Off to Dunfermline for this adaptation of Rosemary Sutcliff‘s novel The Eagle of the Ninth. I don€’t remember if I’€™ve read the book; if so it was as a child. I have a vague recall of a television production of the story in my youth but forgot all the details except that it involved the legend of the loss of a Roman legion, complete with imperial eagle, in the wilds north of Hadrian€’s Wall (or would it be the Antonine Wall?)

I read recently the latest historical thinking is that the legion may never actually have been lost, just absent from the records. It might simply have been redeployed elsewhere in the Roman Empire. Still, print the legend, eh?

The film’s plot is simple. Marcus Aquila, the son of the lost (and hence disgraced) legion commander comes to Britain, is wounded, saves the life of a gladiatorial combatant who becomes his slave and the pair go off to search for the lost eagle. Cue male bonding and the dawning of mutual warmth and respect. There was a strong Breakback Mountain type of undertone towards the end.

Echoes of current imperial adventures in Iraq and Afghanistan (now add Libya?) are of course present – especially in the patrician Romans’ lack of understanding of the ways of the indigenous population.

The scenery was stunning – even if it was shot in Super Gloom-o-Vision. Lowering clouds and twilight vistas abounded. Plus lots of rain.

It may seem silly but I could have done with a little less violence; not that there was much actual blood spurting. Why must the cinema sound be so loud, though? This was particularly true of the adverts and trailers beforehand – almost deafening.

The acting was convincing enough throughout. I had never seen either of the leads, Channing Tatum and Jamie Bell before. Donald Sutherland was spectacularly ill cast, though, as Marcus Aquila’€™s uncle.

PS Publishing, 2010. 394 p.

I have progressed halfway through this collection (in which appears my own story Osmotic Pressure) but have laid it down temporarily as I have more time to devote to longer works when I am on holiday. I will review it in full later.

There are two interesting posts over at Ian Sales’s blog.

The first is an attempt to (re)define “hard” SF. As far as he sees it – and I largely agree – this is SF that is bound, more or less, by known physical laws, by the restraints inherent in, for example, Physics and Chemistry.

In this regard any use of the trope of, for example, faster than light travel is – despite decades of convention and use in what might otherwise be considered hard SF stories – not hard SF in the strictest sense, as, to our best knowledge, the speed of light is an insurmountable barrier.

This is not to decry other types of SF (which are perfectly legitimate) merely to say that they go beyond the bounds of the known and, in the case of Space Opera in particular, which cleaves the paper light years with carefree abandon, actually tend towards wish-fulfillment. Though of course there is the necessity of getting characters from here to there in a reasonably efficient, non-boring manner.

It is amusing to recall here what is perhaps the most famous phrase in Science Fiction – certainly in its dramatic form, “Ye cannae change the laws of Physics, Captain.” This from a TV programme which made a habit, nay a virtue, of portraying just that.

Ian makes a distinction between hard sciences (Cosmology, Physics, Chemistry) and softer ones such as Psychology, Archaeology and Anthropology. While agreeing that the term is most often interpreted this way I wouldn’t myself say that stories featuring these could not be hard SF.

The second of his posts is an announcment that he will be editing an anthology of… hard SF; to be called Rocket Science.

No need to rush. Submissions will not be accepted till 1^st August.

Rocket Science is itself a term that has often irritated me as it is most often heard in the phrase, “It’s not rocket science, is it?” as if rocket science was at the cutting edge, inherently incomprehensible. As Ian points out in his post, the science of rocketry – as opposed perhaps to some of its technological aspects – has, due to its basis in chemical reactions whose energetic outcomes are limited and, moreover, fixed – not evolved much in a century.

I know it’s use is as much metaphorical as anything else but I’ve always felt tempted to respond to anyone who trots out the, “It’s not rocket science,” line, that rocket science isn’t rocket science.

Rocket Science, however, may be.

2008

While the series is dramatic and at times makes very good TV the producers could probably be sued under the Trades Descriptions Act. In large part, the West Wing this is not, as it deals mostly with the campaign to elect Bartlet’s successor as President and the transition period which follows the election. However, what this strategy does do is avoid staleness. Any hint of claustrophobia, that we are too restricted to the White House, is thereby nullified.

