March 2006
Today I finally finished adding all of my books into LibraryThing. The current total stands at 1127 books -- nowhere near the 8000+ books of the biggest catalogers; indeed, less than half the books of the 49th biggest cataloger. But who's counting anyway, right? Right?
In case you haven't heard of it yet (or you're simply not a bibliomaniac), LibraryThing is an incredibly cool site that allows you to catalog all your books. What's incredibly cool about that? First, you have access to your catalog anywhere you have internet access; and second, you can find out what books other people with similar libararies have.
It seems as if there are always a few rogue books that have escaped my net (used here in the old, pre-internet sense), so the number is likely to creep upward slowly. But the bulk of my holdings can be seen by surfing to my personal catalog.
Now what I need is some way to convert the Macintosh Reflex database of our 861 LPs into something useful.
Wednesday, June 22, 2011
Space Patches
October 2006
Last year the editor of the UK-based design magazine "Eye" asked me to write a short piece on space patch collecting for the "Common Knowledge" feature of the magazine. I thought I'd post that article here as a "random essay":
Until Ron Howard made a movie about the flight, Apollo 13 was a largely forgotten mission. Today it is moderately famous ("Failure is not an option"), but for this self-confessed space geek, it has always been memorable. Not only was it a disaster with a happy ending, but it was the flight when I discovered mission patches. With its three galloping horses hauling the sun chariot of Apollo, the drama and visual artistry of Lumen Winter's design immediately hooked me on collecting patches. After all these years, Apollo 13's is still my favorite, never equalled in the multitude of designs that followed.
My collection tends to concentrate on the early, pioneering days of spaceflight: Gemini, Apollo, Skylab. (Mercury flights had no patches.) Amid the 100-plus patches designed for Shuttle flights, there are really only a handful that show truly inspired design. As an example, the design for the first flight to repair the ailing Hubble Space Telescope is largely abstract lines and curves, suggesting optics and rays of light, rather than depicting the telescope literally. But most are based on depictions of space hardware, with a liberal dose of stars-and-stripes for those patriotic quasi-military astronauts. You have to admit, there is very little drama that can be eked out of a design that features space hardware. Kelly Freas probably came closest with his lovely sunburst design for the 1973 Skylab 1 mission -- one of the few patches that is far more beautiful in its embroidered form than in the original design.
In the world of spaceflight, predictability is everything, drama to be avoided at all costs. So I find irony in the fact that Apollo 13, the mission with the most dramatic patch design, ended up being the most dramatic mission in spaceflight history.
Last year the editor of the UK-based design magazine "Eye" asked me to write a short piece on space patch collecting for the "Common Knowledge" feature of the magazine. I thought I'd post that article here as a "random essay":
My collection tends to concentrate on the early, pioneering days of spaceflight: Gemini, Apollo, Skylab. (Mercury flights had no patches.) Amid the 100-plus patches designed for Shuttle flights, there are really only a handful that show truly inspired design. As an example, the design for the first flight to repair the ailing Hubble Space Telescope is largely abstract lines and curves, suggesting optics and rays of light, rather than depicting the telescope literally. But most are based on depictions of space hardware, with a liberal dose of stars-and-stripes for those patriotic quasi-military astronauts. You have to admit, there is very little drama that can be eked out of a design that features space hardware. Kelly Freas probably came closest with his lovely sunburst design for the 1973 Skylab 1 mission -- one of the few patches that is far more beautiful in its embroidered form than in the original design.
In the world of spaceflight, predictability is everything, drama to be avoided at all costs. So I find irony in the fact that Apollo 13, the mission with the most dramatic patch design, ended up being the most dramatic mission in spaceflight history.
Death II
October 2006
Tonight we went to hear Jack McCarthy at the Chelmsford Public Library. The poem that really caught my attention was When the Cholesterol Catches Up With Me. He wrote it prior to the angiogram he underwent in August, the one that culminated in his quintuple bypass surgery. Anyway, Jack is an amazing wordsmith, who delivers his work with utter conviction and humor. I love him. My all-time favorite (I'm not even sure I should use that word, it implies a kind of superficial enjoyment, when what I really feel is connection) is Careful What You Ask For.
Why is this entry entitled "Death II"? You need to read "When the Cholesterol Catches Up With Me". I won't quote it all here, but just cite Jack's own quotation of Walt Whitman:
Tonight we went to hear Jack McCarthy at the Chelmsford Public Library. The poem that really caught my attention was When the Cholesterol Catches Up With Me. He wrote it prior to the angiogram he underwent in August, the one that culminated in his quintuple bypass surgery. Anyway, Jack is an amazing wordsmith, who delivers his work with utter conviction and humor. I love him. My all-time favorite (I'm not even sure I should use that word, it implies a kind of superficial enjoyment, when what I really feel is connection) is Careful What You Ask For.
