A Son of the Rock

Do any of you say, “Are I?”
Thought not.

Would any of you say, “Are I not?”
Not likely is it? (Personally I would say, “Am I not?”)

Then why do we hear people say, “Aren’t I?”

It’s a horrible construction, ugly and ungrammatical. [In the jargon of grammatical discourse, the subject fails to agree in number with its verb; in plainer terms it combines a plural verb with a singular noun.]
And I hate it.

None of the characters in my fiction has ever uttered the phrase. If I had my way they never would. (Unfortunately, there will come a time when one has to because of who they’re supposed to be and where they’re supposed to come from. But I’ll still hate it.)

Where I was brought up the suitably grammatical phrase, “Amn’t I?” performed the function perfectly.

I do not expect it to catch on.

Time travel is one of the most worn of SF tropes but its appeal is enduring, witness the revived Doctor Who. The fascination of being able to go into the past, perhaps to alter it, or to see the future (you do of course reach a small part of that in the normal, slower way) seems to strike deep. Many stories focus on the paradoxes that could arise; say by inadvertently causing one of your ancestors not to be born will that mean you yourself will never exist? (In which case you could not possibly go back to the past to change it.)

A classic of the time travel sub genre is Robert Heinlein’s “All You Zombies” where the narrator, Jane, by time travelling and sex change, turns out to be her own mother and father - which as an idea for a story would be hard to top.

Time travel fiction’s offshoot, alternate history (counterfactual history as it is sometimes called) is a safer bet as it allows the writer to meddle in this way without affecting real history. Each such story is also a thought experiment which explores the ways in which our own world could have been different - for better or worse.

The advent of many worlds theory offered a get out clause for possible time travel paradoxes in that the paradox is avoided if you can only travel back to a different (albeit only slightly) universe, not your own. It also legitimises any alternate history story as it could (must?) be set in a different universe.

We can of course not yet travel in time in the real world; only in fiction. It is possible that in the future we may develop the ability. I seem to remember reading a speculation that only when time travel has been invented will people be able to travel back in time but only to that point and no further back and hence this is why no one has yet travelled back to our time. We haven’t invented it yet.

This seems to me a bit like the Fermi Paradox. (In my opinion the reason we don’t have evidence of aliens is that we don’t have evidence of aliens, end of. When we do, we will. If we don’t, we won’t.)

The fact that no one has yet travelled back in time to us would tend to suggest, though, that time travel is absolutely impossible, even between universes. This does not, however, prevent us thinking about it and writing stories utilising it.

Yet there is one aspect and complication to possible travelling in time that I have never seen explicitly addressed anywhere and which may be why all those attempts to reach us from the future fail.

They end up in the wrong place.

Consider. The Earth spins on its axis once a day (give or take.)
On this count alone, if you travelled back in time 12 hours you would end up on the other side of the planet.

But…The Earth orbits round the Sun once a year (give or take.)
This equates to 67,000 miles per hour in a circular (actually elliptical) fashion.
So go back in time one day and stay at the same coordinates relative to the Sun, and the Earth will be 1,608,000 miles away!

We’re not finished. The whole solar system is spinning round the centre of the galaxy at about 1 million miles a day (give or take) in a rotational time scale of the order of millions of years.
Travel back one year and you will be 365 or so million miles away from where Earth is (was.)

The galaxy itself along with its neighbours is moving at about 1,300,000 miles per hour. One year’s travel here is 11,388,000,000 miles!

We do not notice these relative motions as they are all at constant speeds. Think how you only really notice a car or train’s motion when it accelerates, brakes or changes direction.

Eric Idle put this all quite succinctly in The Meaning Of Life.

In sum, to travel in time you must therefore also travel in space, and at what are effectively unattainable speeds. The fastest human-made object (one of the Voyager probes) has a human-imparted speed that is but a fraction of all this.

To time travel and still end up on Earth you must factor in all those vector equations to your time machine and somehow give it the speed to get it where you want to go.

(The fictional Time Lords must have got this point; the complication I’ve outlined is implicit in the acronym TARDIS.)

Of course, now that I’ve written this post, by morphic resonance the relevant calculations will have been enabled.