While the programme is as always an ensemble piece there are two wonderful performances from Alan Alda and Jimmy Smits as the Presidential candidates in the episode featuring the television debate. On a sadder note the death of perennial cast member John Spencer, who played Leo McGarry, casts a long shadow over this final series.

The writers undoubtedly nail that self-righteousness that a lot of Republicans seem to ooze, an inner certainty that cannot be brooked. In this regard their making the Republican candidate not a God-botherer and a more or less freedom of conscience man is strange. It’s not so much USians puffing themselves up as showing how they might be if they could only access the better angels of their nature.

Looking at the run of the West Wing as a whole, characters appear, disappear and reappear seemingly without logic but probably in a reflection of the availability of the actors concerned.

But it is of course first and foremost entertainment – albeit tinged with the US penchant for sentimentality. And it illustrates the old adage that all political careers end in failure.

SFL Div 2, The Rock, 9/4/11

A very good, important, win. The worst we can do now is finish ninth and be in the relegation play-offs. Still room for jitters, though.

But five goals is excellent. The last time we scored five was the all but promotion clincher against Elgin two seasons ago. Nice to see Jordan Halsman on the score sheet. And Michael White in goal again. Time to work on the clean sheets.

Four difficult games to go, but Livingston becoming champions means they don’t have much to play for. They might relax and be off the pace, which would be good for us. (Or they may be under so little pressure they hammer us.)

I realised a couple of weeks ago that in all of this category I’d never put up any songs from that strange time in the musical 60s that was pre-Beatles.

Partly this is because the very early 60s was before my time – I only really started listening to pop music (as it was then) when we got a tranny* in 1966. Prior to that we had to listen (collectively) as a family to an old cabinet radio – with valves: it had to warm up before any sound would issue from it. It had been replaced as a focal point in the living room by a television set by 1960, though. The TV schedules were very restricted in those days: no afternoon programmes for example.

*For you young things this was not a cross-dresser but a transistor radio.

So strange was the early 60s that there was actually a vogue for jazz that manifested itself in the charts. Chris Barber, Acker Bilk and Kenny Ball all had bands that released successful hit singles. Something like that trad-jazz boom is almost impossible to imagine happening now.

That was my eldest brother’s time, though, so I recall with some fondness quite a few jazz tracks that he used to play on the gramophone, as they were called then. One of his favourites was Kenny Ball And His Jazzmen. Midnight In Moscow came out in 1961. It was an adaptation of a Russian composition known previously as Moscow Nights or Leningrad Nights.

Kenny Ball And His Jazzmen: Midnight In Moscow

The Jazzmen released March Of The Siamese Children, which originally came from the musical The King And I, in 1962.
Kenny Ball And His Jazzmen: March Of The Siamese Children

The Green Leaves of Summer by The Brothers Four was the theme tune from the film The Alamo. (Don’t get me started on the myths that surround that shabby episode in history.) Kenny Ball’s band recorded the tune in 1962.

Kenny Ball And His Jazzmen: The Green Leaves of Summer

Further to Ian Sales‘s meme about women SF writers he posted an item about The Women’s Press SF line which was published in the 1980s in a distinctive grey border and spine with cover art in a characteristic style.

The usual applies. The ones in bold I’ve read. (Edited to add. Since then I’ve read the ones asterisked.)