Why is this entry entitled "Death II"? You need to read "When the Cholesterol Catches Up With Me". I won't quote it all here, but just cite Jack's own quotation of Walt Whitman:
I bequeath myself to the dirt to grow from the grass I love,
If you want me again look for me under your bootsoles.
You will hardly know who I am or what I mean,
But I shall be good health to you nevertheless...
Tuesday, June 21, 2011
Solaris
February 2007
At Christmastime I was shopping for a gift DVD and ran across the 2002 Steven Soderbergh version of Solaris. I'd recalled reading comparisons of Solaris to 2001: A Space Odyssey, a movie I love. So, for $5 (used), I couldn't pass it up. What a bargain! But first...
I've been a long-time fan of the Polish SF writer Stanislaw Lem, whose novel Solaris was the basis of the movie. I do have many of his books, but Solaris is not among them. As it turns out, the Soderbergh Solaris wasn't the movie that I had read references to; those references were to the 1972 Andrei Tarkovsky Solaris. But I didn't know that until later.
A few days after Christmas I viewed my new acquisition. It didn't take long for me to fall in love with it. The pacing, the score, the visuals, even the casting -- I'd initially had doubts about George Clooney as Kelvin -- everything about it drew me in. Especially the not being beaten over the head with exposition and explication.
Having been wowed by this movie, I decided to learn more about it. That's when I discovered my error. I had actually seen the Tarkovsky Solaris a few years ago, just because I was a Lem devotee; but it didn't impress me enough to create a lasting memory. So, I decided to check it out of my local public library and watch it again. Zounds! It was almost unwatchable. I don't know how I got through it the first time, because I found it terminally tedious.
So let's get back to tack to the Soderbergh Solaris...
I have to admit, I'm a sucker for atmosphere, and that's where this film excels. And, like most Lem stories, this one is about ideas, so the "plot," if you will, is minimal; action is almost nonexistant. What you get is a film of thought and feeling, a big "what if" with big implications and no... well, the character Gibarian said it best: "There are no answers, only choices."
Having said this, what I've written here is my gut reaction to the film. (I loved it.) No experience of Solaris is complete without further exploration of the original, and a wonderful starting point is an essay by Paul Newall. Read it after you experience the film.
At Christmastime I was shopping for a gift DVD and ran across the 2002 Steven Soderbergh version of Solaris. I'd recalled reading comparisons of Solaris to 2001: A Space Odyssey, a movie I love. So, for $5 (used), I couldn't pass it up. What a bargain! But first...
I've been a long-time fan of the Polish SF writer Stanislaw Lem, whose novel Solaris was the basis of the movie. I do have many of his books, but Solaris is not among them. As it turns out, the Soderbergh Solaris wasn't the movie that I had read references to; those references were to the 1972 Andrei Tarkovsky Solaris. But I didn't know that until later.
A few days after Christmas I viewed my new acquisition. It didn't take long for me to fall in love with it. The pacing, the score, the visuals, even the casting -- I'd initially had doubts about George Clooney as Kelvin -- everything about it drew me in. Especially the not being beaten over the head with exposition and explication.
So let's get back to tack to the Soderbergh Solaris...
I have to admit, I'm a sucker for atmosphere, and that's where this film excels. And, like most Lem stories, this one is about ideas, so the "plot," if you will, is minimal; action is almost nonexistant. What you get is a film of thought and feeling, a big "what if" with big implications and no... well, the character Gibarian said it best: "There are no answers, only choices."
Having said this, what I've written here is my gut reaction to the film. (I loved it.) No experience of Solaris is complete without further exploration of the original, and a wonderful starting point is an essay by Paul Newall. Read it after you experience the film.
TV Science Fiction
September 2008
I haven't been reading as much science fiction as I used to. It's not there isn't great stuff out there, I just don't know who the great contemporary authors are. Instead, I'm discovering that there is great science fiction on television. As usual, I'm late to the party, but here's some great SF that's been made since Babylon 5:
Battlestar Galactica: It took me a long time to get past the idea of the cheesy 1970's "Bonanza in Space." When I finally decided to check out the show that's been called the best SF on television, I was sucked in pretty quickly. I remember James Edward Olmos from Miami Vice, and liked him there. He is a blisteringly great lead.