So, if someone from the future turns up on your doorstep tomorrow (or yesterday,) blame me.

Minerva, 1990

I bought this book years ago, put it in my to-be-read shelf, where it got hidden. When I rediscovered it recently I thought I’d better give it a go.

The point of view is certainly one I have never encountered before. The tale is narrated as if by a prisoner in the dock, addressing a judge (whom he variously calls m’lud, your honour, your lordship etc) and at times, the jury. This is an unusual literary conceit but otherwise the treatment is actually quite conventional, a first person apologia pro vita sua by the narrator Frederick Montgomery. (This name almost breaks Gene Wolfe’s iron law of writing – never call a character Fred.)

If not quite stream of consciousness the narration still rambles somewhat and jumps backward and forward in time from the events leading up to Montgomery’s incarceration to his present. It eventually transpires that he is on remand and composing his narrative at a table.

Montgomery is less than reliable, however, and the prose, while not leaden - Banville picks his words, especially his verbs, with care (dust sifts down, for example) – is somehow flat. Montgomery’s detachment is curious; he does not seek to deny his crime but, equally, shows little actual remorse for it - a, to my mind, startling lack of affect.

Banville, of course, speckles the text with relatively uncommon words - aboulia, ataraxic, balanic, gleet - but I wasn’t convinced that the Montgomery the book reveals would have employed any of these. He’s more of an imperturbable type than an ataraxic.

While Montgomery’s lack of engagement does have the effect Banville presumably intended, it is too distancing and as a result none of the characters really spring to life. They are merely the backdrop against which Montgomery tells his story.

The pun in the title is also rather arch - Montgomery’s telling of his story in the novel is the case against him, and his book (of evidence) will most likely be thrown at him.

Even more years ago I read Banville’s “Dr Copernicus” and “Kepler.” As I recall those, they were much more involving than I found this outing. But then their protagonists were grappling with the mysteries of the Universe. For all Banville’s fine writing, Montgomery isn’t.

This morning I went to my local area libraries’ book sale. They have one on and off - the good lady thinks every month or so - but we haven’t been to one for a while.

It is a tiny bit niggling when you find they’re selling off books you’ve already bought and read but it does afford the opportunity to sample an author whom you may be interested in but maybe not to the extent of punting the full price of a book.

They certainly sell their withdrawn stock at ridiculously cheap prices though, well undercutting any second hand book shop I’ve ever entered, and even the internet. And there were hundreds of books available, including loads for children, (plus some CDs) on the tables. But I suppose some of them (most?) are not in the best of nick.

However, today’s haul included an all but unopened paperback copy of “One Hundred Years Of Solitude” with spine totally intact. Only the plastic cover they put on (and the ripped out page where they would have put the date stamps if it had ever been borrowed) betrays it was a library book.

You have to question the buying policy in this instance. If this has been withdrawn unread, ought it to have been purchased in the first place? I would have thought that most people wanting to read “One Hundred Years Of Solitude” now (it is 35 years after it first appeared in British publication) would wish to own their copy rather than borrow it from a local library.

I know they’re recouping some money, here, and this will go to buying new books (at least I hope it will) but how cost effective is it? By no means all the books (not just the Marquez) were worn out. They could have stayed on the libraries’ shelves for longer, surely?

Ochilview, 15/11/08

Well. That’s the unbeaten away record comprehensively trashed, then.

We were never really in this game. I’ve not seen us play so poorly since the last away game against the same opposition. The Shire had had several chances to score before Gordon Lennon’s mistake was compounded by Mick O’Byrne and we were one down. Then Andy Rodgers conned the ref into giving a pen on the stroke of half-time. 999 times out of 1000 it wouldn’t have been given. 2-0.

A minute after half time the game was over, 3-0. At which point Jim Chapman decided to take off our right back and put on a striker. Badly though Gordon Lennon was playing - and he’s not a right back, no way - this frankly bizarre decision totally unbalanced the side and it was no surprise when Shire increased their lead, though neither goal actually came from that flank. But by this time we were in disarray and none of the defence, keeper included, was covering himself in glory.