1. Kindred, Octavia Butler
2. Walk to the End of the World and Motherlines, Suzy McKee Charnas*
3. The New Gulliver: Or The Adventures of Lemuel Gulliver, Jr. in Capovolta, Esmé Dodderidge
4. Machine Sex and Other Stories, Candas Jane Dorsey*
5. Native Tongue, Suzette Haden Elgin
6. The Judas Rose, Suzette Haden Elgin
7. The Incomer, Margaret Elphinstone*
8. Carmen Dog, Carol Emshwiller*
9. The Fires of Bride: A Novel, Ellen Galford
10. The Wanderground, Sally Miller Gearhart
11. Herland, Charlotte Perkins Gilman*
12. Despatches from the Frontiers of the Female Mind, Jen Green & Sarah LeFanu*
13. The Godmothers, Sandi Hall
14. Women as Demons, Tanith Lee
15. The Book of the Night, Rhoda Lerman
16. Evolution Annie and Other Stories, Rosaleen Love
17. The Total Devotion Machine, Rosaleen Love
18. The Revolution of Saint Jone, Lorna Mitchell*
19. Memoirs of a Spacewoman, Naomi Mitchison
20. The Mothers of Maya Diip, Suniti Namjoshi
21. Planet Dweller, Jane Palmer*
22. The Watcher, Jane Palmer*
23. Woman on the Edge of Time, Marge Piercy*
24. Star Rider, Doris Piserchia*
25. Extra(Ordinary) People, Joanna Russ
26. The Adventures of Alyx, Joanna Russ
27. The Female Man, Joanna Russ*
28. The Hidden Side of the Moon, Joanna Russ
29. The Two of Them, Joanna Russ
30. We Who Are About To.., Joanna Russ
31. Queen of the States, Josephine Saxton*
32. Travails of Jane Saint and Other Stories, Josephine Saxton
33. I, Vampire, Jody Scott
34. Passing for Human, Jody Scott*
35. A Door Into Ocean, Joan Slonczewski*
36. Spaceship Built of Stone and Other Stories, Lisa Tuttle
37. Across the Acheron, Monique Wittig

Only three out of 37 and two by the same author.
Mind you, a lot of SF by women wasn’t available to The Women’s Press as it was published elsewhere. That’s my excuse anyway.

Last year I started my Friday On My Mind ramblings as a result of a competition at my workplace for best song of the Nineteen Sixties. Well, the year has rolled round and this time it was the Nineteen Seventies. The same rules applied – a hit single in either the UK or the USA.

Given the tweeness of last year’s winner, Daydream Believer, there was quite a bit of discussion about what the equivalent 70s song might be. The great fear was it would be Eurovision winner, Save Your Kisses For Me. Thankfully it wasn’t. It turns out the judging panel went for overblown bombast instead. Second place went to Free’s All Right Now and the winner was Bruce Springsteen with Born To Run.

Well, that may have been a hit in the States but it certainly wasn’t in Britain.

It was a second winner in a row from the US, though. So much for British pop!

To try to sum up a whole decade with one song is impossible of course but for most pervasive 1970s song Slade’s Merry Xmas Everybody must be up there practically unchallenged.

There is an argument that (much like sexual intercourse) the 60s didn’t begin in musical terms until the arrival of The Beatles. In the same way the musical decade could be said to linger until the advent of glam rock which I would date to Marc Bolan’s selling out and the release of Hot Love in 1971. The musical 70s then only spanned the brief time from 1971 to 1977, when punk came along.

Also, the 70s – certainly in its early years – was actually more the decade of the album than the single (by and large the two were aimed at different markets and barely talked to each other) so that fact alone automatically rules out a lot of good stuff.

Still, to my mind there are many, many better 70s singles than Born To Run to choose from. A lot of them will have been album tracks first I suppose.

I’ve featured elsewhere Albert Hammond’s Free Electric Band, Crosby, Stills, Nash and Young’s Ohio and The Beach Boys’ Student Demonstration Time.

After toying with Al Stewart’s Time Passages, I thought either Do It Again or Reelin’ In The Years, both by Steely Dan, would be a good umbrella term for a selection from the 70s. I settled on Reelin’ In The Years.

So here’s the not overblown and far from bombastic Steely Dan. (They’re still from the US though.)

Steely Dan: Reelin’ In The Years

I’ve now read four of the five short-listed novels – the first time I’ve ever managed such a feat before the vote. While it is so much easier to find books in these internet days I did make a conscious effort this time. My reviews of these five are in the previous post plus here, here and here. It’s probably the one I’ve missed (Zoo City by Lauren Beukes) that will win now.

The nominations for Best Art are to my mind profoundly uninspiring except perhaps the spaceship by Andy Bigwood on the cover of Conflicts.

As to the short stories: the BSFA booklet has been devoured and here are my thoughts.

Flying In The Face Of God by Nina Allan.