Firefly: It's a sin that this show lasted only a handful of episodes. Even though I have watched every one of the mere thirteen episodes multiple times, every time I watch one again I rail at the meatheads who cancelled this incredible piece of television.
The superb cast and the outstanding writing make the most of the universe created by Joss Whedon. The ship, Serenity, is a character as integral to the story as its crew. Firefly's cinematography makes the most of its innovative set design, wherein Serenity's interior is completely laid out, like the inside of the actual ship. I feel totally inadequate to the task of giving the show its due praise. Just go watch it.
The spinoff movie, Serenity, ties up a lot of loose ends and dangling mysteries that were unresolved by the untimely demise of the series, but at a cost. The characters seemed much rawer, more intense, less likable. A major part of the series backstory was completely changed. And characters -- damned good people -- die, seemingly needlessly. But, as a friend observed when I complained about the latter, "life is like that." The reason you need to see it is that you get to see where the series was headed. It wasn't a meticulously laid out arc like Babylon 5, but there was assuredly a destination, and Serenity takes us there.
I haven't been reading as much science fiction as I used to. It's not there isn't great stuff out there, I just don't know who the great contemporary authors are. Instead, I'm discovering that there is great science fiction on television. As usual, I'm late to the party, but here's some great SF that's been made since Babylon 5:
Battlestar Galactica: It took me a long time to get past the idea of the cheesy 1970's "Bonanza in Space." When I finally decided to check out the show that's been called the best SF on television, I was sucked in pretty quickly. I remember James Edward Olmos from Miami Vice, and liked him there. He is a blisteringly great lead.
Firefly: It's a sin that this show lasted only a handful of episodes. Even though I have watched every one of the mere thirteen episodes multiple times, every time I watch one again I rail at the meatheads who cancelled this incredible piece of television.
The superb cast and the outstanding writing make the most of the universe created by Joss Whedon. The ship, Serenity, is a character as integral to the story as its crew. Firefly's cinematography makes the most of its innovative set design, wherein Serenity's interior is completely laid out, like the inside of the actual ship. I feel totally inadequate to the task of giving the show its due praise. Just go watch it.
The spinoff movie, Serenity, ties up a lot of loose ends and dangling mysteries that were unresolved by the untimely demise of the series, but at a cost. The characters seemed much rawer, more intense, less likable. A major part of the series backstory was completely changed. And characters -- damned good people -- die, seemingly needlessly. But, as a friend observed when I complained about the latter, "life is like that." The reason you need to see it is that you get to see where the series was headed. It wasn't a meticulously laid out arc like Babylon 5, but there was assuredly a destination, and Serenity takes us there.
Monday, June 20, 2011
The Ecstasy of Rumi
October 2006
I am so ecstatic. After a seemingly eternal wait I've discovered another recording of Coleman Barks performing the poetry of the Persian mystic poet Jalal ad-Din Rumi. From CBC Audio, it captures the CBC programme Tapestry which featured Barks' participation in a two-day Rumi festival in Toronto.
I was introduced to Rumi by my own Shams of Tabriz. Christopher Lydon introduced me to Coleman Barks. (Ah, how I miss Chris' The Connection!)
When I first heard Barks, I couldn't get past his Roy Blount, Jr. drawl; when I first saw a photo of him, his visage evoked Peter Schickele. With these associations in my head it was awfully hard to take him seriously. But his voice (in both senses) eventually defined him. In my mind, he is now in a class of his own, a category of one.
Barks is not universally loved: Rumi purists decry Barks' interpretations of Rumi's poetry, claiming it distorts the master's words, and masks his his devotion to Islam. In defence of Barks I first have to question how bad it can be if Mr. Barks is showing the western world (and the US in particular!) the astounding intellectual and cultural heritage of a country that is very possibly the next target in George W. Bush's personal jihad. Second (and to me far more compelling) is simply Mr. Barks' mastery of language. Yes, it is true that the English language is his tool; but he is clearly a master poet. Could you write this:
I couldn't. I couldn't even imagine it. Would this make any sense if literally translated into Chinese? Would it be as beautiful? So how is the literal translation of Rumi's Persian into English better? There would need to be so many glosses for a contemporary English speaker to "get it", that it would ruin the poetry just as surely as a bad English teacher in college turned me sour on poetry for twenty-five years. Barks' words speak to the heart, without need for explanations.
I am so ecstatic. After a seemingly eternal wait I've discovered another recording of Coleman Barks performing the poetry of the Persian mystic poet Jalal ad-Din Rumi. From CBC Audio, it captures the CBC programme Tapestry which featured Barks' participation in a two-day Rumi festival in Toronto.