It was like watching the Gerry McCabe era Sons. Yes, Rab, as bad as that.

The Shire are quite a big side; not uncommon in Div 3. Can we afford the luxury of two wee wide men, no matter how tricky, when our midfield seems to be being overrun - as it now has two weeks in a row? Last week Carcary wasn’t in the game. This week it was Stevie Murray’s turn to be ineffective.

Michael Moore didn’t make much of an impact, Michael Dunlop didn’t do much wrong but was caught up in the general malaise. The late goals were little consolation. Carcary created his out of nothing by collecting a bullet pass he had no right to and playing a couple of one-twos before finishing well. Ben Gordon’s header from a free kick - after a shocking tackle on Carcary by a Shire player (Bolochoweckyj?) who surely escaped a sending off only by being carried off - merely added a veneer of respectability.

I never thought I’d write this next sentence. We seemed to miss Paul Keegan as a link-up striker.

And another strange thought. Is there a point to Gary Wilson after all?

I picked this up from Ian Sales’s blog.

Is this the new horoscope then? It probably has as much (ie as little) validity.

I suspect they only have about six or seven different, “What it says about you” comments. I put in the good lady’s details and hers turned out exactly the same as mine!

Where do people get the ideas for creating this sort of stuff?

After the Bon Accord Baths I thought I’d stay up north for the latest in this series.

This is an amazing sight. The cafe apparently fell into disrepair in the 1960s but has obviously been updated. I remember seeing an item on the TV once many years back about an Art Deco cafe in Stonehaven that had fallen into disrepair. I suppose this must have been it. What a great job they’ve done.

The street entrance looks like this.

The restaurant’s home page is here.

They claim to have a mirror that may be a work by Picasso! I believe it’s shown in this photo.

The foyer looks like this.

The fanlight parts of the windows are very deco.

The chairs are also in keeping with the Art Deco feel.

What a fantastic place to go and have a meal.

Orbit, 1995

This is another multi stranded narrative mostly dealing with the life of Zhang Zhong Shan,* an ABC (American Born Chinese) in a world where China is the major power. There was a major depression in the early part of the 21st century, bankrupting all the “Western” powers barring Japan, Canada and Australia. (Does this sound faintly familiar? It was a bit bizarre reading stuff like this after the events of the past few months.) However, here the US underwent a proletarian revolution, a Second Civil War and, with some aid from China, became a socialist republic. Not a likely outcome in the real world, where socialism appears to be a swear word in the US.

Zhang’s mother has lumbered him with an embarrassing name (Sun Yat Sen in English transliteration.) She was Hispanic, a decided drawback in Zhang’s world, but he has been gene-spliced to make him appear more Chinese, though his genetic background is available to anyone who can access the records. This is possible by the process of “jacking-in” to a system, as are other activities legal and illegal. Such systems are extremely important in this world.

To make Zhang’s life even more problematic he is gay, a proclivity which requires to be hidden in the US and which could see him shot in the China he travels to in the fifth section of the novel.

Each strand is written in the first person, present tense. There are five sections narrated by Zhang but the other four narrators, Angel, Martine, Alexi, and San Xiang, have only one episode each and they all have at best only a tangential relationship to Zhang. It is therefore difficult to see what purpose these sections serve apart from to pad the novel out or else to illuminate Zhang’s world a little more fully than he can on his own - a flaw to my mind.

Still, the prose, being eminently readable, rolls along easily and the characters are well enough drawn. However, one does strike a cord in another at one point. (I had always thought it was a chord that was struck in such circumstances.)

Martine’s and Alexi’s strands are connected to each other (they marry) but are set on Mars where Zhang never sets foot! (He does communicate– via a fifteen or so minute delay - with Alexi, by vid.) Martine’s and Alexi’s story is left hanging somewhat, though. The other two non-Zhang strands are quite divorced from the rest of the book.