The Kushnev drain is a(n unexplained) treatment that allows deep space expeditions to be undertaken more easily. Viewpoint character Anita, a film-maker whose mother was murdered in an anti-space-exploration terrorist attack when she was months old, is in love with Rachel, a recipient of the Kushnev drain who is about to set off into space. Rachel’s boyfriend, Serge, has moved on already.

The Science Fiction in this story is peripheral, being only the mentions of the Kushnev drain and space travel. Apart from that it’s … well, nothing much really.

At the level of the writing, an apparent change of viewpoint character in paragraph 1 (and 2) brought me to a shuddering stop in paragraph 3. Throughout, there is a high degree of info dumping. Tenses within the flashbacks are not precise enough making keeping track of things difficult. Anita’s grandmother features for no good plot reason that I could see. None of the characters displays much psychological depth.

As a result I found this story to be a bit incoherent. And nothing happens.

The Shipmaker by Aliette De Bodard

In a Chinese dominated future culture the shipmaker of the title is in charge of designing a spaceship – on principles that appear to relate to or derive from feng shui. The ship is to be piloted by a flesh and electronic hybrid Mind, gestated in the womb of a volunteer, the mechanics of which process are not laid out. The birth-mother turns up early and throws the delicately balanced design process into confusion. The culture is sketched efficiently and the characters’ problems are believable enough.

This is a proper story with forward movement and motivated characters but with an ending that is perhaps too glib.

The Things by Peter Watts

This story is told from the point of view of an alien, who has always heretofore been able to meld with and assimilate to other lifeforms, and is capable of warding off entropy. The creature’s offshoots have survived a crash and are trying to come to communion with the human members of an Antarctic expedition who come to realise its presence and resist it. Its gradual understanding of the singular nature of human existence, that we have brains – which it regards as a form of cancer – that we die; is well handled.

Again, this is a story, but due to its nature the humans it depicts are never more than names. The alien, however, is as real as you could wish. The last sentence is a little intense, though, not to say unsavoury.

Arrhythmia by Neil Williamson

In a Britain which is reminiscent of the early- to mid-20th century with concomitant working practices and social attitudes yet still has room for Top Of The Pops, Steve whiles away his days at the factory and yearns for the company of Sandra, who is sometimes assigned to work alongside him.

The factory runs to the tune of the Governor. Literally. The assembly line moves in time with piped music – as if Music While You Work was a control mechanism. In fact so suffused with music is this story it even begins with an anacrusis.

The key event is when Sandra gives Steve a copy of a vinyl single by the singer Arrythmia, whose iconoclastic attitude encourages rebelliousness.

As I almost said in my review of the anthology it came from, Music For Another World, this story could perhaps have been titled 1984: The Musical. Arrythmia doesn’t suffer too much by that comparison.

Orbit 2010. 438 p.

In a US city called Los Sombres after an apocalypse known as the Fall, adults are subject to a control mechanism known as shine, which is mediated by beams of light and makes them want to take certain courses of action. Consequently they can act in strange ways and become fixated. One of the city’s inhabitants, a young woman named Roksana, is apparently immune to shine and runs a radio station called FallN which broadcasts a sort of defiance to an outside world which holds Los Sombres in a kind of quarantine. She is looking after a much younger girl named Elsa, who has lost her mother.

A boy called Xavier is living outside the city on a farm run by a native American woman. Having not attained puberty (which is being held back by means of a drug known as Kiss) he is not yet affected by shine. A stranger from the city comes to the farm and the Kiss runs out. In order to find more supplies of Kiss, Xavier steals a horse and makes his way to Los Sombres where he meets Roksana and their destinies intertwine. The section of the novel where Xavier is exploring Los Sombres for some reason brought to mind Kim Stanley Robinson’s The White Shore and The Gold Coast, except here the city is under threat from the armed forces of the “normal” USA.

The characters are convincing for the most part but since shine changes behaviour we have to take that behaviour on trust. Sullivan’s hands seem trustworthy however. In this regard Lightborn was a more satisfying read than Sullivan’s earlier Someone To Watch Over Me which I reviewed here.

Curiously given it was published last year, at the start of Lightborn the date it is set is given as 2004 which would make this an Altered History. It does not display any of the typical characteristics of that sub-genre however.