I am so effin’ tired of cold weather that my snarkiness is increasing (plus I think my winter long luck avoiding colds, etc., has run its course). Thus, anything going on here is tinkering, including the following blogroll changes:

  • I was disappointed to see that Badlands Blue is operated by someone out of Virginia. While the blog discloses it is “Paid for and authorized by the South Dakota Democratic Party,” the fact it is not written from South Dakota by a South Dakotan moves it from “Blogs of SD” to “Political Blogs.” [It has now been removed entirely.]
  • Confessions of an Atheist has moved to “invited” readers only. I presume it’s because of the kindness most Xians display for atheists (certainly not WWJD) so it may soon leave the blogroll. [Since this was first posted, Andre has placed the blog on hiatus.]
  • Newly added to “Blogs of SD” category: School of Thought, a new blog by a school board member in my hometown; the newly resurrected South Dakota 123; and, the new blog of the South Dakota State Historical Society Press.
  • Sobby Online has been removed from the blogroll because it is soon to go dark. (The last post expresses what I’ve thought for several years.)

Since I’m snarky and dealing with blogs anyway, two rhetorical questions arise about the new Argus blogs. Is it Beck’s aversion to blogs that causes him to make his so unreadable or simply that he hasn’t learned how to create new paragraphs? Why is it that the Argus blogs still evidently can’t be viewed in Firefox?


Often in winter the end of the day is like the final metaphor in a poem celebrating death: there is no way out.

Agustin Gomez-Arcos, Bird Burned Alive

Life-changing SF works?

io9, the SF blog that never seems to run out of posts or topics, this week comes up with The Twenty Science Fiction Novels That Will Change Your Life. It’s a rather broad title, since the post is really talking about how the books might impact your view of things, whether because “they’ve altered the course of science fiction writing, or simply provide a genuinely alien perspective on ordinary life.”

Here’s the list with a few of my thoughts and links to the author’s blog if they have one. I am not only surprised by the number I’ve not read, but the fact there are several I don’t believe I’ve heard of before.

  • Frankenstein (1818), Mary Shelley — Kind of a slam dunk as the book plainly impacted the course of not just SF but fiction as a whole.
  • The Time Machine (1895), H.G. Wells — Another slam dunk.
  • At the Mountains of Madness (1931), H.P. Lovecraft — I don’t specifically recall having read this but may have amidst a couple Lovecraft compilations I’ve read.
  • I, Robot (1955), Isaac Asimov — While Asimov was one of my early favorites and I enjoyed most of the robot series, it wouldn’t rank as my favorite amongst Asimov’s works. But giving it the nod for its three laws of robotics might be valid.
  • The Dispossessed (1974), Ursula LeGuin — Perhaps it is a reflection of the time when I read it, I don’t remember being as impressed with the book as others of its era.
  • Kindred (1979), Octavia Butler — I hate to say that I’ve never read an Octavia Butler book, something I probably need to remedy.
  • Wizard (1979), John Varley — Another author I’ve never read.
  • Consider Phlebas (1987), Iain M. Banks — Not only ditto, but one of the books with which I am unfamiliar.
  • He, She, and It (1991), Marge Piercy — Both an author and a book I’d not heard of.
  • Sarah Canary (1991), Karen Joy Fowler — I read this last year because Fowler was a guest of honor at ReaderCon. While an interesting read, I still have a hard time classifying this as SF. While it clearly provides a different perspective, I don’t know that I would put it on a list like this.
  • A Fire Upon the Deep (1992), Vernor Vinge — This has been sitting unread on my bookshelf for far too long.
  • The Bohr Maker (1995), Linda Nagata — Another author and book I’d not heard of.
  • The Sparrow (1996), Mary Doria Russell — Not only one of my favorite SF novels of all time, it probably ranks among my favorite books of any genre. One of the few books I always mention when someone is foolish enough to ask me to recommend a SF work.
  • Cryptonomicon (2000), Neal Stephenson — Not a good excuse, but this is one of those books where I find length an obstacle.
  • The Mount (2002), Carol Emschwiller — I am unfamiliar with this title.
  • Perdido Street Station (2002), China Mieville — Probably one of the most intriguing books I’ve read over the last 20 years. It totally defies classification but made me an avowed Mieville fan.
  • Down and Out in the Magic Kingdom (2003), Cory Doctorow — I hate to admit that I am familiar with Doctorow as a result of his contributions to BoingBoing and his devotion to revamping intellectual property laws but have yet to read any of his fiction.  That is probably inexcusable given his insistence on giving it away for free under a Creative Commons license.
  • Pattern Recognition (2003), William Gibson — Gibson is undoubtedly one of the creators of cyberpunk but I am not a big fan and this is not amongst the novels of his I’ve read.  I am surprised this made the list rather than Neuromancer.
  • Newton’s Wake (2004), Ken MacLeod — Given his revolutionary/Socialist/Libertarian bent, I tend to enjoy MacLeod’s work but don’t know that I would include this work on a list like this.
  • Glasshouse (2006), Charles Stross — Anyone who has read this blog over time knows I am a major fan of Stross. While I enjoyed this book to borrow the phrase used by io9, I would instead classify Accelerando as “the very best mindfuck you’ve ever had.”