Its episodic nature and the unrelated aspects of the strands made the book read more as a collection of short stories rather than a coherent novel and made me think this was actually a fix-up. A quick check reveals this to be at least partly the case since sections two, “Kites,” and three, “Baffin Island,” appeared in Asimov’s in 1989. As a result I am at a loss as to why this “novel” was nominated for the Hugo and Nebula awards in that category for 1993. It can only be for its unusual setting which almost seems designed to conclude that “Marx was wrong” - as Zhang intimates to a class he teaches in the last section.

The read here is undemanding; the prose is transparent and the characters are mostly engaging. Good enough; but, for me, not an award nominee.

*Zhong Shan can also mean China Mountain – hence the title.

Ochilview, 8/11/08

After a game in which we never looked like scoring, and a point in the end was won, this was nevertheless an opportunity lost.

Stenny showed their game plan early. One of their players clattered into Stevie Murray in the first minute and was rightly booked. At 5 mins another went in late and obviously dangerously as the ref hauled out the red card immediately. (At Stenny the away support is confined to one end of the ground so this incident was quite far away from me; I can’t say if the red card was justified or not but the ref was in no doubt. The Dumbarton players left it to him to make his decision, though.) This was the lost opportunity; the chance of 11 against 10 for 85 mins.

On 15 mins Gary Wilson overextended his leg and collided with a Stenny player in what was a foul but no more than a yellow card’s worth. Stenny players immediately mobbed him and the ref in a clear effort to get him sent off - and succeeded; only one of them being booked for their over-reaction.

Stenny then proceeded to foul Dumbarton players at every opportunity for the rest of the half, their striker a particular culprit. He was eventually warned by the ref but not booked; the ref probably thought all hell would break loose if he did. I can see now why they are top of the Division; a physical approach has always paid dividends at the lower end of Scottish Football.

Thankfully in the second half things were calmer: maybe the ref had a word with the managers at half time. Curiously there seemed to be less space to play in with only 18 outfield players on the pitch instead of the usual 20. There were remarkably few chances for either team in the whole game.

I’d said to Onebrow before the start, “At this stage of the season I’d take a draw now,” and repeated it at half time. He was just about to say it to me when Stenny scored. Gordon Lennon’s clearing header didn’t get very far and the ball was played across to their scorer who struck it very well.

It all looked lost, but Chissie replaced Keegan and suddenly the Stenny back four was being pulled out of position. Moore came on for Carcary, who hadn’t been in the game, and things went back to much as before. Then a long range strike from Stevie Murray into a more or less empty net and there would only have been one winner after that. We’d managed to grind out a draw after being behind - a good trait to have developed.

We didn’t play well, probably because Stenny didn’t allow us to. But we stuck to it. And we’re still unbeaten away. I’ll take the draw.

One of the Stenny supporters in the stand rang a cow bell almost the whole game. A terracing wag in the away end was driven to ask, “Is that how ye attract the women round here?” Quite a subtle comment on both the local males’ articulacy and the local females’ pulchritude in only seven words, and highly non-PC; but in the context of a football game reasonably funny.

The Apache Army also asked of the (rather quieter) Stenny fans, “Shall we sing a song for you?”

Edited to add: artificial pitch - again the ball didn’t always bounce nor run truly. This affects both sides though.

So, after foregrounding local matters over which as a Westminster MP he will have no influence and riding the coat-tails of a financial crisis which has paradoxically redounded to the Government’s benefit, Lindsay Roy saved Labour’s bacon.

Did anyone else think he might have been less than happy at his win?

His winner’s speech was flat and uninspiring. He looked and sounded like a rabbit caught in headlights. Surely, as a headmaster, at School Concert nights etc, he is used to speaking in front of an assembled adult audience?

And will Kirkcaldy High School now go back down the pan he was parachuted in to rescue it from? There were whispers to that effect even before Thursday’s result.

Still, a grateful government will no doubt reward him in a future honours list.

One curiosity. Immediately after the result a BBC graphic stated there had been a swing from Labour to SNP of 8.16%. Labour’s % of the vote went up. So how could there have been a swing to SNP from Labour? Surely any swing was to the SNP from other parties? (Both Tory and Lib Dem votes were hugely down on the last General Election.)

I realise this last cannot be how they calculate swing but the swing figure quoted surely shows the concept of swing is more than a bit misleading.