I was introduced to Rumi by my own Shams of Tabriz. Christopher Lydon introduced me to Coleman Barks. (Ah, how I miss Chris' The Connection!)
When I first heard Barks, I couldn't get past his Roy Blount, Jr. drawl; when I first saw a photo of him, his visage evoked Peter Schickele. With these associations in my head it was awfully hard to take him seriously. But his voice (in both senses) eventually defined him. In my mind, he is now in a class of his own, a category of one.
Barks is not universally loved: Rumi purists decry Barks' interpretations of Rumi's poetry, claiming it distorts the master's words, and masks his his devotion to Islam. In defence of Barks I first have to question how bad it can be if Mr. Barks is showing the western world (and the US in particular!) the astounding intellectual and cultural heritage of a country that is very possibly the next target in George W. Bush's personal jihad. Second (and to me far more compelling) is simply Mr. Barks' mastery of language. Yes, it is true that the English language is his tool; but he is clearly a master poet. Could you write this:
Break the wineglass, and fall toward the glassblower's breath.
Or this:How will you know the diffiiculties of being human if you're always flying off into blue perfection?
I couldn't. I couldn't even imagine it. Would this make any sense if literally translated into Chinese? Would it be as beautiful? So how is the literal translation of Rumi's Persian into English better? There would need to be so many glosses for a contemporary English speaker to "get it", that it would ruin the poetry just as surely as a bad English teacher in college turned me sour on poetry for twenty-five years. Barks' words speak to the heart, without need for explanations.
Mirrormask
I finally got to see Mirrormask, the feature film by one of my favorite artists, Dave McKean, and one of my favorite authors, Neil Gaiman. This film seems destined to always be compared with Labyrinth (a film which I thoroughly enjoyed - especially the Escher-esque sequences): but Labyrinth was - visually speaking - almost mundane compared to Mirrormask. Watching Mirrormask was eerily like seeing a Gaiman/McKean graphic novel spring to life. Major kudos are due to McKean for a superb job of transitioning his unique graphic style to film.
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This was quite possibly the most visually stunning film I've ever seen. Amazingly, despite the dreamscape-like transitions, it was never disorienting, which is a tribute to McKean's directing talent. The plot was typical Gaiman fable material, as opposed to his more intricately-woven novel-length plots. Given that limitation, I would have to say this is not a "great" film; but it is totally enjoyable, entertaining, enthralling, and I would even go so far as to say ground-breaking. I plan several re-viewings.
I used to be a snob when it came to comic books: that was before I was introduced to Neil Gaiman's work. My gentle introduction was Exiles, from volume 10 of his Sandman series. It appealed to the visual and orientophilic streaks in my nature, sealed with a feline lick. His darkly comic novel Neverwhere cemented his status as one of my favorite writers. Indeed, that book became one of my all-time favorites: I remember my first reading of it as an experience to be savored. The hero was a disarmingly ordinary everyman, the villains were chillingly evil, and the supporting characters were lovably eccentric.
Dave McKean entered my conciousness simultaneously with Gaiman. It slowly dawned on me that here was an artistic genius of stunning inventiveness. To label him a mere illustrator is a grave disservice: while an adequate comparison in the visual field escapes me, I am put in mind of the writer William S. Burroughs, whose prickly new style of composition in words precipitated a furor that still reverberates after nearly fifty years.
This was quite possibly the most visually stunning film I've ever seen. Amazingly, despite the dreamscape-like transitions, it was never disorienting, which is a tribute to McKean's directing talent. The plot was typical Gaiman fable material, as opposed to his more intricately-woven novel-length plots. Given that limitation, I would have to say this is not a "great" film; but it is totally enjoyable, entertaining, enthralling, and I would even go so far as to say ground-breaking. I plan several re-viewings.
I used to be a snob when it came to comic books: that was before I was introduced to Neil Gaiman's work. My gentle introduction was Exiles, from volume 10 of his Sandman series. It appealed to the visual and orientophilic streaks in my nature, sealed with a feline lick. His darkly comic novel Neverwhere cemented his status as one of my favorite writers. Indeed, that book became one of my all-time favorites: I remember my first reading of it as an experience to be savored. The hero was a disarmingly ordinary everyman, the villains were chillingly evil, and the supporting characters were lovably eccentric.
Dave McKean entered my conciousness simultaneously with Gaiman. It slowly dawned on me that here was an artistic genius of stunning inventiveness. To label him a mere illustrator is a grave disservice: while an adequate comparison in the visual field escapes me, I am put in mind of the writer William S. Burroughs, whose prickly new style of composition in words precipitated a furor that still reverberates after nearly fifty years.
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