There’s at least four books I thought should have been on the list: Aldous Huxley’s Brave New World (published in 1932 it long presaged the concept of genetic engineering), George Orwell’s 1984 (given its contributions to political thought and even language it has to be considered), Ray Bradbury’s The Martian Chronicles (talk about providing a unique perspective) and Walter Miller’s A Canticle for Leibowitz (the lodestar of post-apocalyptic fiction).  Perhaps they don’t meet the concept advance in the original blog post but omitting the first two in particular really surprises me.


[E]ven the enemy of God and man had friends and associates in his desolation; I am alone.

Mary Shelley, Frankenstein

Leap day marginalia

Hopefully, the improving weather will also improve the attitude a variety of minor annoyances has created. At least I have an extra day to invoke one of my mantras: “get over it.”  In the interi, largely award-related linkage.

  • The shortlist for The Independent Foreign Fiction Prize has been announced. (Via.)
  • Likewise, the (longer) list of nominees for the LA Times Book Prize was announced.
  • A more offbeat shortlist is for the Diagram Prize for the Oddest Book Title. The nominees:
    • I Was Tortured By the Pygmy Love Queen
    • How to Write a How to Write Book
    • Are Are Women Human? And Other International Dialogues
    • Cheeese Problems Solved
    • If You Want Closure in Your Relationship, Start With Your Legs
    • People who Mattered in Southend and Beyond: From King Canute to Dr Feelgood
  • The Quill Awards quietly fade away.
  • The cost of the war in Iraq in economic and moral terms.

I figure the odds be fifty-fifty
I just might have some thing to say

“Fifty-Fifty,” Frank Zappa, Over-nite Sensation

An avocation’s disheartening end

My youngest daughter has been a competitive swimmer for at least 10 of her 16+ years on this planet. It is coming to a rather sorrowful end.

To fully understand, you have to realize this is a kid who would rather swim than eat. And when I say swim, I don’t mean it in the sense understood by most people on this planet. No, this is getting up at 5 a.m. winter and summer mornings to swim lap upon lap upon lap upon lap and then doing it again that night until 10 p.m. And the jobs she’s held as a teenager? Teaching swimming lessons and being a lifeguard. In fact, the only thing that might compete with swimming during her teenage years is sleeping.

She was never going to swim in the Olympics or anything like that. Still, by age 15 she was consistently in the top 10, if not top 5, in the state in her events and swam in several regional and national events. Unfortunately, as she seemed to be hitting her stride in the fall of 2006, she came down with mononucleosis. She missed months of practice and basically an entire “short course” season (roughly October through April) in a sport where conditioning is key. Despite that setback, she spent last summer’s “long course” season (June through August) working her way back despite the fact her times had regressed while her peers had continued to improve. Her attitude was far better than mine ever would or could have been, particularly given that her prior times often left her competing in faster heats than her more recent times reflected.

While still not back to prime form, things were looking a bit more normal by the time this fall’s short course season rolled around. Then came more bad news. Knee problems that have nagged her for several years got to the point the orthopedist said she had to quit swimming. Despite taking the news hard, in short order she cut a deal with her physical therapist that he would get her knees in good enough condition for her to at least swim a couple events in this weekend’s state meet. Unable to practice between then and now, it wouldn’t be a pretty finale but at least her competitive career would close in the water rather than a medical building.

As too often happens, the college of life has other ideas. Thinking she might have the flu, my wife took her to the doctor Wednesday. The diagnosis? Another bout of mononucleosis. Like anyone that age, she feels she’s being cheated of her last hurrah — the incentive she used to get through physical therapy and to help cope with her sense of loss. That even a bittersweet ending is turning sour is disheartening, to say the least. To me, though, her devotion to something she loved and the way she’s handled her setbacks say more for her than all the medals and ribbons she’s accumulated over the years.


When we’re in the water, we’re not in this world.

Gertrude Ederle, WomenSports magazine (May 1977)